We smoked a biddy together in the hinterland of Kenya. The moon was high, animals were roaming around. He gave me a finely wound wooden necklace, looked into my eyes and told me “Don’t forget”. We’d spent a week or so together- not much in the great river of time- and yet he’s one of the dudes whose influence has remained strongly in my musical world. Narayan Chandra Adhikary. He’s a great spirit and one of the true remaining Bauls. My friend Pietro, half Baul and half Roman, somewhere in between an espresso and a milky chai, shot this film from a gig in Italy.
Dear Hermes,
I’m on the move again in your hallowed name- this time in Kansas and it’s hot, real hot. T’was quite an ordeal coming here as it often is. They have these strange body scanners at the airports in this age and I was given several disconcertingly thorough full body searches which surely must seem strange to you. Well here I am now in the middle of a heatwave well into the hundreds (whatever that translates to) and the humidity felt like walking into a wet curtain when I got off the plain and into the planes of Kansas. I’m off now to visit my favorite crop artist , Stan, and talk about some of the latest crop circles from this year.
Had a funny performance last week- I was wondering for quite a while how I could raise the pitch of my didjereedo and then it suddenly dawned on me- a chainsaw! A friend shot the film with his phone and you can’t hear the didj so much but you can maybe put the pieces together, so to speak.
H
ps: I like the part when a bit of the didj is hanging off….
Losing it or gaining it?
One of the strongest feelings of internal movement in Taiji for me comes with the movement wave hands like clouds.
In ex-Yugoslavia I once found a practice spot on the Adriatic ideal for one of the strongest internal Saxophone training move clouds with single note.
I believe the only impossible thing is sneezing with your eyes open and even that I think I can make one day.
In aspiring to move these clouds, and in moving them with my f sharp, I assert my humanness by actively bridging the temporal with the eternal, if only for a moment- but then how much can be contained in a moment?
Goddess dam this be beautiful music! I listen to tracks like this Sabilulungan a lot of late. It oozes lightness, air, ease, honesty, and the happy marriage of intention and execution. There is a healthy dose of reverb on the flute but it works out just fine. I imagine the pundits to be seated comfortably on think carpets or flax weaving. It probably smells very good under the thatched roof and apart from the odd mosquito things are close to perfection. No one is trying too hard, the balance is good, the ritardandos sweet and subtle, not to mention those succulent mangos dangling nearby.
I need all of these qualities in abundance as I fly in the Americas economy class to the country whose debt on various levels are even larger than my love for this music which must thus be fucking huge, mate.
Degung Sabilulungan- Suara Parahiangan group:
Coltrane playing on this ballad reminds me of a couple of things and these thangs make this tune on the record on of the most appealing for moi. Firstly, his playing sounds like a very powerful motor running on a low gear, say a Ducati 998 on low revs in first gear in a pedestrian zone- you can hear already the beast within, aching to break out. There are a couple of little semiquaver runs which are akin to a light twist of the right wrist and a steep crescendo surge of engine noise, frightening away some of the pedestrians ahead. The other is a caged lion, also purring in a low gear but making one uncomfortably aware of his hunger, dormant roar, ever so slight impatience, and the worryingly thin metal bars of the cage which for the purposes of this post has a dainty painted sign hanging above it with the words S’wonderful and a human thigh bone:
Bosch had seen it. I don’t know how he did it but this man had left his body and managed to return with the visions and put them to canvas. There is something about this work that has held me for years on end in awe. Is it something I once saw myself but looked away? Are they passing into a tunnel of light or is it an all-seeing eye? The light in the tunnel is perfect in it’s proportion and framed powerfully by the black wings below, and the light itself oh so blinding. Back in 1490, I doubt humanity was that much different from today, they simply lacked Facebook, Jazz, and petroleum powered transport and Hieronymus would surely have been careful to codify his messages.
Hieronymus Bosch Ascent of the Blessed
My dear friend Mr Nabatov is currently residing in Brasil and is under strict orders from ze Goethe Institute to blog his experience. Expect some good sounds and at his blogspot here.
I am delighted that one of my favorite saxophonists will be taking part in the Plushmusic3 festival in October- Michael Moore. It has been quite a fight for Hans Martin in the Loft to battle through the new fire regulations band we have managed to forge a program from the molten mass of the cultural landscape of Cologne. Program will be officially announced early September. This is a track of Michael’s I love :
The other day I ran into a quote by Andrej Tarkovsky which comes close to a truth: Compare Eastern and Western music. The West is forever shouting, ‘This is me! Look at me! Listen to me suffering, loving! How unhappy I am! How happy! I! Mine! Me!’ In the Eastern tradition they never utter a word about themselves. The person is totally absorbed into God, Nature, Time; finding himself in everything; discovering everything in himself.
En route to Stelzen, one of the nicest and strangest little festivals I have experienced.
Accordions falling from the roof
Manure machines become church organs
My Didj is chainsawed bit by bit, raising the drone with musical violence
Tractors sputter in unison with Donkeys
Constructed by Peter Zumthor, the Bruder Kaus Kapelle in the Eifel is a place of true magic. It is beautifully tucked into the landscape and I am hugely excited to give a small concert for friends today in the space. I am especially looking forward to testing out the acoustics. It has been said that music is but frozen architecture, by this token I shall create some liquid architecture today through my saxophone and sruti box. The works I play?
“The Well Tempered Sruti Box”
This solo program is a collection of pieces for Saxophone and Sruti box. I fell in love with the sound of this small Indian drone box, so deliciously similar to a wooden briefcase, and after some experimenting I found a way in which I could play the Sruti box and the saxophone at the same time.
My Sruti box is chromatic, and well tempered at that,- and so I was given the necessary material to make my own collection of mini western ragas which, as opposed to Indian music, migrate through the 24 keys and give the listen the chance to compare the differing colors of the keys.
As a musician from New Zealand I grew up practicing scales, just like most musician in the West. Till this day, I feel I have not truly unlocked the secret behind the scale. At the same time I was going deeper into it’s foundations, the overtone series, the discoveries of Pythagoras, the symmetry of the major scale, and so on. I wanted to find a musical outlet for these investigations and the saxophone and the Sruti box gave me the ideal vehicle.
The pieces are miniatures in which I give all the notes plenty of time to sing out. They are short improvisations in which I explore the symmetry of the scales over a simple drone. I was curious as to whether or not the keys do contain differing colors. They are tiny laments, fantasies, preludes, caprices- depending on the moment. Sometimes I depart from the Sruti box and let the Saxophone take me elsewhere.
Within the space of an hour I move through the 24 major and minor keys. I use different systems to travel through the keys. Over the well-tempered Indian suitcase I experiment with just intonation, tuning my saxophone notes according to the overtone series and to the timbre of the little singing box.
It is a tiny declaration of love between my saxophone and the sruti box, set alight by the air from my lungs and my hand squeezing the tiny bellows. The deeper I have gone into these explorations the more mystery I have discovered. I hope to share some of my wonder with the listener. What a joy to present this program for it’s first time in such a magical place.
Three expressions of solitude I dare to put next to each other. Three works which are dear to me. Three works in which new forms were being wrestled out of the old and the creators were paying for the inner struggle in different ways. Three works which encapsulate for me the lone cry on a desolate plain when there is no one listening but the wind. At the table, Bill, Dylan, and Francisco would gladly have shared a stiff whiskey or two and seen perhaps a familiar flash of loneliness in the eyes of the other.
Francisco Goya The Dog
Bill Evans Haunted Heart
Dylan Thomas Do not go gentle into that good night
Only last week I found out that the director of a film which had moved me deeply had been killed in Jenin. Juliano Mer Khamis created a powerful document with of a children’s theater group in one of the occupied territories, filmed over many years giving us the full perspective of children’s lives which are tragically marked by war. It is hard to put into words the depth of emotion in this film, leaving aside all the politics around it. His film is here on youtube.
