American Society of University Composers

Proceedings of the First Annual Conference /April 1966 AMERICAN SOCIETY OF UNIVERSITY COMPOSERS

Proceedings of the First Annual Conference, April, 1966

Held at New York University and Columbia University With the assistance of The Fromm Music Foundation Founding Committee

BENJAMIN BORETZ, DONALD MARTINO,

J. K. RANDALL, CLAUDIO SPIES, HENRY WEINBERG,

PETER WESTERGAARD, CHARLES WUORINEN

National Council

MARTIN BOYKAN, BARNEY CHILDS, ROBERT COGAN,

RANDOLPH E. COLEMAN (Chafrman), CARLTON GAMER,

LEO KRAFT, DONALD MAclNNIS

Executive Committee

RICHMOND BROWNE, DAVID EPSTEIN,

WILLIAM HIBBARD, HUBERT S . HOWE, JR.,

BEN JOHNSTON, JOEL MANDELBAUM,

HARVEY SOLLBERGER, RoY TRAVIS

Editor of Proceedings HUBERT s. HOWE, JR. CONTENTS I Proceedings of the 1966 Conference

Part I: The University and the Composing Profession: Prospects and Problems

7 ANDREW W. IMBRIE The University of California Series in Contemporary Music

14 IAIN HAMILTON The University and the Composing Profession: Prospects and Problems 20 CHARLES WUORINEN Performance of New Music in American Universities

23 STEFAN BAUER-MENGELBERG Impromptu Remarks on New Methods of Music Printing

Part II: Computer Performance of Music

29 J. K. RANDALL Introduction 30 HERBERT BRUN On the Conditions under which Computers would Assist a Composer in Creating Music of Contemporary Relevance and Significance 38 ERCOLINO FERRETTI Some Research Notes on Music with the Computer 42 GODFREY WINHAM How MUSIC 4B Generates Formants and Non-Harmonic Partials, and Improves Loudness Control and "Quality" 47 LEjAREN A. HILLER, JR. Some Comments on Computer Sound Synthesis 50 DAVID LEWIN Is it Music? 54 HAROLDSHAPERO Remarks

Part III: Discussion: "What do you, as a Composer, Try to get the Student to Hear in a Piece of Music?"

59 Chairman: PETER WESTERGAARD Panel: MILTON BABBITT MARTIN BOYKAN ROBERT COGAN Ross LEE FINNEY BEN JOHNSTON LEO KRAFT BILLY JIM LAYTON ROBERT HALL LEWIS SALVATORE MARTIRANO LAWRENCE Moss LoUISE TALMA ROY TRAVIS

83 Other Presentations

Addendum 85 Membership List, January, 1968 PART I

THE UNIVERSITY AND THE COMPOSING PROFESSION: PROSPECTS AND PROBLEMS

ANDREW w. IMBRIE 7

THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SERIES IN CONTEMPORARY MUSIC

IT HAS become increasingly clear to everyone interested in contem porary music that the commercial publication of new American works has been inadequate in scope. The reasons for this situation are all too familiar and need not be repeated here. It has naturally come about that composers in the universities are seeking ways and means whereby new music can be issued under University auspices. One hears of attempts to secure foundation support for publication proj ects by university presses or associations of university presses. Since the University of California is about to issue a series of scores on its own initiative, without outside foundation support, a brief descrip tion of this project may be of interest.

Early in 1961, Prof. Jerome Rosen, of the Davis campus of the University, proposed to the Editorial Committee of the Academic Senate the establishment of a series of publications in contemporary music. After some delay, the proposal was approved, and a panel of advisory editors appointed, consisting of Jerome Rosen, Lukas Foss (then on the faculty at UCLA) and myself. It is the function of such a panel to read each work submitted, or to suggest the names of outside readers to review the work. The Editorial Committee then 8 takes final action, and allocates the funds for publication. It should be made clear that the University Press is engaged in two types of activ,ity: book publication and series publication. "The purpose of the series issued under the title University of California Publications is to afford opportunity for publishing results of original investiga tion carried on in connection with the work of the University . . .. Manufacturing costs of series publications are financed through the Scientific Publications Account of the University. This account is available for publication of eligible scholarly monographs, which are distributed mainly by exchange through the university libraries. (The books published by the Press are handled separately and are financed in various ways; they are sold commercially and are not distributed by exchange.) " 1 Since our purpose was to secure a subsidy for the publication of scores, we felt obliged to show that such scores could appropriately be issued under the series category. Although a piece of music does not literally come under the heading of "scholarly monograph," we had relatively little difficulty in persuading the Editorial Committee to accept original works of art for publication. Since the experience of the members of the Editorial Committee had so far consisted in the appraisal of manuscripts of scientific and scholarly studies, the question did arise as to what were the criteria by which original works of art could be impartially judged. But it was necessary only to remind them that responsible criticism and judgment is possible in the arts, that one can speak of acknowledged experts in the field, and finally that universities have long accepted the principle of granting higher academic degrees for creative work.

Our aim in the proposed series was to print and distribute new musical compositions of high intrinsic merit, without regard to their current market value. In the preparation of the scores, the optimum standards of typographical beauty and legibility were to be main tained, in the hope of encouraging and facilitating both the study and the performance of these works. But it soon became apparent that although funds were now available for turning this ideal into reality, certain practical difficulties stood in the way. In the first place, the Rules and Policies governing series publication state that to be eligible, all manuscripts must be written by members of the faculty or registered students of the University of California. This sharply limited our choice, and we hoped for a time that the provision could somehow be circumvented; but the policy remains clear and unequiv ocal. The University cannot undertake to subsidize the publication of material written by outside authors. (Book publication by the Press is largely self-supporting. Books by outside authors are pub lished, but not subsidized.) In the second place, we soon discovered

1 Rules and Policies, Series Publications of the University of CaU/ornia, Univer sity of California Press, Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1963. that in discussing the details of production with representatives of the 9 University Press, special problems arose for them with which they had had no previous experience. They discovered that a printed musical composition is likely to be accompanied by printed instrumental parts, if it is a chamber work; or worse still, that the publisher of an orchestral work is expected to rent out the instrumental materials. They had to learn that, whereas in distributing chamber works through inter-library exchange, both score and parts would normally be sent; nevertheless many individual purchasers might wish to buy only the score, and possibly an instrumentalist might wish to replace a single part. For them this posed a particularly annoying problem of storage and cataloguing, apparently quite insoluble by means of their customary procedures. As for rental, there was no precedent or machinery for such an operation.

Then, too, the problem of distribution itself loomed large. The Press knows the business of selling books, but knows nothing of the music publication business.

After some discussion, it was decided to explore the possibility of contracting with a recognized music publisher or distributor to act as selling agent for the works published in the series. A number of New York firms were informally approached. They all showed great interest in participating in some arrangement of this kind. One pub lisher proposed, for example, that if the Press supplied him with the score at production cost (not including the engraving cost) and that cost was one dollar, he would have to retail at six dollars and would pay the composer a royalty of ten percent of the retail price. Another publisher suggested that the University Press set the retail price and supply the score to him less 75%. In each instance the matter of a royalty was insisted upon. This might seem only equitable, but for the unfortunate fact that all subsidized series publications by the University of California Press become the property of the University, and no royalties can be paid to the authors.

Despite these difficulties, negotiations continued haltingly, and a tentative contract was drawn up by one New York distributor. The Press was to appoint the distributor as sole and exclusive selling and renting agent; the distributor was to fix all prices and fees; the Press was to receive no sums directly from any customer or user of the music; the distributor was to receive 40% of sales and 50% of rental; the Press was to grant to the distributor the right to use its name.

Commenting on this proposed contract, one of the attorneys for the University stated, in part, that an exclusive license of this kind, which excluded even the Press, itself was too broad, and that the use ------~

1O for purposes of exploitation by an outside agency except by express of the name of the University of California could not be permitted approval of the Board of Regents.

As a result of the lack of success of these negotiations, it was finally decided that the Press should attempt the distribution and handling of the whole project. The fruitless search for a professional liaison had proved wasteful of time; all publication of approved man uscripts had been held up pending the outcome. It was decided that the University Press would handle the sale of all printed scores and instrumental parts. The Press would attempt to cope with the prob lem of selling scores and parts together or separately (although not individual parts out of a set of several). The Press would also nego tiate wherever possible with literary publishers concerning the rights to texts used by composers in vocal works, when such texts are not in the public domain. Rental of orchestral and choral materials would be handled by the University Music Library at Berkeley, which would also aid in providing mailing lists for limited advertisement of the series. It was agreed that large-scale promotion of the kind of music published in the series would be inefficient in any case, and that a small and selective mailing list should be used.

One particular custom prevalent among commercial music pub lishers is to acquire the copyright of a new work, and to rent out both score and parts without actually publishing the work in printed form. The composer may or may not receive an advance on royalties, and does receive, ordinarily, about 50% of the income from rentals. This arrangement is supposed to be advantageous to the composer, whose work is advertised to a greater or lesser degree, at the discre tion of the publisher. At the same time, the publisher assumes no financial risk whatever. The publisher pleads that he cannot afford to print the new works, since the likelihood of his recovering his investment through sales of copies of the score is extremely remote. The fact that certain commercial publishers have nevertheless engaged in programs of printing new music can only be understood if we remember that such operations are possible only through heavy sub sidy, either from profits made on popular music, or through the aid of some outside agency.

It had at one time been our hope to rescue deserving works from the semi-limbo of being available only on rental or for inspection, and only in facsimile. We had envisioned the possibility of contract:: ing with various publishers to license the Press to undertake produc tion costs in order to issue these works in an attractive, legible edition. But the difficulties we encountered in our attempts to provide our selves with a selling agent have convinced us that for the present, at least, we cannot consider publishing music already under contract 11 to another publisher.

Three works have so far been approved for publication. The first score approved was the String Quartet by Arnold Elston. The engrav ing of the score and parts has been completed, and the work is ready to go into production. Now that the decision has been made to handle the distribution ourselves, there should be no more delay, and we hope that this score will come out within the next few weeks.

The second work is Seymour Shifrin's Cantata to the Text of Sophoclean Choruses. Two problems face us in the publication of this work. The first is that of the rights to the text. The Press is now negotiating with the copyright owners of the translation used by Shifrin. Since the University policy governing series publications stip ulates that no royalties may be paid to authors, there may be difficul ties here. The second problem was an unexpected one. In the case of works for chorus and orchestra, the custom among American com mercial publishers is to print the vocal score (i.e., choral score with piano reduction of the orchestral part), and to place the full orches tral score on rental in facsimile form, without printing it. The obvious reason for this practice is that for each performance, the sale of a good number of copies of the vocal score is assured: one for each member of the chorus. It has always been my own contention, how ever, that the present series should adopt the policy of publishing definitive editions, by which I mean editions that completely repre sent the composer's intentions, including of course the instrumenta tion. Such a policy is certainly appropriate to the scholarly nature of series publications in general. The unexpected result of my argu ments along these lines was that the representatives of the Press to whom I talked readily accepted the idea of printing the full score, but were considerably more dubious about printing the reduced score as well. Although this has not yet been formally decided by the Editorial Committee, it may ultimately be necessary for us to find funds somehow to have the choral parts reproduced by xerox, or some such process, and rented to the performers through the agency of the Music Library, thus completely reversing the procedure cus tomary among commercial publishers.

The third score approved for publication is that of David Lewin's Classical Variations on a Theme of Schonberg, for cello and piano.

In the light of the information given above, it may now be rel evant to review the major problems encountered in our attempts to launch the project, and perhaps to ask a few rhetorical questions about university music publication in general.

__J 12 First, then, there is the problem of the limitation of the series to works composed by faculty or students of the University of Cali fornia. Although this University comprises eight separate campuses: Berkeley, Los Angeles, Davis, Riverside, Santa Barbara, Santa Cruz, Irvine, and San Diego, we consider the limitation severe enough to raise the question of parochialism. It seems to me, however, that if similar series are launched at other universities throughout the nation, either independently or in cooperation, with or without foundation or special private support, the problems of parochialism for each such project can be overcome if we all pool our experience and resources, particularly in the areas of distribution and promotion. Perhaps ultimately a central office can be established for this purpose, and supported by a loose confederation of University Presses, or, alternatively, by the American Society of University Composers itself. I should prefer to see editorial policy remain in the hands of the separate institutions. In our own case, this would be in any event mandatory.

The problem of promotion and distribution has already been touched upon. We hope that our solution of having the Music Library at Berkeley provide mailing lists for promotion as well as rental services may prove workable. In any event, we owe a debt of grati tude to Prof. Vincent Duckles, the music librarian, for his generosity in offering to make his staff and facilities available to us, and for the personal interest and encouragement he has afforded to our project. The question may arise as to what kind of promotion is appropriate for a catalogue such as the one we propose. Some commercial pub lishers consider it their obligation to make at least a token effort to solicit performances for the works whose copyrights they own. This we shall be largely unable to do; in fact it is this service that we knew we were sacrificing when we made the decision to abandon attempts to work through a selling agent. On the other hand, the scores, and in the case of chamber works, the parts as well, will be distributed free to university music libraries throughout the nation under an arrangement already well established for scholarly mono graphs. Thus, interested performers with access to these libraries will be able to examine the music at first hand, and perform it. It is our hope that ultimately, this series, and others of its kind, will attract attention to themselves through announcements in magazines such as the Musical Quarterly, Perspectives of New Music, and Notes of the Music Library Association, to which those interested in new music will turn for information about the newest releases. We question the efficiency of the usual methods of promotion when applied to music of the kind we intend to publish. I speak of traveling displays at community orchestra conventions, and the like. We would, of course, do our best to see that complimentary copies of our scores reach the hands of prominent conductors and performers who have proved 13 their capability and interest in the field of contemporary music.

Finally, there is the problem of the policy of non-payment of royalties. Should the composer put himself into the position of allow ing the rights to his work to be signed over to the university, with out compensation in the form of royalties? Essentially, what this project offers him is a beautiful job of engraving, printing, and bind ing, and at least the chance for distribution of his score to certain key places. For this he must give up the expectation of what little remuneration he might receive from a commercial publisher. If the commercial publisher agrees to print his score, he has no need of the University Press. If the commercial publisher agrees to pay him a royalty but will not print his score, then he must decide for himself which is more to his advantage. It is our belief that in many cases he will choose the University Press, in the interests of wider distribu tion of the printed material, which will probably be more important to him than the small sum he might receive from the commercial publisher.

What effect will all of this have on the commercial publisher himself, should this project and others like it eventually succeed in issuing a sizeable number of scores? Will the commercial publisher ~ee this development as an excuse for removing himself from the business of contemporary music entirely, except for that which is immediately saleable? Much has been said of the commercial pub lisher's obligation to the serious composer. Will the publisher now be able to say that such an obligation no longer exists? I cannot answer this question, but can only express the hope that the opposite effect might take place: the commercial publisher, by keeping an eye on the new works coming out in the university series, may be stimu lated to an interest in future works by the new composers, especially if the series itself has in tum succeeded in stimulating performances. Time alone will tell. 14 IAIN HAMILTON

THE UNIVERSITY AND THE COMPOSING PROFESSION; PROSPECTS AND PROBLEMS

BEFORE I try to state to you what I feel to be the position of the composer in the American university, I shall give you a few details about the relationship of the university and the composer in Britain, and my past relationship to it. I graduated from the Royal Academy of Music in London and from London University simultaneously in 1951. I was just before, during the war, and for almost two years after it, an engineer, although trained in music from an early age. The University of London in those days in music consisted only of an examining body and our training for the Bachelor of Music degree, taken in two parts, covered a period of four to five years. During all this time we studied of course only music both for our degree, and for our performance and compositional studies at the Academy. Our universities are generally very conservative in their attitudes toward music and seek to train only a small number, relative to all other music students elsewhere in the music schools, of would-be scholars or teachers. Occasionally a composer may come out of this process, but in spite of it, rather than because of it. Many moves are being made on the part of professional musicians to try to change this in the several new universities such as the university of Sussex, but it is too early yet to comment on the result of these moves. Very few really professional composers of any calibre have ever been associ- 15 ated with the major universities, and therefore the university is not a much-considered area of operation for the composer-even in the role of teacher, let alone that of composer. He is more likely to teach at one of the four music schools in London, or at their equivalent in Glasgow or Manchester. However, even if he is appointed to teach there his salary will be very low indeed-3 or 4 dollars per hour - so he will do it more for the love of teaching, or for some small amount of prestige, rather than for anything very satisfying in the way of an adequately paid and rewarding position. His influence in any of these establishments, apart from his work in the classroom, would be nil.

