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Encuentros Cuenca

Encuentros Cuenca poster on billboard in Cuenca.

I have arrived home from a wonderful trip to premiere my tape piece La leggerezza delle città at Encuentros Cuenca. The festival was fantastic, the dance in particular standing out, and the cloister of the Fundación Antonio Pérez with a view across the valley proved a beautiful setting for the concert of electroacoustic music, which also included music by Donal Sarsfield, Panos Amelides, Irma Catalina Álvarez and Ricardo Climent. Many thanks to all the Encuentros Cuenca team. It was great to meet them all!

I was snapped diffusing during the concert by the local newspaper, El Día:

El Día, Cuenca, 05.09.2010, p. 16

Tape Pieces @ Encuentros Cuenca

Encuentros Cuenca Poster

Two of my tape pieces Para cruzar el sueño and the brand-new La leggerezza delle città will be performed on the 4th of September at the Encuentros Cuenca festival in Spain. I’m very grateful to Irma Catalina Álvarez and the rest of the festival organisers for commissioning La leggerezza delle città and flying me over to see the marvellous festival for myself. I can’t wait. Fellow adoptive Mancunians, Panos Amelides and Donal Sarsfield, are also having works premiered at Encuentros and University of Manchester lecturer Ricardo Climent features in the concert of electroacoustic music as well. The festival also includes performances of experimental dance and theatre, with all the events taking place at the Fundación Antonio Pérez, a gallery of contemporary art.

O, Berlin

Earlier this month I headed to Berlin to check out S.LOW Projekt, an interdisciplinary art project spanning the summer months organised by my masters supervisor Ricardo Climent. While I was there I got to see the latest incarnation of Sam Salem and Patrick Sanan’s Pond Life series, exhibited at Projektraum Schwarz in the gallery-studded area Neukölln. This is an audiovisual work featuring a tank of water as a projection surface and two hydrophones that provide the generative software behind the work with a rough estimate of where any agitation in the water is. This means people can splash about and affect the small neon creatures that appear to be inhabiting the tank. Here is an inadequate photograph from the installation, but check out Sam & Patrick’s websites for videos and more information:

Pond Life III @ Projektraum Schwarz

The great thing for artists in Berlin appears to be the wealth of cheap space to work in, much of it in old industrial buildings. One strand of the S.LOW programme took place at N.K., a sound-art community on two floors of a disused factory that has half a dozen studios and an empty floor for larger events that looks wonderfully broody when deserted:

N.K.

Probably the most incredible thing I saw in Berlin was Innen Stadt Außen, an exhibition of works by Danish-Icelandic artist Olafur Eliasson at the Martin-Gropius-Bau. If you have heard of Eliasson, it is probably because it was he who put the enormous sun in the Turbine Hall at Tate Modern. I remember thinking at the time that I couldn’t understand what the fuss was about (not being able to visit it myself) — it was just a big sun, wasn’t it? That’s the kind of reaction I’ve had when trying to explain the works at Innen Stadt Außen to people, breathlessly, urgently, because it was awesome. And I use that word in full understanding of its origins. No cameras were allowed in and the exhibition website is woefully inadequate, but pictures probably wouldn’t convey the experience anyway. Try this description: there was an incredible 10-minute piece of video-art which featured a white van with an enormous mirror strapped to its side driving round Berlin. Doesn’t really spark the imagination, does it? In short the problem with words here is that all the ideas were of extreme simplicity, description belies their impact, but their execution was consistently breathtaking. Trust me, if ever this man does anything near you. Go.

Perhaps it’s worth noting that — despite the clearly touristy, visiting ‘events’ aspect of this post — Berlin is a truly great place to hang out. Having rushed headlong into sightseeing, felt my legs grow tired and lose all sense of time and location in the Jewish Museum (which is, by the way, an excellent building), I discovered that the bars and cafés of Kreuzberg and Neukölln were quite spectacularly laid back and that my sandwich came with a salad with kumquats and cranberries!!!

A good exhibition I could take photos of was FischGrätenMelkStand curated by German artist John Bock at the Temporäre Kunsthalle Berlin, which contained a collage-like amalgamation of artworks built into a large scaffolding maze. Here are some half-built houses, which were tangled in the web of artworks:

Half-built Houses at FischGrätenMelkStand, Temporäre Kunsthalle Berlin

There are a few more photos from this exhibition and N.K. on my (brand-new) Flickr page, but one last thing to share here is something that is infinitely geeky, but exciting for me. As some may know, I’m a bit of a Helmut Lachenmann obsessive and here, in this maze of contemporary art and extremely stale pizzas, in a small glass case, were two pages, on loan from the Paul Sacher Stiftung, of manuscript sketches from the great man himself. Perhaps it was just their incongruence in the tangle of art, but it seemed slightly thrilling. Though visually unspectacular here they are:

Helmut Lachenmann Manuscript at FischGrätenMelkStand, Temporäre Kunsthalle Berlin

Go Slow…

Projektraum Schwarz POND LIFE III Flyer

I’m going to Berlin for a few days, including a visit to S.LOW Projekt’s fourth week, which features the latest in Sam Salem and Patrick Sanan’s Pond Life series of audiovisual installations as well as talks by a bunch of musicians, artists and technicians. Should be fun…

Manifestos and the Future(s) of Music

As a brief introduction: Ken Nielsen of the Australian group Pinchgut Opera wrote a ‘manifesto for the future of classical music’ as Greg Sandow — who posted it to his blog — describes it, Tim Rutherford-Johnson has added his two cents here and below are mine. Perhaps my European perspective on Nielsen’s Antipodean angle has caused some misunderstandings, in which case apologies.

