The Story of ORCH5 Robert Fink, UCLA Germany Has a Very Long
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The Story of ORCH5 Robert Fink, UCLA Germany has a very long classical music tradition. - Ralf Hütter of Kraftwerk, 2004 The DJ plays your favorite blasts, Takes you back to the past – Music’s magic! (poof) - Afrika Bambaataa, “Planet Rock” (1982) “Tomorrow’s Music Today” - Advertising slogan for the Fairlight Computer Music Instrument, ca. 1983 1 PRELUDE: The Great Liberation, or, Is there Life after Death? The “death of (European) classical music” may seem a somewhat tired, even irrelevant trope with which to start an essay in the present venue—which is, after all, devoted to the study around the globe of (clearly quite healthy) popular music. Certainly there is no consensus among critics and scholars as to the survival of the literate, “cultivated” tradition of Western music as the twenty-first century advances, and even if there were, why should anyone doing popular music studies care, other than to register a small but real sense of satisfaction at avoiding what looks like a losing horse in the music history championship stakes? It oughtn’t matter much to the study of popular music whether, as partisans within the classical world indignantly retort, audiences for the symphony and opera are actually holding steady; whether, as classical record label executives report, the latest crossover hit has temporarily stabilized their bottom line; whether, as contemporary classical composers now has- ten to assure us, they really do care if you listen.2 And indeed, these material-cultural issues are of little import for the discussion that follows. What cannot be ignored is the fundamental epistemological crisis that besets Western music as it 1 Hütter interviewed by Sergey Chernov, St. Petersburg Times, 972, 28 May 2004; Fairlight slogan as quoted in Holmes 1996- 99; “Planet Rock” lyrics as transcribed by the author. 2 The reference here is to Milton Babbitt’s infamous article in High Fidelity, often anthologized under his preferred title, “The Composer as Specialist,” but which appeared in 1958 with the more journalistically apropos editorial title, “Who Cares if You Listen?”. For the revisionist soul-searching to which I refer above, see Ziporyn 1998. Fink The Story of ORCH5 1 heads into what more than one commentator has labeled its “post-classical” era (Horowitz 1995).3 I have argued elsewhere that the incipient collapse of our paradigmatic cultural hierarchy of music, along with its canon of “classical” masterworks, was easily discernable as European musical culture careened toward the millennium, ushering in a fundamental (and salutary) “de-centering” of its mu- sical world-view. As I pointed out then, under the somewhat whimsical rubric “Why You Need a Musicologist to Listen to Beck,” one of the most disorienting consequences, ripe for scholarly study, was the collapse of the classical canon’s segregating function, its ability not only to keep the “low” music out, but to keep the high-art classical music of the European past safely walled in, where mass culture could mostly ignore it, occasionally gesturing at it from afar, whether to resist (“Roll Over, Beethoven”), parody (“Bohemian Rhapsody”), or appropriate (“A Whiter Shade of Pale”) its snob value, along with (at times) its sounds and structures (Fink 1998, pp. 142-56). The story of ORCH5 is, accordingly, set within the de-centered world of Western music dur- ing the slow twilight of its classical canon. It will lead us from Düsseldorf to Detroit, and from avant-garde German modernism to Afro-centric hip-hop. It is a story of technology, of machines fet- ishized, appropriated, mistrusted, misused. It also turns out to be a ghost story, the story of what happens to a particular fragment of classical music after it stops being classical, when it is not quite dead, but, as Buddhists might put it, in the bardo realm halfway between death and new life. The classic description of the bardo appears in what is popularly known as “The Tibetan Book of the Dead”: the actual title, though, is (roughly) the Book of the Great Liberation, through Hearing, in the Bardo Realm. This is, accordingly a story of death—but there will also be an attempt at post- canonic hearing, and at least some intimation of the great liberation(s) to come. Reincarnation, what Pythagoras called “the transmigration of souls,” is not an exotic, foreign concept; it has always been deeply woven into the European musical consciousness, brought to us by the same mind to 3Kyle Gann, who once published a wicked and witty parody of the perennial “death of classical music” article (as a hard- boiled detective story) in his column at the Village Voice (Gann 1997), has titled his web log (and associated radio station) simply “Postclassic.” (The web log is hosted by www.artsjournal.com, and the (highly recommended!) radio station, winner of