The composer in Britain then will make his livelihood from a variety of sources and never really from any central position such as is so markedly the case in America. He may perform, write film music, or music for the theatre; he will do some teaching, maybe extra-murally for a university, or privately, he may write articles, do some work on the radio, and of course gain a fair amount from the performance fees accruing from his works in every media. These are subject to collection by law and are returned to us in amazing detail from the P.R.S. so that even if you wrote a movie score 20 years ago and 1 minute of it was run through on television, you will get your due amount in your next return. This collection on every run of any film brings in great amounts to such composers as Malcolm Arnold and Richard Bennett and enables a composer such as Elisa beth Lutyens to survive and earn around 10,000 dollars a year which she would never be able to do in any other way. This sum which she earns is small compared with the earnings of the two mentioned before.

However all European composers, whether they earn well or not - and most of them earn a good deal less I assure you than the figure I mentioned regarding Miss Lutyens - do have two great advantages in common, and two advantages which are denied the American composer. First, a very good representation of their work either in print or on hire to a publisher, and secondly the radio as a means of nationwide performance medium. Neither of these is the subject of this short paper, but they must be borne in mind relative to the rest of my remarks, which concern the composer in the university here, as something of the one balances something of the other, and both have their advantages and disadvantages.

First and foremost the composer is a professional. He comes from the living world of music. When he takes a position in an Amer- 16 ican university music department, he is surrounded by many colleagues who, irrespective of their abilities and position in the university, are really no longer true professionals. This is of courset not true of all one's colleagues in all music departments, but it is true to an alarm ing degree, and something of which many of them seem to be unaware. Many of these men and women pursue lives in music of a kind of dream-like fantasy, which they confuse with the normal rigours and competitiveness of a professional career. The dream situ ation is however very solidly supported, by no little amount of politics, and a comfortable, if not very comfortable, salary, plus often tenure, fringe benefits and whatnot else. Those of us who know a more real istic, more challenging side of music heretofore find much of the activity of this dream world somewhat more of a nightmare when attending some, though not all, of the many symphony concerts, band concerts and faculty recitals. This may all be fun as music making, but what has it all got to do with education at that level, one wonders? Into this world we are often brought at various levels from instructor to chaired professor and may be worked at various degrees of inten sity or sometimes just retained as a kind of ornament - part of the expensive but deluding window-dressing that many departments adopt for outside attention and for the catalogue. In the latter role we may find ourselves a composer-in-residence, which often presupposes that we shall not trouble the machine too much but maybe teach a little, get on with our writing and well - that will do. Nothing more is expected of us.

Now, that will unfortunately not do. More must be expected of us and if we are wise we shall see that our department gets it in some form or another. The composer injected into this world can not teach in a vacuum and live to himself alone, as his responsibilities to his students will after a while lead him to enquire into the teach ing of his colleagues with relation to the work of a student they have either in common or one who is sent to them shakily or inadequately prepared in ground he should previously have covered. Once this moment comes the composer so often finds himself up against a set of standards which conflict greatly with those to which he has be come accustomed as part of the challenging hurly-burly of the non academic music world. I have seen this happen also in exactly the same way with the professional performer when he must mix with his university counterpart. Standards of rehearsal alone are quite dif ferent, and to me one of the best features of these professional groups which are being attached to universities is this exposure of the stu dent and faculty to the amount of concentration and work that go into the preparation of a contemporary work if the highest standard is to be aimed at. If the university contain a large or well-run music school, maybe something better can result, but for those numerous departments which mix performance and academic work, this is one 17 of the most troublesome features to contend with.

When the composer enters the university then he must regard himself as a responsible teacher seeking to bring, and maintain, very high standards to his work, and 1:0 the work of others by example. His composition will always be first for him, but positions of com poser-in-residence, unless it be for one semester or for a summer session, are dangerous as they tend to fob-off his having any serious say in the teaching activities of the department. The student is at once enthusiastic about the setting of such standards, for he then begins to see music as one of the major fields of man's thought and action carried out in a professional manner relative to his other studies, rather than simply as entertainment, or performance activity often quite unrelated to the rest of his academic study of music. Unless it be through the bringing of certain excellent performers to the campus, I can see no validity for the performance of the hack neyed classics in such university programming, especially if the per formances are not good. There are a multitude of unperformed mas terpieces, both by major and minor masters of all periods, which should be done instead. The student requiring the former musical activity would be better served at a music school proper, where his standard of performance in this area would, in any case, have to be exceptional, if it were ever to yield him anything in the outside musi cal world.

It seems to me that we should avoid our being regarded as only a kind of specialist in our own particular compositional techniques. We should be available to teach at least one course per semester right across the student body, bringing an alive approach to what ever period we choose, instead of the meticulous, but often dead manner of presentation, offered by so many of our musicologists. I am amazed week after week to discover how little many students know about such varied items, say, as the two Kyries of the B Minor Mass, the finale of Haydn's London Symphony, the outer movements of Brahms' First or the Prelude to Tristan, let alone Debussy and later music. They have of course all "studied" these works, had them in a course, and are not always keen to take them up again. How ever I seldom find that they really know anything about them in what appears to be more than a surface manner, and their knowledge of the relationship between any of them is almost nil. A composer sees beyond these peripheral attitudes in really musical terms, and can reveal many vital things about a work which apparently seem to be missed by many so-termed scholars, if I am to judge by much of their writing, as well as their teaching.

I _J 18 I teach only undergraduate students, since we have as yet no graduate department in music at Duke. I find this whole area of teaching fascinating and it falls exactly in line with what I have already said about our having to extend beyond the particularly talented music student into the areas of students in other fields, and - let us face it - students generally with far better minds as a whole than those who come to us to major in music.

We have all seen those embarrassing cases where the students are far better than he or she who is teaching them, and generally I find the student rises at once to a challenging course and rebels or stays away only from a course which is too slight or confused in presentation. I find also that if you relentlessly set a standard and keep it, almost imperceptibly those impregnable members of the faculty do, although they would never admit it, respond to this and teach better themselves. Too many of them after all have given that same course year after year and may occasionally find that there is something new and exciting in music after all - even maybe in the Beethoven they think they know so well. I can certainly teach my two liberal arts courses at a much more advanced level now than I could have done four years ago, and a class of fifty will expect a considerable amount of detailed serious analysis done in technical terms, as they would in physics or chemistry. Have you ever thought what the physics department would think of someone offering a phy sics appreciation course? Many music courses come dangerously near to music appreciation although they go under the heading of history, introduction to music or whatnot else. Why should introduc tion to music be given as if the students were all children? It is a vital course but is generally intrusted to a none-too-experienced per son. I think it is ever more essential in this classroom and grade ridden system here in America for us ·to aim at more and more small group or seminar instruction, except in those cases where we can attract, say, one large group, such as I mentioned before, to a true liberal arts class.

Now we come to a very important point for the composer him self. It is up to the composer, be he instructor or chaired professor, to see to it that he remains always a composer first. It is so easy for us to become swamped in the activities of the department, once we get into that, and, at a higher level, in the university. I have accepted such committee posts as being on the Humanities Council of the uni versity because I am determined that music shall be represented properly, instead of inadequately or simply not at all. Chairmanship of a committee concerned with the planning of an arts center I have also accepted for similar reasons - but one must draw the line at too much of this as it encroaches greatly on one's time and energies 19 for teaching and writing. As most universities lie far from large cen- ters of activity in the arts, the composer must take care to establish and keep his lifelines with his career outside the university. Time, when possible, should be spent away from the university whether for performance or other activities in the arts. If we keep a regular teaching schedule this should always be allowable and must be a condition of one's accepting the position in the first place.

It is most important to establish a sound relationship with the top administration of the university. Too often we find that our ideas are more acceptable and logical when presented directly to a mem ber of the administration than when interfered with, or just simply blocked-off by a chairman or executive committee in our department. I find our university very interested in the whole problem of detect ing and fostering creative ability in a student who may not have very dazzling grades. This creative talent is more easily discerned by us than by our colleagues, for understandable reasons. It often appears amid otherwise rather rough and ready work, and its development is seldom a nicely gradeable commodity proceeding, more likely, by fits and starts, and always in need of direction by someone who has an idea where it should go. What more important aspect of our teach ing composition is there in fact than this making the young composer aware of his own potential, and seeing that it is developed through a constantly perfected technique and control? I have discovered remarkable talent in my four years at Duke and four of these stu dents have gone on to distinguish themselves in graduate work and national awards. Seeing this happen is, surely, as rewarding as any thing we can ever do.

The position then to me of the composer in the American uni versity is a very important one provided that he is alert to its dangers, both for himself as a composer, and for the s·tandards of teaching as a whole, which, when he accepts such a position, he is inevitably going to be forced to raise. This country has certain disadvantages for the composer compared with the European composer, but in the university I see unlimited possibilities in many areas. The composer must be tough and firm, be no pleasant decoration, and realise always the real irony and danger - let us face it-that universities are just about as antithetical to creative work, au fond, as any institution can be. So if we watch out and teach challengingly all may yet be well. 20 CHARLES WuoRINEN

PERFORMANCE OF NEW MUSIC IN AMERICAN UNIVERSITIES

I WOULD like to speak briefly on the state of contemporary perform ance activity in American universities. The increasing demand of composers for control over those aspects of their environment which affect the production of their work is the main reason for the recent flowering of contemporary music performance activity in the univer sity. In this respect, the composer-directed and composer-oriented new music performing groups on American campuses is similar to the expanding movement to establish university-based electronic music studios. In both cases, the motivating force is the desire of composers to exert as much direct influence as possible over the realization of their work.

Among present notable university-based ensembles, I would like to mention groups at the Universities of Illinois and Iowa; Yale, Columbia, and Brandeis Universities; the State Universities of New Jersey and New York- Rutgers and Buffalo, respectively; the Uni versities of Chicago and Colorado, and others. It seems likely that the immediate future will see the establishment of many more such groups. Furthermore, beyond the ensembles formed primarily to per form new music, one should note the increasing disposition of more conventional resident university performing groups (such as string 21 quartets) to program contemporary music.

The main accomplishments of the university performance move ment are threefold: first, commanding a university audience, a uni versity ensemble has simultaneously the advantage of an intellectually sophisticated public, and an important educative responsibility to that public, which has been successfully discharged in many cases. Second, the non-commercial circumstances surrounding most university groups generally allow them to devote such time to preparation that they have been able substantially to raise the overall performance stand ard for new works in the United States. Indeed, many non-university performing organizations have now been compelled to take cognizance of standards outside of their own commercial convenience. Third, an increasing number of composers are making their way back to the realm of performance. It is no longer exceptional to find composers filling instrumental and conductorial roles in performances not merely of their own works, but of their colleagues' as well. Thus the histori cal union of performance and composition has been re-effected.

Under the guidance of the composers who direct or substantially influence the majority of significant university performing organiza tions, criteria for program-making are gradually assuming a more reasonable and professional cast than heretofore. At least some of the irrelevant conceits so often encountered in programs selected by non-composers are being eliminated.

In summarizing briefly the problems confronting university-based new music performance, the primary problem to which one should tum is of course financial, and its major correlate remains the neces sity of convincing many - especially urban - university administra tions that the university has a unique role to play in this area. Other difficulties, such as the unbalancing of the economics of new music performance by inflated foundation support - in a certain sense the inverse of the previous problem - may be severe at present, but it is to be hoped that they will become less pressing as both the sources of support and the organizations supported gain experience.

In contemplating future action, composers are faced with the choice of either moving large performance facilities (orchestral, operatic, etc.) into the university, or abandoning such forces alto gether. There seems no general disposition on the part of "serious music" institutions in this country to assume genuine responsibility to contemporary composers, or indeed to significant twentieth cen- 22 tury music altogether. Nor does there seem any immediate prospect of governmental support of any size or enlightenment. In ·the transfer of large performance media to the university (an undertaking already impressively underway in some large schools of music and conserva tories), the Society can provide valuable encouragement; and its plans for distribution of scores and recordings is significant for the dissemination not merely of compositional, but of performance infor mation as well. STEFAN BAUER-MENGELBERG 23

IMPROMPTU REMARKS ON NEW METHODS OF MUSIC PRINTING

MR. BAUER-MENGELBERG: You have all heard about the vast changes in library structure that are currently being projected. If you wish, I can refer you to some of the extensive literature on this topic. The transmission of music will, I think, be just an instance of the general transmission of information.

There is no reason to believe that the various schemes that have been advocated could not be realized within ten or twenty years. Certainly this should be true of the projection of graphic material from some data bank onto tubes from which you can photograph it. Most of you are no doubt familiar with the microfilm readers now in existence that allow you to project onto a screen in sequence any number of pages of microfilm. If you find a page interesting, you press a button, and in approximately eight seconds a photocopy of it comes right out of the machine. This kind of approach, with the master copies stored in some central repository and screens located in the "branch" libraries, may ultimately be cheaper than the actual distribution of a lot of scores that after three minutes of examination tum out not to be interesting. 24 Let me make one remark not so much as a technician of information dissemination but as an ex-performer. I hope that, whatever you do, you will not settle for the distribution of manuscript scores. It is probably the greatest single disaster that besets the American composer today. I know that most conductors who are sent scores automatically put manuscript scores at the very bottom of the big pile that is always waiting to be read. A printed score has an incom parably greater chance of being examined. Also, a printed set of parts can be prepared for performance probably in 40 per cent less rehearsal time than a typical composer's product. So, if the problem to which Mr. Wuorinen has addressed himself- that of getting ade quate rehearsal time for contemporary compositions-is to be solved, I think it will be accomplished much more easily if the quality of the musicians' materials is at the level, roughly, of engraved music. Now, of course, engraving is a craft that is gradually disappearing, and we are currently trying to replace it by machine methods. But, whaever the actual process of production, see to it that your mate rials are not in a condition that will cause the ensemble player to waste his first seven hours of rehearsal time simply in deciphering and then, even at the performance, to make mistakes that are simply due to the bad quality of the materials.

MR. BoRETZ: Can we not assume that the university performer will be above such considerations? (Laughter.)

MR. BAUER-MENGELBERG: There's another source of disaster, which is minor and which modern techniques can in time eliminate, and that is the discrepancy between score and parts. Ordinary errors are serious enough, but discrepancies are even worse. They can cause a loss of rehearsal time that is simply atrocious. So, if you are going to have errors in your material, please make sure that they are in both score and parts!

PROFESSOR BABBITT: A few words have already been said about the input problem and character recognition. Is there anything you want to say about that? It will be the bottleneck for some time to come.