I have loved the Gagaku music of Japan for many a year- I think I wrote about it here on many occasions, it being the only music I can listen to anytime and in any state. Most of all I loved to listen to it in the Namib desert, for some reason that really did it for me. And so you can imagine perhaps my surprise when I came across this Gagaku track- at first I thought someone had put something in my drink, or in the drink of the Gagaku players. The beautiful order of the ensemble is deliciously smashed in this track- as if everyone was flying off on their own trip, somehow together and in the same room but inwardly removed by galaxies. There’s nothing I love more than not knowing what the hell is going on. Enough said. Manzairaku: Derute (hyojo no choshi) :
Limasol
Pounding heat through stained Greek ruins
Imposing Russians dominate the shore in impossible bikinis
The scent of grilled lamb and sun lotion
Out of Season Christmas trees
A spontaneous poem into my phone at Costa Coffee
Arriving at Barcelona Sants on a sweltering summer day I miss my connecting train and get treated to a long symphony of car horns. I spend my hour at a cafe cornering the main intersection, one of those typical indo-chino joints serving greasy fare, and my sojourn there is peppered with traffic jams and drivers sitting angrily on their horns. There are lots of major and minor seconds today which combine beautifully. Once in a while a perfect 5th grounds the whole composition and despite the randomness of the event it comes over as well rehearsed and excellently timed. A cloud of absurdity always rests over humans in there cars hating each other. Adding in some nice accidental music into the mix and the scene is perfect. Interesting how the outright anger and inpatient of the produce such beautifully tuned intervals and rhythms. I notice also that it is often females who dare to sit on their any horns for over 10 seconds, the really pissed off ones- confirming my theory that yin energy heated with yang in it’s extreme will overcome double yang in intensity. I imagine the Mossad’s most fearful assassins as woman and the world’s most lethal flower arrangers to be men. Simply energy flipping over in it’s extreme state. ps: thinking of beauty emerging out of it’s opposite some others come to mind: the smoke trails of planes in the sky forming signs and the sunsets in industrial cities in the east like Katowitz- makes me wonder.
When I do listen to something in my headphones of late it is usually Srinivas. This track is called Javali:
A strange thing occurred to me today and so will I address a certain demographic of my readers.
Dear speakers of English as a foreign language, today I have a word for you. Now I can hear you thinking “Hayden, you with all your spelling and grammar mistakes…..”. Well, believe or not I am a trained teacher of English and today my message for you is a word I never hear you speak. It never really occurred to me to write about it until the occurrence of todays blog post. Perhaps you guessed it already. Nothing special- just a word and yet she never seems to come forth from your lips- isn’t that odd? Coming from the latin “occurrere” meaning to “go to meet/present itself”, the next time I hear a foreign speaker of my mother tongue use it I shall squeal with delight.
The recording days in Berlin were a dream but in between the massive sax orgy which left my lips vanquished and gloriously defeated I had to let out some steam. I did this with laughter/tears/aforementioned squeaks/cries etc. For your amusement, dear readers- whoever you are:
Approaching Madness one (aka letting off steam) in Studio P4:
It’s Bloomsday today- time to celebrate for those of us who cherish Ulysses like a dear friend. I shall spend it in style recording in my favorite studio in the world nestled next to the river Spree. As it will surely take many a moon to release this I will honor the day in a humble way by publishing my test recordings. What it is is nothing more than my saxes and a little wooden sruti box. It is a kind of investigation into the color of the keys (if they have any)- a kind of tempered raga retake on the Well tempered Clavier without the ornaments. Very simple- nothing flash. On this test version I was using the tonality of Telemann Flute pieces as little kick-offs. It is also a step closer to the inner sanctum of a major and minor scales- little fields that still to this day remain enigmas for me. Anyway, here’s to you, James. I raise my glass, toot my horn, and squeeze my Sruti box. The moon is blood red in Berlin.
This post is a short musing about Spain.
The first time I came into contact with Spain was 1998 in Tokyo. At the time I was studying music and some friends of mine took me to a “Flamingo Club” somewhere in a Tokyo suburb. Japanese girls were dancing in perfect Spanish costumes, tapas were served, the guitars were in tune and strummed by immaculately cut Japanese nails. I was amused and puzzled. Fukushima was chugging away in style back then like a well oiled machine.
Some years later, I find myself living a good part of my life in Spain, and just today I happen to be driving a car in a satellite city of Barcelona- the place which inspired this post, called something like “Cornelia d’Llobregat”. It is the kind of modern urban landscape that could be anywhere in the “developed” world: car yards, industrial plots, fast food chains. It is hot, 2 in the afternoon. I’m cruising the streets on a mission that must remain secret for the purposes of this blog and I am pondering Spain and these semi-industrial zones which have become such a tragically accurate symbol of our world.
The first thing that comes to my palette is the desire for coca cola. Usually I avoid this beverage, it being so perfectly aligned to the inebriating modern spirit of mindless capitalism (get that sugar and caffeine inside a me, gimme that shitty music, a mall, a stupid spouse, a high speed internet connection, oceans of porn, empty religion and sport and leave me in peace) and yet this mean midday summer heat mixed in with this soul-numbing urban wasteland makes me crave a coke. Why? Self destruction perhaps? And so I stop at one of the numerous Spanish dives along the way and order a shot.
One thing these establishments are not is pretension incarnate. No one seems to give a toss if there is grease on every possible surface. A fan spins lazily above with nothing better to do. The scent is one of beer, oil, and sweat. Overweight customers loudly discuss lottery numbers as this now jaded kiwi orders his shot of coke under over the glass box sporting aged and over-ripe Tapas. There is something hard and unrepentant about this place, It deserves it’s coca cola, and more.
Back in the car I wonder about these nameless urban wastelands, about the unlucky marriage of an expanding population, the need for “freedom” and space, and the invention of the car. I first witnessed these infinite scars on the land in Australia (the little mini-America close to our sweet and innocent little island) and was held in terrified awe. The taste of the food fitted perfectly with the sights and smells around me, the pain in the stomach thus two-fold. Later, I was privileged to observe them in their birthplace: the great conquered Mothership of material gain in the middle of the Americas, where the concrete scars run painfully deep : the ur- air conditioned nightmare without compare. Others followed suit- the dreamlines were paved over- and here we are now.
Back to Spain, and there is something else in the air I notice. I have my coke inside me now and can feel the light buzz and who-gives-a-fuck-ness which allows me to deal with the views around me now, like most other souls here I imagine. Looking at the buildings around me the proportions and colours are monstrously obscene. Although I suppose there is a certain perverse beauty in there somewhere which has to do with utter futility of modern man and his aggressive expansion fusing with nature in accidental ways- the reeds and grass poke through the splitting concrete around faded signs. Even the haphazard way these areas rise up like cancer spews out some accidental beauty in the sheer randomness of it all. Man, I’m starting to like it here. Screw all this utopian bullshit! Maybe this is the way to survive in this world- drink coke and observe the beauty in the horror.
Yes, Barcelona has the odd Gaudi- but he is framed with cars, smoke, office buildings, and other scars of man. He really lives on postcards. Again, what really matters is the image of Barcelona one has who has never visited and the same applies to anywhere. A physical city for me is nothing but a massive car congress and in the mean time they all smell the same. I see, hear, and smell no difference no matter where I am. (I always smile to myself when people compare cities. That should be another topic in the “things white people like” section.) Quintessence of dust and smoke.
Visitors to New Zealand must be a little taken back when they drive out of the airport past the first dodgy suburbs with half-cars a plenty on front lawns. Beautiful it is not my possums. And yet if they go far enough they can quench their thirst and find something they were looking for, a hobbit footprint or the like. But I digress.
My Spanish is still terrible and so I can’t comment too much about the society and Catalunya without it’s fierce national pride is something I should especially shut my mouth about as a kind of German extreme-self analysis mixed in with an albeit waning historical guilt and an extreme aversion to the ugly beast of nationalism is something that is unheard of here and perhaps you can’t blame them after having their “language” forbidden for such a long time. Ops, I used quotation marks, I am already treading on thin ice. I think it is that nationalism in any form makes me not only nauseous, I find it offensive and worthy of having it’s guts ripped out at any available moment. Plus it usually goes hand in glove with widely bred stupidity. I need another coke. People need to identify themselves with something-anything- leave them alone Hayden. This next gulp is especially satisfying and I come up to one of the many “b” stadiums of the Barcelona football team, a massive edifice bigger than Gaudi could have dreamed of and smack bang in the middle of this urban nonplace.
Yes, I admit, I love that team- mainly via the barcelonafootballblog which has consistently good writing and incredible tactical analysis. But still at the end of the day, you have to wonder: what genetic force beyond my control tried to coerce me into watching football and drinking beer once over the 30 mark. I would like to know who programmed this and when. I still need some more Coke.
All in all this is a hard, unforgiving place. It could be the heat, it could be where I am right now, it could be the piercing sunlight through the dust and exhaust fumes hitting me. It feels a little like a strange European Wild West. Comparing it to Germany, people do not stare at you and they do not hesitate to stroll through red lights. There is a healthy disrespect for authority. They stay up late. They sport rather rude haircuts ,colorful glasses, and piercings a plenty. They have a cocaine “problem”. There you go for my in depth analysis of the society here.