a Deems Taylor award, is streamed on www.live365.com.) Fink The Story of ORCH5 2 which we mythically attribute the foundational observations of Western music theory. The story I have to tell is of musical reincarnation, of the transmigration of tones. It is a tale of the afterlife of “classical music,” transmigrated through digital technology, the commodity form, and myriad fortu- nate cultural misreadings of a single famous chord. It is the story of the classical ghost in the hip-hop machine. Kastchei the (Digitized) Immortal ORCH5 is low-resolution, 8-bit digital sample, a very early one, perhaps the first one to be- come famous. It was digitized around 1979 by David Vorhaus, a computer programmer and classi- cally-trained electronic musician. The file appeared on Disk 17 of the 25-or-so eight-inch floppy disks that made up the sampled sound library shipped with each very expensive Fairlight Computer Musical Instrument. (In the United States, the going rate for a Fairlight Model IIx in the early 1980s was over $25,000; see Holmes 1996-99.) The Fairlight CMI, originally cobbled together in 1979 by two Australian inventors out of the ruins of the Quasar, a failed analog modeling synthesizer, was the first commercially available electronic musical instrument that, in addition to generating musical sounds through analog/digital synthesis, gave its owner the ability to sample pre-existing sounds into digital memory, process them, and play them back through a keyboard. It is thus the single evolu- tionary starting point for an entire phylum of ubiquitous (and much cheaper) digital samplers, in- cluding the Akai S-series (1984) and the Ensoniq Mirage (1985), so crucial to the rise of sample-based hip-hop. Kim Ryrie and Peter Vogel, the inventors of the Fairlight, considered its digital sampling ca- pability a technical hack, a clever shortcut on the way to their ultimate audio workstation. Digital conversion allowed them to implement complex tools for sound synthesis while bypassing processor- intensive tasks too difficult for its parallel pair of primitive Motorola 8800-series microprocessors. Nobody really took sampling per se seriously at first: company apocrypha identifies the first sound Fink The Story of ORCH5 3 sampled for melodic playback as the barking of an employee’s dog. But early Fairlight users singled out the CMI’s sampling power as a key differentiator, and soon company brochures touted the sys- tem’s ability “to incorporate literally ANY type of sound – not only classical and modern instru- ments but sounds of the world; sounds reflecting the full spectrum of life, from the subtlety and force of nature to the sounds of civilization and synthesis” (Fairlight 1983). This is why Fairlights be- gan shipping with floppy disks full of sampled sounds. Many of these soon-to-be famous samples had been somewhat casually appropriated by an adventurous first generation of users. Vorhaus, an or- chestral double-bass player as well as founder, with members of the BBC Radiophonic workshop, of the British electronic “pop” group White Noise, was a typical early adopter of the Fairlight; he brought his classical training very much to bear as he contributed to what would become the stan- dard set of samples included with every new CMI. ORCH5 was just one of a series of ORCH samples that Vorhaus and others culled from (one assumes) a quick troll through their classical record collections. The orchestral samples provided with the Fairlight feature short snippets of full-orchestra chords from the symphonic literature, usu- ally just a single attack, often pitched (TRIAD), but also percussion-dominated (ORCHFZ1), occa- sionally looped to provide a pulsating pattern capable of sustained use (ORCH2). ORCH5, the most famous of these, is almost certainly sampled from Igor Stravinsky’s ballet The Firebird; as I have veri- fied myself using digital sound processing, the loud chord that opens the “Infernal Dance of All the Subjects of Kastchei,” pitched down a minor sixth (and also slowed down, since digital technology did not in 1979 yet allow independent manipulation of frequency and sampling rate), can be made to match with tolerable precision an iteration of ORCH5 on the pitch C4 easily obtainable from several internet websites devoted to the mysteries of the Fairlight CMI.4 It’s not hard to fathom why Vorhaus picked this spot: the piece is famous, the sound is impressive, and, crucially, in every one of Stravinsky’s three suites from the ballet, this forceful blast is neatly isolated at the beginning of a 4 Audio samples of the Fairlight’s sound library, including ORCH5 can (as of late 2004) be accessed at Holmes 1996-99. See also the larger downloads of sound banks from the Hollow Sun website (http://www.hollowsun.com/vintage/fairlight/). Fink The Story of ORCH5 4 movement, framed by complete silence on one side and only a low pianissimo rumble on the other (Example 1).