MR. BAUER-MENGELBERG: I don't know how much one should say about that here. The problems connected with the input to these various systems are very complicated. Most of the systems presently functioning or envisioned still require an essentially manual approach. In the case of Professor Hiller's system, the music is originally entered into the computer from a music typewriter with various attachments, which keep what is essentially a seismographic record 25 of the motions that the typewriter underwent. The system that we are developing at Columbia abandons this conception and uses instead a purely formal abstract code that is keypunched into IBM cards. Ultimately, as Professor Babbitt says in one of his articles, it and other languages of that kind will be superseded as an input system by optical scanning, to which Professor Hiller has also referred. Our system has one significant advantage at present and that is this: a work read into a computer in a printing context will also be available to music theorists for computer interrogation as to its formal properties. This is a kind of bonus for those of you who are interested in or have tendencies toward compterized music analysis. The information is available on tape as would be, say, a computer- printed edition of Shakespeare, for the making of concordances and other things of that kind. This dual utilization of the input repre- sents a rather substantial saving of labor. It may be, of course, that by ingenious programming one could use the input of Professor Hiller's system in a similar way, but it is confined to such portions of the original score as can be copied on a music typewriter, whereas our code contains an absolutely complete representation of the score.

A number of these input languages are currently competing for attention; some are being used for analysis, others in more orthodox musicological contexts, such as library and indexing projects. My feeling is that they are going to be around with us for some time. While I hope that Professor Hiller's time projection concerning the availability of the optical scanner - that we shall have it in two years - is correct, my own guess is that it is a bit longer away. But optical scanning will come. There are, in fact, certain reasons to believe that optical scanning of scores will be easier, on the whole, then optical scanning of cursive handwriting, say, because at least in conventionally notated music there is that lovely stave to guide you in your scanning. It gives you a kind of base line. Whether optical scanning of other music, music that is not written in stave notation, will be possible is a very much more difficult question.

Having given you this brief glimpse into technological matters, let me end by being so presumptuous as to suggest what your role should be in relation to these developments. As composers - univer sity or otherwise-you have the primary function of writing music. Also, you have a legitimate interest in the processes available for the dissemination of your work. (For reasons that I have expounded elsewhere, I think that this concern is by no means incidental to your primary role; rather, it springs in an essential way from the conditions necessary for your development as artists.) It is therefore 26 entirely proper that you should make your desires felt when it comes to the design of music information systems. I would only ask that you do this in consultation with the appropriate technologists and that, in particular, you concern yourselves, within the realm of the feasible, with criteria, benchmarks, and the like, and that you leave the details of execution to the technicians.

A final remark: every one of the systems now extant or con templated - whether manual, semi-automatic, or fully automatic - will function more accurately, efficiently, and economically if your scores are clean and legible. In this sense, no amount of techno logical progress will never absolve you from certain elementary responsibilities of craftsmanship. But, if both of the partners in this new relationship live up to their respective obligations, a new era of music distribution will soon be dawning, and that will be altogether to your advantage. PART II 27

COMPUTER PERFORMANCE OF MUSIC 29 J. K. RANDALL

INTRODUCTION

OF THE SEVERAL relations in which computers currently stand to music, the papers in this symposium confine themselves principally to the subject of just one: computers as instruments for synthesizing sound. As originally presented, these papers were of two sorts. Some were prepared statements designed to serve as a basis for discussion, and hence have been "papers" from their inception. The rest were impromptu, or at most semi-prepared, spoken responses to the others, and have become "papers" only subsequently. The prepared state ments were designed not so much to collectively "cover the subject" as to separately convey whatever parts of, or accretions to, the sub ject the individual authors, apprised from the outset of each other's intentions, thought might be of most value to an audience of profes sional composers. Overlapping, and consequent disagreement in the areas of overlap, was thereby elicited rather than insured against; as were stances so skew to one another as to transcend even disagree ment. Similarly, the responses, likewise based upon knowledge of everyone's intentions from the outset, were aimed as often at the evaded or the notably omitted as at the sketchily or unpalatably asserted - another kind of skew counterpoint elicited rather than insured against: in this instance, by the inclusion, on the panel of responders, of both technologically committed and technologically uncommitted composers. To the extent that this involved structure of statement and response was essential to the symposium as it actu ally took place, its reduction to a string of self-contained articles undeniably suggests some loss to the whole. Hopefully, any such loss has been overbalanced by gain in some of the individual parts in a format where the pressures of public confrontation in the flesh as time wanes have been relieved. 30 HERBERT BRUN

ON THE CONDITIONS UNDER WHICH COMPUTERS WOULD ASSIST A COMPOSER IN CREATING MUSIC OF CONTEMPORARY REI.EV ANCE AND SIGNIFICANCE

Since 1955, when Professor Lejaren A. Hiller initiated the con tact between Music and Computer at the University of Illinois, this contact has developed from kindly tolerated experimentation to active cooperative research. Hiller's first project, known, published, and described in his book on Experimental Music, as the "Illiac Suite for String Quartet" fathered a whole generation of further projects. Soon various branches of the subject became matter of separate in vestigation, and today I may thus report: We use computers to help us explore various different methods of musical analysis, to analyze sounds and to trace their transients, to assist us in the composition of music and, recently, even to play it for us. Several projects either underway or in preparation are being shared with other departments, for instance speech, linguistics, psychoacoustics, statistics, communi cations, electrical engineering, and others. All these projects have to do with music and computers. In most of the cases mentioned, it would be easy to show that here the use of computers follows mainly consideration of expediency. This is not so easy in the case of musical composition. In fact, I do not believe that a serious composer will use a computer just because it can be done, or just because a few 31 things can be done faster. Thus my paper is meant to describe one point-of-view, seen from which a composer will want the best possible computer system to assist him, be that expedient or not.

Man uses the term "chaos" whenever he wishes to ascribe to a quantity of elements or events, what he believes to be the quality of disorder. In order to get information out of chaos, the elements and events have to be submitted to a process of organization, whereby order increases and chaos decreases. As soon as the chaos has dis appeared, complete order is installed and no further information can be expected. The potential of information, inherent in a situation of chaos, depends on at least two factors: on the quantity of elements or events which are assumed to belong to the field of disorder, and on the number of possible ways in which they can be organized. If the quantity of elements or events in disorder is a very small one, or if there exists only a small number of ways to organize them, then the potential of information, in this particular situation of chaos, will be small too, and soon exhausted. Usually, though not always, the two factors seem to function in interdependence.

Wherever man observes chaos, he feels tempted, sooner or later, to apply his powers of organization, in order to get information out of this chaos. This temptation is not only an expression on man's untiring curiosity, but also nature's hint at an inevitable necessity. As long as the power of communication of thought is one of the most important pillars of human society, it will be necessary from time to time to renew the sources, out of which the means for such communication can be gained. The means for the communication of thought consist of a selection of significant informations out of a defined field of original disorder. As soon as this field is fully organ ized, it cannot yield any more information and thus becomes useless for the generation of communicative means. Established means can be used for the repeated communication of established thought. But, for the communication of a new thought, it is necessary to generate new means. A new thought is naturally, therefore, always in search of a chaos containing an information potential, which would render a particular choice of order significant for this particular new thought.

If a system in a situation of total disorder is said to possess a high information content, this usually means that a great number of different possibilities for partial or total organization of the elements or events, in this system, are offered for choice. By making a choice, man extracts information from the system. In order that his choice 32 may be significant and the information carry a meaning, however, the relationship between the chosen and the eliminated possibilities must be perceived.

When a "chaos" is first attacked by an attempt at organization, it is, therefore, obvious that the information gained will carry very little meaning, because too little is known about the other possibilities inherent in the chaos. The significance of first choices can thus not be appreciated. This period of first attacks may be called the experi mental stage in the process of reducing chaos to order. Though seem ingly uncommunicative, it cannot be avoided, if one wishes to attain to higher degrees of order.

The next period could be called the speculative stage. By this time, the quantity of information gained allows for a number of statistical hypotheses, as to the direction, in which further informa tion and the decrease of disorder in the system might be expected to move. In order to attach significance and meaning to the chosen possibilities at this stage, one has to accept as communicative the relationship between information which has actually been gained, and the eliminated possibilities which are only hypothetically assumed.

In due course the system will find itself in a state of order, in which the quantity of information gained allows for a correct defini tion of the whole system, even though not all the possibilities of organization have been applied. Speculation gradually is replaced by variation. This period could be called the reflective stage. Communi cation becomes easier while the store of information runs low. Further attempts at yet untried possibilities of organization tend to result in repeated significance and meaning, demonstrating, thus, the decline in usefulness of the system as a source for the means of communica tion of new thought.

The transition to the final, the administrative stage, during which a system is totally organized, is an almost unnoticeable process. This is due to the fact, that the now wholly communicative system at the same time becomes wholly uninformative. The information, therefore, that a system is dead, can only come from another system, which is in a higher state of disorder.

The success of every human attempt at the presentation and the communication of a new thought depends on whether a system is found, in which the nature of the elements or events in disorder has some bearing on, or affinity with, the nature of the new thought. Not every system will serve all endeavours. It is, furthermore, of utmost importance, that the information content of the chosen system does 33 not surpass the limits of presumable future human insight. As a matter of fact, one can say that an essential part of a new thought is the qualification of the possible systems in which it proposes to become communicable. Equally, one can deduce from a chosen system some qualifications of the thoughts which might be proposed.

If the organization of a system in disorder is attempted with the aim to know all about the system and to render this information communicable, then it may be considered a "scientific project." Here the system does not only offer the means, but also the contents of communication. It speaks for and about itself.

If, on the other hand, this attempt is made with a view on the mobilization of the means for the communication of thoughts which transcend the definition of the system, then it may be considered a "creative" project. Here the system offers the means but not the con tents of communication. It speaks for, but not about, itself.

All the sciences and all the arts progress in time by way of attacking various systems in various states of disorder with a strategy of interdependence between scietinfic and creative projects.

By science and philosophy, it has even been suggested that the experience of "time" as an irreversible dimension of movement might be the sensual awareness of a continuous and irreversible replacement of chaos by order. That, as the beginning of time was total chaos, total order would then be the end of time.

Most systems, as they are found in nature, possess an informa tion content which is so enormous, that it usually takes thousands of years of human endeavour to show a noticeable decrease of disorder. Thus an enormous quantity of information must be extracted, before the experimental stage is passed and the speculative stage, the first communicative period, may be reached. Out of its need for means of thought communication, the human mind has invented a very effec tive short cut: using its own assumed limits and conditions as a stand ard, the human mind conceives of artificially limited and conditioned systems. An artificially limited system reduces, by "a priori" defini tions, the quantity of the elements and events that are offered for choice. A conditioned system reduces, by artificial conditions, the quantity of possible ways of organizing ·the elements and events in a system. The information potential of artificial systems is expected to be lower than that of "natural," "physical," or "universal" systems. The limits and conditions, by which the human mind, at a given 34 moment, defines the artificial system through which communication of thought should become possible, reflects on the limits and condi tions by which the human mind defines itself at any given moment of its progress from chaos to order.

A large scale investigation of the nature of dependence, between artificial systems and the human mind, would throw light on both.

At least two considerations suggest that such investigation should be conducted with the assistance of computers: 1. Limits and con ditions are categories, which can be expressed in computer pro gramming. The time saving capacity of the computers could thus be exploited in the full. 2. Whereas the human mind, conscious of its conceived purpose, approaches even an artificial system with a selec tive attitude and so becomes aware of only the preconceived impli cations of the system, the computers would show the total of the available content. Revealing far more than only the tendencies of the human mind, this non-selective picture of the mind-created system should prove to be of significant importance. It should, furthermore, be of interest to those engaged in research dealing with the duplica tion, through electronic devices, of the functions of the human mind.

In setting down the bare outlines of a theory, it is impossible to consider the enormous number of problems, consequences and inter pretations which it implies. Even the terminology, which is used, can not be expected to correspond to the exacting standards by which scientific precision is measured. This is not due alone to the atte!!J.pt at brevity and simplicity, but rather to the anticipatory opinion, that only the frequent experimental application of the theory to practical purposes, and the attentive observation and interpretation of such results, as may be achieved, will eventually lead to an insight as well as to a terminology, by which the theory may explain itself in its own appropriate terms.

The research project, which I mean as a contribution to the pur suance of this aim, consists of numerous experiments, the results of which should allow for comparative studies of three different, but, under the set conditions, interdependent systems: a. Acoustical elements and events. b. The composer's mind. c. The organization potential of digital and analog computers. If one uses the terms previously established in this outline (with 35 the necessary, above-mentioned reservations), the meaning of the word "music" could be defined as follows:

Music is the result of a continuous attempt to reduce to order the assumed chaos in the system of acoustical elements and events; with the purpose of mobilizing means for the communication of thoughts, which transcend the definition of the system (a creative project).

These thoughts, consequently called "musical thoughts," are the result of a continuous attempt to organize a system, called "com poser's mind," with the aim to know all about the system, and to ren der the extracted information communicable (a scientific project).

In order to conquer, eventually, the vastness of their respective objects, both attempts have to employ the strategy of probing step wise into the disordered unknown, with the help of artificial systems. For "music," the artificial system always consists of a more or less deliberately defined excerpt out of the total mass of possible acous tical elements and events. For "musical thought," the artificial sys tem consists of a more or less deliberately defined excerpt from the total mass of possible ideas and idea combinations in the composer's mind.

The history of music and of musical thought is the story of such artificial systems, their inception, bloom, and decline, their absorp tion or replacement by other artificial systems. At the same time, it is a report on the apparent or real progress in reducing to order the chaos in the natural universal system of acoustical elements and events as well as that of the composer's mind.

The idea of composing music, of organizing acoustical events in time with the intent of giving to this time a meaningful variety of movements, is only one of the innumerable attempts of the human mind to repeat, in ever new ways, the old enjoyable feat of creating order out of chaos. Recent developments in the field of musical com position have shown that the limited and conditioned system of acoustical elements and events, considered "musical material" for several hundred years, has now entered the administrative stage, where all further possible permutations will no longer possess any new meaning. The degree to which contemporary composers are con sciously aware of this fact, may vary widely. But equally widely varied are the signs giving evident proof for the growth of at least an intuitive suspicion that the system of well-tempered pitches, har- 36 monic spectrums, and harmonic time periodization has had its day, and has now become so thoroughly organized that nothing unheard and unthought of could possibly find, therein, its communicative equivalent. Research in synthetic sound production by electronic means, as well as the sudden emancipation of percussive instruments in contemporary music, the experiments with random and statistical score and interpretation, as well as the rapid "modernization" of popular music - all these are phenomena accompanying the decline of an exhausted system, and indicating the tentative inception of a new one. A further symptom of this state of affairs may be seen in the fact that the term "new," which was a word of praise in the musical society of the 18th century, now has completely lost its flavor of aesthetical approval, and has adopted instead a connotation of reserved tolerance, implying that the experiment is with the listener, and not with the music. This metamorphosis (within such a word's meaning and social function) shows that comfort is found where everything except a new idea communicates easily, and that fear is felt where a new thought might destroy that comfort.

It is more than probable that observations of this kind, though made in the field of music, should also bear witness to certain more general attitudinal trends in our present-day society. In some way, which, however, ought to be investigated and interpreted with infinite care, they undoubtedly reflect many aspects of the situation in which the human mind finds itself just now. Once the significance of obser vations made in a specific field is understood, information on the more general system, which made the observations, will have been gained.

The human mind, out of its desire to know itself, creates artificial systems in order to render this knowledge communicable. If the arti ficial system in which music was understood is now to be replaced by another or larger artificial system, then it should be of great inter est to observe how the human mind meets the demands which it poses. To this end, it is necessary to keep track not only of the results, that is: the music, but also to analyze, to register, and to store for further reference each moment of the working composer's mind. If the composer would have to program each of his ideas for a com puter system, he would have to define as accurately as possible what he is looking for. It is to be expected that the computer system will respond with far greater a quantity of propositions answering the definition, than the composer's mind alone is either conscious of, or able to imagine. At the same time, it would provide for an exact, step-by-step record of all the proceedings between initial definition and final choice. The composer's choice from the computer's propositions would still remain a highly personal decision, but would be 37 taken in a field which is not limited by the prejudicial boundaries of the choosing person's imagination.

