Sequenza21

Hopefully you’ve been following Armando Bayolo’s postings on our Forum about his adventures with Louis Andriessen’s De Materie – I’ve known about it for over a year now and it’s intensely satisfying seeing a good friend’s massive endeavors come to fruition. If you’re even remotely close to Washington DC tonight, there’s nothing culturally more important on the Eastern Seaboard than Great Noise Ensemble’s performance of this massive work by one of the 20th century’s most important composers. From the GNE website:

De Materie incorporates eclectic musical influences, ranging from Johann Sebastian Bach and Igor Stravinsky to the old Netherlands chanson “L’homme armé” and 20th-century boogie-woogie. GNE stretches the limits of both their personnel roster and their performing ambitions with this opera, which clocks in at over 70 performers including a sixty-member orchestra, chorus, vocal soloists and narrators.

6:30 – tonight – at the National Gallery of Art (directions here). If I wasn’t so far away I’d be there, but there’s a lot of you out there that are, so go already…and shake Armando’s hand afterwards – he’ll deserve it.

When I was a kid, my family did a lot of hiking and camping, and on those trips at mealtime or for a cup of tea during a rest my dad would do the cooking.  He would break out a little camp stove, fill a pot with water, and turn on the gas, igniting it with a match.  The gas would ignite with a whoosh, and then the sound would settle into a steady white-noise hiss.  The noise was loud enough to drown out little sounds like trees shifting in the breeze and the buzz of a nearby fly, but not loud enough to be a distraction, and after a few minutes it would fade into the background and I would forget about it.  After a while the cooking would be done and my dad would turn off the stove, which would quickly sputter into silence.  You’ve probably had the same experience–the motor in your refrigerator stops its faint purring, or the air conditioner’s automatic shutoff kicks in, and the sudden change takes you from not listening to a sound that was there to listening to its absence.

A few days ago I was doing some research in an archive of old periodicals, and I stumbled across a fascinating passage from a 1920 edition of the British Journal of Psychology.  The paper, written by E.M. Smith and F.C. Bartlett, is entitled “On Listening to Sounds of Weak Intensity,” and concerns an experiment in which subjects were asked to listen to sounds at very low volume.  The authors describe a phenomenon also discussed by earlier researchers which they call “Positive Silence.”  This is a silence which is “very clearly distinguished from that accompanying the mere absence of sound.”  In these experiments, positive silence was experienced by subjects when they could not hear a test sound and were confident that the reason was that no sound was playing, but not when they heard no sound but thought that it was possible that the sound was just beyond their perception.

Other researchers before Smith and Bartlett had apparently run experiments more closely related to the experience of the camp stove or refrigerator or air conditioner shutting off: “Titchener has attempted definite experiments on the positive character of silence by subjecting observers for thirty seconds or more to the noise of machinery in his laboratory workshop.  At the end of the set period, the noise was cut off as abruptly as possible.  Various organic and kinaesthetic sensations were reported, and silence was experience as ‘something else than sound or the cessation of sound.'”

And Smith and Barlett offer this quote, which appears in a book called Men in Battle by Andreas Latzko, from a solider who had returned home from the trenches of the first World War: “There is nothing but a glorious quiet that you can listen to as to a piece of music!  The first few nights I kept my ears cocked for the quiet, the way you try to catch a tune at a distance. . . it was so delightful to listen to no sound.”

Today is the 20th anniversary of Leonard Bernstein’s death.  He would be 92 if he were still alive.  His son, Alexander, has written a nice tribute published at dot429 this morning:

It seems impossible that twenty years have passed since my father (Leonard Bernstein) died.  Or perhaps, I should write, I haven’t seen my father for twenty years!  Sometimes I feel as though he is on tour again and will be back at any time now…

My father traveled a great deal. When he was home, though, he was really home.   As a composer, he didn’t have an office to go to like the other dads. He would stay up very late working and then wake up very late. He would always be there when we came home from school, ready to play (or at least not minding if we played quietly in his studio while he worked). In the summertime we had him all day long for swimming, tennis, sailing, or just eating six ears of corn apiece. Sometimes he would play something for us as soon as he finished writing it and would ask our opinions. Undoubtedly, it was always “terrific” because he had such faith in his work and played with such joy and energy.  You can read the rest here.