Vol. 30 Issue 2 Reviews | Reviews > Recordings > | ||
Curtis Roads: POINT LINE CLOUD, Electronic Music 1999-2003 | |||
CD-Audio/DVD-Video, 2004, Asphodel ASP3000; available from Asphodel, Ltd., 763 Brannan Street, San Francisco, California 94103, USA; telephone (+1) 415-863-3068; fax (+1) 415-863-4973; electronic mail info@asphodel.com; Web www.asphodel.com/cat/asp_3000.html. Reviewed by Brigitte Robindoré In the 5th century, B.C., a group of Greek philosophers called the Atomists
put forward the proposition that all things are composed of tiny indivisible
particles. It was posited that these innumerable primary bodies stream
eternally through the infinite void, only to whirl together, collide, and
unite, in order to generate objects in the complex world. The scientific
realm imagined by these Greek prophets meets today’s philosophical
realm attained by quantum physics on a plane of deep mystery. Though a
few musical visionaries such as Iannis Xenakis have theorized on this plane
from afar, only one explorer has trekked through it in a 31-year relentless
pursuit of discovery. That man is Curtis Roads. With this new collection
of microsonic compositions, he has placed his pioneer’s flag squarely
into the infinite dunes of sonic particles. The microsonic level, unknown to note-based musical traditions, introduces immense complexity and even new paradigms into the already vast world of musical organization. But it is clearly the level that Mr. Roads most relishes. He passes handfuls of sonic particles through his fingers much the way a child plays at the beach, in wonderment over the falling grains of an overflowing bucket of sand. Mr. Roads literally inhabits the micro time scale, editing particle by particle, caring for the acoustic space each will inhabit, its amplitude, its frequential components — selecting each grain as it may contribute to a mass, to a spiral, a burst, an upheaval, a wisp, a breath. Operating at this level, it is no surprise that, of the 13 pieces presented here, the average duration is around three minutes—a succinct unit of expression, which, according to the composer, is one of the most important form durations related to the human time scale, as evidenced by its prevalence in popular music. But, unlike the pop song, these are intricate, dense miniatures, so chiseled that one could easily echo Arnold Schoenberg’s observation on the brevity of Anton Webern’s works as reducing “a novel to a sigh.” And sigh Mr. Roads does. These works have a overall dusty palette, infused with noises of a white, grey, and sandy persuasion. There is almost the feeling of watching grainy (no pun intended) black and white footage of a previously uncharted universe. And in this sphere of quantum sonics, rolling marbles and beads of sound operate according to an inner logic seemingly dictated by the very medium of particles, added to sheer invention. One structuring element explored by Mr. Roads is a timbral continuum between dry/metallic and wet/submerged soundscapes. The nigh obsolete organizing principles of pitch and meter appear only as secondary phenomena, produced by particle replication. As such, when they do appear they are absolutely stunning events, made all the more beautiful by their ephemeral apparition. And here the old phrase really applies: “Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone [!]” In Eleventh Vortex (2001), pitch zones appear on the horizon much as a colorful school of fish passes by an underwater film camera – a glorious moment that may never come your way again. Perhaps more than any other works, Tenth Vortex (2000)and Eleventh Vortex sound like musical necessities, far transcending the sum of their parts. In Nanomorphosis (2003), the composer is concerned in part with water-like properties of sonic particles, some of which attain almost a dripping liquid state, enhanced by reverberation. As Mr. Roads states, “the particles sound at times like a scattering of hard pellets, a flowing or bubbling liquid, or an evaporating cloud of steam.” Fluxon (2003) evokes an atmosphere offeathered masses in flight. In Sculptor (2001), the composer’s source material was a monaural percussion track sent to him by John McEntire of the band Tortoise. Although the “beating drums [are] … disintegrated … into a torrent of sound particles,” the listener can still bathe in a sound mass repetition similar to the crashing of waves, only to have it then disappear on the shore of time. Indeed, if one were to perceive any overarching ethos in this collection, it might be summed up in these words: “Catch me if you can!” Fleeting moments of thought invite contemplation, but dissipate before you can quite grasp their hidden meaning. One wonders, though, whether this inscrutable nature is endemic to microsonic composition per se or to the composer’s own musical identity. Perhaps it is both. Of note on the CD portion of
this set are a number of written texts, including two articles by Mr. Roads
(“Origins of granular synthesis: the Prototype
study” and “The path to Half-life”), an article on the
visualization of Pictor Alpha by Gary Kling (the visualization itself
is on the accompanying DVD), a score generated for Half-life, part I:
Sonal atoms by James Ingram, and an interview with Mr. Roads
that I conducted in 2003. Point Line Cloud was honored with the
Award of Distinction at the Ars Electronica Festival in 2002.