My contention is, that the understanding of the human mind, which goes into the creation of music, will sooner or later communi cate to the listener of music. The more valid the intial understanding proves to be, the more the function of music in society will become of importance and of consequence. All music, that today is called beautiful, moving, or entertaining, once was the acute representation of a then contemporary vision of truth in the human mind. In order that the music of our day may add beauty, emotion, and entertain ment to future times, we should compose it to represent and to be congruent to our contemporary vision of truth in the human mind. That the search for this vision be a conscientious one, all that the human mind has created up to this day ought to be mobilized. None of its achievements, be they rational or irrational, be they knowledge or speculation, theory or practice, fantastic intuition or technological construction, should be excluded or even neglected, as long as the search goes on. 38 ERCOLINO FERRETTI

SOME RESEARCH NOTES ON MUSIC WITH TIIE COMPUTER

Music DOES not begin with the act of writing notes on manuscript paper. Music begins with the creative thought process as it relates to sound. In the tradition of written composition, the musician is forced to put his musical ideas in the form of notation since manuscript is the mode of communication between composer and performer. In computer music, this relation is not applicable since a single indi vidual is responsible for the entire process of generating music, and the concept of interpretation does not exist. The use of the electrical wave-form as the basis for generating music, introduces entirely new concepts of thinking about the organization of the materials of music. Here, all the attributes of music are considered simultaneously: instrument design, performance, style and composition (written or improvised). In addition, if the combined techniques of electronics, computers and coding are to be used for the generation of music, then it appears natural to use the inherent properties of each of these techniques integrated into a new concept. To specify and process the total information of a musical experience requires coding techniques uniting the computer with the art of music, rather than an expan sion of the conventional system of notation. The latter would result in forcing a tradition to meet an entirely new concept rather than allowing the concept to establish a new heritage. It is upon this philosophy that the research has been motivated. 39 The research has dealt with the analysis and synthesis of musical sounds, establishing a relevant mathematical model, and coding techniques. The process of analysis combines scientific techniques - laboratory measurements, with the techniques of the musician-listening. The musician because of his experience has an extremely well-built-in system of analysis which can be utilized very effectively. The primary objective has been to analyze musical sounds in an attempt to find characteristics of all sounds which can be related to a simple mathematical model. Investigation has clearly indicated that 1) most musical sounds are non-periodic and 2) the instrument coupled to the performer behaves as a non-linear system.

In the frequency domain, analysis shows that the frequency spec trum of many musical sounds is continuous with pronounced peaks, where the successive center frequencies at the peaks can be integral or non-integral multiplies of the lowest frequency. The important features of the spectrum are the widths of the peaks, the variations between the peaks, and the relationship of the center frequencies of the peaks.

In the time domain, analysis shows the center frequencies to have some independent frequency and amplitude characteristics.

In selecting a representation for a "musical" waveform, the con siderations are simplicity, number of parameters, and a direct rela tionship between the sound and its representation. If for example the Fourier series were considered as a representation, a large number of terms would be required to approximate a "musical" waveform, and in addition it would have the disadvantage that the Fourier coefficients are not conveniently related to the characteristics of sound. Further, the objective is not to duplicate exact waveforms, per se, but rather to find the general characteristics of sound from which new families can be developed.

A representation which will satisfy the requirements is described below.

A musical sound, S(t), can be defined as a sum of components, fx(t), as follows: n S(t) 2; fx(t) (1) l=l where fx(t) is of the form ax(t)t . ( ) fxt ( ) = A xe Slllwxtt. (2) 40 The merits of the representation given in Eqs. (1) and (2) are in their ability to represent a broad class of musical sounds with a relatively small number of terms, and the parameters of each term are simply and directly related to the sounds. In all of the synthesis carried out up-to-date, the number of terms ranged from 4 to 12, with relatively simple forms of ax ( t) and wx ( t) .

The advantages of Eqs. (1) and (2) are: 1) The beginner can start with a single component with rela tively simple characteristics and make associations between the resulting sound and the mathematical model. As the artist molds his materials to greater complexities, so can the musi cian make more and more complex associations between his musical thinking and the model. 2) Experiments have shown that a sum of only two components in Eq. ( 1) can produce the characteristics of musically inter esting sounds. 3) Eq. (1) can generate line spectra, center frequencies with side bands, and continuous Fourier spectra with relatively simple choices of the parameters ax(t) and wx{t).

The synthesis of musical sound in relation to Eq. ( 1) involves an extremely important point. There are some characteristics of musical sounds which can be identified and categorized ... there must be, since the violin does not sound like a trumpet, etc. These characteristics can easily be related to Eq. ( 1) providing solutions for ax ( t) and wx ( t) . While these relations are useful as a source of information, they are of little value if used as a source for establish ing a common "library" of musical sounds. If a general solution were to be used by all musicians, then the magnificent and unique personalized qualities of music would not be realized. A musical sound produced by two different performers on the same instrument can result in significant waveform differences. Similarly, ax(t) and wx(t) should express the individuality of the musician.

The problem of developing a code for computer music involves the following factors : 1) The act of generating music requires the processing of large amounts of information. 2) To maintain a high degree of flexibility between action and response requires that the input data be kept at a minimum. A solution can be reached if the code is related to the style and 41 requirements of a single individual and if the code combines the inherent properties of the computer with those of music. While the framework and techniques of the code as developed can be of value to all musicians, each musician must tailor the code to meet his demands.

The code which has been produced by this research relates the parameters of music to the parameters of the representation. The musical parameters are considered in terms of rhythm, pitch, timbre and peak intensity. Each of the parameters are in the form of sequences which are modified by a set of sequence operators. The code was designed in octal notation anticipating a special purpose keyboard which is binary in nature.

The efficiency of this coding technique can be described in rela tion to two of the musical works generated with the computer where the average input data specifying the musical parameters is 1.3 (12 octal bits) words for the equivalent information of one bar of music produced by the performance of a musical instrument. 42 GODFREY WINHAM

HOW MUSIC 48 GENERATES FORMANTS AND NON-HARMONIC PARTIALS, AND IMPROVES WUDNESS CONTROL AND '"QUALITY"

THIS ARTICLE is chiefly addressed to the small but growing number of my colleagues who have some experience with sound-generating computer programs, and describes a central feature of the Princeton MUSIC 4B system which is not available in other systems, with the main object of making it possible for them to include something of the sort. However, I also hope to make myself understood to any one else interested in the concepts involved to the extent of having digested James C. Tenney's excellent article [1].

Basic to Bell Labs' MUSIC 4 (cf. [2]) and its precursors (one of which is Tenney's subject) is the principle of sampling a stored function. I shall presume understanding of this and the terms in which it is described in [l], especially the term "(sampling) incre ment" and the relation of this to pitch, duration, etc. The "G2 unit generator" explained therein became "OSCIL" in MUSIC 4, and implements this basic principle, which I therefore refer to as the "OSCIL principle." Also understood must be the relationship of "instruments" and "note-cards" (again, see [1]), which remains essen tially the same in MUSIC 4B. The OSCIL principle retains today its central significance for 43 computer synthesis, and the method is still applicable in essentially its original form to many frequent necessities. Nevertheless it has proved unsatisfactory in this form for the most fundamental application, viz. the production of the basic waveform determining the harmonic content of a steady-state (as opposed to the modification of this steady-state by slower cyclic factors such as vibrato). This is because of several disadvantages, cumulatively rather than separately decisive:

( 1) Since the steady-state has a fixed number of distinct ampli tude-values regardless of how many partials it contains, more com plex waveforms are not represented accurately enough to eliminate audible noise components - audible, that is, not (except in extreme cases) as something "extra," but rather as somewhat "poor quality."

(2) Non-harmonic partials cannot be obtained, since any such partial would cycle a non-integral number of times within the stored waveform, shifting phase when the latter recycled. It is true that this is only an inconvenience, in that any combination of frequencies can be represented as harmonic to a suitable artificial choice of funda mental; but it is still a serious disadvantage.

( 3) The method is closely tied to that concept or aspect of "timbre" which is invariant with waveform, as opposed to the at least equally significant invariance of spectral envelope or "formant."

( 4) The theoretical harmonic content of the stored waveform is actually produced only provided the specified sampling increment does not call for partials higher than Yz the conversion rate R; this is of course inevitable, but unfortunately the result of calling for tones too high to have the full series of partials is not merely that the "too high" partials do not sound - instead, partials occur with fre quency R minus the proper frequency ("fold-over"). Hence special waveforms have to be stored for high notes, which is not only a nuisance but a serious loss in storage space.

( 5) Equality of peak amplitude, as given by an OSCIL parame ter, is not a reasonable approximation to equality of loudness. For this purpose two improvements are necessary: (a) some kind of average, preferably the root-mean-square (RMS) amplitude, must be under control instead of the peak value; (b) some compensation must be made for the effect of the various fixed filters in the whole sys tem, including the converting and reproducing hardware and espe cially the human ear (fortunately all these can for practical purposes be considered to constitute together a single filter). 44 In order to solve all of these problems it is necessary to calculate the value for each l/R sec. of each separate partial. This calculation would be prohibitively expensive in time if done by formula, i.e. via a sine subprogram; but instead we can use a function-storage block for the necessary sine "table," thus in effect applying the OSCIL principle separately for each partial. This compromise reduces the time-loss (the ratio of time now used to time used by the OSCIL method) to the order of the number of partials required. The values for the partials are simply summed after making the modifications required by (3) and ( 4).

Thus problem ( 1) vanishes immediately; and indeed the im provement in "quality" is dramatic.

As to (2): there is no longer any essential difference between harmonic and non-harmonic partials.

( 3) requires that the amplitude values for the various partials, considered as having frequencies of a given multiple of what is arbi trarily taken as the fundamental 1, be multiplied by their amplitudes as specified according to their absolute frequencies; thus an "input waveform" is modified by a "formant," each of these being given by another "table" or function-storage block.

As to ( 4) : if the absolute frequency of a partial exceeds l;2 R, this partial is ignored.

To deal with (5) we make use of the well known mathematical theorem of Parseval, to the effect that the RMS of a function is equal to the sq. root of l;2 of the sum of the squares of the amplitudes of its component partials. Now by means of another "table" we associ ate each absolute frequency with a number representing the predicted effect of the external filters. Since the human ear is the major one of these, a function resembling a Fletcher-Munson curve is appro priate. Before applying the above theorem we modify the individual amplitudes according to this curve, thus eventually obtaining a kind of biassed RMS which serves as a much improved approximation to a loudness specification. (The theorem should not be applied on every sample because taking a sq. root is too slow; instead the ampli tude is allowed to get "off" by an inaudible percentage - for exam ple, due to pitch variation which changes the effect of the formant before each correction.)

The unit generator implementing these ideas in MUSIC 4B is called FORMNT, and has six parameters, viz. the (biassed) RMS amplitude, the overall sampling increment determining the pitch as 45 in OSCIL, and the four functions indicated above, specifying:

1. The basic sine cycle.

2. The relative frequencies, amplitudes and initial phases of the component partials of the "input waveform"; thus each partial re quires three locations in this storage-block.

3. The formant.

4. The "response curve" (optional; if not used, a strict RMS amplitude results) .

In the last two blocks, the space from frequency 0 to Vz R is divided into 512 equal frequency-spans. The overall sampling incre ment is multiplied by the relative frequency to determine which span is relevant to a given partial.

To make certain that this article contains all the information needed for other implementations, I include below the FORMNT subprogram from H. S. Howe's MUSIC 4BF, the FORTRAN ver sion of MUSIC 4B.

FUNCTION FORMNT (RMS,SI,NF1,NF2,NF3,NF4,PHS,SSL,SH) DIMENSION JUNK (1092), F(512, 20) COMMON JUNK, F z = o. FORMNT = 0. SS= 0. IF (RMS) 10, 4, 10 10 DO 3 I = 1, 508, 3 FREQ = F (I, NF2) IF (FREQ) 1. 4, 1 1 J = FREQ * SI * 2. + 1.5 IF (J-512) 2, 2, 4 2 COEF = F (I + 1, NF2) * F (J, NF3) IF (NF4) 20, 20, 21 20 X = COEF GO TO 22 21 X = COEF/F (J, NF4) 22 SS = SS + X * X K = AMOD ((FREQ* PHS + F(I+2, NF2)), 512,) + 1. 3 Z = Z + F (K, NFl) * COEF 4 PHS = AMOD ((PHS +SI), 131072.) IF (SS) 5, 9, 5 5 IF (SS-SSL) 6, 8, 6 6 IF (SSL - ABS (SS - SSL) *4.) 7, 7, 8, 46 7 SSL = SS SH= SQRT (SS/2.) 8 FORMNT = Z * RMS/SH 9 RETURN END

The following information may be necessary to explain this sub program. It is called once per sample from another subprogram cor responding to a MUSIC 4 "instrument," which sets the values of the first six arguments; the remaining three are merely used for what must be "remembered" from one call to the next. If the "response curve" feature is not desired, NF4 is set to 0. (If no formant is desired, NF3 is filled with 1 s, i.e. is just a horizontal line.) In state ment 1, the multiplication by 2 allows the frequencies to run from 0 to Y:zR instead of R; the addition of 1 merely reflects the fact that in FORTRAN we have to consider the range 0-511 (modulo 512) as 1-512 for subscripting purposes; and the extra .5 is to round off the absolute frequency rather than truncate it. In statement 4 the overall phase is reduced mod. 211 merely for exact equivalence with the fixed-point BEFAP version where this was the largest possible number. The size of this number determines the degree of possible discrimination between relative frequencies of non-harmonic partials, and the subroutines used to generate NF2 must truncate the specified frequencies at the 8th "binary place" (512 = 29, and 17-9 = 8) in order to prevent an eventual phase-shift of these partials when the overall phase recycles. This is done in FORTRAN by multiply ing by 25 6 ( = 2 s), truncating to integer form, returning to floating point and redividing by 256. Of course in the FORTRAN version a much larger limit could be used; but this is hardly of any practical benefit, 256 possible frequencies between each adjacent pair of har monics being surely enough. Statement 6 checks whether the power (amplitude squared) is "off" by as much as 25 % . January 1968

REFERENCES

[l) James C. Tenney, "Sound Generation by Means of a Digital Computer." Journal of Music Theory, Vol. 7, No. 1 (Spring 1963). [2] M. V. Mathews and Joan E. Miller, Music IV Programmer's Manual. Bell Telephone Laboratories, Incorporated, Murray Hill, New Jersey. [3] Godfrey Winham, The Reference Manual of Music 4B. Department of Music, Princeton University, Princeton, New Jersey (1966). [4] Hubert S. Howe, Jr., Music 4BF: A Fortran Version of Music 4B. Depart ment of Music, Princeton University, Princeton, New Jersey (1967). LEJAREN A. HILLER, JR. 47

SOME COMMENTS ON COMPUTER SOUND SYNTHESIS

I HAVE TWO comments to make concerning computer sound synthesis which I hope will lay some stress on points thus far not emphasized in this discussion.