Like my favourite character in any book, I too could imagine losing it here- simply saddling the roof of this sad and broken Toyoto Corolla, taking my huge invisible lance and making a charge at the closest McDonalds- following my nose to the source of the perversion. I reckon I could rip through the drive through and impale at least 20 Big Macs and nose rings with my lance. Thank god for Don- he almost saves this whole scene single handedly now that I think of him and smile.
Did I mention the light? The thing I like most about this place next to olive trees is the light. There is something in the quality of the light that is on one hand hard and unrepentant like the scenes I have described, but also charged with energy and Mediterranean poetry. Whatever that is. I suppose the nice thing about a blog is that you can start anywhere and end anywhere, never knowing why, for whom, etc.
The taste of Coke is starting to disappear, so too the feeling. I am starting to care about the world again. O beautiful mother Gaya Earth, fill me with your wondrous herbal teas and keep those evil spirit soft drinks at bay….
Digging around I found this piece from last year which I think I never posted. Some ramblings re sax meaning my life meaning everything from last year’s workshop in Greece.
Questions to a Ramblin’ Man.
I´ve achieved a good level of microtonal playing, I know all the fingerings and can hear the intervals better and better- but what now?
I am often asked by players that have achieved a good level of microtonal playing on the Saxophone : “What now?” Well, fundamentally nothing has changed in the creation of the music itself except that you have more tonal possibilities. This means that all the laws of dissonance and resolution, of attraction and gravity, of tension and release, are all the same. Giving yourself more choices or even taking them away changes nothing at all at the level of natural creation. It follows that the microtonal techniques developed serve to extend the musical vocabulary already learnt. If you are at a loss for what to play then you must go back and study some of these laws which govern composition and thus improvisation.
It seems really difficult to create anything really “new” anymore.
I think it´s important to finally leave behind us the idea that we are creating anything “new”. This is one of the major problems that hinders our creativity, the feeling that we should somehow be creating something “new” . It is especially prevalent in types of music where improvisation is in the foreground. The whole idea of creating something “new” with sounds is loaded with paradoxes. For starters, every single tone we play on our instruments is “new” and has never been played in such a way ever before, nor will it ever sound the same again. You get my drift. Freeing ourselves from the need to be “new” in our music will already in itself automatically open up a small world of possibilities. “New”? No thanks.
The word fractal as used in geometry refers to a figure where no matter how much we zoom in , the complexity of the original figure remains. In other words, the smaller parts resemble the whole ad infinitum. I have often wondered how this can be applied to music and began by simply “zooming in” to say a bar of music and analysing what details can be found. This bar can then be slowed down until certain patterns emerge that perhaps mirror perhaps the whole form. Within musical creation we are able to take great liberties, in this sense I can form my own patterns out of this single bar as I see them and give them accordingly a musical role; microtones are often are great help here.
There are certain countries where it is highly valued to say exactly what you mean and there are, if I may say, more subtle geographic regions where this is considered highly offensive. I wonder how this could be grafted into musical parameters? I can tell you what the modern visual entertainment version is, one that you can observe in any mainstream television series or film. There is not one single detail, not a single word spoken or object on the screen, that is not directly related to the plot and making it as understandable and idiot-proof as possible. Now, almost exactly the opposite is what I am interested in with music in which the meaning is constantly hidden beneath layers, not burying the truth for the sake of it, not by any means, but making the journey enigmatic and suggestive. When I say truth this could mean a whole range of ideas, from a melody to a numerical combination. Microtones are an excellent tool for this. We can incase and hint at melodies without laying them out bare. Not everything needs to be given away or dumbed down to the lowest common denominator. A good example of the punch-in-the-face level of subtleness in jazz solos is the quote, the wink-getter par excellence. I´m not saying it´s a bad thing, as long as you are aware what you are doing.
I have noticed that despite all our best efforts, the Saxophone remains a wild beast when it comes to tuning. The classical method is to flatten out the broad intonation discrepancies by narrowing the sound. This is a dead end street for me. I believe we should work with the natural harmonic inconsistencies of the instrument and turn them into an advantage, ones that broaden our tone and tonal variants. We should work first and foremost to open our sounds, even if this does not serve to even out our intonation- if it has to be a trade off, I would take the open sound any day. Having said that, if the mouthpiece/reed/instrument set-up provides no unnatural obstacles to the air flow, there should not be any major intonational discrepancies. The types of music that require a stringent intonation are small indeed compared to the worlds of music which do not. Even when are playing with the mother of all detuned instruments, our dear pianos, I would rather listen to a full bodied sax sound with some intonation “problems” than it´s diametric opposite, the constipated pseudo-classical sound that comes painfully close to the tempered ivories but leaves us desperate for whiskey or murder after the gig just to rebalance.
In Pacman and other early arcade games there is a final stage called the kill screen when the program breaks down and it is impossible to predict what will happen next. Once all the levels have been completed the kill screen sets in and controlled chaos ensues. The computer itself ceases to think in the way it has been trained and basically lets go. This is a state of mind whilst playing I like to aspire to but it needs just as much preparation and time as it does to reach the last levels of the game. Basically our minds stop the incessant chatter involved with playing ( my lip hurts, that g was sharp, that girl in the front row is hot, this gig is underpaid) and the music takes over. Sounds simple, but beating the mind is much harder than you think- music is a noble path and an effective way to achieve this state in a peaceful, non-striving way.
One technique or path I like to teach is called “The Middle Way”. It can be expanded and taken as a base philosophy for many ideas and approaches but I start with the feet and move it to the Saxophone via the pelvic floor. (So glad I managed to pull this piece back to the pelvis.) We start by standing normally and then shift the point of balance on our feet to the furthest extremities. Circling from the front to the sides, the back, and back we experience just our far we can push the centre of gravity without falling over. We do this for a while until we gradually return to the centre, thus finding our true centre of gravity. This kind of circling around the true centre can also be practised with other parts of the body to find the optimal position. In music and with the saxophone I could for example experiment with extreme dynamics with a single note- this also helps me to find the note´s “centre” – by that I mean both in tone and in dynamics- each note having a dynamic level by which the note “sings out” best.
Flexibility is vital when we step out and play with others. Gathering a group of like-minded souls around us to make music with is essential but we will always be cast into situations where this is not the case and we simply have to fight through. The most common factor and obstacle when you go out into the abyss is playing with musicians who are not really listening- neither to you nor themselves. Take every situation as a challenge and a chance to improve one part of your playing. Jazz sessions are more often than not, the most unmusical situations out there so take them with a heavy drop of irony and use them to say improve your altissimo, for example play your entire solo above high D- who cares if it sounds like a dying seagull, some of the biggest leaps you will make in your playing will be in front of a crowd so take the plunge. Believe me, for years, even lifetimes to come, they will remember that sax player on that session who was really out there. If you feel that the rest of the band is not listening then stop listening to them and go as far out as you can- play a semitone or a quarter tone out, use as many false fingerings and special effects as possible, finish and begin your solos at unexpected points, play the theme of the song starting one beat late or early- you get my drift. All of this should serve to sharpen your concentration and possibly open some ears in the process. Another technique I like to employ is to completely switch off your harmonic thinking and perception and play only rhythmically, focusing in on what the drummer is playing. Play off and around his accents and consider yourself a primarily rhythmic instrument, heavy slap tongue can come in handy here.
Ear training is a perpetual activity so don´t cease to test yourself. Intervals are given to you daily in every possible combination so make the most of it. I like to visualize playing even when the sax is not in my hands, this internalizes the sounds and makes actual playing more rewarding. The same goes for composing as long as you can retain your ideas. Lost ideas disappear into the void, often never to reappear. Keep a notebook handy, possums.
Is there a difference for you when you play for a human audience or when you play to a field of sheep? Should there be? Do you sweat more or less for the sheep? Do the sheep or the humans give you more attention? In other words, should we really even bother whether someone is listening or not? Should there be a difference in the way we project our sounds? I say nope, Johanna, nope Johanna, till the morning comes.
My personal hell: an anemic and possibly Dutch girl with a broad accent accentuating those american-like “rr”s is holding an eternally looped pitch about the benefits of a new social networking site- both for professional and personal reasons. It is peppered copiously with meaningless English slogans like “enhance your life” and “the new way to log in is to log out” pronounced with a heavy accent. She wears one of those annoying ear-attached speaking mics which constantly feedbacks in her infrequent pauses. At the same time a jazz combo is playing a loud funk groove in b flat with pattern based solos that build in tension endlessly like a Fourier shit curve as an unseen male crowd cheers and whistles the plentiful licks. Encompassing this horror is the unmistakable scent of McDonalds mixed with German taxi exhaust smoke beneath unbearably bright lights and US customs officers with bad breath IDing everyone in my hell including the musicians who have to briefly interrupt their funk solos and the Dutch girl pitching. All the while cleaning woman are mopping the floor with repugnantly smelling chemicals perfectly complimenting the foul meat and adding to the general chaos of my personal hell. The Devil has pressed repeat and I am deeply in trouble. Right now I need Fourier to transform my ass outta here quick.