DVD reviewed by James Harley The order of presentation of the works on the DVD differs slightly from that of the CD. Tenth Vortex (2000), Eleventh Vortex (2001), and Now (2003) are not included, and Sculptor (2001), the piece Mr. O’Reilly created first, is moved up to be the opening track (as opposed to the fifth track on the CD). Aside from combining the two Half-life tracks into one (Sonal atoms, and Granules), the order is otherwise the same as on the CD. Given the short durations of each of the pieces, the ordering is significant, given that one flows relatively quickly from one to the next when viewing/listening. In both cases, the CD and the DVD, the succession works fine. On the DVD, the disproportionate length of the Half-life track is mitigated by its clear division into two parts. Due to space constraints, I will offer only some general observations on the video elements of Point Line Cloud rather than discuss each track in detail. Mr. O’Reilly’s video work here is artistically assured and extremely proficient, technically. His approach is relatively consistent throughout: the succession of images is presented at a rapid pace, reflecting, in a sense, the granular nature of the sounds. The visual materials appear to have been mostly derived from “concrete” images rather than computer-generated elements. But, the editing and pace of succession often renders the sources of the images unrecognizable. I responded well to the ambiguity the video produced, exploring as it does the zones between the familiar and the abstract. The sounds, of course, do the same. Mr. O’Reilly has chosen to edit the video in tight synchronization to the music. When there are perceivable articulation points in the music—accents, pauses, etc.—the video marks these moments in a similar way, with pauses, significant shifting of image content, etc. In addition, while there is some sharing of source material across pieces, particularly amongst related ones (the two parts of Half-life, for example, or the four Volt Air pieces), each track manifests a unique color set, a tendency toward yellows and reds, for example (Sculptor), or greens and browns (Half-life, part I). All of the pieces, though, proceed by means of very rapid intercutting of images. The pace varies, thankfully, but moments of visual repose are rare and brief. The range of the variation of pace is nonetheless fairly restricted, and I found this visual rhythm a bit relentless over the whole set, which lasts over half an hour. Editing at a faster rate might have taken the visual elements into the realm of “synthesis,” where the succession of images would flow smoothly because the eye no longer senses the presence of each new frame. Similarly, frozen images, or tracking shots, would provide some reprieve. To my eye, Volt air, part III (2003) was one of the more successful, in that the images flowed more organically at times. I found this a welcome relief. I mention this because the music is extremely detailed and, on the micro level, fast-paced. Mr. Roads has created sounds whose granular qualities and changes can often be perceived as they are presented. There are other levels of formal organization, as there are in the video elements, but it is more difficult, at least for my eyes, to shift from rapid intercutting to global successions in the visual realm than the aural. Putting this intricate, “atomic” music together with intricate, fast-paced video produces a sensory experience that can become tiring. I admit, however, that others more accustomed to the rapid-fire editing techniques of commercial music videos and so forth may not take as much issue with this element. Nonetheless, visual stimuli naturally take attention away from aural stimuli if they are highly engaging, as these are, and multimedia producers need to keep this in mind. These works have been presented in club and festival contexts where concentrated listening would not have been the primary focus. In such venues, I am sure that Mr. O’Reilly’s videos would enhance the presentation of this rich albeit decidedly non-commercial music to audiences who may be unfamiliar with its technical and aesthetic sources and aims. The music and the visual elements were conceived separately. It would be interesting to see/hear a true collaboration by these distinguished artists. In any case, this is an important release that should be on everyone’s list to check out.
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