My first comment is this: I think it is of great importance also to install the reverse process that provides analog-to-digital conver sion. Furthermore, this reverse process should be entirely compatable in terms of sample rate and word size with the D/A system, a tech nical accomplishment which is quite feasible. There are a number of reasons for doing this, among which I should like to cite the follow ing: (1) We badly need analytical data on the characteristics of real sounds, particularly data on complex phenomena such as transients, noise components, intermodulation effects and many similar prob lems. I need hardly point out that our knowledge concerning such matters is spotty, rudimentary and often really no more than guess work. With AID conversion and appropriate programming, the anal ysis of these phenomena is quite practical; and, in fact, several groups of research people, including ourselves at Illinois, are already engaged in such work. The availability of such data would certainly greatly assist the search for new and satisfactory musical timbres, supple- 48 menting the trial-and-error. methods one must so often now employ. (2) A system like this permits sounds from other sources besides a computer to be stored in a computer. Once this is done, these sounds may then be edited and transformed by computer programs and they may be combined with computer generated sounds. Moreover, this provides a practical way of eliminating much of the tape slicing, with its tedium and inherent inaccuracy, that one must resort to at present when working in the conventional tape medium. (3) We must not overlook the desirability, or really, the absolute necessity of finding a digital method for building up archives of electronic music of all sorts, to say nothing of valuable recordings of performed music. As you know, ordinary audio tape deteriorates with time, and the sound quality of master tapes suffers thereby. Since more and more of our new music is likely to involve sounds on tape, either completely or in part, many of our important compositions are in jeopardy of grad ually being destroyed by time. In contrast to this, digital storage has the virtue of permanence, since a prime copy can always be regen erated from master copies stored in digital format.

At the University of Illinois, we do not have a complete system of this sort yet, but have large parts of it assembled. We have a 13- bit DIA converter and an 8-bit AID converter on our ILLIAC II computer and have the programming to accompany these systems well under way. A matter of prime importance to us is the item of gaining the extra five bits on the AID system. At present, we oper ate our DJA system at the optional rate of 40,000 samples per sec ond, employing 13-bit words for defining the instantaneous amplitude of each sample. We also have both DIA and AID conversion on our CSX-1 computer, utilizing 10-bit words with a 30,000 samples per second conversion rate.

My second comment is this: looking ahead to the future a bit, I believe that electronic sound synthesis may in the long run be most effectively done by hybrid systems that employ both analog and digital components. Digital sound synthesis, used exclusively, seems not to be the final answer because ( 1) it is expensive in terms of computer time, (2) it is difficult mostly for administrative reasons to eliminate the problem of "tum-around time," the delay between submitting a problem to be run on a computer and getting the results back, (3) sound synthesis conflicts with time-share systems because it requires uninterrupted blocks of computer time and ( 4) some proc esses are simply done much more simply and easily by analog hard ware, by which term I include many of the familiar items of a typical electronic music studio. We have considered the problem of hybrid systems a good deal, and, in fact, an article on this subject by David Freedman of our Department of Electrical Engineering is scheduled 49 to appear shortly in the Journal of the Audio Engineering Society. Because of this article, I shall not discuss many of the alternatives considered there, but let me note, however, that our present plans at Illinois call for the acquisition of a medium-sized satellite digital computer as part of a Systems 360 installation that is to be obtained by our Department of Digital Science early in 1967. The satellite computer would resemble the system recommended by Freedman, and would be capable of doing much of the calculation required for both the analysis and synthesis of sounds. It would also have attached to it a large amount of analog equipment, including probably most of our present electronic music studio. In addition, moreover, it would provide access to the total computer installation whenever the capabilties of the special purpose computer were exceeded. I should point out that this is only a provisional plan at present, and I do not wish to give the impression that we already have a system like this budgeted and definitely in the works. We are fairly optimistic, however, about our prospects. 50 DAVID LEWIN

IS IT MUSIC?

ONE'S ANSWER depends, of course, on how one defines "music": if one defines it as "organized sound," the answer is "yes." I would myself answer "no," however, meaning the following:

A piece of music, as we have until presently understood it, is a minimal set of instructions to performers: the latter can not produce a "legitimate" performance without at least obeying all those instruc tions (to within an agreed-on approximation), no matter what else they also do.1 A performance is one specific complex of acoustical events. The composer's instructions control a psychologically critical but quantitatively extremely limited amount of the sound actually produced at any one performance. Those aspects of that sound which are not specifically controlled by the composer (a very large quan tity) are to be organized at the discretion of the performers, whose task is to organize them in a way consistent with and cogently inter related to the aspects indicated by the composer.

In distinction, nothing more happens in the sound of an elec tronic piece than what the composer has explicitly demanded: his instructions (indeed this word is no longer appropriate) are not only minimal but maximal. One says, that is, that music is a performing art, electronic music is not.2 It is then improper to say that a com-

1 This does not mean, of course, that a "legitimate" performance will be "good"; if the composer is competent, it should be "adequate". 2 The introduction of random elements in an electronic piece is itself a composi tional decision; it is clearly not the same as leaving aspects of a performed piece non-specified. In the context of this paper, I am excluding from consideration as "electronic music" compositions in which electronic sound-sources are used specifically as instru ments to be performed in concert. poser "performs" his own electronic piece; rather he executes it, as 51 a painter executes a painting. And while his product remains to be played (as a painting remains to be hung) with greater or lesser effect, that product is still essentially a finished one, a tape.

A passable analogy may be made to the relation between theater and cinema: the former is a performing art, based on sets of instruc tions (scripts) , the latter an executive art, in the sense that there is essentially only one product intermediate between the creator and his audience, the finished film.

I would contend that the future of electronic music hinges cru cially on the way in which its status as a medium independent from (although related to) conventional music is exploited. In this con nection, I shall discuss two attitudes toward the genre which have attained fairly wide circulation but seem erroneous to me.3

The first of these is the conception of an electronic piece as (a tape of) an "ideal performance" of a conventional piece; accord ing to this view, the composer is his own "performer," and the apparatus with which he works is an "instrument" in some extended sense. I have already indicated in what ways I consider this idea inexact and misleading. In terms of the analogy previously suggested, it is obvious that not every successful movie is a film of an ideal performance of a play; in fact, I can think of none that are, and would be prepared to argue that no film so conceived can succeed on that ground (although it might succeed for other reasons, or con tain passages of strictly cinematic interest as, e.g., the battle sequences in Olivier's Henry V.)

The view seems to have some historical plausibility if, for exam ple, one considers the transition from conventional to electronic media in Babbitt's production during the 'fifties. Again, I recall vividly a conversation with an older musician, a friend of Webern. He said (as I remember in paraphrase): "If only Webern were still alive, how happy he would be with the possibilities of electronic music! I remember with what frustration and how long he had to work with his performers to produce exactly the sound he wanted." There is certainly no doubt that, historically, the rise of electronic music was

3 Of course, I do not mean to claim that the value of a work of art depends directly (or even at all) on the accuracy of the artist's critical perception of the nature of his activity ... obviously we do not consider the obiter dicta of, say, Bee thoven or Wagner in this light. Rather, I wish to examine certain attitudes that appear to carry overt or covert normative connotations which seem invalid or inadequate, and which might prove inhibiting to the development of the medium. 52 crucially related to first, the growing importance in certain idioms of timbre, attack, et al. as features of vital structural importance, and second, the inability of conventionally trained performers to cope with the demands imposed by such compositional practice.

But it does not follow that electronic music is, in its nature, a substitute for or idealization of performance; argument from histori cal determination is, as so often, dubious. Granted the scarcity of intelligent and musical performers, granted the special performance problems created by radical compositional innovations, it still seems self-evident to me that what a good composer can conceive for per formance, a good performer can perform. This, of course, in the strict sense discussed toward the beginning of the present paper; if a composer wants an absolutely exact and completely specified acous tical event, then, I would claim, he is not thinking in a "conventional music" but in an "electronic music" medium. In this sense, perhaps some of Babbitt's instrumental works of the 'fifties are to some extent versuchen towards electronic music. (I am not completely sure of my attitude on this point, and do not know his.) About Webern I am considerably more sure: although I have no doubt that he would have been interested in electronic idioms had he lived on, his works strike me as intensely "conventional" in conception (in the present sense of the word). I imagine his anguish with per formers was not so much less when rehearsing Mozart than when preparing his own works.

The second idea I shall examine is that one ought to employ only "non-conventional" sounds (sine tones, noise bands, et al.) in elec tronic music, as in much of Stockhausen's work. This notion has a certain practical relevance, since the "new" sounds recommended are generally easy to generate and control synthetically. Further, the idea seems to have a certain aesthetic plausibility: if we are dealing with an art medium different from conventional music, should not this difference be reflected in a difference in material employed?4

4 A special category of electronic piece comes to mind in this connection: the taped collage which employs quotations from conventional music not simply as source-material but as recognizable and basic features of the composition. I believe that both proponents and opponents of the view just outlined would agree to exclude this practice from discussion of the question at issue: whatever one's opinion of the value of such works, their effect clearly depends to a large extent on the deliberate manipulation of ironic references outside their own inherent structures. In this sense, they are an "impure" medium, relying strongly on poetic as well as electronic musical techniques. 5 To use my earlier analogy: a successful movie may, for instance, involve "characters" (e.g., The Gold Rush), even though characters are conventionally asso ciated with the theater. While this view has the virtue of recognizing a fundamental dis- 53 tinction between conventional and electronic music, it errs in exag- gerating the importance of the raw material used or not used, at the expense of the much more significant differences at issue. It is doubt- less very unlikely that a composer who is thinking electronically will produce a tape that sounds like a record of a conventional piece. But this, as I have indicated above, is because of the necessary difference in approach to the medium, not because the individual sounds must necessarily be radically different. 5 The business of electronic, as of conventional, music is not to produce sounds but to organize sound-time (if I may be permitted the fanciful neologism). To the extent that the media differ, the psycho-acoustical results will necessarily differ. If a composer is genuinely thinking electronically, his piece will not sound conventional, whatever material he employs; the view under discussion, then, puts the cart before the horse.

In addition, it is needlessly restrictive, granted the above argu ment. The fact that a given event may sound like a recorder or a tenor drum is surely no more and no less distracting than the fact that another event may sound like a steam jet, like rice falling on a tin sheet, or like an identification signal for a radio station. In either case, the distraction is serious for a listener only in proportion to the extent that the piece is not engaging his attention as a vital structure.

In sum: the essential and radical distinction between conven tional and electronic music is that, in the latter, the composer is exercising complete control over the total acoustical complex of events. While this may mean that, for practical reasons, the individ ual sounds employed are likely to be acoustically simple in contrast to conventional sounds (at least while the art is in an early stage), I do not see that it implies any preference for certain sounds over others beyond an individual composer's predilections and the con text of a given piece. On the other hand, this "complete control," at best an aesthetic myth in any conventional medium, becomes a practical reality and necessity in electronic composition; and this demands a new kind of thinking on the composer's part, and a new attitude for the listener. The problems it imposes and the potentiali ties it suggests, very different from those of even the most closely related conventional music, are those which will be central to the development of the genre. 54 HAROLD SHAPERO

REMARKS

THERE CAN be little quarrel with the computer-composer, and the electronic studio. The strange confrontation of man and his machines is with us everywhere, permanently. Like the bomb, one can regret that it has happened at all, but it is too late. The musical machines, coupled with the composer explosion, have altered our artistic life, and the musical scene bristles with new alienations, displacements, alleatoric ailments, depersonalization, and dehumanization. Along with these complaints come unmistakable excitement, novelty, fasci nating complexity, many successes.

There is no reason for the engineer-musician to avoid the com puter, and no reason for the natural composer to rush to the machines. Our musical life will undoubtedly continue chaotically but with incredible diversity. So far, the wonders of western music make it difficult to listen with devotion to most machine-made com positions. The machinery seems excellent for producing exciting clunks, hissing noises, space-music, many genuinely evocative sounds, intricate rhythmic complexes, and effects of disassociation. Where our machinery is unaided by voice or conventional instruments, it seems weak in rendering lyric, expressive, humanly significant quali ties, though this bothers very few among the young. Computer com position raises familiar artistic questions of will, freedom, instinct, mechanism. Debate about these matters is laborious, perhaps irrele vant. In many ways computer culture is what we deserve. Yet we must insist on our human options. In listening for the first time to Stravinsky's new Requiem we 55 are again reminded of the creative power of individual genius, and what the inner ear has been able to accomplish when guided by the highest musical intelligence. Here we have beauty, freshness, lumi- nosity, perfection, concern, tradition. One cannot help thinking that perhaps the computer may be a poor medium for the sublime.

PART III 57

"WHAT DO YOU, AS A COMPOSER, TRY TO GET THE STUDENT TO HEAR IN A PIECE OF MUSIC?"

WHAT DO YOU, AS A COMPOSER, 59 TRY TO GET TIIE STUDENT TO HEAR IN A PIECE OF MUSIC?

Chairman: PETER WESTERGAARD

Panel: MILTON BABBITT

MARTIN BoYKAN

ROBERT COGAN

Ross LEE FINNEY

BEN JOHNSTON

LEO KRAFT

BILLY JIM LAYTON

ROBERT HALL LEWIS

SALVATORE MARTffiANO

LAWREN CE Moss

LOUISE TALMA

RoY TRAVIS

WESTERGAARD: The question we're considering this afternoon in volves a matter of immediate professional concern to all of us. As composers we have an interest in forming listeners who are at least competent listeners. This doesn't mean we're just concerned with people who only listen. I think most of us assume that in order to be a competent performer, in order to be a competent composer, one must, in fact, also be a competent listener.

I've asked the members of the panel to avoid generalities, to refer not just to "the student," but to tell us what kind of students they have, what kind of preparation their students have had, and what kind of professional aspirations they have. 60 TALMA: My remarks will be limited to music making use of tempered sounds. I will leave to my colleagues the discussion of how to listen to microtonal and electronic music.

Mr. Westergaard has used the expression "competent listening." I'm very much interested in having "competent listening" on the part of my students. It's very difficult to obtain this in a detailed manner. I can get them to listen to the broad shape of something; I can even get an introductory music class consisting entirely of non-music majors to do this. That is, they will have a general notion of the shape of a sonata form, let us say - what is an exposition, what is the development, and what is the recapitulation. But this is rather like going to the Moscow Art Theater, or the Comedie Fran~aise, or the Bavarian State Theater without knowing the language. We can hear the difference between anguish and joy and between laughter and tears. But we can't get very much farther than that unless we know the language. And the language consists of words. If a student in an English class, after his teacher had spoken the sentence, "The quality of mercy is not strained" were to write, "The quantity of fercy is not brained," he would be considered either a lunatic, or a deaf man, or an ignoramus. Now I personally, and I suspect a good many other people, get the musical equivalent of this a great deal of the time. And my concern is - before any intelligent listening to a work as a whole can take place - so to train people that they can recognize the difference between one word and another. And that's about what it boils down to.

FINNEY: In my immediate experience I'm largely concerned with teaching professional students, but I'm not sure that what I have to say doesn't apply elsewhere. I find that the difficulty that I face is to make students listen - period. I find that we are in a period of music that is written for prepared listeners and this means an intel lectualization, which comes either from some purely intellectual processes or from visual processes. These get in the way of the actual process of listening without prejudice - of just simply pointing your ears and first listening. This is the real problem I find that I have had to face with students during the last five, or six, or maybe ten years. I find it very difficult to get students to sit down and give the time to listen to a new piece of music, and to get into the piece to do that initial work that has to be done with a piece of music. Naturally, I would expect a student to have some difficulty with Gruppen of Stockhausen or the Double Concerto of Elliot Carter, but nevertheless it's my conviction that both of these works must not be analyzed by the student until the student has had the aural experi ence of acquaintance with this music. Now I have got to admit that there are reasons for this situation 61 having developed. I understand these reasons. For instance, it is per- fectly true that we sometimes hear what sounds to us like a dominant relationship, but we are told that this must not be a dominant relationship. In other words we are in a period of change where our conditioning, and this word conditioning I think is important in the whole listening process, is in conflict with something that is happening in music. Now the assumption is immediately made that the solution to this is an intellectualization. Well, I disagree with this. I think that the solution must be first listening and then intellectualization. So I work simply by listening.

WESTERGAARD: Two issues have been raised. The first is the priority of listening before intellectualization. The other is the com petence and training of, let us say, more advanced students by the time they get to composition or advanced analysis seminars - can they in fact hear what they're talking about?