A pivotable moment in my growing up, one I had long forgotten but suddenly returned the other day, had to do with cricket. Cricket was the sport we always played whilst growing up in NZ and at the age of ten major changes were about to happen. Before that age, in primary school, we would play barefoot and each bowler would bowl an over- 6 balls that is. My moment of initiation came at the hands of a friend from primary school: a certain Simon Rae (since working for the New Zealand department of Internal affairs and possibly even the New Zealand secrets service- predominantly concerned with infiltrating suspicious sheep imports from Australia and finding lost pets). Simon was there on that fateful day when I crossed the threshold from Primary to Intermediate- or better said, from barefoot to socks and shoes. After grabbing the cricket ball and stepping up for the second ball of my over it was Simon who said- “sorry mate, intermediate rules- only one ball each”. Worlds collapsed. Universes imploded. After the almost endless over of six balls from the last 5 years, wet grass beneath my feet, peace prevailing, all the time in the world- now, all of a sudden it was one ball each? What happened to the endless time we had? What happened to our rhythm? What had happened to the world? Even if the bell rang we could still finish the over back in paradise. Speed had now overcome. There was something infinitely sad about this moment and the fact my old friend from the barefoot age had embraced this new rule without a thought on the very first day. I think I haven’t fully recovered from this moment. One year later I would receive the prize for “Diligence”. What more could go wrong here? Next time I return to New Plymouth I shall go to Highlands Intermediate and bowl a slow over, medium pace, barefoot, under the full moon having burnt rosewood and sacrificed an Australian sheep, without trying- undiligent- simply for the hell of it.
Snap back to now and I am lucky to sink into my favorite sound in the world. Wind through a pine forest. Frequency band cut from high to low. Some might here a whisper or two- I simply sink into the sound, retreat into it, feeling the stitch in my abs and the throbbing calves. Two little kids run past with the new barcelona tricot logo “qatar foundation”- capitalism is oiled and running smoothly here. To my tiny apacheta to sprinkle tobacco and listen to the pines. Peace comes from not wanting and it’s written everywhere in the forest. Seems to come without the bipeds.
Nothing frees my mind up at the moment like mountain running and I’m lucky to have found some great tracks close to Montserrat in Catalonia. There is not a soul in sight and the only man-made sound you here once in a while is that of a plane. The routes are heavy with the scent of pine and I just love it. It’s a can of tuna, water from the many fountains here and then off into the hills. It’s such a thrill to discover in Europe empty, almost forgotten landscapes- the ones I miss so much from New Zealand. I must make some photos up there.
After weeks of intense writing my brain is emptied and so I go back to simple playing- Bach and Aebersold- isn’t that a beautiful combination? I like to spilt the two up with my favorite snack- fresh avocado with lemon juice squeezed into the middle. Then Jamie hits his wonderfully rich tuning note and the bebop begins.
And on a fully professional note here is what is going on. Most importantly, I have my biggest concert to date in Spain tomorrow at the local kindergarten. 10 O’clock and it’s up to me to make sure there first ever taste of thumb pianos, didjereedon’ts, saxes, and bells is a good and lasting one. My Catalan is ready. My reed is good. There ears are resting for it now. And secondly, together with my Pedja Avramovic and his beautiful new analogue mixing desk I am mixing the best of the last decade including my latest recordings from this and last year, with the intention to release them 2012 on a new edition tied to the foundation I am now working closely with. It’s all a bit hush hush at the moment but I am excited that a lot of the pearls I am sitting on can finally see the light. In the near future, this foundation work will be linked with my new homepage and I will finally have a good home for all my analogue and digital orphans. O, and I actually wrote my personal Opus One finally. It will be the first one out on this edition. ie I finally tied things together in a way that I was completely happy with. What a relief after all these years.
Please excuse all the first person in this paragraph- a bit overboard really. The sky turns red. Haiku time.
Sunsets- portals for
lovers to enter- mainly
via sms
Some of the things I usually only do on airplanes are:
-drink tomato juice
-sing the gaytri mantra softly to myself
-watch clouds from the top side
The 2nd one is a nice way to pass the time in a positive way. This mantra is an ancient sanskrit text with each word opening up not only a world of overtones when you sing it slowly, but also a world of meaning. It is a creation text. Mantras sung with a clear state of mind work on levels that go far beyond our usual comprehension. They transcend language and ones like this one, invokes the idea of creation through sound/vibration. If you could see our world from above with a mantra sensor through the clouds you would see beautiful colorful spirals reaching out into the fine cosmic net. My evil apple computer hears my voice thus:
Can you achieve anything at all by singing without fulling understanding the text itself? Yes I say, because there is power in the sound, power in the overtones, and because you have to trust your gut, otherwise you are lost.
Sometimes whilst singing the viscously loud and distorted voice of a flight attendant selling some new product comes over the loudspeakers. The mantra doesn’t stop though- she shields one from the oceans of banality and increases the pleasure of cloud watching.
As my homage is seeing redesigned I will give a little gig information here. On June 2 I play in Barcelona with the Hurdy Gurdy player Marc Egea here:
Writing this post, my lips are throbbing gently with that glorious post-sax-orgy pain. It has to do with holding notes for long periods of time which is basically what we do in our larger sax ensemble with 8 altos.
I don’t remember how it developed exactly. I think it was the languid summer in Greece and also a backlash to all the other music I was playing that I first realized the potential within the long tones. A long and gentle epiphany over years. Instead of regarding them as tone exercise or the like all of sudden worlds were opening up by themselves and we, the players, needed to do nothing but listen and blow gently. Like learning overtone singing, you suddenly realize that you have been making them all along, those beautiful colors, you just never really heard them. How much must pass us by in this manner.
One of the pieces we play has a long history already and uses multiphonics. Having experimented freely in the group sessions with early versions like this one in Ireland, Frank decided to formalize it and set down some fingerings and times- since then it has evolved to a one hour long odyssey and playing it requires quite some stamina and it becomes an interesting beast to play. Like a marathon, one has to pace oneself. The mind scatters, then returns, then scatters. Thoughts pass by like clouds. The only chance is to keep returning to the breath as the lips quiver and tremble, cushioning the busy reed as best they can. Our bodies switch to auto pilot. I adopt a chi gun stance to get me through, gently sinking the energy, feeling the thighs tingle.
Some hours later I’m in a situation in which the music we play should be explained in layman’s terms. I do my best as Frank stands close by grinning and almost laughing. “It’s like kind of abstract ambient stuff, it’s like a pretty physical experience, imagine like 8 saxophones holding notes for a real long time, you can kind of close your eyes and go where you want, it’s like a trip if you wanna go there, it’s like a trip for us too, this abstract ambient stuff”. Good practice to explain things like that sometimes.
And so we spent these last few days in the almost deserted apocalyptic landscape of the old radio studios in Berlin recording our ambient asbtracts. Nature is slowly beginning to take back the old East German edifice, grass sprouts through the concrete everywhere and the river winds slowly past the imposing brink fortress housing some of the best sounding rooms I know. There is almost no one here.
We carved some new works for Saxophone Octet to tape and then I made some new solo recordings until my lips finally said “no more, my friend”. At that point I still had a pile of classical things I wanted to record but not the stamina. So, I whipped out my sruti box faster than you can say ambient abstract and read the scores as ragas, improvising a little over the top. My sruti box feels like a sublime wooden briefcase. We have a very simple relationship: I squeeze her lightly and she sings softly- I then play different scales over her breathy song and then together we sit by the river and watch time flow into silence.
This is major but it’s also a lament for something I can’t explain. I say but but here is something tragic in major. Seeing so much of the world makes me feel a little like the dude in Heart of Darkness- “the horror, the horror” . With so much beauty and pain wrapped up on one little ball it’s easy to be overwhelmed. What to hold on to?