Nielsen suggests that given that ‘the classical music industry is in decline with an ageing audience base and a low rate of new audience entry,’ a series of measures are needed to make concerts ‘more attractive and accessible.’ Some of his points touch on new music’s role in renewing the artform, which he follows with:

Because elements of the current audience are so conservative, a greater variety of concerts and formats, aimed at different audiences, is probably necessary. Stick with the current stuff for the olds, offer innovation to those excited by it.

Now to me that does not sound like any kind of solution to anything. It boils down to ‘keep doing what we’re doing and do some new music concerts as well’. As Tim Rutherford-Johnson points out, the new music sector doesn’t have a particular problem with either an ageing audience base or new audience entry rates and they already offer music in a large variety of formats driven by an alloy of innovation and necessity. So if as an existing classical music institution you are offering ‘innovation to those excited by it’ and are doing so alongside existing and perhaps better equipped organisations, you must match the quality, integrity and commitment that many of those organisations display if you are to gain the trust of your audiences. If you are going to ‘stick with the current stuff for the olds,’ then you are assuming, given your ageing audience base and low new audience entry rates, that you will let this ‘old people’s package’ drift off into the sunset as the audience dies off.

It is possible that after two hundred years of audiences revering Beethoven’s music, no-one will be interested any more, but it seems unlikely to me. I can, however, imagine shrinking audiences driving this music ‘underground’. One of Nielsen’s proposals is that ‘a concert should be more like communication than a one-sided speech.’ Without getting bogged down in concepts of interactivity and audience participation, I believe this is addressed by the idea of intellectual engagement. The reason new music survives is that it demands thoughtful engagement of the listener, an engagement that the audience is directly seeking when they come to a performance. This is not something necessarily required in your average classical concert or desired by its audience. While there are audience members who do engage in this way with older music (perhaps a substantial number) I would suggest that the audiences have long included a large proportion who were seeking light entertainment that was not too taxing, or at the very least something familiar and reliable. However, this audience is now (and has been for some decades) shared with other outlets of music both live and recorded, and the section most likely not to have converted to listening at home or going to other venues is the oldest section, hence the skewed demographic. [I can’t substantiate any of this, but would love to see data that might prove or disprove any of this theorising. Though how one would test for the audience’s intellectual engagement, I’m not sure.]

Given this thesis, I would suggest that more traditional classical music institutions might need to learn from new music groups not what to programme but how to organise. They should prepare for a different audience, perhaps smaller it is hard to be sure, but committed and interested, not just carry on with ‘the current stuff for the olds.’ New venues become important not, as in new music, because of demands made by the music, but because of demands made by the changing audience. Realising that artistic integrity and respect for your audience’s huge capacity for thoughtfulness is essential. An orchestra should be programming Beethoven because it is good, not because it is Beethoven. If a cellist doesn’t like Beethoven, they don’t bother too much with his sonatas and play other music instead. The orchestral musician doesn’t have that prerogative, but the programmer should think along similar lines — ‘I am programming this music rather than anything else, because I believe it is an excellent combination of excellent music.’ Their judgement may sometimes seem eccentric but if it is successful, they will gain the audience’s trust and create stimulating experiences that are surprisingly unique. This is perhaps suggested by Nielsen — ‘change comes about not from strategy meetings but from innovation — new things being tried, some failing, some succeeding’ — but it requires more than just innovation for innovation’s sake. Originality is a potential by-product of a commitment to a deeply-felt, personal quest for beauty.

On the role of new music in traditional contexts, Tim Rutherford-Johnson writes that he is ‘sceptical that introducing new music to historical concerts (which has been going on to little return for decades) is the answer.’ I agree that it isn’t the answer, but this statement absolutely requires the caveat he provides it: ‘unless done with the utmost seriousness and integrity.’ Combining new and old can be effective, a fact probably most often proved in chamber music and solo recitals where the performers choose their own repertoire. They know instinctively when works lie well alongside one another.

What is frequently musically unsatisfying is when things are forced into such a constellation by some external ideology. Programming committees at larger organisations find it very difficult to programme by ear as it were, to propose apposite combinations that they can feel working. Maurizio Pollini’s programme of Bach (arr. Webern), Lachenmann and Brahms with Peter Eötvös and the LSO last month was an excellent example of someone knowing that these three works would fit together musically despite their historical disparity. More often, people programme by theme or by scheme, throwing things in as gimmicks like gratuitous side salads (and they most definitely market them as such). They may believe new music to be a positive addition to their schedules but lack the education they have in Beethoven, Tchaikovsky and Dvořák to be able to programme it effectively.

For me, classical music, or any artform for that matter, doesn’t need a manifesto for tomorrow; it needs every person involved in every facet of the industry/community to strive to be inspired, to think hard, never do anything ‘because that’s what we do’ and deliver quality today. The future will take care of itself.

One caveat: I hold the view that however hierarchies and institutions collapse and transform, humanity will prevail in producing art. Admittedly existing structures can be incredibly important in supporting and promoting creativity, but one must always be wary not to allow those structures to become constraints. Rubble can be an excellent playground, so perhaps I’m not the man to be giving advice.

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