COGAN: I see the question as fraught with ambiguities, and I'm pessimistic about this discussion because I don't think we're ever going to resolve these ambiguities. If a student's going to hear a piece of music and hear something in it, what he hears is going to depend on the performance and on what the performer has done. In other words you could understand the question as, "What is there in a performance to hear?" Another ambiguity comes with the definition of hearing.

For me there is no distinction between musical hearing and musical thinking. Sometimes one is going to have to be talking about one and sometimes about the other, but there is a point at which they ultimately meet. As far as I'm concerned they must meet. If they don't meet, and I think this is one of the things Professor Finney is talking about, then it's catastrophic. So if I approach the question from the side of thought, it is because in my experience as a teacher, that is where my gravest problem lies. I don't have the hearing prob lem implied by Miss Talma. My students are professional music students, and they can hear in very simple ways intervallic relations; this is no problem. But there is a great problem, not only in my students, but I think in every student, in every performer, in every composer, and even in those who claim to be thinkers and theorists, in the way they think about music. To give you an example of the kind of thing I mean: I came to a rhythmic problem in Mozart's Piano Concerto K. 488. The figure of a quarter note followed by an eighth note was used as a pattern in accompaniment in 6/8 in an dante. I discovered something in Leopold Mozart which apparently 62 no performer of this day knows (although everyone, presumably, these days has more musicology than he can stand), and that is that this figure is to be performed as an eighth note followed by an eighth rest followed by an eighth note. Now this had extremely impor tant consequences for rhythmic relationships, the whole character of the piece, every aspect of the piece. I proceeded to go through the Schwann catalogue and get all the recordings of the piece that I could hear. No one plays the piece this way. I don't think the per formers ever considered this problem. This is an example of how on the simplest level (and this is really a simple instance because no great analytic problems are involved, no great historical search is necessary to discover this fact), no one thinks about the music in these terms. I could pick thousands of examples, and I'm sure every one here could. To me, this is extraordinarily serious because I find it throughout the whole history of music, throughout the whole musi cal experience. For me, the question comes down to, "What do we give to hear and how do we hear a piece of music in our own minds?"

BABBITT : Bob, when you discovered this in Leopold Mozart, did you think, now this makes the piece in some significant way more coherent? This is the way I would choose to play the piece.

CoGAN: Yes, yes.

BABBITT : I don't see why you needed Leopold Mozart except that you think this would have been a license that you wouldn't have taken unless you'd seen there'd been that historical precedent before.

CoGAN: Yes, because it involves a radical re-interpretation of the notes on the paper.

BABBITT: Louise, I'd like to get back to what you said and ask what you mean by "word recognition"? I'm interested in the analogy you made with language.

TALMA: I mean, quite simply, for a student to be able to tell the difference between the dominant and the subdominant.

BABBITT: And now for example, let me ask you this, would you regard it as analogous with word recognition that he can remember the first note of the piece after, let's say, five minutes into the piece? Do you find that easy to do - for your students?

TALMA: No. BABBITT: If we have a student who can't recognize that a note 63 has been repeated, a pitch has been repeated, we would regard him as a rather difficult case to deal with. But what about the student who doesn't recognize the pitch after there's been a certain interference (if you wish to use that word) by musical events for about five minutes? What about this whole memorative question which is involved in the structure? I gather Louise feels in some way like a foreign language teacher.

TALMA: Yes.

BABBITT: In other words, we're taking people with no knowledge of a foreign language, or very little knowledge of their own language, and we're asked to make them into masters of this particular language style within a matter of four or seven years. This is a very serious problem. I want to know what you think about this whole ques tion - how are you going to go about teaching these people "word recognition"?

TALMA: I think you have to start at rock bottom and make them able to count accurately - both intervallically and rhythmically - and to give them drills coordinated with musical examples from the literature.

BABBITT: And when would you be satisfied, Louise?

TALMA: When they can accurately account for everything that is played.

BABBITT: You mean accurately write it down?

TALMA: Yes, or reproduce it on an instrument.

BABBITT: Would you be satisfied if they could write -you see I'm concerned about this dichotomy that's constantly being made between what we see and what we hear.

TALMA: Well, I think that this is a preliminary. I don't say that this is the end-all and be-all of listening - by no matter of means.

BABBITT: I'm really concerned about this because you know George [Perle] after all, yesterday protested that he had heard these things [in Wozzeck] rather than seen them, and Bob said he had heard this Pastorale reference.* If on the one hand we're going to

''' W ozzeck I, i, m. 4. 64 check what we hear by writing it down, and therefore there's some one to on.e correlation between the graphemic and the aural, and then on the other hand we say we find these things by hearing them but not seeing them, I'm confused. I'm disturbed by what Ross said about the lack of correlation between intellectualization - I take it that means some sort of theory construction of what we hear - and hearing. I don't know what it means to have a musical theory that isn't based upon what we hear. Again we're back to this terrible, terrible dichotomy between theory and practice. As if practice is one thing, and then theory collapses when confronted by practice - as if theory is some sort of useless speculation which we indulge in because we don't have a theory of the practice. And this concerns me deeply, Ross. If your students are creating theories that are not based upon any kind of auditory evidence, then I don't know what this is as theory.

FINNEY: Well, it's a miserable theory, of course.

BABBITT: Well, I would say it's not theory. It's at best a hypo thesis which manifestly collapses upon being confronted by auditory evidence.

FINNEY: Well, exactly.

BABBITT: After all, there are infinitely many things you can say about a piece of music, and the test, eventually, has to be an empiri cal test. I'm always disturbed by this because I assume that some people think that this is what I do.

BoYKAN: I found Mr. Finney's comments also somewhat ambi guous. We would all like to say, I think, that we listen to the piece first. Unfortunately, I don't think anybody does listen, or can listen, in a state of total innocence. We listen with theoretical constructs already there. I have had plenty of students who when first con fronted with a piece of Schoenberg, for example, will find this dom inant chord- immediately, ah ha! this is a dominant chord, the key is such and such, this is a dominant relation, and they will look, tum 25 pages, until they can find something that vaguely resembles the tonic that resolves that dominant. They are carrying into their listen ing a theoretical construct from the past which says that the tones that form the dominant chord do set up a dominant relation and will be resolved. That is correct in the music of the past because the composer explicitly does resolve it, does set up that relation. This is a problem that I find all the time. You cannot in the early stages, even in advanced stages of teaching the student, get him to listen without theoretical constructs already present, so to speak, as 65 prejudices.

I'd also like to pick up Miss Talma's analogy to language which I find very interesting and very useful. If you go to a play in a foreign language, that's one thing; you obviously can't understand the play unless you know the language. You can also go to that play and understand the language very well and understand the words, the meanings of all the words - you still get very little out of the play. You have to understand the unique relationships that these words are forming, the particular structure of that play. And what bothers me very much in our teaching is that, as Milton has said, we are really foreign language teachers. On the undergraduate level, even on the graduate level, we spend our time teaching people the difference between the subdominant and the dominant, teaching them to hear row forms, or whatever. This is analogous simply to teaching the words of a language, and there seems to be very little time to really get down to the particular structure, the particular relations that exist in a particular piece of music.

TALMA: Whether the relationship is a dominant one or not, or whether the music is Schoenberg or Bach, the sounds are sounds, and what I'm getting after is that first of all a student must be able to recognize the sounds, and that as far as a real understanding of the relationships is concerned - naturally, that is what we're after eventually - he can't make a judgment on the relationships at all unless he knows what the words and sounds are.

BABBITT: Let's not carry analogies too far, but if you go listen to a German play with a knowledge of English and insist that you listen to it in terms of English cognates, you'll probably arrive at the conclusion that it's not worth listening to.

KRAFT: In terms of a freshman harmony and counterpoint course with a group of ill-prepared freshmen in a liberal arts college, the question of what you want them to hear, I think, was very aptly stated by Miss Talma in the beginning. But I'm eager to have the students hear music in terms of movement and of things happening - of operations rather than of specific frozen moments. In terms of their prior preparation, two things get in the way. One is the idea that it is somehow wrong to talk about music at all in any kind of specific terms, because music is something which trickles down from heaven or from Hollywood or from some other mysterious source. 66 It has to do with inspiration. I'm speaking of music majors now who have been supposedly studying music with some vague professional goal for a number of years. To them the idea that one is going to study this piece of music and analyze it in any terms at all is anathema, and they resist this for a while, and it slows things down.

The second is, they come along with another idea which is that all study of music is somehow centered around chords. When some student has said, "This is the dominant seventh chord," he feels that he has made some absolutely profound statement (whether he's heard it or doped it out on his page as you often see it in their assign ments written in the margin - the notes of the dominant seventh chord so they can reassure themselves). I'm speaking of the fresh men now with whom I am most concerned at the moment.

These two difficulties have a bearing upon the question of theory and practice because personally I am unable to draw the line between theory and practice. At every point there is music, there is a flow through time, and I want the students to get the idea that it is pos sible to study this movement through time in terms of a whole series of operations which don't always come out the same way. Sure, the first four bars usually go from I to V, but there are a million and one ways of getting there, and the interesting thing is to see how Mozart gets there, and how Brahms gets there, and how somebody else gets there. But there is, nevertheless, a body of theory which kind of trickles in as the semester goes along. The theory, I suspect, at the start is in the professor's head, and the practice is what you want the students to get to do, but if the practice has any consistency, if it has any organization, if Monday's practice has any relation to Wednesday's practice, then there's probably going to have to be some kind of a theoretical basis to it. And theory doesn't mean teaching the students a whole series of principles and then telling them to go listen to music. I think it's just the other way around. We start by having them listen to as much music as possible and gradually to draw generalizations from that.

Moss: At the Yale Graduate School I've been teaching theory to entering composition students. They've supposedly been through all this - learning according to the rules - and they have an under standably hostile attitude towards doing it all over again. I've found it extremely helpful to treat theory as much as possible as composi tion. This way they develop rather exact appetites as to where tones should go. (They know presumably how they should go according to the book, but this of course often, in fact usually, involves in finite possibilities.) Thus the rules come through their own personal experience in writing or in improvising from a figured bass. WESTERGAARD: How is this related to listening? 67 Moss: You can't embroider an Italian adagio without anticipat ing harmonic movement.

WESTERGAARD: You mean that composers listen in terms of how they expect things to go - they smell things out?

Moss: Right.

LEWIS: I both agree and disagree with some of Mr. Finney's statements regarding the listening and the intellectualization proc esses. While I do certainly share his interest in having students listen, I also think that too much blind listening without the accompanying intellectual background is not particularly salutary. Now I'm refer ring here specifically to a course which I teach on the senior and graduate levels in Baltimore. This is a course in contemporary music which consists mainly of an analytical study of selected works: Bartok, Stravinsky, Hindemith, Schoenberg, Berg, and Webern, and if any time remains, we examine certain works of members of the post-Webern school. Now let me say that the majority of these students are not composers. Most of them are either performers, theorists, or musicologists-to-be, and generally their knowledge of twentieth century music is minimal, so much of this material that I am teaching is unfamiliar territory to them. Now I feel that I've really accomplished something if most of these students, I say most, can transfer the analytical data and information I give them to the actual listening they do. In other words I feel that it's not unrea sonable and superidealistic to expect the advanced, professionally destined student to be able to hear such things as the structural parallelism that exists between movements II and IV of the Bartok Fourth Quartet, or shifting tonal regions as you might find them in Hindemith, or contrapuntal procedures as you might find in the Schoenberg String Trio, opus 34. However, it becomes more nebu lous and improbable if you expect them to hear clearly the canons in Webern; it's a different matter. After thorough analysis and dis cussion, few students are able to get much of the imitative structure here. However, most of them can, after some stressing and repeating, perceive the rondo-like design in the finale of the Schoenberg Fourth Quartet and of course pick up the set in the first and third move ments. But that's about it. If we've accomplished this, I feel we're doing something. Now this is, of course, a very nebulous thing too because this listening ability I think depends upon the basic musical gifts of the individual, and we all know they are highly variable. But no members of the class can go much beyond this. I mean I can't expect them to hear the retrograde structure of Luigi Nona's Incontri nor the set of Boulez's Structures I. This is rather obvious I think. 68 But what I try to do is to teach students to listen to music with the hope that their perceptions will be increased in varying degrees, and that not only will this enhance their ability to listen to new music, but it will enhance their ability to listen to music of all periods and styles.

BABBITT: I'd like to get back to something that I was going to ask Ross about which is a little different. You mentioned yesterday the concept of chromatic completion when George was doing his Wozzeck talk. Now there's a concept. Do you teach this to your students in the sense of training them to hear this notion of chromatic completion, which is at least historically vindicated-Webern speaks about it a great deal with regard to his middle works? There's a genuine concept that would help people to hear, at least in some recording form. They could take large chunks of Webern, and they could reduce them to a single unit.

FINNEY: Before I answer your question, may I defend myself? It may be that I live in an evinronment where the random is par ticularly rampant. Believe me I'm not opposing these contemporary processes. What I'm saying is that they lead the student to the posi tion that it isn't until the event of the performance that the music exists, and therefore it's only then that anything happens, and this leads them to the position of not being concerned about the musical score before that moment. Now obviously I fight this with every ounce of my energy, but I first find that the greatest problem is to get the student to listen and to make this the beginning of his study. Now naturally I think that chromatic completion can sometimes - not always-be exceedingly important and can sometimes be a great help. I'm convinced by serial concepts, and they are very much related to the aural experience of the work. But I can't even start working on them if I have a student who has developed this preju dice against listening, and I find that this is something that has developed in the past six or ten years and that has made it extremely difficult to deal with such things as memory retention, with the mil lions of things that make for structure. I suppose that there's a sort of destruction of, an opposition of causality that has led to this situ ation. Now it seeps down, let me point out, to the layman. I don't teach laymen, but I have always taught an absolutely elementary course for people who are not going to be composers. Now it's curi ous that you will find these people with that same prejudice. They haven't any musical experience, but they have absorbed that preju dice, and I find it extremely difficult to get them to listen. And I find that before I can do anything, I've got to get them to listen. Once you've succeeded in that, then I think you can perhaps go on to the business of intellectual understanding of the music, and I hope 69 I didn't imply that I was opposed to this.

BABBITT: Oh, no. I used chromatic completion because you had introduced the concept yesterday and because it's one with which we're all familiar. Isn't what you want these people to do when they hear is hear in terms of certain concepts that you regard as the most fruitful and with the greatest explanatory scope with regard to that piece or a certain collection of pieces? So here we get back again to the question of the relevant concepts.

FINNEY: The universal concepts that are opposed to purely con ditioned concepts. I think we do have to fight often a lot of condi tioning in hearing.

BABBITT: The informal conditioning of one's native language is fine; you exploit it as you try to formalize it and make people a little more aware of the general structure. The other conditioning, if you wish the interference conditioning, is of course negative transfer; that is what happens when you take the dominant seventh chord in Schoenberg's opus 33a and decide it functions as a dominll!t seventh and therefore you can dispose of the rest of the piece because the dominant function doesn't function correctly.

COGAN: Are you suggesting that one must hear everything related to the structure of a given piece? Let me give you an example before you answer. There are thousands of pieces that act on a principle of rhythmic acceleration. You start with certain kinds of variation - you know, you start with a quarter note and then it becomes eighth notes, and triplets, and sixteenth notes, etc., etc. I think that in many pieces, while it's part of the structure of the piece, it's a fundamental of the structure of the piece, it isn't really extraordinarily fruitful to take that in.

BABBITT: If it's a part of the structure of the piece, how is it not fruitful to take it in?

BoYKAN: Aren't you saying, Bob, that we don't talk much in class about these classical variations that do that because we assume that people can hear when the composer marks double time? If they don't, obviously I would say that is very relevant and should be talked about.