This little paragraph is all about turning yang into yin energy- now doesn’t that sound wonderful. Here, dear readers, is the finished version of the shot-to-pieces-ballad I took with me once to the shooting range in Odenwald and used as a target. It was the a part which was deemed worthy enough to be my hand gun target, these wonderful little German institutions being veritable oasis of beer, small talk,and hand guns. I personally prefer to lie whilst shooting so that if I fall asleep I am in a good position but I think it’s here about working the muscles of one arm with the guns and the other with the heavy beer. As the ink marks become little sound parts, the bullet holes became silence on my little score. These pistols are ear-deafeningly loud I think it’s only fitting that each bang should create years of possible silence in the unknown trajectory of this piece: Handgunned Ballad:
With an important recording looming next week the most perfect reed imaginable on my soprano leaves me with the dilemma of preserving her for next week by setting her aside (running the risky summer gauntlet of humidity attack) or simply playing on and hoping for the best ( an excellent excuse to practice less). She is already worn, split, and tiring, and I wonder about her life right now. Cut down from a bamboo forest in France and thrust into a sealed pack, she is moistened by my tongue a few months later and given no choice but to vibrate violently whilst my fingers open change the bore length according to George Telemann’s wishes. She loses her deep golden color rather quickly and begins to acquire a deep, seasoned tan- her songs of innocence swiftly become those of experience. Her next of kin is my lower lip and after hours of playing I wash her gently but her tan remains. Splits appear. A tiny crack is felt and still she vibrates in such a perfect way it is a joy to play her. It is hard to part with types like hers and it is a sad moment. Where does she then go, having served her purpose? Sometimes I write a little epitaph on their flat underbellies, revealing their work (“May 2011-rip my dear”) and put them to rest in a makeshift box. I will miss this one in particular.
The day before last I played a gig which could be easily filed away under “background music”. Picture a super Tuscan wine auction/dinner in a Berlin museum with some cool jazz and you will be close. My aforementioned reed wondered what the hell had hit her. It was interesting all the same as I hadn’t played such a do for a long time. Sensory experience is firmly focused in the realm of vision (o, look at that fabulous dior dress!) but this gives us the musicians a nice bubble to play in (essentially to ourselves)assuming we can minimalise our sense of smell. I had quite forgotten that this can be a really enjoyable sensation.
I just changed train at the Frankfurt main station and I saw 3 advertisements- all of them oversized monstrosities dominating the hall and sporting the following slogans: “HORNY is HORNY” (for a media market), “The Dirtiest Fantasies are had in the cleanest of Beds” (for a hotel chain)- and “2-1 for your body” (for a mineral water)- about the last one I was wondering who scored the one goal against my body and whether it was an away goal. About the others….. I imagined being 17 again coming to Germany, the country I had been taught to be the home of “Thinkers and Poets”- bearded men pondering the deeper questions of life (and then heading to the nearest jazz club if their beard is long enough). I would have been somewhat confused and maybe even slightly shocked. Where and when did it go downhill? What would Telemann have said? Although there seems to be a subtle level of innate perversion in the baroque works I am discovering I imagine it was kept behind closed doors and not plastered all over their cities. Maybe that is all that has changed- mankind seems to remain the same through the millennia, there’s just a few more chemicals in his body these days and the art of handwriting is all but dead. Anything I missed?
Over the last decades I have through the my work with my instrument been deeply involved with the breath. In the field of wind instruments players will come across all kinds of theories about the breath and methods to improve it- most of them in my experience are deeply flawed but the only way to judge these is to see a)if they work and produce a better sound b)if they are beneficial to the health of the player long term. b) is an interesting one: a healthy player has an advantage over a dead player who is no longer a useful band member or sound carrier. What a lot of these methods have in common is that they require effort and “trying” and that for me is already a mistake. The classic one is the forced abdominal breath with all kinds of mystic visualizations involved to spur on our flaccid diaphragms. Tonsils? Appendix? Diaphragms? What the hell, we don’t need them, we don’t even know what they do, rip ‘em out!. After many years and many a wrong turn I have returned to the natural breath, the ones babies employ, the natural full breath we all had when we were fully open to the world in every possible way and simply couldn’t get enough of the good oxygen in our growing lungs. Although the natural breath uses the full breathing apparatus, it is absolutely and profoundly effortless (and I use this word in it’s most purest form) and re-learning and “re-membering” this is the central pillar of my breath work for reasons that even go beyond music. With regards to the saxophone we simply need to speed it up on occasion depending on the piece but the form/structure/muscle usage/intention/result remain the same.
The best teachers of breath I have come across also teach it in a natural/no bullshit, way. My first Tai Chi teacher simply aligned it to the movements without any great ado. Sadly, Erle passed away recently but there is a massive body of his work online, including the basic Yang Cheng Fu form in it’s entirety here in which he also drops in some excellent breathing tips without the flowery nonsense. His comments on his sleeves in part one are also classic.
After all, why should the most natural thing in the world be complicated at all? Returning to the natural breath means returning to our selves and this is the place where creation happens, with or without an instrument. There is enough creative power in the natural breath to set minute universes in motion, not to mention coming up with a nice line over All the things you are. It takes a bit of time for us to get back to that state. It took me years after following all kinds of different paths, from stacking encyclopedias (the real, physical ones before wikipedia was known) on my stomach to holding my breath for minutes on end. The reality of modern living means most of us have to do a bit of work to get back to this natural mastery of breath before we then apply it to specific tasks like saxophone playing.
And so we breathe as we once did in those first years- for most of us a distant, dreamlike state far in the past framed by a full, sensuous breath through which we first felt the world. First we learn to observe without involving ourselves, our judgement, or our intention- there is in this alone worlds to explore. Then bit by bit we apply the natural breath to our playing. Along this path each individual will experience different and delicious challenges and insights This, in a teeny tiny breath-filled nut shell, is how I now work with breath.
And, just to throw a bit of ego in while I’m still on the breathing/creative thing: I hold the unofficial world record for the longest tone on a reed instrument, beating Kenny G’s attempt by over 15 minutes and clocking in at 52 minutes. I performed the ugly beast at the Donau festival in the football stadium in front of a small crowd and next to the live MCing of Marc Weiser who was trying to make me laugh throughout. The point here: once you’ve returned to the natural you can do anything you want- even beating Kenny G in something other than account balance- if that’s what you feel is necessary. I did at the time. It did feel nice afterwards- trancelike, sublime.
In difficult times it is often a piece of music I hold on to in different ways to get me through. My white apple headphones are frankly shitty and so when I carry this piece with me on planes or trains I listen to it at low volume levels and the surrounding sounds blend in with it making it different each time. It is the most beautiful piece of music I know of right at this moment in time. I like it because the composer hasn’t stamped himself on the work, rather it seems like he allows the sounds to unfold naturally and he gives them plenty of time for this. Although it’s written for a regular string quartet it seems to transcend the genre. On a more earthy level, the chords are simply beautiful and being a great lover of sixths this a sonic paradise. In a sense it’s a classic though I often wonder why such beauty is performed so little. I can imagine there being many ways to record such a work and this version is executed up close giving one the impression of being almost inside the wood of the instruments- a valid approach. I believe he wrote this one towards the end of his life. It lulls me to sleep sometimes. Here’s a part:
Morton Feldman’s Violin and String Quartet Part 2 (Pellegrini Quartet with Peter Rundel):
Some impressions from the road over the last 2 weeks:
- the jazz audience in Europe is grey, the average figure being a male in his late fifties with a beard and glasses.
- the average neo-nazi ( it was my first time by accident in their vicinity in person on the May 1 rally in Heilbronn) is in his late teens and cuts a sad, lonely, and confused figure when seen up close.
- the new Vandoren reed sealed reed packs mean you can break open that plastic and play right away- some technology that is finally useful for something.
- the jazz scene, and probably many other scenes, is deeply up shit creek without a paddle judging by the music I hear at festivals we have played at- possibly and very probably a sign of the times. I couldn’t help but thinking of Guy Debord- everything has become a pale representation of something else- a vapid, impotent and in the end utterly meaningless whisper into a void. That’s what I heard this time round.
- Scandanavian airports are rich in wood and pay great attention to the minutest designed details.
- Messi is a football star who simply plays the game and nothing more- I like that.
- people appreciate quiet music in these times of incessant noise.
- american jazz players and improvisors in general use smaller intervals in their solos.
- it is difficult to find free walls in Europe against which you can practice tennis strokes (demonstrated amply by our Bassist). In other words, the use of space is different to that in New Zealand.
- watching the headlines with Bin Laden it seems to me that lying and deception a massive world-wide scale has reached unprecedented proportions, it is now an absurd theatre that would be amusing if it wasn’t so dangerous.
- my number 3 short haircut means I arouse no suspicion when traveling with the extreme rightwing German youth.
- most new listeners think they hear something “electronic” in overtone singing.
- outer positions with bas transfers at airports tend to fray the nerves of touring musicians.
- many people still like to clap after jazz solos. Clap what exactly?
- pain in various forms becomes a more prominent feature in the lives of musicians in their mid-thirties.
- the average European knows as much about New Zealand as the average New Zealander would know about Sweden. Ignorance is strength.
- protestant countries seem to have a more complex, contradictory, and flawed relationship with alcohol.
- in difficult times, what else to hold to but music and loved ones?
- on the american TV I have seen via the drummer, sarcasm squares off against ignorance and leaves an empty feeling in my stomach. Both sides look like they are taking medication, their eyes pop out and theirs is an aura of unnatural buoyancy.
- even when there is not a cloud in the sky in Europe in summer, it still seems like a a thin veil is obscuring the deepest of blues and greens.
- for jazz promotors it’s not just your music, it’s your story they want- they feed off it.
As I have been engaged in more teaching this year I wanted to write some more about my teaching concepts relating to the saxophone, improvisation, and jazz. I mentioned in one of the last posts some of the areas I would be working on in Greece this summer and I think it would be good for me to expand a little on those.
First, allow me to back up a little to the 1995 when I first began to study with Frank Gratkowski at the Cologne Musikhochschule. This point is important for the following reasons. When I met Frank I had already reached a decent technical level on the saxophone. I was playing tunes in all keys, circular breathing for long periods, and could play plenty of difficult classical etudes. I had transcribed all of “Motion” and was sailing along Konitz-esque. What happened when I met Frank, was the realization that all of this meant nothing unless it was transposed into my own music via the saxophone. “That’s great”, he would say, “but where are you in the music?”. Through several years of listening to worlds of musics my ears were opened to sounds beyond jazz and I was able to start forming my own approach to music.
Frank also showed me a quarter tone fingering. From that moment in 1995 something sparked inside and I started a long journey of developing a microtonal saxophone system and, most importantly, turning it into a functioning music. This is the catch: now I have a lot of players coming to me and asking me about microtones, the fingerings, how to practice them etc. but I can clearly see that unless they have an idea of the music they want to make they are useless. It’s like giving a Ferrari to someone who can’t drive. The point is and the main lesson I took from him is that the technique is a means to an end and the end is the music making. Sounds simple but I find it needs to be made clear to young players who are more attracted by the sign rather than the thing signified.
All of this has another level as well. It’s not enough now to come out of your cosy little music school nailing Giant steps at 300 BPM and playing Berio Sequences backwards, dating the hottest korean violinist, und und und. There are plenty of players who can do that and are still effectively nowhere. The technique of the instrument has to be perfected to each individuals potential-no doubt-but if young players want to get anywhere they have to work on their own language and develop a personal style. This is one of the main thrusts of my teaching- helping to find this personal touch which is what really counts in the end.
With regards of the techniques of the instrument I reduce my formula to 1) maximum speed, proficiency, and fluency with the minimum of effort, and 2) no blockages between intention and execution. In fact, intention and execution form the pillars of what I teach and they take many years to understand and refine. I am deeply interested in the breath and it’s relationship to our bodies and our state of mind with and without the instrument. For this reason I introduce some elements from the Eastern martial and contemplative arts to aid the player.
By focusing in on the inner intentions of the player I have found that one can automatically squeeze out those nasty jazz pimples like pattern based playing, cliches, licks, sonic testosterone, and all the other things we have heard over and over.
For the bread and butter sax technique I like to work on selected works from the Baroque and classical literature and of course 20th century music like Scelsi, Stockhausen, Ligeti, Messiaen. It is essential that young players are not only familiar with the techniques employed in the solo literature of the last centuries but also the compositional devices behind them. Understanding the techniques behind the grafting of these musics is a big help and an important part of what Frank also taught was using the techniques of 20th century music in improvisation.
Technique is not so much speed in my definition but more control. Control of tone, coloring of individual notes, infusing each note with a vocal quality, working with the irregularities of the copper cylindrical bore we pass our breath through and turning them into musical elements- these are the traits of a good technique in my book. If I may toot my own horn for a bit, here is a short excerpt on Soprano Sax I played which is for me, technically satisfying because it fits the above definitions applied to a classical piece. It’s the vocal quality I’m most after, even if I am playing music that is not what I usually am submerged in:
Music has been trivialized and commercialized in our recent history and young players are forced into promoting themselves and basically dealing with the whole “business” side of the field. Every Tom and Harry has his flash website and 12 page colored digipack CD to offer. All this is well and good but we have to spend the majority of our time and efforts on the music itself- we can never afford to lose this focus. This relates to the “intention” I mentioned above and this must remain as pure as it first was when we heard that first beautiful tone somewhere and something inside was set alight.
Improvisation and composition are closely related and so a basic grounding in counterpoint, and construction of form is essential. I have been very lucky to work intensively with the artist Rebecca Horn who taught me a lot with regards to proportion and form in her larger installation works and paintings. An inter-disciplinary approach to form is vital in helping to understand proportion and balance in music.
We are not all composers, some of us are simply players and in the field of interpretation and here there is much to be explored. For my part I am involved in “jazz” and creative music in which the player is more often than not the creator . The great saxophone players in my tradition have always been great composers- both writing composers and “instant” composers. Composing today means being familiar with a long tradition and the best way to go about this is to study the works as we also learn them on our instruments. In our saxophone group work we have transcribed vocal music from Gesualdo as well as pieces by Stockhausen. By playing and analyzing them we can also understand the intentions of the composers and through osmosis their compositional processes and organization skills can be used to inspire and help our personal language on the instrument.
I am deeply interested in “opening” the saxophone sound and use the voice, overtones, the natural breath, and the mental focus of the player to attain it. By “opening” I mean removing obstacles that stand in the way between the player’s sound intention or inner voice and the physical sound that emanates from the bell. A compete mastery of the saxophone for me means a huge dynamic and sound control of the instrument- something I rarely hear anywhere. The instrument itself has this massive potential for ultimate pianissimos through to soul-rousing fortissimos and we should use them all. I am not so interested in mouthpieces, horn types, reeds, and related. Doublings like flute and clarinet are perhaps important for getting jobs later but I don’t teach them much, I am more focused on removing all the technical limitations on the saxophone than mixing up other embouchures into the blend.
From my beginnings in quarter tone fingerings for saxophone I have progressed to be interested in tuning according to the overtone row and all kinds of alternate tunings. There is a profound connection between intonation and timbre and the ears have to be trained alongside the fingers. This is a massive area and it verily opens up the ears and minds of young players. Well-tempered western music has it’s place but the future lies in using the other models and combining them in new and meaningful ways. Again, I will always repeat: there has to be music made out of it. Whatever structures, etudes, or ideas I come with I will always try to lend it a form and turn it into a piece of music.
The group saxophone work I began in Greece 6 years ago has become an important part of my teaching. In these groups we are able to explore overtone tuning and all kinds of textures that are not possible in a solo setting. Also, each of the players can bring different ideas- it is like an open laboratory for saxophone, tuning, and much more. The groups have varied from 4 to 16. Anything is possible here.
After listening to Stockhausen or Berio or Schnitzelscheisshausen back in my studies with Frank, we would usually finish each listening session with a track by Hendrix, or an early blues recording. In other words- for all the wonderful complexity in our recent musical tradition we can never forget some of the roots. Above all, it has to stay true to ourselves. It’s a sacred art which is all the more vital in these troubled, speedy, and confused times.
Applications are now online for my summer masterclass in Greece here. The title this year is “The G String of Pythagoras”. Snickers aside, my monochord is indeed tuned to G and I will include it and the course as we cover tuning and proportions in music. Over the last year I have been putting down some of the topics I cover in writing and we will be continuing to work on these areas. Microtones, breath, meditation, extended techniques, ensemble work, chi-gong, overtones, are on the list. Depending on how many we are we will perform some of the ensemble works for saxophone that have naturally formed out of the workshop. This year will be the 6th year running and the guys in the village have done a great job in keeping it up despite the troubles in Greece. They have invited Beat Furrer to the composition seat this year which should also be great.
Some samples from the Sunday evening performance at loft:
Sax vs Bone (Jeffery, Wogram, Chisholm, Gratkowski):
Masked Dignity (Nabatov, Lubbe, Gratkowski, Chisholm, Brendel):
As I recently posted I wrote a program for Big Band and performed it in Switzerland with the Luzern Jazz Orchestra two weeks ago. It was my first shot at writing for this set up and I was interested in extending the sound possibilities and basically seeing what could be done with the group as far as some extended techniques go. The guys were all great players and even though we only had a chance to record the gig, the results are nice.