BABBITT: If we're discussing the capacity to hear things and the capacity to identify them verbally, we're into the whole question of 70 associated verbal concepts. You were talking about this too, Ross after all the verbal concept that you associate with what you perceive is obviously going to have a great effect in the whole memorative process. We're back to the old Carmichael experiments again. If you show two groups of people the same shape, tell one group of people that it's eyeglasses and the other that it's dumbbells, when they're asked to reproduce it, the eyeglasses people are going to reproduce it one way and the dumbbells people are going to reproduce it an other way. That's why we have to be terribly concerned about these attached verbal concepts. We're all talking about memory, about increasing memory span, and therefore we're back to that question of verbal responsibility; if you call this thing in the Schoenberg a dominant seventh, you're in trouble.

MARTIRANO: Everyone agrees that there are many things that go into what is relevant. However, we always find ourselves talking about the things that we can talk about, and the first thing that you say, just because it is the first thing that you say, becomes more important, assumes a higher part in the hierarchy. Now, to com ment on the French play where you don't understand the language, you're hearing something, right? You're seeing the people. Perhaps understanding the language could interfere with the perception of this play on another level.

BABBITT: On what level, Salvatore?

MARTIRANO: We can't talk about that other level. This is the problem.

BABBITT: If what you're saying, Salvatore, is that if you can't talk about something, don't talk about it, no one agrees more than I do. I'm concerned about people who assume to be talking about something when I disagree that they're really talking about it. But look, if what you're saying is you can be hearing on another level, you're not talking about understanding the language, but something else. We were talking about understanding the language. If I hear enough French, I'll probably be able to infer the sonic constraints of the language. I'll realize that certain phonemes follow certain phonemes more regularly than others. I still will have no knowledge of the semantic content of that language. I won't have any extensive knowledge of the language. Now if you say that's irrelevant, then we're not talking about the same issue. Louise says it is relevant. That's the point.

MARTIRANO: I'm not saying that the analogy to language is irrelevant. BABBITT: No, no, I'm sorry, you misunderstood me. We're not 71 talking about whether the analogy is relevant or not. We're talking about what aspects of this play would be relevant. If you say, look the content, the semantic content of the play is not of any consequence, all right we can argue about that, but that is not the argument. The argument is how do we teach people to understand the semantic content?

MARTIRANO: If it were possible to go down two different roads at the same time, this would be an ideal way of understanding a piece-in other words to be able to look at it from not understand ing it and to look at it from understanding it. Some of the most thrilling musical moments that I've had are when I'm not analyzing.

BABBITT: But, Salvatore, who listens to anything in English and analyzes the constituent structure, or even, if I may say so, the transformational structure? I don't know what the argument is really.

JOHNSTON: I think that the worst problem we face as composers, and certainly as teachers, is that we are dealing with people who often don't pay attention when they're listening. It's partly that they can't because they don't know what to pay attention to. But I think that my way of looking at it, especially as a teacher of beginners (not that they're the only people I teach, but I'm thinking about that particular experience) is to get them aware of the tension be tween the different kinds of order that the piece seems to me to have. Not simply of one of those kinds of order, and not certainly, simply of whatever kind of order they already bring as their habitual way of listening to all music. If it's a piece they've never had any prece dent for, for example, perhaps it's an electronic piece for which there isn't any score and they've got to fend for themselves somehow in listening to this piece - well, I would try to see if there's some way to communicate to them what it seems to me this piece depends upon in terms of its order, and if possible, several different kinds of order so that the interplay between these kinds of intellectualization, if you want to call it that, doesn't have to be verbal. It can be purely a matter of the forms themselves and the way they associate together in the mind in terms of the auditory experience as remembered. I do think that verbalizations are a help in this case; I don't think they're a hindrance. I think that we often assume that because we ask people to analyze something that we're tearing it apart. (I guess I'm thinking about Debussy's objections to this procedure, but I don't believe he meant them in quite that way.) I think that if we teach in that way we are helping to destroy. But my understanding of some of the insistence on "just listening" that we have today is that a 72 great many people in attempting to turn their attention to music are really turning their attention to what they remember about the theory of music, and I think if we can combat this as teachers we have to do it right along with trying to build up some sort of structures that they can listen in terms of.

KRAFT: But this has to do with the prejudice against using your brains in any kind of musical situation.

BABBITT: Well, using your concentrative abilities, and the ques tion is how do we test this? Ben says that they don't listen, and I agree, but how do we find out whether they are really listening? We have to indulge in verbalization. It's not a matter of whether we like it or not; obviously, it's necessary; therefore we do it as best we can. How do we develop their memories? We cannot pretend to know much about the theory of memory here, but we know enough basic things to know, for example, that a student will remember things by virtue of recency. We try to expand this, and he has to recode into larger chunks again. We try to get people to learn in terms of concepts instead of individual notes - intervals; instead of intervals, larger groups of things.

I agree with you, by the way, about the different kinds of order. I'm very suspicious of a piece which can be described very simply because I assume if it's a reasonable description, it's a very simple piece.

MARTIRANO: How about listening to a piece as the accompani ment to an unseen action?

WESTERGAARD: What does that mean?

MARTIRANO: I just want to bring up subjects other than recog nizing the fact that there's a difference between a half-step plus a minor third and a half-step plus a whole step.

TALMA: But that's all there is in music - sounds and rhythms.

TRAVIS: I can sum up my answer to the question, "What do you want a student to hear in a piece of music?" in three words: namely, I want them to hear what is there. It is extremely difficult to get a student or anyone else to do this. A real encounter with a piece of music is an indescribably complex, unique, and probably unrepeat able experience, even for the same listener hearing the same composition in an identical recorded performance. Certainly such an 73 encounter involves more than either ( 1) passively registering a succession of particular auditory sensations, or (2) recognizing on a purely symbolic or conceptual level a number of structural relationships of various kinds and degrees. At the minimum, hearing what is there involves a complex, mutually enriching interplay between the above-mentioned perceptual and conceptual components of the musical encounter. It follows that conceptual insights, to be meaningful, must have a direct bearing on one's perceptual experience of the piece of music. Indeed, it is the purpose of such insights to illuminate that perceptual experience. For example, yesterday in his discussion of Wozzeck, Mr. Perle suggested a number of different, sometimes overlapping, headings which I would characterize as conceptual within the context of this discussion. Each of these became meaningful to me only to the extent that the visual image of the example evoked in me the memory of a quite definite and precise perceptual experience. Although I was well aware before of the particular complex chord form built above G which ends the opera, now that Mr. Perle has pointed out to me in very specific, musical terms that every act ends with this same chord form built above G, and every act but Act I begins with this chord, it will no longer be possible for me to hear these sections in quite the same way ever again. In fact, the force of this concept, plus, obviously, the shape of the music itself, makes me quite unable to hear measures 4 through 6 of the opening scene as he does with what he calls the individual tone center of C# or Db, because it is now clear to me that Berg in the first three measures of the opera is gradually un- folding the very chord form G-D-B-Db-F, which, with the added A natural at the end of the opera, forms that chord form. In other words, every note except for the A is contextually present in the initial three measures. So that I can now hear the motive in measure 4 as a melodic motion through B, F, and Db, which are all contained within the recurrent chord form built above G which appears explicitly in measure 6. So what happened to me yesterday is what I try to make happen to my students at home. That is, I try to lead them to discover or to recognize certain conceptual relationships which once recognized will deepen and intensify their experience of the succession of auditory sensations which make up the surface of a musical composition.

WESTERGAARD: That was one of the first answers we've had to one of the things I meant by the panel question. We've been talking so much about the deficiencies of students and so much about the problem of teaching students who are unable to do what we think they ought to do, that we haven't really answered the question of what exactly we want them to try to hear. 74 LAYTON: I just want to say that in my teaching at all levels, including elementary classes for non-musicians, as well as advanced classes even of composers, what concerns me is more my own de ficiency than that of the students. In other words, I'm much more worried about what to listen for myself. I'm much more concerned about trying to find these concepts, these general principles in terms of which one may examine a piece of music. And as I'm sure most of us do, we have to recognize that we are deficient and we move in a pragmatic way. We have a piece of music, we look at it with whatever tools we happen to have available, and very often the students can suggest things to me which are much better than some of the things which I would think of. I have found in my own experience that the most practical approach is to tie the discussion down to actual works of art as much as possible and to specific analysis of those works. I don't mean only two or three bars (very often that is what happens in the more advanced courses) but also an overall piece (if you're trying to introduce the general student to a classical symphony, let's say) . But it's finding those principles which is the problem with me.

WESTERGAARD : Well, if you say you have difficulty finding them, you obviously are dissatisfied with the principles that have been handed to you in the past.

LAYTON : Or with anything I can come up with.

WESTERGAARD : What you're really urging then is -

LAYTON : a search.

BoYKAN : Sal, I'd like to come back to something you were say ing before, and I'd like to support it in a way. I would not like to make too heavy an emphasis on the specific listening experience. The experience of a piece of music is a large one that's built up of many listenings and also study of the score. If I can't grasp a piece after two listenings, for example, I can grasp it after I've looked at it, and - whether this is significant or not is another question - I know that a certain pitch that occurs here does in fact recur there in a place I had not seen it before. So that we do, I think, always bring a great deal of our past experience of a piece to bear on the particular experience of that piece. I would agree also that in the case of a program piece we are bringing other experiences to bear. If you want to understand a tone poem of Strauss (that's a contro versial question) I think you do have to know the program. The program by itself is not interesting, but insofar as it is focused into the piece itself, insofar as it's a part of your experience of the piece, 75 it is, I think, just as valid a part of your experience as the analytical studies or just the reading of the score that you would have done before. So "a piece of music as an accompaniment to an unseen action" I understand. What I don't understand is an unseen action when I don't know what the action is.

JOHNSTON: Don't you think there can be an abstract kind of program? At least dance music taken as such is indicative of a cer tain kind of action which is visual and yet you don't assume that you have any plot such as Strauss gives you.

BoYKAN : No, but I have to have something definite, and it has to be something that the composer has written his music about. What I'm saying is no more than the text of an opera, and I don't care whether the opera has any plot or if it's an abstract opera or what, but I have no faith in what the listener imagines or the kind of experience which is great because it's vague.

WESTERGAARD: I'd like at this point to open the discussion to members of the audience.

ALEJANDRO PLANCHARDT (Harvard University): For the par ticular music that I'm concerned with, the music of the middle ages and the renaissance, the theoretical background we teach is hope less. It is impossible to understand a piece of Leonin or Perotin in terms of dominant sevenths, but the temptation to do it that way is great and the time to teach any intellectualization is small, since we have to spend most of our time teaching the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Wouldn't there be a point in trying to expand the student's listening so he can understand what Philippe de Vitry is talking about? In fact, I would like to suggest that teaching the beginning student to sing chant is a particularly useful way of teaching him to listen to the first elements that Miss Talma was talking about.

TALMA: But we do this.

COGAN: I'm concerned with the implication that we teach only the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. I can only speak for myself and the people I work with, but we don't, we teach the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries also.

YEHUDI WYNER (Yale University): We're basing all this on the weird assumption that the students have come to college not having heard a note of music before then. 76 TALMA: That unfortunately is often true.

WYNER: They've been completely immersed in the eighteenth and nineteenth century tradition of harmony and counterpoint, with rock and roll from morning to night. They've learned a complete language. They've learned it very solidly. They've been conditioned, and there's no way to uncondition them. One must simply accept that as the foundation and somehow elaborate upon it or pervert it or whatever else, but there's no way of wiping it out. And perhaps it's a great mistake for us to think that we want to wipe it out.

DONALD MARTINO (Yale University): It's been my observation at least that most of the students who come to me, either as under graduates who have had no proper training in music, or those who intend to be theory majors or composition majors, or even those who come as graduate students - performers or composers - are really not very well trained and can't hear very much at all, even the best of them. And it seems to me that the courses we give would be unnecessary if they could hear something. It seems to me that all of the harmony courses that are given over and over and over again and that these people take over and over and over again never sink in. They never really sink in because they're filled with a good num ber of concepts which are, as we all know, incomplete and have to be completed individually by the student in his hearing experience, that is in a sense contextually. With each new piece he has to begin to re-evaluate. If he can't hear anything he can't do that, so he begins to employ the same games over and over and over again. They don't seem to work for him. I think the problem is that once somebody's 18 years old or 22 years old it's a little bit too late to start these things.

BABBITT: But Don, that's what we're stuck with.

MARTINO: Maybe one of the functions of this society might be to recommend that we begin going back to an old-fashioned ideal, that is starting ear training early. It would of course have to be organized in a very special way because our aim is not to get them to recognize certain kinds of patterns that fit into the tonal system or fit into this system or into anything else. The point is that when you take a three-year old or a four-year old you can do something with him; when you take an 18-year old you can't do anything with him. Why don't we address ourselves to this? It will make our job a lot easier.

TALMA: I agree with you 100 per cent, but if you do that you get mixed up with the administration. If you toss out all the people who can't hear you'll end up with a class of three or four, and they 77 won't run the course for that.

MARTINO: I'm not suggesting that you toss them out, but I'm suggesting that we begin to insist, perhaps at the graduate level, that the colleges do more, and then let the colleges do more and insist that the high schools do more, and ultimately we'll get down to the real point, in kindergarten, where it all has to start.

TALMA: Yes.

HENRY WEINBERG (Queens College): In music education during the thirties, it was decided to stop teaching children to read music because it was a conceptual construct and interfered with their true experience of music. The theory was that they couldn't exploit the real musical experience they brought with them, that they found sur rounding them, and the thing to do was to encourage and develop real musical experiences in their environment. Now this philosophy has been adopted in a number of large city schools in which I have taught, and the result is that the children are not guided to learn any thing new or to develop their musicai capacities along the lines of increased academicism, but rather to stay well within their own envir onment. The feeling was that by opening them up ·to this environ ment they would have the kind of experience which would make them want to go on and develop more, develop discipline within them selves, in other words. This has simply not worked out.

COGAN: I'm just going to rephrase my initial statement. I just don't find it to be true that the students cannot hear.

TALMA: But you teach in a conservatory and that's a different situation.

MARTINO: So do I.

CoGAN: In a sense. But because my experience is so contrary to everything that I hear I think that it's interesting to state it. Our students at the end of the sixth week of the second year for one example sang an excerpt of about fifteen measures from Moses und Aron as an exam. This they didn't do at sight, this they did prepare, but they also had a fragment to do at sight. In this sense the students that I deal with can hear. I still think there's a tremendous deficiency in what I would call the area of musical hearing, of linking this kind of hearing to musical thinking, and this is what concerns me. 78 BoYKAN: At Brandeis a few years ago there was some talk of withdrawing credit from the teaching of foreign languages on the grounds that the proper academic discipline is the teaching of litera ture, that teaching of language is just a tool that should be required but should not have credit. At that time we actually thought of with drawing credit from ear training (and ear training includes also the traditional teaching of harmony) on the grounds that this really should be done privately and ideally should have already been done, so that at the college level you can approach the problem of musical thinking, that is approach the particular unique structure of a parti cular piece.

WESTERGAARD: But you didn't do it?

BoYKAN: We chickened out. We faced enormous pressures.

KRAFT: In the New York City University we have students who are the product of a not only non-musical but I would say anti musical training in the elementary and high schools, and we have a whole generation to contend with. We're not in a position to say, "Well, let's start all over with kindergarten now." We have to deal with the students who are seventeen, eighteen years old, who can play six or eight chords on the guitar, and who want to be music majors. I suppose in some sense one can say, "I'm sorry, you can't be a music major," but since we are supported by the money which is paid by the taxpayers of New York City and New York State we are not in a position to say to these people, "No, you may not be music majors." I think a large part of the discussion today has real istically centered around the question of what do you do with this freshman who can find his five notes on the guitar and nothing else, and although I would love to see this society get to work on starting something musical in the kindergarten level, I would also like to see it devote its attention to the first year of music theory in college and how you can get the most mileage out of it, and how you can set up a standard by which you can honestly say to a certain number of students at the end of the first year, "No, you have not made it. Please take up something else." If there were some kind of a standard which was not imposed by this department or that department but which was accepted on a national basis and we could say that our students have not met this standard, we'd be in a stronger position to weed out those who are incompetent but who are very difficult to get rid of.

TALMA: Hear, hear. STEFAN BAUER-MENGELBERG (Mannes College) : There is a 79 major project underway, the contemporary music project, which is financed by a very sizable grant from the Ford Foundation, which is currently trying to plot the same kind of reform in the teaching of music in the secondary schools that has been done by the new mathematics. And it will take of course a terribly long time for this to take effect, and it will not solve your problems immediately, because one has to fight the entire education establishment. There are many problems connected with it, but the mathematicians too had to fight the entire education establishment, and the real difficulty of bringing the new mathematics into the schools was not making it palatable to the kids, who by and large love it and eat it up, but to retrain the teachers. I think the same situation, the same problem, will obviously occur in music, and I don't think one should expect an overnight change. There are efforts being made, and I hope that the society will support these efforts. It will take a long time, obviously a generation at the least.

BABBITT: Of course this is a parallel in which we are all inter ested, but after all the new mathematics program was instituted by creative working mathematicians. Now the NEMC project is almost entirely in the hands of music educators. I do not say this dispar agingly; I've been involved in their project as you know, and some of these people I find remarkable, but they're working under the most impossible conditions, and less and less is there any contact now between composers and the people who are doing this work in the NEMC.

LEJAREN HILLER (University of Illinois): I don't teach under graduates, except occasionally, and I find that in the courses that I teach, which include a course in acoustics, I often have to undo what I think is the damage done by conventional theory courses. Students come to me with a high residue of cultural conditioning toward what I would call the genteel tradition in music. Point one: they learn to listen, for example, to sounds in terms of identifying these with instruments. They hear an electronic sound and they all say, "That's oboe like." This is what I have to undo. Point two: I find that even after they've been through the conventional theory pro grams, they have no real ability to listen in terms of intonation dif ferences. They can hear very well let's say a quasi-equal temperament, but the moment I try to get the students to identify whether there's a 7: 4 ratio in a chord, they're hopeless. Now this is important in a new medium like electronic music. I have to start all over again and not only undo the notion of a dominant seventh chord leading to a tonic, but show them that the dominant seventh chord they've always 80 heard is a badly tuned chord. A third point: one of the sentiments that I see cropping up is that rock and roll and all the rest of that is some horrible thing we have to expurgate as fast as possible and convert the students to the grand tradition from central Europe. I'm not sure I go along with this idea. It disturbed me what Herbert Brtin said the other day about administrative music. I think the academy is a place where the administrative music is propagated with great relish by teachers, and popular music is frowned down upon to the denying of the environment, whatever it is. I feel that there are two things that perhaps ought to be discussed in two separate panels. One is the question, and I know there is no sharp dividing line, of what it is you teach a person to listen to, such as naming chords and all the rest, which I think has been to some extent conditioned by eigh teenth and nineteenth century practice. The second is this question of listening to a broader cultural context and this I think goes into the performance of new music. I'm not even convinced that the academically trained composer or performer is the best person to deal with lots of contemporary idioms, because again you have to undo all sorts of prejudices built into the student. Now many of our best composers and performers have had for example extensive experience in playing jazz. I know this is supposed to be a dreadful thing to do, but I'm not so sure it hasn't served a very useful purpose in getting people to be less stuffy about performing music. I'd like to raise the question of just what it is you're going to teach in teaching people to listen to music. Are you going to teach them simply to follow along with a certain one-cultural context?

JOHNSTON: I do think that we need to form some sort of rela tionship, if possible a constructive one, to this whole other world of music. (I don't mean that we should build better rock-and-roll players, although it might incidentally be a fringe benefit.)

CARLTON GAMER (The Colorado College): I was interested in what Mr. Hiller said about the teaching of acoustics. I try to advise students to take a sensory processes course in the psychology depart ment. I think there's some value in training students to learn to hear in a psychological sense, of learning, that is, to make people aware of their own capacities - in the field of audition, for example, learn something about their thresholds of hearing, which vary somewhat from individual to individual, even to learn that thresholds can change under experimental conditions and to learn something of the nature of the hearing process as it applies to themselves.

FINNEY: I'm a little tired of finding the academy constantly made the whipping boy. I think even rock and roll is pretty fundamentally a part of the academy. I think that Mr. Hiller's groups and many that express similar ideas are very much a part of the academies; in 81 fact I don't know that they exist outside of the academies very much.

BoYKAN: Maybe my experience is somewhat peculiar, but at my place of business, all the people who work there, except for me, are expert in popular music. I would disagree that students come with a native language. That may have been true fifty years ago; in my experience it's not true now. Yehudi said they come with the eigh teenth and nineteenth centuries and with rock and roll; if they come with the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and with jazz, for exam ple, they are not coming with a native language, they are coming with two languages. We also have some students who come with a rather amazingly strong knowledge of contemporary music and already look down on the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries as something beneath their dignity. Our students come with all kinds of native languages. Most of those languages, however, are corrupt; they're incompletely understood. I have in the course of my teaching come across three students who could speak the language-any language-who could write it, let's say correctly and accurately. They come half-educated, and that's the problem.

omER PRESENTATIONS 83

Mr. Grant Beglarian, of the Music Educators' National Confer ence, spoke on the colloquium concerning the University and the Composing Profession.

Mr. James Tenney and Mr. Donald Martino spoke on the panel concerning Computer Performance of Music.

Mr. George Perle gave a lecture entitled "Discoveries and Prob lems in a Study of Berg's Wozzeck," which has been published as part of a larger article in Music Forum, Vol. 1 (1967), published by Columbia University Press. 86 MARTIN BOYKAN HENRY LELAND CLARKE Brandeis University University of Washington Waltham, Massachusetts Seattle, Washington

ALLEN BRINGS JOHN L. CLOUGH Queens College Conservatory of Music Flushing, New York Oberlin College Oberlin, Ohio HowARD BROCKINGTON Delaware State College ROBERT CoGAN Dover, Delaware New England Conservatory of RICHMOND BROWNE Music Yale School of Music Boston, Massachusetts New Haven, Connecticut DAVID COHEN DAVID BURGE Arizona State University University of Colorado Tempe, Arizona Boulder, Colorado *ROBERT COHEN GEORGE BURT Brown University University of Michigan Providence, Rhode Island Ann Arbor, Michigan WILSON COKER *HAROLD w. CARLE San Jose State College Teachers College, Columbia San Jose, California University New York, New York RANDOLPH COLEMAN Conservatory of Music JOEL A . CHADABE State Uuiversity of New York Oberlin College Oberlin, Ohio Albany, New York EDWARD T. CONE *WILLIAM F. CHAMBERLAIN Princeton University Juilliard School of Music Princeton, New Jersey New York, New York PAUL COOPER ROGER E. CHAPMAN University of Michigan University of California Ann Arbor, Michigan Santa Barbara, California BARNEY CHILDS FRED CouL TER Deep Springs College (California) Omega College via Dyer, Nevada University of West Florida Pensacola, Florida EDWARD M. CHUDACOFF School of Music *DALE A. CRAIG University of Michigan Stanford University Ann Arbor, Michigan Stanford, California

CHOU WEN-CHUNG GEORGE CRUMB Columbia University University of Pennsylvania New York, New York Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

GUSTAV CIAMAGA ARTHUR DANIELS University of Toronto Oakland University Toronto, Canada Rochester, Michigan *WARREN J. DARCY EDWIN DUGGER 87 Conservatory of Music University of California Oberlin College Berkley, California Oberlin, Ohio PAUL EARLS *JAMES H. DASHOW Duke University Brandeis University Durham, North Carolina Waltham, Massachusetts JONATHAN ELKUS MARIO DAVIDOVSKY Lehigh University Columbia University Bethlehem, Pennsylvania New York, New York DA YID EPSTEIN CONRAD DE JoNG Massachusetts Institute of Wisconsin State University Technology River Falls, Wisconsin Cambridge, Massachusetts AURELIO DE LA VEGA PAUL EPSTEIN San Fernando Valley State College Newcomb College, Tulane Northridge, California University New Orleans, Louisiana NORMAN DELLO Jmo Mannes College of Music DONALD ERB New York, New York Case Institute of Technology Cleveland, Ohio PAUL DES MARIAS University of California PozzI EscoT Los Angeles, California New England Conservatory of Music MARK DE VOTO Boston, Massachusetts Reed College Portland, Oregon ROBERT FINK ARLINE DIAMOND Western Michigan University Kalamazoo, Michigan Friends World College New Hyde Park, New York Ross LEE FINNEY CHARLES DODGE School of Music University of Michigan Columbia University Ann Arbor, Michigan New York, New York NICOLAS FLAGELLO ANTHONY DONATO Manhattan School of Music School of Music New York, New York Northwestern University Evanston, Illinois JACK FORTNER *JoHN ANDREW Down School of Music West Virginia University University of Michigan Morgantown, West Virginia Ann Arbor, Michigan JACOB DRUCKMAN PETER RACINE FRICKER Julliard School of Music University of California New York, New York Santa Barbara, California "' WILLIAM E. DUCKWORTH *BERNARD FRUM Atlantic Christian College Columbia University Wilson, North Carolina New York, New York lI _ 90 JEROME N. MARGOLIS *DAVID OLAN Bennett College Columbia University Millbrook, New York New York, New York DONALD MARTINO BLYTHE OWEN Yale School of Music Andrews University New Haven, Connecticut Berrien Springs, Michigan SALVATORE MARTIRANO JOAN PANETTI University of Illinois Yale School of Music Urbana, Illinois New Haven, Connecticut *JOHN B. MELBY ANDY J. PATTERSON University of Pennsylvania 1017 West Franklin Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Quincy, Florida LINDSEY MERRILL JOHN MAclVOR PERKINS School of Music Harvard University Kent State University Cambridge, Massachus.etts Kent, Ohio PETER S. MICHAELIDES GEORGE PERLE State College of Iowa Queens College Cedar Falls, Iowa Flushing, New York ROBERT MoEvs *STANLEY PERSKY Rutgers University Princeton University New Brunswick, New Jersey Princeton, New Jersey ROBERT P. MORGAN PAUL PISK College of Music Washington University Temple Uhiversi'ty St. Louis, Missouri Philadelphia, Pennsylvania ALEJANDRO PLANCHART LAWRENCE Moss Yale University Yale School of Musie New Haven, Connecticut New Haven, Connecticut RAOUL PLESKOW FREDERICK MUELLER C. W. Post College Spring Hill _College Greenvale, New York Mobile, Alabama · CLAIRE POLIN RoN NELSON Rutgers University Brown University Carriden, New Jersey Providence, Rhode Island JAMES NIBLOCK JOHN E . PRICE Michigan State University Florida Memorial College' East Lansing, Michigan St. Augustine, Florida , ROGER NIXON FRANCIS JOHNSON PYLE San Francisco State College Drake University . San Francisco, California Des Moines, Iowa JOAN TOWER O'BRIEN RELL Y RAFFMAN Greenwich House Music School Clark University New York, New York Worcester, Massachusetts JAMES K. RANDALL ROBERT SHALLENBERG 91 Princeton University University of Iowa Princeton, New Jersey Iowa City, Iowa

THOMAS L. READ HAROLD SHAPERO West Chester State College Brandeis University West Chester, Pennsylvania Waltham, Massachusetts

H. OWEN REED SEYMOUR SHIFRIN Michigan State University Brandeis University East Lansing, Michigan Waltham, Massachusetts HORACE RESIBERG NIEL SIR School of Music New York, New York University of Indiana Bloomington, Indiana LAURENCE R. SMITH Kalamazoo College *PHILLIP RHODES Kalamazoo, Michigan 264 Redwood Road Lemont, Illinois THEODORE SNYDER Wilkes-Barre College JOHN RINEHART Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania Heidelberg College Tiffin, Ohio HARVEY SOLLBERGER WILLIAM H. RIVARD Columbia University Central Michigan University New York, New York Mt. Pleasant, Michigan *JARED T. SPEARS JOHN ROGERS 1301 Rosemond University of New Hampshire Jonesboro, Arkansas Durham, New Hampshire CLAUDIO SPIES NICOLAS RoussAKIS Swarthmore College 20 Stephen Street Swarthmore, Pennsylvania Montclair, New Jersey JAMES E. STAFFORD *DAVID SAPERSTEIN East Tennessee State University Princeton University Johnson City, Tennessee Princeton, New Jersey PETER PINDAR STEARNS ALLEN SAPP Mannes College of Music State University of New York New York, New York Buffalo, New York HAROLD SCHIFFMAN LEON STEIN School of Music School of Music Florida State University De Paul University Tallahassee, Florida Chicago, Illinois

*JOSEPH ScHWANTER LEONARD STEIN Northwestern University Claremont Graduate School Evanston, Illinois Claremont, California

ELLIOTT SCHWARTZ ROBERT STERN Bowdoin College University of Massachusetts Brunswick, Maine Amherst, Massachusetts 92 ROBERT J. STEWART LUDMILA ULEHLA Concord College Manhattan School of Music Athens, West Virginia New York, New York *DAVID F . STOCK VLADIMIR USSACHEVSKY Brandeis University Columbia University Waltham, Massachusetts New York, New York ROBERT H. STOLTZE BARRY LLOYD VERCOE Lewis and Clark College 11903 Woodbine Lane S.W. Portland, Oregon Tacoma, Washington STEVEN G. STRUNK *GERALD WARFIELD Florida State University Princeton University Tallahassee, Florida Princeton, New Jersey JOHN SWANAY WALTER WATSON Conservatory of Music Kent State University University of Missouri Kent, Ohio Kansas City, Missouri HENRY WEINBERG RICHARD SWIFT Queens College University of California Flushing, New York Davis, California HUGO WEISGALL ANTHONY TAFFS Queens College 508 East Porter Street Flushing, New York Albion, Michigan *PHILIP J. WERREN LOUISE TALMA Princeton University Hunter College Princeton, New Jersey New York, New York PETER WESTERGAARD CLIFFORD TAYLOR Amherst College Temple University Amherst, Massachusetts Philadelphia, Pennsylvania JoHN D. WHITE FREDERICK C. TILLIS Kent State University Kentucky State College Kent, Ohio Frankfort, Kentucky DAVID RUSSELL WILLIAMS GEORGE B. Toon Eastman School of Music Middlebury College University of Rochester Middlebury, Vermont Rochester, New York Roy TRAv1s GEORGE WILSON University of California University of Michigan Los Angeles, California Ann Arbor, Michigan LESTER TRIMBLE OLLY WILSON University of Maryland Conservatory of Music College Park, Maryland Oberlin College Oberlin, Ohio GILBERT TRYTHALL School of Music RICHARD WILSON Peabody College for Teachers Vassar College Nashville, Tennessee Poughkeepsie, New York GODFREY WINHAM YEHUDI WYNER 93 Princeton University Yale School of Music Princeton, New Jersey New Haven, Connecticut STEFAN WOLPE VICTOR YELLIN C. W. Post College New York University Greenvale, New York New York, New York GREGORY WOOLF Tufts University ROLY YTTREHUS Medford, Massachusetts University of Missouri Columbia, Missouri CHARLES WUORINEN Columbia University MARILYN ZIFFRIN New York, New York Illinois Teachers College ROBERT WYKES Chicago, Illinois Washington University St. Louis, Missouri PAUL ZUKOF SKY Rutgers State University RUTH SHAw WYLIE New Brunswick, New Jersey Wayne State University Detroit, Michigan