I titled the work Mute Density. There are several movements spanning over an hour which contrast dense cluster structures with more transparent harmonic parts. In some movements the band is “detuned”. Layering of autonomous parts (self-conducted) and similar techniques used in my larger sax ensemble works are grafted into the big band setting.
Here are three movements from the suite.
Cassiopeian Dance hall:
Sketches of Pain:
Mute Cluster:
I is one happy Mofu- I just gotta a me two serious ghetto pimped diesel hybrid Monochord, laid low and fully chromed- me got one baby for stationary overtone study and one for the road. Hand made by the author of this book. On this wee beauty you have on one side a perfectly calibrated measuring monochord and on the other a fully adjustable koto and Tambura. I can feel Pythagoras going green somewhere. The sine waves on my Logic program are all well and good but these hotties sweep you away with there simplicity and accuracy. What am I going to do with these honnies? First of all I will take them for a sunset spin, and then I will begin to use them in my workshops, banishing the sine waves to the no mans land they come from. Why all fuss about the overtones? Because they contain all almost all of the answers my friends and they don’t force themselves on you, they just wait patiently to be discovered. And it gives you the well- needed pill of relaxed irony and humour with which you can bear all kinds of well-tempered western music, no matter what the intention behind it- from “classical” to “pop”. How do the Arabs say it? Patience and Humour are the two camels that will bear you through any desert. How badly we need them now.
Recently I happened to be in a medium echo chamber with some micas turned on and I played some Teleman Fantasies, letting my own fantasy run some wild. Not sure what my dear classical friends would think about the microtones seeping into these works but when you don’t have any rules whatsoever to play by then anything goes. I’ll admit it’s a bit over the top in some movements but perhaps if it is really only used in doses one can get away with it.
I’m sorry Georg Philipp, but it’s 2011 and this is all I got:
The heat is pouring down in Spain, the kind of sun that almost makes you want to drink coke. Mayhem the other other night as Barcelona trounced another random team. Being here it is hard to avoid it and I must admit there is one blog a read on a regular basis with top class writers who never shy away from what writing whatever the xxxx they want. Barcelonafootballblog is dedicated to wht I think is one of the greatest teams ever.
Spent the weekend mixing a new Trio record with Jochen on Drums and Simon on Rhodes. Attached is a small untitled piece with yours truly on steel drum. It took quite some convincing for Mr Nabatov, who had been jaded for life after having stepped from a caribbean cruise ship right smack bang in the middle of steel drum convention on some random atoll- the pentatonic wonderland mixed in with the heady rum based cocktails must have taken their toll on the feisty Russian pianoman and it was only after convincing him that my steel drum had been hand made in Berlin and detuned to my wishes, and that I don’t actually strike the round tone indentations but rather the spaces in between, that Mr Rhodes was persuaded and perhaps even inspired to play such sweet lines as these. The 7/8 doesn’t change, it doesn’t shift, it just stays as it is like a slow Greek dance in the mountains. The only real reason I have discovered for changing bars is to obscure the “one” for the listener. Now why would we go and something like that? Also reminds me of my favorite joke of all time, why ten is afraid of seven- because seven ate nine.
Untitled:
The wheel on my small black just-handlugge-size remowa suitcase has sadly succumbed to the long winter of sleet and hail and is now broken in the center, causing an holy racket akin to the tone of the those twurly wooden football things that can really irritate- only when I wheel her around she is 10 times louder. Inside the pristine sanctum of Zurich main station the din of my suitcase reverberates out violently and attracts looks of fear, shock, and amazement. I’d prefer to go unnoticed. She manages to shatter the aura of quiet precision surrounding the business crowd’s purposeful morning march under the watchful gaze of the massive Tissot station clock- an object of my eternal fascination. Not only does the second hand glide, so too the minute one, sometimes pausing to let her platform children to catch up.
The concert with the Luzern Jazz Orchestra was a true blast which left me hugely inspired to write more for them. What an amazing bunch of players.
As the train eases away from the polished blue stone of the Zuri station, Et S’enivre En Chantant Du Chemin De La Croix by Akira sounds out, blending with the rail:
Here’s the link for this Thursday’s concert with the Luzern Jazz Orchestra. Big Band Jazz in an almost painfully beautiful Swiss town surrounded by snow capped peaks. The rehearsals have been delightful and I’m sure the concert will be a blast for us all. The surprising factor for me was the harmonic sounds I heard form the clusters I had written- reinforcing the incredibly mysterious connection between timbre and intonation. I had expected slow moving dark clouds but saw flickering rainbows instead. Pondering this, I sat on the edge of the lake in the piercing midday sun, the quarter hours punctuated by the regular church bells behind the gold-azure clock faces- this is one of the best places in the world to contemplate time. The 2105 train to Zurich pulled away only 7 seconds late, effortlessly. The second hands glide between the second markers, smudging the forward motion. Is it linear or circular?
Spent the day teaching at the Luzern Jazz school. Was my first time teaching in the Gangsta Rap department and it was really interesting to work with some of the Swiss microtonal Rap Master students, many of whom had already completed 4 years of intensive Bachelor study:
Dear readers, after a long pause in operations I am back. It’s been a hectic period indeed and next week I am heading to dear Helvetia to perform a suite for Big Band I have been working hard on of late. It’s been a challenge writing for this set up and I am very curious to hear the results. Watch this space for sound bytes in a few weeks from now.
Otherwise I have been diving deeper into the world of overtones and monochords, slowly climbing up the infinite ladder of overtones and unveiling mystery after mystery. Nice to be back.
A few posts ago whilst bidding my inner farewell to my old flame Kenny G I made a comment about white guys dropping in well-tempered blues licks. As a crass Gegenstück example of how they can be dropped in and made to sing out I offer this track by Jimmy McGriff on I’ve got a Woman. The track is a wickedly jagged- in your face-no bullshit- prance on hot coals. Hailing from 1961, it’s a wake up call and reminder in times of flaccid, over-produced and impotent un-blues. Jimmy takes his sizzling hot lesley and rams it hard up Kenny’s fluffy white Reindeer for good measure, transcending time, laughing and crying all the way.
I’ve got a Woman:
The only downer is that some bright spark faded it out. Did the drummer lose the form? Did the guitarist have a stroke, the producer run out of tape, sushi, or coke? Did Jimmy’s candle keep burning hot for hours on end? I’d really love to know.
Admittedly it is not often I listen to the radio and am in the slightest bit impressed, not to mention mildly blown away. Last night whilst driving in Spain I stumbled across the midnight Flamenco program of the National Classical Radio and was, to put it mildly, blown away. The narrator had a wonderfully slow and poetic voice which I could even understand and the music was quite stunning. There are deliciously long tracks, recordings from over 100 years ago, the strangest of vibratos, and many more delights in this one. Today I found the podcast of the show and it is here. So many worlds opened up whilst listening to it, I hope it wasn’t just one of those had to be there moments.
Over the last week I have listened often to the concert of Haig Yazdijan from the Music Village. It certainly fits with the landscape in Cyprus, an amazing mix of ecosystems and wild cats. Garod:
I have a Ryan air flight coming up soon so I will be going into a deep meditation prep. to ready myself . Once you can actually identify with being cattle with limited handluggae it’s easy to go with the flow and breath through the experience.
I’ve also had Kagel’s Exotica with me of late. I remember listening to this in a car on a rainy cologne day many years ago and loving the feeling of disorientation, like waking up and not knowing where one is, except that the feeling lasts and lasts and lasts. Such was it with this piece. Sometimes there is a moment when I hear music from afar and can’t yet pick out what it is-sounds without style,direct impressions without interpretation- I love this.
And to finish with I’d like to offer an Embassadors track from the Nonplace 10yr edition- never before has Jochen Rueckert been stripped so bare draped only by the transparent gown of my hammond orgen, and peirced delicately with stabs on a Chinese Tenor Sax. Wolffparkinsonwhite is but a distant white speck on the horizon….The mix was done by Mark Ernestus. Makena:
This post is about an old musical flame of mine- Kenny G. Yesterday, his music was playing out loud and clear during a lunch I attended in Cyprus and so I had to do something about it. I hadn’t heard it in a while and it took me back- 3 memories stand out in particular: his was one of the first LPs I was ever given for Christmas, his was the music I was always asked to play at weddings as a teenager in New Zealand, and the most bizarre of all- whilst studying Indian music in Chennai my teachers were really into him as a great example of “western sax”- that last one really puzzled me. On top of that his sounds are omnipresent in Asian shopping malls from Seoul to Singapore. From the very beginning though, something smelt funny to me.
In the meantime it doesn’t really bother me- if it makes people happy or puts them in the right mood to consume next to indoor waterfalls then that’s fine by me. I think in hindsight it’s a mixture of a nasal unmistakable melody line, sleek synth textures in the rear, static dynamics and compression, and low volume blues-meets capitalism in a starbuckss sofa ( the blues going some way to ease the hidden guilt) that does it. It does sound extremely white if anything, a quality which is especially prevalent on yesterday’s christmas album when he hits a well-tempered blue note in between two choruses of Rudolf the white nosed Reindeer.
On the beach today I couldn’t resist playing a quarter tone version of the one I had to always blow when young New Zealand couples would walk down the aisle to seal their fates, I think it’s called breathless or the like. After playing it, I vanquished these bites from my memory and erased that part of my hard drive by thinking up this post and hurling salt-crusted skimming stones into the sea horizon-bound until my arm was sore and the hundreds of wild cypriot cats had gathered to watch: Kenny Q on Cyprus.
Picture this: A jazz drummer is on tour in another faceless and nameless town. He retreats from the dismal ill-attended jazz club and manages to decipher the cyrillic street signs that lead him back to his 6m² hotel room. He dumps his cymbal bag unceremoniously on the bed, cracks open a warm red bull, opens a tiny beaten up pc laptop, racks up and begins to cut up lonely microtonal melodies and rhythms on a virtual moog synth. Insert a repeat bar now in this post and this scene can repeat itself over and over. The pieces are given tittles like “Sadness surrounds us”, “Lonely out here”, and “Rest from What”. We feel it Jochen, we feel it. The ol’ jazz wailing from the bandstand is now channeled through this young German’s PC. A lot of microtonal music is academic and boring, not so with Rueckert- it’s emotionally charged and right in your face. It’s sizzling with static and it grabs you by the balls on the dancefloor and holds you there (depending on which dance floor you at). The rhythmic complexity needs no commentary from me (check the label page for some of this), it’s the strange and foreign melodies which carry me off to dreamscape. His new album is called “Rest from what” and it’s a polished jewel. When musics like this have expanded so profoundly in all directions the most important artistic question of them all ( What’s next?) is especially interesting. The hotel rooms sure aint getting bigger, not the jazz clubs fuller, nor the blue notes lower. We can only sit and wonder what’s next from the drummer who’s already given so much.
Wolff Parkinson White Sadness surrounds us:
As the year rolls to an end here is a little podcast I made of some works that move me- it’s another journey that begins in China and ends close to the mountains of Allgäu. In between she snakes her way through many skyes and rivers, places I had spent time in this year. It’s sounding out now through my limp computer speakers on this packed night train to Switzerland. Slowly but surely she is lulling my neighbors to sleep together with the hypnotic snow-dampened rhythm of the tracks. Nighttrain Mix:
This morning I was lucky enough to see the first rays of sun strike the side of Mont Serrat, the massive edifice that towers over the Catalan countryside. From a distance it reminds me of Uluru, the sacred rock of Australia. I can imagine it is best to observe these centers from afar where you can see how they seem to come out of nowhere and where there are no bipeds charging cash to climb them. I took this pic. I wonder if there are some Spanish dreamlines cutting underneath me.
Is it possible to lose yourself and fall head over heels for a simple interval? I think so. Of late I have been making sine wave versions of saxophone works and there is one interval that keeps at me like none other. It is the 13th overtone partial and sounds as the ration 13/8 to the tonic. It is a kind of sexless sixth, though the absence of major or minor leanings sexes it up all the more in my books. So much more than a simple interval it is a real universe in itself. What a pity we never hear it anymore in most musics. One of my favorite writers on the subject Mr Ruland describes this baby as having “neither the flaming enthusiasm of the major 6th, withs euphoric flight of blissful fancy, nor does it have the feeling of rejectedness, of inner burning or passion, which one finds in the minor sixth”. Yes, it was rejectedness which did it for me.
Hard to beat that so here it is, framed in austere sine wave beauty:
15 Density Movements is the name of the work I wrote for 8 Alto Saxophones. We performed it last week in Cologne and in Berlin and I now offer a rough mix. Uploading rough mixes in mp3s for all and sundry is a disgusting and irresponsible habit of mine which I intend to stop immediately after this post.
Program notes? A couple of souls asked me if I had any pictures in my head. Not really, just the sounds but here are some scribbles all the same. At the end the piece is played as one file.
The performers were Benjamin Weidekamp, Pierre Borel, Oliver Gutzeit, Frank Gratkowski, Christian Weidner, Florian Bergmann, Leo Huhn, and myself. This recording is from St Gertrud church in Cologne from last Monday. Recording engineer was Pedja Avramovic, a Cologne-based recording wizz.
15 Density Movements
1. Tune In
The players “tune in” with a concert C whilst the freight trains pass by behind the church. Two chords then sound out with partials from the 4th then 5th octave of the overtone series. The plays then “tune in” to each other further with 6 random chords before the tones become air.
2. Tempered Temperer
The players divide into smaller groups, each group bearing a different interval. The groups play off against each other, sometimes blending and sometimes clashing. The 4ths offset the 5ths, the 3rds betray the 2nds.
3. White Cluster
In the first the players play any note from C major Concert (hence “White Cluster”). The monochrome sound cloud is offset by 3 cluster gradually rising throughout the movement.
4. Winter Sun Row
24 Tone rows played horizontally (ie in the normal axis of perceived time)are then frozen as chords and heard vertically (ie in time stretched) whilst the rows continue to move through the group as if we were playing jazz. Then the rows are being heard played horizontally and frozen by the entire group. Winter sun? ‘Twas shining off Mont Serrat twixt my paper and pen.
6. Row vs Rows
Each player’s different 24 tone row is heard against the others, creating dense chords encasing a major chord hidden within. The church organ is then cut in two so to speak and the two halves are played off against each other.
7.
A dense cluster sound eventually turns into the north wind. A multiphonic chord sounds out as a distant train disappears down the Rhein.
8. Symmetrical Increase
With each chord, the distance between the individual notes increases symmetrically by quarter tones as the duration is shortened. We explode and implode simultaneously.
9. North Cape
Light whistles emanate from the wind around the lighthouses on our mouthpieces. It’s lonely in there. An overtone chord brings us back home but our parents don’t recognize us anymore and the wind returns from afar. When we fall asleep with our saxes in hand on the ikea couch we enter the abyss.
10. Church of 24
Bells tuned in 5ths from a 24 note scale sound out one after another. If this was a call to prayer I would roll up my carpet and come.
11. Cluster Choral
Upon entering the church I find the choir is singing in a kind of dense 8 part harmony. The clusters fill the space.
12. White Abstract
Like movement two, noted from C major concert are offset against each other. The players constantly adjust the notes in the sometimes futile attempt to tune the chords. The overtone chord from movement one returns. Returning to diatonicism after microtonality always opens new doors of perception for me.
13. Major Attempt
In the beginning was air. Major chords fall away, are smudged and painted over, as the entire group slides between registers microtonally. It is a major attempt by 8 altos.
14.
They move, they freeze, the blow. Rows are played and frozen. It’s over before I even wonder why.
15. Tune Out
The overtone chords return. The players “tune out” with random chords. One of them, I don’t know who, decides to go in high.
15 Density Movements Complete :
Hidden beneath the layers of snow and ice we managed in the last week to warm ourselves with sound. I had waited for a long time for another chance to play with Lula Pena and last Friday in Berlin it came. In the old Hungarian culture house we played a set and here is the first of the evening:
Come Saturday and 8 Altos were back on the agenda. After the church ran out of heating we managed to find a rock club deep in the east of Berlin to premiere some new works for the group once we had cleared away the dust and beer bottles. The day after we shot over to Cologne and played the same program in a the St Gertrud church with it’s glorious 12 second echo. This track is an excerpt from my piece “15 Density Movements”, more coming soon:
Last night I made it down to the local bar to watch Barce dismantle Madrid. Nestled into the side of the mountain and surrounded with fog, the drinking hole was packed with young and old catalans. It was a pristine example of how a real team will always prevail over a pack of individuals- pure music.
Next week contains some interesting gigs and I created this little poster for the Saxophone Octet concerts in Cologne and Berlin- a real orgy of alto sax awaits….
On the 3rd I play my second concert with Lula Pena. Here is the track I once dared to play on without knowing who the lovely voice belonged to. It was a long road to find out who she was and finally dare to ask her to play. I feel lucky we have another chance: