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  • E R I N G

    UTUREwvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA

  • REMEMBERINGlHE FUlUREmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA

    Lucia no Ber iowvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA

    HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS

    Cambridge, MassachusertsPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAI London, England 2006

    -

  • Copyrighr 2006 by the President and Fellows ofHarvard CollegeAli righrs reserved

    Primed in rhe Unired States of AmericamlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBALibr a r y of C ongr essC a ta loging-ia -P ublica tionD a ta

    Berio, Luciano, 1925-

    Remembering the future / Luciano Berio.

    p. cm.-(The Charles EliorPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAN o r t o n lectures)Conrents: Forrnations-c- Translaring music-Forgening music-

    O alter Dufc= Seeing rnusio=Poccics of analysis.

    ISBN 0-674-02154-1 Ialk. paper)1. Music-Hisrory and criricisrn.

    2. Composers. I. Tide, 11. Series.

    ML60.B46852006

    780--d'22 2005056706

  • PREFACEwvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA

    TALIA PECKER BERIO

    Luciano Berio delivered the Charles Eliot Norton lectures at

    Harvard University during the academic year 1993-94. Eachlecture was introduced and conduded by the performance of

    one of Berio'smlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBASequenze-a series of fourteen compositions forsolo instruments that cover the entire arc of his career. Berio

    conceived of their presence not as "illustrations" of the lectures,

    but rather as "musical quotation marks intended to protect the

    audience fram the inevitable incompleteness and factiousness

    of any discourse on music made by a musician."

    Two dose friends and longtime collaborators preceded Be-

    rio in this prestigious series of lectures. Umberto Eco read his

    Six Wa lks in the F ictiona l Wods during the spring semester of

    1993; the title ofhis book and its opening pages pay homage toItalo Calvino, who was about to depart for Cambridge to de-

    liver his Six Memos for the Next Millennium when he suddenlypassed away in September 1985. The affinity of spirit and theexperiences shared with both authors can be traced within and

    between the lines in various passages of Berio's own lectures. It

    is no coincidence, then, that he derived their title from U n r e

  • in a scolto-onewvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAof his three rnusic-thearer works with texts byCalvino. "Remembering the future" is hardly a literal transla-

    tion of the more ambiguous original "r icor do a I futur o"-the

    closing words pronounced by Prospero, the key figure of U n r e

    in a scolto, who takes his leave from life questioning voice and

    silence, turning memory back and forth, from and toward the

    future:

    Ia memor ia custodisce il silenzio

    r icor do deI fittur o la pr omessa

    qua le pr omessa ? questa che or a a r r ivi

    a sfior a r e col lembo della voce

    e ti sfugge come il vento a cca r ezza

    il buio nella voce il r icor do

    in penombr a un r icor do a i futur o.

    (TRANSLATlON BY DAVID OSMOND-SMITH)

    Memory srands guard over silence

    recollection of the future rhe promise

    which promise? rhis one that now you may

    barely touch with the voice's extremity

    and that slips from your mind as the wind caresses

    rhe darkness in the voice the memory

    in the shadows a memory for the future.

    VI / PREFACE

  • PREFACE I VII

    This interplay of past and present, of remembering and for-

    getting, is ever present in the following pages, but it is always

    underpinned by an unshakable faith in the future, and in the

    power of music to cross distances, to give voice and shape to

    that interplay and faith.

    The content and structure of these lectures were defined

    and sketched out over a long period following the appoint-

    ment as Norton lecturer, which was formalized at rhe begin-

    ning of 1992. By the time we settled in Cambridge in the fall

    of 1993, the first two lectures were substantially written out,

    but work on them, as on each of the other four lectures, pro-

    ceeded until the very time of their delivery, and sometimes well

    aterward. AlI of thern were written in ltalian, translated into

    English by Anthony Oldcorn, and then further elaborated by

    Berio himself

    ln the years following our residence at Harvard, Berio was

    engaged in rhe composition of two major works of music the-arer,mlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAO utis (1996) and C r ona ca del Luogo (1999), and a con-siderable number of instrumental works such as Ekphr a sis for

    orchestra; Alter na tim for viola, clarinet, and orchestra; Solo for

    trombone and orchestra; Kol od (C hemins VI for trumpet andchamber orchestra); Rcit (C hemins VII for alto saxophone andorchestra); Sona ta for piano; the last three Sequenze (XII for

  • bassoon, XIII for accordion, XIV for cello), as well asmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAAltr avoce (for alto Hute, mezzo-soprano, and live electronics), andthe new Finale for Puccini's Tur a ndot. He completed his last

    work, Sta nze for baritone, three male choirs, and orchestra, a

    few weeks before he left us on May 27, 2003.

    Thus the final revision of the Norton Lectures was constant-

    ly delayed, yet work on them was never entirely abandoned.

    Periodically, between one composition and another, Berio

    would go back to thern, introducing minor changes, pointing

    out passages in need of major revision, taking notes for furtherdevelopments. This "work in progress" (an important conceptin Berio's poetics, which recurs frequently in the following pag-

    es, especially in the fourth lecture, "O alter Dut") involvedboth the ltalian and English texts. As a result there were often

    multiple versions of each lecture, none of which, at the mo-

    ment of the author's death, could be declared as "definire"; nor

    was it always possible to establish the chronological order of

    the variants.

    Confronted with such a complex source situation, I decided

    to follow the texts of the lectures as they were read at Harvard,

    correcting and integrating thern only in those places where the

    variant readings were either objectively clearer or undoubtedlyapproved by the author, I felt that this approach conveyed more

    VIII I PREFACE

  • .oherence to the text (in contrast to a more orthodox philo-I gical editing method), andPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAI was inspired as well by Robert

    hurnann's youthful and rornantic idea that "the first concep-cion of a work is always the best and most natural."

    Any attempt to acknowledge on behalf of my husband the peo-pie who accompanied him in the process of writing and revis-ing the lectures would necessarily be incomplete. OavidmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAO s-mond-Srnith, Luciana Galliano, and Anthony Oldcorn wouldundoubtedly have been among thern. I can personally testilyto rhe constant and inspiring exchanges he had with ReinholdBrinkmann, the late Oavid Lewin, and Christoph Wolff, who,along with Dorothea, June, and Barbara, gave warmth to oureason in Cambridge with their priceless friendship. Mark Ka-

    gan and Nancy Shiffman helped in every possible way to makeour !ife and work, as well as the meetings and performances atanders Theatre, srnoorh and enjoyable. Peg Fulton ofHarvard

    University Press patiently accompanied the long genesis of Re-r nember ing the F utur e frorn the day of Berio's appointment toche Norton Chair down to the last detail of this edition.

    My personal thanks go to Reinhold Brinkmann, who pro-

    vided me with the only intact printed copy rhat has survived ofthe full set of six lectures: at the end of each lecture, Luciano

    PREFACE / IX

  • would ritually hand him a copy of the text that he had just readout. In a different time this would have been the "engraver's

    copy", I have tried to conduct my editing accordingly, with the

    economy and respect that was common before the computer

    era, and was lucky to have Mary Ellen Geer as an exceptionally

    sensitive editor. Marina Berio had read and commented upon

    her father's lectures at the time of their delivery; she was at my

    side last summer to give a loving and knowing hand in the re-

    vision of the texto I would like-and feel that Luciano would

    have approved-to dedicare this bcok to her, to Cristina, Ste-

    fano, Daniel, and jonarhan Berio.

    RADICONDOLl (SIENA), OCTOBER 2005

  • ONTENTSPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA

    I wvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAFormations I

    I 2 Translating Music 31

    ~ 3 Forgetting Music 6 1

    I 4 O Alter Duft 79

    I 5 Seeing Music 99

    I 6 Poetics of Analysis 1 2 2

  • REMEMBERINGlHE FUlURE

  • FORMATIONSwvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA

    The honor of delivering the Norton Lectures coincides with

    my desire to express my doubts about the possibility of offering

    today a unified vision of musical thought and practice, and of

    mapping out a homogeneous and linear view of recent musical

    developments. I am not even sure that we can find a guiding

    thread thraugh the intricate musical maze of the last few de-

    cades, nor do I intend to attempt a taxonomy, or seek to define

    the innumerable ways of coming to grips with the music we

    carry with uso

    Of course, I am not inviting you to abandon words and take

    refuge in purely sensory experiences-nor to play games with

    music in some hermeneutic "hall of mirrors." But I would like

    to suggest to you some points of reference that I have found

    useful in my work, and in my reflections on that strange, fasci-

    nating Babel of musical behaviors that surrounds uso

    I like to remember the last words that Italo Calvino wrate

    for the closing of my music-theater workmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAU n Re in Ascolto,when the pratagonist departs fram life, saying: "a recollection

    of the future." This, I feel, sums up my concerns in these lec-

  • tures. I will not concern myselfhere wirh music as an emotiori-

    ai and reassuring commodity for the listener, nor with music as

    a procedural and reassuring commodity for the composer. Ir is

    my intentiori to share with you some musical experiences that

    invite us to revise or suspend our relation with the past, and to

    rediscover ir as part of a future trajectory.Such an exerci se in revision may lead us into amlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAselva

    oscur a -D a nte's "dark forest." But unlike Dante, we will have

    to sacrifice paths, voluntarily lost and found, and behave like

    Brechtian actors with their famous Ver fr emdung: we will have

    to step outside ourselves, observe and question what we do. We

    need to question the very idea of a musical reality that can be

    defined or translated by words, and therefore the idea of a linear

    relationship between the empirical and conceptual dimensions

    of music. We also need to challenge the idea that musical experi-

    ence could be compared to a huge, protective building, designed

    by history and constructed over severa! millennia by countless

    men (and now, finally, also by wornen). Not that we could everget to see a floor plan, a cross-section, or a profile of this im-

    mense metaphorical building. We might wander through a few

    rooms, trying to grasp the content and function of each of thern

    (the Ars nova room, the Baroque room, the Schubert, Mahler,and Stravinsky rooms, the Viennese, the Darmstadt, the "ser

    2 / REMEMBERING THE FUTURE

  • d. .ory" rooms-and, why not, the minimalist and the post-modero rooms), but in doing so we would be conditioned bywhat we had already heard and known; we would then reinter-PONMLKJIHGFEDCBAp i ' t each experience, modify its perspective, and therefore also111 building's global hisrory, The history of such modificationsb rhe history of our actions and ideas, which sometimes seem

    1 0 run ahead of the arrival of the actual work that will embody

    Ih .rn. If that were not so, our metaphorical building would be-

    i orne a homogeneous and unanimous space, deterministically

    ~ I Ibjecr to so-called historical necessities, and therefore musically. I ~ I mlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAss.

    Ar the same time, however, we are aware that we are only

    .11,1 to know and to explain those musical experiences thathnv already taken place, rhose virtualities that have been fullyI ' -nlized. The history of music, unlike the history of science, isn v r made of intents but of achievements. It is not made of

    P< I ntial forms waiting to be shaped but, rather, ofTexts (withI npital "T" and with the largest possible musical connota-

    I ions). It is made ofTexts waiting to be interpreted-conceptu-ally, cmotionally, and practically.

    In rnusic, as in literature, it may be plausible to conceive aI iprocal shifting of focus between the text's supremacy over

    ,1\ rcader and the primacy of the reader becoming his or her

    FORMATIONS I 3

  • own text. As Harald Bloom remarked, "you are, or you beco me

    what you resd" and "that which you are, that only can you

    read."

    The implcatioris af these srarernents are endless. When ap-

    plied to musc they have to take into account performance, so

    that the queition of supremacy becomes overly complicated:

    to perform 2nd interpret a musical text is obviously not the

    same thing ai to read and inrerpret a literary one. Perhaps the

    diliculties Ct)mposers encounter when they talk about textsarise fram their feeling that they themselves are a musical Text,

    that they liveinside a text and therefore are lacking the derach-

    ment necesssry to explore, with some objecriviry, the natureof the relatioo they entertain with themselves as texto It is not

    an accident that the most rewarding commentaries written by

    composers ale on other composers, and that cornposer-writ-

    ers-such as 5chumann and Debussy-were "hiding" behind a

    pseudonym. I'he same may be true today, even without pseud-

    onyms, provded rhat the main concern af the composer who

    commentsPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA0 1 the work of another composer is other than toprove that hi. analysis "works" and that it is immune from pre-

    conditioning.I tend to admire "analytical listening" and the so-called

    "analyrical pnforrners,' but I also believe that a delicate bal-

    4 / REME"BERING TI-IE FUTURE

  • ance must be maintained, at whatever cost, between recogni-

    tion of conventions, stylistic references, expectations, and, on

    the orher hand, the concrete experience of giving a new life to

    an object of knowledge. In fact, performers, listeners, and in-deed composers undergo a sort of alchemical transformation in

    which recognition, knowledge, and conceptual associations-

    ali fruits of their relationship with Texts-are spontaneously

    transformed into a live entity, a "being" which transcends and

    sublimates technical realities. An "intertextual" conditioning

    can become so imposing that the measure in which the speak-

    ers are themselves spoken may be the same rhat would deprive

    the speaker of the courage to speak.

    When James Joyce said that hismlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAU lysses would keep scholarsbusy for at least a hundred years, he was of course displaying

    his Mephistophelian nature. He knew that scholars would not

    be able to resist the temptation to identily references and allu-

    sions, once they knew they were there. But he also knew thatliving with the "half-recognized" and with deceptive identities

    was ao important dimension of U lysses-a s ir is of any form of

    poetry.

    It is the pinning down per se-as if to prove the permanent

    legitimacy of a detail-that deprives the narra tive of its dy-

    namic and still unknown potentials. It may happen in music,

    FORMATIONS / 5

  • too, that the capacity to identify, to remember, and to hold to-

    gether a network of references can become poisonous unless it

    is balanced bya willingness to forget and to communicate even

    without addressees and without a conscious relation to specific

    listening codes. We know ir in depth when we perform or cre-

    ate music; when we raise, even unawares, the eternal question

    of our relationship with the text and the text's relationship with

    us: a question that music can address only through the accep-

    tance o f a silen t texto

    The attempt to establish a dialectic between music's practi-

    cal and conceptual dimensions goes back a long way and has

    sometimes assumed a radical epistemological importance. For

    this reason I propose that we pay a fleeting, non-archaeological

    visit to the Roman philosopher Severinus Boethius, who rose

    to fame in rhe early sixth century A.D. He was also a musical

    theorist. For him music was a silent text; it was indeed one of

    the chief tools of philosophical speculation; it was governed

    by numbers, and was therefore "harmonic." The laws of the

    universe were, for Boethius as for Pythagoras before him, laws

    of an essentially musical nature. Deriving rhe concept of music

    fram rhe Greeks and proposing it to his contemporaries (andto the entire Middle Ages), Boethius conceived music above alias a means of knowledge. His evaluation of beauty in its rela-

    G / REMEMBER1NG TI-IE FUTURE

  • t t O I 1 wvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAto art and to music is secondary. His vision stems from, ' I < l i .isrn, a philosophy according to which beauty is a question

    l i / ' nppearances and hence has a purely formal value. Although

    It ls speculations on music induced him to praise Pythagoras for

    11 i v i n g tackled the subject without making any reference to the1,1\ IIlly ofhearing, Boethius claimed that the surest path to the1111111:111 soul passed through the ear. Of this he had no doubt.

    tvtllsic, he wrote, affects human behavior, and so it is essential

    111 bc aware of its constituent parts and ofits ethical value. This

    NI'oplatonic view of the musical ethos reB.ects the idea of mu-

    \( 11$ part of the medievalmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAqua dr ivium, together with arithrne-11\ , g ometry, and astronomy-the higher division of the seven

    I j h ~ 'r : 1 1arts (the others being grammar, rhetoric, and logic: thetr iuium).

    I n his D e Institutione Musica Boethius discusses the Pythag-

    111' 111 rheory of proportions and celebrates music as a tool of

    I11 ' 1111 iversallogic ernbedded in everything: when it relects the

    l m r m ny of the universe it is musica munda na ; when it express-

    I I11 interior harmony of the soul it becomes musica huma na ;

    1'.'11('11 it is practical and emerges in the voice and in musical

    11 I rurnents it is musica instr umenta lis. According to Boethius

    111\l8i is, above alI, pure knowledge, whereas poetry, conceived

    111 h, r cited or sung, is indeed an "art of sound," and we may

    FORMATIONS / 7

  • therefore leave it to poets to com pose songs, to play thern and

    sing thern.

    How then shall we approach Boerhius's teaching? As a kind

    of philosophical manifesto of abstract musical functions,PONMLKJIHGFEDCBA0 1 ' asa very distant ancestor of our segmented musical world?

    I am raising these questions to remind you that the need

    to conduct conceptual speculations parallel and perhaps prior

    to concrete musical experience has very deep and long-stand-

    ing roots. Boethius's theoretical proposal did not attempt to

    formalize experiences that had already taken place or a prac-

    tice under way, but instead he appropriatedmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAin a dva nce the ex-perience of sound, while conditioning its very formation and

    development.

    A persistent analysis of the links between theory and prac-

    tice and the tendency to theorize and formalize musical behav-

    ior is an obvious, universal aspect of our culture. Ir underlies

    the notion of music as Text, as a document of an investment

    and of an encounter of ideas and experiences. But these days

    we have no permanent conceptual tools, no theory of pro-

    portions, of the affects (die Affiluenlehr e) of harmonic func-tions, not even of total serialization. We don't have tr ivium or

    qua dr iuium, and we don't live in a hornogeneous musical

    society. Nor do we have a lingua fr a nca thar would allow us

    8 / REMEMBERING TI-IE FUTURE

  • FORMATIONS I 9

    a free and peaceful passage fram one musical domain to an-

    other,

    What we do have at our disposal, instead, is an immense

    library of musical knowledge, which attracts or intimidates us,

    inviting us to suspend or to confound our chronologies. For

    over a century composers have been taking metaphorical trips

    to the library, to take stock of its endless shelves. I'm think-

    ing for example of Brahms and Mahler, or of themlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA1920s, whenthe very different neoclassicisms of Stravinsky and Schoenberg,

    both tireless and motivated visitors to an immense "rnusic

    reading-roorn," might be seen as the two faces of the same at-

    tempt at "exorcising" the overwhelming presence of the library

    itself-a library that is unable to offer coherence, but can re-

    ceive ir frorn the right visitors. Today that library has become

    boundless. Rather like Borges' "Library of Babel," it spreads

    out in all direcrions; ir has no befor e nor a fter , no place for stor-

    ing memories. Ir is always open, totally presenr, but awaiting

    interpretation.

    I think that the search for a "universal" answer ro the ques-

    tions raised by musical experience will never be completely Iul-fiUed; but we know that a question raised is often more sig-

    nificant than the answer received. Onlya reckless spirit, today,

    would try to give a total explanation of music, but anyone who

  • 1 0 I R E M E M B E R I N G T H E F U T U R E wvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA

    would neve r pose the problem is even more reckless. I don't

    believe that thought is a form of silent speech: we can think

    and conceptualize music without referring to speech, Music

    evades verbal discourse and tends to spill over the edges of any

    analytical container. This fact, and the dialectical nature of the

    relationship between the idea of practice and the practice of the

    idea, have brought music analysis into the domain of signs. But

    the question is, what can music analysis mean when it recurs

    to semiology (a semiology based mainly on linguistics) in orderto investigare the relarion between concept and perception-

    two dimensions which are in constant adjustment, and whosereciprocal "betrayal" is at the root of musical experience?

    My view of linguistic units may appear somewhat sirnplis-

    tic, but ir seems to me that rhe linguistic sign is not translatable

    into musical terrns. Let's look at the binary, pragmatic elements

    of language: signifier and signified,mlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAsigna ns and signa tum, deeplevei and surface levei, la ngue and parole, and also the bina-

    ry use of distinctive fearures: rhe relarionship between thern,

    when transposed into music, turns out to be significa n t/y unde-

    finable. The binary elernenrs rhemselves are not readily identi-

    fiable even in the highly structured and codified classical forms

    which were the most "linguistic" in music history (like the so-natas ofHaydn and Mozart). The semiological misundersrand-

  • ing stems from the fact that linguistic categories are applied

    to a musical texture whose morphological and syntacucal ele-

    ments cannot be separated. Furthermore, ali the elements of

    language-grammar, syntax, morphology, lexical content, and

    so on-have to work together in a way established by culture,

    whereas a similar solidarity among musical elements has to be

    constantly reconsidered. Ir is no coincidence that Gestalt the-

    ory developed on the basis of what you see, rather than what

    you hear. In language, a word implies and excludes many dif-

    ferent things, said and unsaid, and the name of a thing is not

    the thing itself. Whereas the musical "word," the musical utter-

    ance, is alwaysmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAthe thing itself.A melody by Schubert or a musical configuration by Schoen-

    berg are not the pieces of a musical chessboard; they carrywithin thernselves rhe experience of other melodies and other

    configurations, and their transformations are inscribed, so to

    speak, in their genetic code. This self-sufficiency gives musi-

    cal experience an enormous associative and semantic openness,

    of such an uncoded nature that a semiologist may be able to

    come to grips only with interpretive codes implied in listening

    and (more irnportant) in re-listening, rather than with creativeand strucruring processes. And that is why an algorithm that

    describes the significative processes of music is still wishful

    FORMATIONS / II

  • thinking. Unlike language, music cannot become "rneta-rnu-

    sic," and unless you make a very trivial use of ir, musical met-

    aphors and metonymies simply do not existo Nor can it be

    deconstructed: in fact deconstructivist foxes don't seem to be

    tempted by eating musical grapes-perhaps they think they are

    still sour.

    Ir has been said that each language is able to relect on itself,

    to think about itself Music too is able to do so, despire the

    impossibility of translating it into terms of language. But thepoint is that every musical work is a set of partial systems that

    interact among thernselves, not merely because they are active

    at the same time, but because they establish a sort of organic

    and unstable reciprocity Without that instability we ente r a

    rather fascinating and uncomfortable musical space-we like

    to think about it but we don't have to listen to it-as is the case

    with works like Schoenberg's Wind Quintet or Boulez's FirstBook ofmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAStr uctur es for two pianos.

    We like to think that music performs itself before it ever

    comes to performance, not only because a composer can play

    it out silently in his or her mind, but also because all of its

    meaningful layers exhibit conceptually both their autonomy

    and their reciprocal interactions.

    12 / REMEMBERING THE FUTUREPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA

    I

    l i '

  • Let's imagine a pitch-cell, for instance, ar a pitch-sequence

    that generates melodies, figures, phrases, and harmonic pro-

    cesses. A rhythrnic configuration shapes those melodies and

    generates patterns, time glissandos, and discontinuous ar even

    statistical distributions of those same melodies and figures. Oy-

    namic layers, instrumental colors and techniques, can nullify

    ar enhance the individual characters of each process, the na-

    ture of their evolution, and the degree of their independence.

    At times, that independence can become indifference and the

    musical parameters can follow their own life, their own au-

    tonomous time of evolution, like some of the characters from

    Robert Musil's narrative.

    To think out music entails separating those processes bur,

    also, cultivating an inner, implicit dialogue among thern, a po-

    lyphony made of varying degrees ofinteraction which, on occa-

    sion, can explode and absorb everything in a dazzling, syntheticgesture. Simple, neutral, and periodic ptch and time relatons,

    situated in a homogeneous timbric and dynamc texture, will

    fuse into transparent events, colored by the given harmonic re-

    latons. Complex and dscontinuous ntervallc and rhythmic

    relations, distributed among very diversfied nstrumental forc-

    es, wll fuse into a nose. These explosions, rhese all-embracng

    FORMATIONS I 13

  • gestures, are analogous to the speeding up of a visual sequence

    in a film, where speciic details wiU be transformed and blend

    into lines of movement.

    Extreme situations, from the sirnple to the very cornplex,

    will entail different and often comradictory ways of listening,

    from the most analytical to the most global, from the most ac-

    tive to the most passive. This instabiliry, this mobility of per-

    spectives, must be carefully composed as part of a meaningful

    musical architecture, and occasionally can stretch to the point

    o(opening itself to outside visitors, to strangers, to happenings,to musical figures coherently loaded with associarions. I have

    explored thar possibility myself in works likemlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAVisa ge or in thefifth part of my Sinfonia .

    A musically significam work is always made of interacting

    meaningfullayers that are at once the agents and the materiais

    of irs existence. They are rhe actor, the director, and rhe script

    all in one-or, rather, they are like the lake of an Indian tale,

    which sets out in search ofits own source. 50 what is rhe musi-cal Text? Is it the water itself, or the urge to seek out the source,

    rhe wellspring?

    It has been said that music changes because its rnaterials

    change. While it is true that the advent ofiron and glass brought

    about a change in architecture, it is also true that architectural

    14 IPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAR E M E M B E R I N G T H E F U T U R E

  • thought had already changed and was thus prepared to perceive

    how iron and glass might be used. Th~ old sound-generators

    in the electronic music studios of themlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA1950s did not changethe essence of music. Musical thinking had already changed

    the moment musicians began to consider the possibility of a

    meaningful interaction between additive and subtractive cri-

    teria, looking, for instance, for a structural continuity between

    timbre and harmony. Those archaic packets of sinusoidal waves,

    or those variable bands of filtered white noise, were mostly rhe

    end-result of rhe extreme concentration of intervallic functions

    in rhe poetic world of Anton Webern: the three notes of his

    generative cells (multum in pa r vo, in a true Goerhian perspec-tive) that are at once different and always the same.

    We have come a long way in the studios of electronic rnu-

    sic since those distant post- Webernian beginnings. The cri teria

    of sound-assembling that often steered research in those days

    (cri teria which have continued to influence the beginnings ofcornputer-assisted music) had widened the gap between theoryand practice, between a thought and its realization that was

    assigned to a magnetic or digital memory. This had an inlu-

    ence also on the notation of instrumental music, at least in

    those cases where the conception of a work prompted doubts

    as to whether a score should provide graphic prescriptions for

    FORMATIONS / 15

  • i t s p e r fo rm a n c e , o r d e s c r ip t io n s o f rh e s o u n d re s u l t , o r , s im p ly

    a n d fa ta l is t ic a l ly , s h o u ld b e a fo rm o f p ro g n o s t ic a t io n , a w a y o f

    g u e s s l1 1 g .

    A n u l t im a te s ig n o f th e g a p b e tw e e n th o u g h t a n d a c o u s t ic

    e n d - r e s u l t c a rn e a b o u t w h e n th e m u s ic a l s c o re b e c am e a n a e s -

    th e t ic o b je c t to b e a dm ire d o n ly v is u a l ly - th e e y e b e c om in g

    a s u b s t i tu te fo r th e e a r , s u p p o s e d ly tr ig g e r in g u n d e c ip h e ra b le

    m u s ic a l s e n s a t io n s in th e v iew e r . T h e e x tr em e w a s re a c h e d , I

    s u p p o s e , w h e n a p ia n is t w a s in s t ru c te d to p la y s tr in g s o f d o ts ,

    b lo tc h e s o f in k , o r th e g ra p h o f s o rn e o n e 's h e a r tb e a t . B u t I d o n 't

    w is h to m a k e fu n o f rh o s e e x p e r ie n c e s . S om e w e re v e ry a rn u s -

    in g a n d iro n ic ; v iew e d a s a w h o le , th e y h a d th e ir raots b o th in

    th e angst o v e r c om m u n ic a t io n a n d in th e c ir c u i t o f m a rk e ta b lea r t o b je c ts .

    T u rn in g th e s c o re in to a v is u a l o b je c t m a y a l lo w a s s o c ia t io n s

    to p ro l i f e r a te . I t m a y e v o k e th e " b e a u ry " o fB a c h 's m a n u s c r ip ts ,

    o r th e " u g l in e s s " o fB e e th o v e n 's s k e tc h e s ; b u t th a t " b e a u ty " a n d

    th a t " u g l in e s s " h a v e n o th in g to d o w ith m u s ic a l p ro c e s s e s a n d

    fu n c t io n s : th e y a re m e re a e s th e t ic iz e d g e s tu re s rh a t , in th e ir d e -

    ta c hm e n t f ro rn a n y fo rm o f m u s ic a l th o u g h t a n d f ro m its r e a l-

    iz a t io n in s o u n d , b e c om e a p a ra -m u s ic a l m e rc h a n d is e , a s s u p e r -

    f ic ia l a n d s e lf -p ro m o tin g a s th o s e " n ew so u n d s " th a t o f te n e n d

    u p a s jingles, a d v e r t is in g a s in g u la r a b s e n c e o f m u s ic a l th o u g h t .

    1 6 / R E M E M B E R IN G T H E F U T U R E

  • Nevertheless, there is also something attractive in the unwill-

    ingness to bridge the gap between musical gesture and acoustic

    resulto I am thinking of that sacrificial and somehow clownish

    impulse that seeks to defy an object in its original function: apiano becomes a gamelan or the workshop of a happily mindless

    ironsmirh, the concert hall is filled with the amplified sounds

    of whales or the noises of imergalactic magnetic storms ... It is

    possible to see in this rejection of the "artistic" a link with thestudiedly "careless" art ofMarcel Duchamp (think ofhis ready-mades, ofhismlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAMona Lisa with a moustache and a "hot bortorn,"of his urina!, that is, his F ounta in)-a s exemplary as that ofJohn Cage, to whom I dedica te these thoughts.

    The removal of behavior from musical functions and from

    cultural conditionings, and the stubborn and somehow mysti-

    cal defense of a persistem gap between musical thought and

    acoustic materialization, have produced not only ironic and

    paroxystic social gestures, but also some eminently use fui con-

    sequences. It has often had a liberating effect (early Cage isa telling example), opening up a space, perhaps more virtualthan real, for non-applied musical research, a research that was

    not tied to specific functions and results, nor to explicitly musi-

    cal regulatory principies.

    Ali of this occurred a long time ago, in the "roaring fifties,"

    FORMATIONS I 17

  • when I personally was busy looking for harmonic coherence

    between diverse materiais, in a musical context made of sounds

    and not only of notes. Without that freedom of thought and

    action, my musical research imo the human voice would prob-

    ably have developed in different ways and over a different span

    of time. During rhose years I was particularly involved in de-

    veloping different degrees and modes of continuity between

    the human voice, insrrurnents, and a poetic text, or between

    vocal sound-families and interrelated electronic sounds.mlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBACir cles,based on three poems by e. e. cummings, and Visa ge, for voice

    and electronic sounds, were the result of this developmem.

    That liberating effect also manifested itself in procedural

    and mainly arithmetical speculation imo the separation and

    isolation of acousric-musical parameters. This was a funda-

    mental and cathartic experience which had its roots, again, inSchoenberg's and Webern's thinking, and was tied to visions of

    organic musical development. Most of Webern's works, espe-

    cially after the String Trio op. 20, are no longer explicitly the-

    maric, yet they deal with thernatic virtualities which are at the

    same time the result and the generators of thernatic processes.

    They could generate thernes, but they stop just short of doingso, also because they undergo a constam process of variation.

    That hidden, thematic virtuality deepens and enriches our per-PONMLKJIHGFEDCBA

    1 8 I R E M E M B E R I N G T H E F U T U R E

  • spective ofWebern's music, enhancing the notion of form, ma-

    terial, and musical matter as relative concepts.

    In one of his seminal writings on Webern, Pierre Boulez

    reminds us ofWebern's own assertion rhat "the cboice of tone-

    rows is no more innocent than it is arbitrary." Webern justifieshis choice with the wealtb of structural relations that it con-

    tains-relations that foster a form of development that cannot

    be termed "thernatic" because it always remains a kernel. The

    notion of kernel became increasingly important to Webern to-

    ward the end ofhis life, when he referred frequently to Goetbe'smlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAMetamorphosis 01 P la nts: "The stem is already contained in the

    root, rhe leaf in the stem, and the flower in turn in the leaf: it is

    all a variation of the sarne idea." Although Coethe's statement

    is hardly a scientific revelation, the image it conveys is of fun-

    damental importance in structural and poetic terms, that is, in

    terms of the formation of musical meanings.

    Carl Dahlhaus pointed out a similar idea regarding the rela-

    tionship between material and matter: "The brick is the form

    of the piece of clay, the house is the form of the bricks, the vil-

    [age is the form of the house." 1 would like to bring this quo-tation closer to my own point of view, inverting the arder of

    the images to fit a subtractive rather than additive perspective:

    "The village is the form of the house, the house is the form ofPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA

    F O R M A T I O N S / 1 9

  • the brick, the brick is the form of the piece of clay." And here,

    again, is rhe same lake which sets out in search of its sources

    while dialoguing with thern. In other words, the elaboration

    of the cell with additive cri teria can be temporarily suspended,

    and the path that leads to musical sense may move in an op-

    posite direction, calling upon subtractive criteria to a heteroge-

    neous, even chaotic whole of acoustical data. Like the sculptor

    who extracts the sculpture,mlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAa for za di leva r e (as Michelangelosaid), from the block of marble. Such cri teria may lead to thediscovery of a specific figure: the generating celI.

    Post-Webernian serialists extracted from Webern's poetics

    those elements that would give concrete and conceptual drive

    to the break with the past. These elements were the autonomy

    and the equivalence of musical parameters often subrnitted to

    indifferent permutational procedures-so indifferent that mu-

    sic could go on forever. Ir could not end; it could only stop.

    Grounded in permutational and equalizing criteria, and essen-

    tially lacking virtual or hidden dimensions, it was soon neutral-

    ized by the objective impossibility of generating significandyevolving structures. The end of the "separatist" movement was

    brought about, oedipally, by the very serial conceptions and

    procedures that had generated it-but without complexes. The

    excess of estranged formal order generated disorder-just as

    20 I REMEMBERING TI-IE FUTURE

  • FORMATIONS I 21

    the hyper-thematization ofWebern's music obliterated themes

    as such.

    During the fifties music went through a period of fixation

    on homogeneity, which tended to prevent each parameter from

    assuming a real and expressive autonomy of development as

    part of a polyphony of musical functions. Schoenberg'smlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAF a rben,from op. 16, the ellipses and false symmetries of Oebussy's La

    Mer and [eux, the "tirnbre-chords" ofWebern's Second Cantata,op. 31, and Stravinsky's fleeting meditations on history, from

    Le Cha nt du Rossignol to Agon, had not yet found attentive ears.

    At one stage, the conflicting obsession with neutrality and sep-

    aration led to an attempt to separate out the "pararneters" of

    creativity itself-in other words, to separate the lake from its

    source. Attempts were made to distinguish various types of cre-

    ativity on the basis of their supposed contents, proposing, for

    instance, an opposition between style and expr ession, where the

    notion of style was ideologically labeled as a perverted product

    of the cultural market while, symmetrically, the idea of expr es-

    sion was positively embedded in the rigorous and self-depriving

    anger of the avant-gardes.

    The urge to split and divide, which has pervaded the musi-

    cal world for the last few decades, has also postulated an op-

    position between the empirical musician (who has no need for

  • "synthesis," and is subject to circumstances) and the system-atic musician (who starts with a preconceived idea, and followsan all-embracing strategy)-in other words, an opposition be-tween the composer asmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAbr icoleur and the composer as scientist.But creation is sirnply not available to this unproductive di-

    chotomy: the scientific or systematic musician and rhe ernpiri-

    cal musician have always coexisted, they must coexist, cornple-

    menting each other in the same person. A deductive vision has

    to be able to interact with an inductive vision. Likewise, an ad-

    ditive "philosophy" of musical creation has to interrelate with

    a subtractive "philosophy," Or again, the structural elements of

    a musical process have to enter into relation with the concrete,

    acoustical dimensions of its articulation: with the voices that

    sing ir, and the instruments thar play it.1n a significant and coherent musical itinerary, as visionary

    and disruptive as you please, the separation between the global

    and individual, and between rhe real and virtual dimensions

    is inevitably projected inro a plurality of orbits that transformtheir meaning. They beco me formations of sense that cannot

    be reduced to their functioning.

    An essential factor of modernity has always been its abil-

    ity to modify perspectives, to cancel or mulriply the vanish-

    ing points, the "tonics" that indicate the "right" path, and

    22 / REMEMBERING THE FUTURE

  • to construct something from the remains of what has been

    transformed, sublimated, and even destroyed. It could be

    said that the realm of tonal music, too, launches its themes

    and ali its constituem parts imo orbit, moditying their sense

    and perspective. But these constituems-though possessing

    a great number of variables-were always part of a more or

    less permanem and recognizable physiognomy, always tied to

    general behavioral cri teria: like the changes of expression that

    are an integral part of the human face. The degree of aware-

    ness and familiarity of the constituent "physiognomic" ea-

    tures and of the changes of expression was conditioned by the

    experience of historically activated and accepted relationships

    between the structural elements and the peripheral elements,

    between implicit functions and explicit features, and berween

    rhe different degrees of transformation of the whole. Tonal

    music was above all a vast and widely shared cultural expe-

    rience that involved its participants, musicians and listeners

    alike, in a huge variety of musical relationships. For the musi-

    cians the knowledge of music was similar to the knowledge of

    nature. The composer produced music in a theoretical bed-

    rock mostly taken for granted. Theory itself was primarily an

    a count of experience. As with tonal grammar and syntax,

    forms (such as the fugue, and above ali the sonata form) were

    FORMATIONS I 23

  • likewise analyzed and formalizedmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBApost foctum, ater the experi-ence.PONMLKJIHGFEDCBA

    I

    I I

    I I

    I1

    I

    I

    Today, theoretical outlooks tend to emerge before practice,

    with consequences that are perhaps less enduring rhan those

    experienced by Boethius, though no less significam. A theo-

    retical manifesto has indeed become a declaration of poetics.

    Schoenberg was the first, of course, to carry out this idea of

    modernity. The experience of rwelve-tone rheory, which had

    both its heroes and its victims (especially among those who ap-proached it as a linguistic norrn), is in fact the attempt to for-malize Schoenberg's own poetics-one of the most generous,

    cornplex, and dramatic of our history.

    In the process of rebuilding and revising the past with ourrecollection of the future, we cannot invent a new, utopian mu-

    sicallanguage, nor can we invent its instruments. Yet we con-

    tribute continuously to their evolution.

    Once, experience of musical instruments preceded any the-

    oretical awareness of creativity, Instruments were the keys that

    allowed one to enter the edifice of musical speculation. Un-

    til Wagner all composers, with the exception of some opera

    composers, were virtuoso performers in their own right. With

    Mahler, Debussy, and the Viennese School there was a conspic-

    uous shifting away from that individual virtuosiry, which had

    2 4 / R E M E M B E R 1 N G T H E F U T U R E

  • previously been synonymous with musical knowledge and pro-

    fessional excellence. Meanwhile, the orchestra became the "col-

    lective" instrument of the composer. The "maestro di cappella,"

    the Kapellmeister at the harpsichord, became the conductor of

    a symphony orchestra, that is, the coordinator of increasingly

    differentiated srylistic and technical concerns. Musical creativ-

    ity became gradually divorced from its specific tools, with a

    growing detachment from those marvelous acoustic machines.

    Musical instruments are tools useful to man, but they are

    tools that lack objectivity: they produce sounds that are any-thing bur neutral, which acquire meaning by testing meaning

    itself with rhe reality of facts. They are the concrete deposi-

    tories of historical continuity and, like all working tools and

    buildings, they have a memory. They carry with them traces

    of the musical and social changes and of the conceptual frame-

    work within which they were developed and transformed. They

    talk music and-not without conflicts-they ler themselves be

    talked by it. The sounds produced by keys, strings, wood, and

    metal are in turn ali tools of knowledge, and contribute to the

    making of rhe idea itself.mlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAVerbum ca ro fa ctum est (the word be-came flesh), with sweat and technique.

    Musical instruments act and think with us and, at times, in

    our "absentminded" moments, they even think for uso For the

    FORMATIONS I 25

  • composer-performer of the Baroque, Classical, and Rornan-

    tic periods, improvisation was a form of instantaneous, real-

    time composing (which has parallels, albeit through differentcodes, with jazz improvisation). Nowadays this form ofmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAextem-pore composirion is no longer possible because the numerous

    stratihcarions of musical rhought, togerher with compositional

    strategies always "in progress" between idea and realization, do

    not allow the composer to escape rhe conscious presence and

    dehnition of a musical text which in any case (even outside theframe of improvisation) cannot be totally handled in real timewith carefree spontaneiry,

    As depository of tradirion and technique, the musical instru-

    ment can beco me either a weapon against easygoing amnesias

    or a fetish, a sort of "stilllife," a motionless object, a nosralgicrerninder of a hypothetical paradise lost. Even if locked away,

    unplayed, in a roorn, the image of a musical instrument-a

    powerful Steinway or a priceless Stradivarius-can take a sym-

    bolic absolure value, substituting for music itself This fetish

    became, among other things, the target of John Cage's irony

    and provocative suggestions.

    Instruments take a long time to transform thernselves, and

    they tend to lag behind the evolution of musical thought. The

    violin, for instance, virtually unaltered, has been inhabited byPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA

    2 6 / R E M E M B E R IN G T H E F U T U R E

  • the history of music of the last four hundred years. It has an

    imposing legacy, and for this reason, whichever way it is played,

    it expresses that history and heritage-even if you tune it com-

    pletely differently, or interface it with a MIDI system.

    The same thing may be said for nearly all the musical instru-

    ments we know, The six strings of the guitar, for instance, are

    tuned in a very idiomatic way which is largely responsible for

    the harmonic colors of many orchestral "postcards" fram sunny

    Spain, but also for other musical exploits of a less picturesque

    but far more subtle nature (as in Ravel's "Spanish music" or inseveral of Debussy's piano accompaniments). To overlook or toignore this idiolectic aspect of the musical instrument, and the

    host of technical details and performance sryles associated with

    it, may be an interesting exercise fram an ascetic point of view,

    but is undeniably impoverishing. It is indicative of a difficulty

    in matching ideas and theoretical reflections with the reality

    of the musical instrument (or voice) which, for the history itembodies and for the ways and techniques thraugh which it

    inhabits history, is already expressive in itself. As always, ir is

    not musical thinking which has to submit itself to the instru-

    ment; rarher, it is thought itself that must become a conscious

    container for the instrument and its physicallegacy.

    The history of music has always been rnarked by new ways

    FORMATIONS / 27

  • of.engaging with instruments and with the human voice. Oc-

    casionally a new kind of dialogue has been established. Con-

    sider the instrumental inventions that Monteverdi generated

    fram his ideas onmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAstile r a ppr esenta tivo. Consider Bach's solo vio-lin partiras, which run the entire gamut of violin techniques-

    past, present, and future. Or the piano music of Beethoven, in

    which the instrument is transformed into a musical volcano (Iam thinking of the "Waldstein" Sonata, of op. 106, op. 111,

    and rhe Diabelli Variations). Later on, the keyboard-dialoguebecomes tougher but still extremely constructive. Iam thinking

    of Bartk, Stravinsky, Messiaen, Stockhausen, Boulez, Carter,

    Ligeti, and some of my own piano works. Now and then the

    instrumental debate has generated a sort of sly indifference, or

    has escalated to a real clash, to an outright rebellion, in which

    the instrument becomes, as we have seen, a fetish to be des-

    ecrated.

    We certainly have within us a constant need to transcend

    instruments, but we also know that we cannot go beyond thern

    withour eventually coming back, and setting up a dialogue

    with them. We can never contribute to their evolution if we

    treat rhern as mere sound generators and ignore their history.

    If we do that, we are just sticking our heads in the sand. Now,ostriches have never contributed significant forms of evolution,

    28 / REMEMBERING THE FUTURE

  • nor have they ever considered the problem of creating a dia-logue (however rnetaphorical) between "heaven" (the idea) andearth, between the "soul" and the body (the instrumentl-c-or, ifyou think that the jump is worth the effort (always metaphori-cal, of course), betweenmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAmusica munda na , musica humana , andmusica instr umenta lis. Any form of creativity that is untouched

    by the desire to bridge this persistent and significant gap is con-

    demned to silence.

    Now, let me conclude this introductory journey from Bo-ethius to the guitar with one particular point. I am deeply fas-

    cinated by musical ideas which manage to develop a polyphony

    of different formations of meaning-ideas that do not rejectthe possibility of dealing with specific and concrete instrumen-

    tal gestures which then set up a whole range of distant echoes

    and memories, allowing us to establish a dialogue of specific

    presences and absences: a musical space inhabited by the sig-

    nificant presence of absences and by the echo of absent pres-

    FORMATIONS f 29

    ences.

    However, there is a new facto r that makes this a difficult

    and yet appealing enterprise: it is rhe sheer wealth of thought

    and the enormous, pluralistic diversity of musical behaviors

    surrounding uso This reality obliges us to question everything:

    even the most concrete implications of our intellectual tools.

  • Since, fortunately, we don't live with a totalizing (or shouldPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAI say a "tonalizing") view of music, we can permit ourselvesto explore and bring together the various strata, the various

    formations of meaning in our musical journey. 111 doing sowe should not forget that heterogeneity and pluralism have to

    translate thernselves into processes and ideas, not into forms

    and manners-forms are often misleading, as they can be per-ceived independently of their meaning.

    lt is precisely because of this multiplicity of relationships-

    often conflicting, but even more often complementary in a

    constructive way-that we somerimes find ourselves faced with

    vast, uncharted domains, halfway between heaven and earth,

    between themlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAmusica munda na and the musica instr umenta lis.And then we are assailed by doubt as to whether music can

    actually venture further into the domains that it has itself cre-

    ated, or link up these far-flung points, and we suddenly won-

    der if music alone is enough, wherher ir will succeed. But that

    is precisely when we become acutely aware that music, though

    self-significant, is never alone; that its potential problems-if

    they are such-come from somewhere else; and that we must

    continue to question it relentlessly in aI! of its aspects, in all the

    folds of its tireless body and of its endlessly generous sou!.

    3 0 / R E M E M B E R I N G T H E F U T U R E

  • T R A N S L A T I N G M U S I C wvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA

    Music is translated, apparently, only when a specific need aris-

    es and we are compelled to go from the actual musical experi-

    ence to its verbal description, from the sound of one instru-

    ment to another, or from the silent reading of a musical text

    to its performance. In reality this need is so pervasive and per-

    manent that we are ternpted to say that the hisrory of music is

    indeed a history of translations. But perhaps all of our history,

    the entire development of our culture, is a history of transla-

    tions. Our culture has to possess everything, therefore it trans-

    lates everything: languages of all kinds, things, concepts, facts,

    emotions, money, the past and the future, and, of course,

    rnusic,

    Translation implies interpretation. The seventy sages of

    Alexandria who translated the Bible into Greek "invented"

    herrneneutics. We are well aware of the implication ofLuther's

    translation of the Bible into the German language, the French

    translation of the American Bill of Rights, the cultural and

    spiritual flux linking Greek to Latin, and Latin to the "vul-

    gar" romance tongues in Danre's time. In all of these occasions

    31

  • translation was, in fact, a hermeneutic practice, an interpreta-

    tion of a text, and the acquisitions were by no means one-way,

    frorn a language of departure to a language of arrival. The same

    multidirectional interaction occurs today, in the borrowings

    that take place between hegemonic languages (like English, forexarnple) and national languages, between standard nationallangllages and local dialects, between oral and written tradi-

    tions.

    Can observations on literary translation be applied, by anal-ogy, to translation in music, in other words to transcription?

    Definitely yes, even if there is an obvious difference between a

    written text available to all to read, interpret, and translate and

    a score to be performed. Language is an instrument of com-

    mon and practical verbal communication, but it can also be

    literature, prose and poetry. Music is always "literature," and its

    transcriptions, which often imply a vast and cornplex network

    of interactions, will never present their author with the dilern-

    ma that the translator of poetry must often face: whether to be

    more faithflll to the meaning ar to the wording of a poem, that

    is, whether to betray one dimension for the sake of the other.

    Literature itself can be a transcription of a long-standing

    tradition of oral narrative techniques. Ir has been argued thar

    Horner'smlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAIlia d and Odyssey are in reality collective works that

    32 I REMEMBERING THE FUTURE

  • were handed down, elaborated, and gradually crystallized over

    a period of about five centuries. The tales and myths became

    fused in poetic format, and their written transcription often

    reveals the use of specific narrative devices, such as repetition,

    frequent reminders of the heroes' fame and accomplishments,

    phrases that fit in neatly with the hexameters, and so forth.

    Ulysses narrares his adventures, adapting thern to suit the ex-

    pectations and conventions of those to whom he speaks. Was

    he aliar? lf themlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAOdyssey were not the transcription of oral sourc-es, of rhetoric conventions and narrative techniques, Ulysses

    would perhaps not have come down to us as such an astute

    hero.

    Art music toa can rely on transcriptions of oral traditions;

    we all know this and, having learned a lot from Bla Bartk,

    I am myself particularly sensitive to that experience. But music

    cannot go very far back in time and explore creatively a dis-

    tant past: its instruments and materials are not as permanent

    as a written page. Music is vulnerable. We can read, trans-

    late, and discuss Homer in depth, but we can only theorize or

    barely imagine how Greek music was, because we have never

    heard ir.

    In the Middle Ages, profane melodies were often tran-

    scribed for liturgical purposes; transcription in music played

    TRANSLATING MUSIC I 33

  • also a substantial, rnnernoruc role. Countless folk melodies

    made their way across Europe, transforming themselves and

    turning up in the most unlikely places. From rhe thirteenth

    century on, an increasingly codified musical notation-which

    is itself a form of transcription-had profoundly inluenced

    rhe spread of music, both publicly and privately, and favored

    a growing exchange of musical ideas from country to country.

    During the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries instrumentalPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAm u -sic rapidly acquired its own status as a transcription of vocal

    music, becoming an extension of it. The practice of transcrib-

    ing parts from a vocal polyphony for a solo instrument (thelute, for exarnple) was fundamental in the process of givingbirth to accompanied melody.

    "ThismlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBARitornello was played by two ordinary violins," Mon-teverdi writes in the score of his Orfeo, documenting the first

    performance but also suggesting, with that past tense, that on

    anorher occasion different instruments might well have been

    used. Until Beethoven, any acknowledged musical form was a

    quotation and a cornrnentary, hence a form of transcription. A

    giglle was a legitimate inhabitant of a suite; the vast range of

    transcriptions and transformations through which the formal

    dance model (rhe gigue) together with its occasional container(rhe suite) underwent, from the sixteenth century to Schoen-

    34 / REMEMBERING THE rUTURE

  • berg, is very significant. This is to say that musical transcrip-

    tion, seen from a historical perspective, implies not only inter-

    pretation but also evolutionary and transformational processes.

    The practice, the possibilities, and the needs of transcription

    were an organic part of musical invention and also a natural

    step in rhe professional development of a musician.

    Copying, the simplest form of transcription, was an impor-

    tant learning experience: the very young Mozart would copy

    whatever Leopold suggested, and later in his life, he transcribed

    Handel'smlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAMessia h and Bach's fugues. It seems that Schubertcopied Beethoven's Second Symphony, and Beethoven copied

    a few of Mozart's string quartets, parts of Don Giova nni, The

    Magic F lute, and the Requiem, and transcribed for himself a

    vocal fugue from the Messia h. Brahms copied Schubert's lie-

    der. Copying, like transcription, implies some sort of identi-

    fication with the copied or transcribed text, and also an act

    of generosiry. Walter Benjamin said that there is "a kind ofsaintly vocation in the sheer act of copying" and that "the

    power of a text is different when it is read from when it iscopied out .... Copying is to be the text being copied." I

    think that the act of copying by Schubert, Beethoven, Brahms,

    and many others can be seen as inhabited by rhe same erno-

    tions.

    TRANSLATING MUSIC / 35

  • Ouring the Baroque period, when musical roles and hier-

    archies were part of a rather stable and unif}ring conceptualframework, vocal technique began to assimilare the modes and

    manners of instrumental music. The relative homogeneity of

    the techniques and their highly codified notation made ir pos-

    sible to transfer music from one set of instruments to anorher,

    Over the centuries, the progressive diffusion of printed musical

    scores, and of transcriptions, generated countless mysteries that

    would have taxed even Sherlock Holmes. A notorious example

    is J. S. Bach's exceedingly well-known Toccata and Fugue in Dminor for organ. Its authenricity has been questioned by re-

    cent scholarship (an original solo violin piece later transcribedfor the organ, neither by Bach, is one of the hypotheses sug-

    gested), raising a whole range of stylistic and notational issuesthat reveal the complexity of the Baroque practice of copying

    and transcription. Bach was constantly transcribing himself

    as-well as Vivaldi, Pergolesi, and other contemporaries. Bach's

    Chaconne from the Parti ta in O Major for solo violin was tran-scribed dozens of times in the nineteenth century-for small

    and large orchestras, for piano, for gllitar, and so on. Schumann

    added a piano accompaniment to it, and Brahms turned it inroa let-hand piano study,

    As in music, in alllanguages there are translations that are

    36 I REMEMBERING THE FUTURE

  • copies, translations that are "faithful porrraits," and paraphrases

    that are a travesty of the original. There are translations which

    germanize the French original, ar americanize the Italian, and

    vice versa. But this is a small price to pay for the privilege of

    having Goethe on French bookshelves, Shakespeare in Italy, or

    Praust in America. Then there are literary works which are vir-

    tual translations frorn the ourset, because they are impregnated

    with the stylistic, conceprual, and rhetorical peculiarities of

    other languages, traditions, or translations. This is particularly

    true of children's iterature and of the more stereotyped formsof nineteenth-century opera librettos.

    Bur there are also literary works which resist translation;

    they may only be interpreted, paraphrased, described, or com-

    mented upon. These include Mallarrn'smlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBALe Livr e and joyce'sF innega ns Wke. Any attempt at translating these would be

    distinctly difficult, if not impossible or pointless. The reasons

    for this impossibility have something in common with mu-

    sic. In F innega ns Wke the symbolism, the syntax, phonetics,

    iconic imagery, and gestural content create a series of semantic

    short circuits, a polyphony of associations that leave no leeway

    whatsoever for alternative expressions or enunciations. More-

    over, joyce develops and exhibits a language that seems to wantto assimilate the molecules of ali languages, In this complex

    TRANSLATlNG MUSIC / 37

  • and lush landscape, the old Saussurian signifier and signified

    tend to be one and the same. The same thing often happens in

    the music of the rwentieth century-aware as it is of its pasthistory, yet eager to detach itself frorn it-where a transcrip-

    tion would become an irnproper and even destructive act. To

    translate Joyce'smlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAF innega ns Wake, Mallarm's Le Livr e, or thepoetry of e. e. cummings would be like transcribing Debussy's

    [ eux, Bartk's Music for Str ings, P er cussion, a nd Celesta , Boulez'sMa r tea u sa ns Ma itr e, Carter's Double Concerto, Stockhausen's

    Gruppen, or most of my own works. It would be like carrying

    out a cornpletely arbitrary operation on works whose meaning

    lies, among other things, in the interaction of rheir acoustic

    components, in their musical characterization and functions,

    in their specific sound relationships, and in the "thernatization"

    of those relationships.

    Transcription was-and still IS, at times-an instrument

    of popularization. In the ear1y nineteenth century music was

    made known principally through four-hands piano transcrip-

    tions, a decidedly less passive but also less accurate equivalent

    of today's CDs and radio braadcasts. Adaptations and tran-

    scriptions were part of the currency-sometimes a counterfeit

    part-in the big business of Italian melodrama. Franz Liszt's

    piano transcriptions and paraphrases, addressed to a cosrnopol-

    38 I REMEMBERING THE FUTURE

  • itan socialite public, contributed immensely to the evolution of

    piano technique and greatly furrhered musical exchange, even

    though they have Iittle bearing on the stature ofLiszt as a com-

    poser.

    Transcription has often been used, at least partially, to com-

    ment upon and to assimilate elements from past and foreign

    experiences. This is why it is so difficult, sometimes, to assign

    precise borders to the vast territories of transcription. The em-

    bittered, jostling expressive "objects" rhat populate Mahler'sworld and, from a very different perspective, the direct reter-

    ences to real-life sounds in the visionary musical documenta-

    ries of Charles Ives are significant examples of commentary and

    assimilation as an indirect form of transcription.

    Then there is Schoenberg who, to our great relief, tran-

    scribed for orchestra hismlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBATheme a nd Va r ia tions, op. 43 (origi-nally for wind instruments). He also transcribed-though in aproblematic way-Brahms, Bach, Handel, and Mahler. With

    Webern, on the other hand, transcription became a form of

    analysis-as is the case with his version of Bach's six-part Ri-

    cercare from the Musica l O ffer ing and the impressive "Brahm-

    sian" transcription for piano quintet of Schoenberg's Chamber

    Symphony, op. 9. This is a case where transcription becomes a

    transparent act of love and learning.

    TRANSLATING MUSIC I 39

  • As for Ravel, his transcriptions, wbere the piano is transcended

    into the orchestra, are ali very well known. Stravinsky's tran-

    scriptions covered a very wide and complex territory. Think of

    tbe different versions ofmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBALes Noces, and think of Agon, whicb isa kind of synthetic transcription (alrnost a parody) of a largesegment of music history. Tbe young Stockhausen showed his

    musical coming-of-age by transcribing bis Kontr a -punkte from

    a buge, uncontrolled orchestra to ten solo instruments. With

    Mauricio Kagel transcription becomes parody, commentary

    upon everything he encounters. Boulez's transcriptions and re-

    transcriptions of his own works (such as Nota tions for orches-tra, where he uncovers, transcribes, and amplifies several short

    piano pieces written forty-five years earlier) are an importantaspect of bis creative process and of bis proliferating vision.

    I toa have transcribed a great deal. Except when there are

    specific practical or personal reasons, my transcriptions are in-

    variably prompted by analytical considerations. I have always

    thought that the best possible comrnentary on a symphony is

    another symphony, and I reckon that the third part of my Sin-

    fora is the best and deepest analysis that I could bave hoped

    to make of the Scherzo from Mahler's Second Symphony. The

    same is true of my Render ing for orcbestra, which is my own act

    of love for Schubert and for his sketches for his last unfinished

    40 I REMEMBERING THI'. FUTURE

  • symphony in D major (D936A), which occupied him duringthe final weeks of his life. With my transcription for orches-

    tra of Mahler's youthfulmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBALieder , for instance, I wanted to bringto light the undercurrents of the original piano part: Wagner,

    Brahms, the adult Mahler, and the modes of orchestration rhat

    carne after him.

    But ler's step outside the catalogue of more or less explicit

    forms of transcription. Let's consider, for instance, a concer ta nte

    situation, in which a soloist coexists with his own image reflect-

    ed and transcribed into an orchestra which may become a sort

    of distorting and amplifying mirror of it (this interaction canundergo interesting developments also with computer-assisted

    technologies). We can imagine concer ta nte forms bringing tothe surface, transcribing, and amplifying Iuncrions which are

    hidden and embedded in a pre-existing and self-sufficient in-

    strumental solo. It is as if one were dealing with a natural, pre-

    existing structure, and sought to extract inherent forms and

    hidden patterns. This attitude has nothing in common wirh

    Schoenberg's curious procedure of writing a rather indifferent

    piano part to his F anta sia , op. 47, after having written out the

    violin part in ful1; but ir does, ideal1y, with the work of Paul

    Klee and his creative interaction with nature, a work that con-

    stantly comments on the roots of its own becoming.

    TRANSLATING MUSIC I 41

  • The series of mymlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAChemins for soloist and orchestra (or instru-mental group) elaborate on previous, independent solo piecessuch as some of my Sequenze. These Chemins do not offer a

    transcription of a solo part composed at an earlier date-which

    does not in fact undergo any modification whatsoever-but

    rather an exposition and an amplification of what is irnplicit,

    hidden, so to speak, in that solo part. In the case of Chemins

    L based on Sequenza II for harp, there is a very differentiated

    repartee between the soloist and the added instrumental forces

    (an orchestra and two more harps), and between the multipleperspectives of listening imposed by these new forces on the

    original solo Sequenza . The linear development in the orches-

    tra and the triangular interaction of the three harps keep the

    natural amplification transparent even in moments of extreme

    density. This process of amplification involves different and si-

    multaneous layers of articulation and different modes of per-

    formance, ali engaged in the same sequential, harmonic jour-ney Irom sound to noise. The harp in fact is often transformed

    into a noise generator: it does not evoke the pretty delicacies of

    the French school but, maybe, the noises of an unlikely forest.

    Nevertheless, the orchestra and the two harps reply to the solo-

    ist, often echoing it in a cause-and-eiect kind of relation.

    The situation is reversed in Chemins 111 (on Chemins lI), for

    42 / REMEMBERING THE FUTURE

  • vi Ia, a group of ten instrurnents, and orchestra. Here every-

    thing coexists; there is no dialogue, no cause-and-effect relation,

    but duplication and simultaneous reinforcement. The solo partmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA(Sequenza VI) mirrors itself, rather faithfully, in the differentinstrumentallayers. There are varying degrees of fusion among

    the different instrumental forces, based on harmonic characters

    and speed of articulation. There is an interaction between peri-

    odic and discontinuous, almost randorn, patterns that will ori-

    ent our perception of the phasing and dephasing of the various

    frequency bands. At the same time, the instrumental group and

    the orchestra are amplifying a global aspect of this work which

    moves, in a rather discontinuous way, from noise to sound.

    The sequence of works-Sequenza VI for viola, Chemins 11 for

    ten instruments, and Chemins III-a r e in search of a melody,

    going through different subtractive steps. When the melody is

    finally about to take shape, the work ends. Naturally.

    Chemins IV for oboe and eleven strings, based on my Se-

    quenza VII for oboe, develops a still different form of interac-

    tion and transcription. A single, isolated note of the oboe is

    repeated, always in the same register, through an almost regu-

    lar sequence of accents and silences. The same note is devel-

    oped in the instrumental group, undergoing a constant vari-

    ation of timbre and dynamics for rhe entire duration of the

    TRANSLATING MUSIC I 43

  • composition. Always present and always different, rhat note

    acts as a generalized tonic or like the vanishing point in a land-

    scape. Ir enables us to perceive and compare the smallest oscil-

    lations of color, intensity, and intonation. At times our vanish-

    ing point is lost in a cumulative process; or it is no longer heard

    as such because ir is absorbed, like an overtone, as a structural

    part of a harmonic processo The ever-present pirch at times is

    forgotren and at other times is recognized and remembered.

    The arriculations of rhe soloist are alternatively extended,

    prepared, or unexpectedly foreshadowed by the instrumental

    group, creating a dialogue of "mobilities" and "irnmobilities,"

    of "befores" and "afters," of "mernories" and "forgetfulness."

    They look ahead, they look behind, and naturally they alwayslook at each orher, The dialogue stops once this process has

    proliferated so far that the instrumental group now functions

    as an echo-charnber, filled with fragments deduced frommlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAev-erything that we have heard so far, while the soloist's original

    physiognomy is cornpletely transformed.

    A dialogue between a pre-existing musical text and the orh-

    erness of an added text can therefore be developed through

    multiple forms of interaction, from the most unanimous to the

    most conflictual and estranged. But it is exactly through rhese

    moments of estrangement that a deep connection with the ini-

    44 I REMEMBERING THE FUTURE

  • tial data, with the given material of the solo instrument, will

    be both challenged and justifled. By "initial data" I don't neces-sarily mean something that comes earlier in time. It is possible

    to developmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAconcer ta nte situations in which the solo instrumentbecomes a generator of functions that are entrusted to the in-

    strumental group, which in turn generates the solo partj thusthe group generates something that already existed, in such a

    way that the solo is no longer a generator but a resulto

    This implies the possibility of transforming and even

    abusing the text's integrity so as to perform an act of con-

    structive demolition on it. Transcription seems to get drawn

    into the very core of the formative process, taking joint andfull responsibility for the structural definition of the work. Ir

    is not the sound that is being transcribed, rhereore, but the

    idea.

    I feel that the implications of this proceeding, although

    quickly described, can be quite far-reaching. This is a position

    that we can also adopt with regard to history, not just musicalhistory, in this perspective we are invited to renew our percep-

    tion of history, maybe to re-invent it so rhat, fully responsible,

    we can accept the idea of a history rhat is exploring us and we

    can give ourselves, again and again, the possibility of remem-

    bering the future.

    TRANSLATlNG MUSIC I 45

  • The history of vocal music is aiso the history of translation

    of a text into music. Think of rhe text of the Mass, which has

    been sung in different ways, with different music, who knows

    how many times. Not only the Eucharist but aiso a poem by

    Heine, Goethe, or Mallarm is structurally and semantically

    modiied and renewed, at least in part, when it is explored and

    absorbed into music by Schubert, Schumann, Debussy, Ravel,

    Boulez, or others. If a musical thought is to manifest itself in

    full in relation to a text, it must be able to modiy that text,

    to carry out an analytical transformation of it, while of course

    remaining conditioned by ir. This will at least prevent the well-

    known and passive situation, so common in today's cornmer-

    cially oriented music, of a text that becomes a pretext in a ste-

    reotyped musical contexto

    Vocal technique plays a concrete but somehow ambiguous

    part in the transformation of a text into music. Even rhe epoch-

    making Sprechstimme, conceived by Schoenberg formlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAP ier r otLuna ir e, is a meaningful and unique case of vocal ambiguity. In

    the vocal part we hear the gestures of Berlin cabaret (maybe),as well as the mannerism of Franco-German melodrama (cer-tainly) and the Liederkreis tradition. We can listen to it also asan exalted recitation or as a pauperized song-or both.

    Even in the vocal music of the highest and most subtle con-

    46 I REMEMBERING THE FUTURE

  • /onnity of music and poetry (I am thinking of the Germanli xl), when we seem to experience rhe miracle of a quasi-spon-t. neous formal and expressive agreement between musical and

    poetic structure, we are aware of diverging relations, of expres-

    sive disagreements, between musical and poetic design, be-

    rween musical and poetic strophes, meter and rhyme, between

    modes and moods. For instance, the journey toward madnessand oblivion in Schuberr'smlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAWinter r eise is also a journey towardan increasing presence of translucent major keys.

    To look for specific and obstinare confirmations of common

    intents between music and poetry in the romantic lied can be-

    come a Iutile operation, since the cultural cri teria involved in

    themselves guarantee a relative code of reciprocity between text

    and music. Codes, merhods, and theories are everywhere, in a

    given cultural frame. They are obviously very present and active

    in vocal music, where a composer interfaces two dimensions

    that imply, in any case, possibilities of logical inferences and a

    substantial degree of probabilities in relation to the premises.

    I think that even in the highest moments of the German lied

    experience (D ichter liebe by Schumann, for instance), it can bemore rewarding to unglue the music from thc text rather than

    relying on obvious or specious observations that end up trans-

    forming a lied into a Rorschach inkblot.PONMLKJIHGFEDCBA

    T R A N S L A T I N G M U 'S I C / 47

  • Henri Pousseur has achieved a deep structural study of the

    complex spiral of harmonic and key relations inmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBADichter liebe,bringing to light, as he says, "a global structure of remarkable

    coherence and complexity. Behind a varied texture there is a

    uniied material that traverses the sixteen pieces in a way that

    never happened before in any form of vocal music made of di-

    versiied, collected mornents." But, let me add, there are also

    moments of significant divarication between the music and

    the poem. The musical episodes and the narrative itinerary

    of Schumann's selection of Heine's poems seem, at the end of

    the cyde, to dose up and sink together, holding themselves

    tight, with ironic dignity, in the waters of a romantic renuncia-

    tion. Nevertheless, in the last song there is something that stays

    afloat: it is the dosing comment of the piano where, evoking

    and developing the last measures of two previous songs, the

    musician talks directly to the poet, inviting him, with benevo-

    lent, friendly, and moving expression, not to take himself roo

    seriously. This way of "stepping out" of the poet's coffin, this

    brief and musically self-sufficient meditation, seems to imply a

    step toward transcendence of ernotions.

    In 1965, right here in Carnbridge, I had my first encounter

    with Rornan Jakobson at Harvard's Faculty Club. He came toward

    me with those bushy, glinting eyes of his and asked me point-

    48 / REMEMBERING THE FUTURE

  • TRANSLATING MUSIC / 49

    blank: "50, Berio, what is music?" After a moment of bafRed si-

    lence, I replied that music is everything we !isten to with the inten-

    tion oflistening to rnusic, and rhat anything canmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAbecome rnusic,I've always been faithful to this spur-of-the-mornent

    reply-if not in practice, at least as an ideal. I can 1l0W quality

    it by adding that anything can beco me rnusic as long as it can

    be rnusically conceptualized, as long as it can be translated into

    different dimensions. Such conception, such translation is pos-

    sible only within the notion of rnusic as Text, a multi-dirnen-

    sional Text that is in continuous evolution.

    Jakobson in fact had already stated something of the kind

    when he wrote that the entire apparatus of Ianguage=wirh its

    linguistic, phonetic, phonological, rhetorical, and syntactical

    dimensions-contributes to the poetic process, not just verse,meter, rhyme, symmetry, and so on. By this he implied that

    the priorities of poetic and, in our case, musical unctions have

    to be selected and recombined each time around. He gave the

    well-known example of a missionary in Africa trying to con-

    vince members of a local cornrnunity not to go around naked.

    "But you're naked, too," replied a tribesman, pointing at the

    missionary's face. "But only my face is naked," said the mis-

    sionary, to which the candid reply was: "Well, for us rhe face is

    ali over!"

  • The most significant vocal music of the last few decades.

    has been investigating exactly that: the possibiliry of explor-

    ing and absorbing musically the full face of language. Step-

    ping out of the purely syllabic articulation of a text, vocal

    music can deal with the totaliry of its configurations, includ-

    ing the phonetic one and including the ever-present vocal

    gestures. It can be useful for a composer to remember that

    the sound of a voice is always a quotation, always a gesture.

    The voice, whatever it does, even the simplest noise, is ines-

    capably meaningful: it always triggers associations and it

    always carries within itself a model, whether natural or cul-

    tural.

    Music, I suppose, will never retreat from words, and neither

    will words retreat from music. Words on music can themselves

    become a sort of transcription of musical thinking. However, at

    times music seems to be surrounded by a Muzak of verbalism.

    Beautiful and ugly, music and non-rnusic, tonal and atonal,

    closed and open, formal and informal, spoken and sung, tra-

    ditional and modern, free and strict are certainly alllegitimate

    and conventional terms. But musical experience seems always

    ready to contradict what is said about it, particularly when this

    is expressed in peremptory terms, with the rather moralistic

    slant ofbinary conlicrs. The dilemmas provoked by binary op-

    50 / REMEMBERING THE FUTURE

  • positions can lead us to ask ourselves if musical experience is

    more significant than the argument it prompts. Or whether

    the dimension of concrete experience and the dimension of

    the discourse which translates the experience into words are

    perhaps interchangeable. But we are also led to think that a

    conflict or contradiction has no point because music cannot be

    true or untrue the way a discourse cano Ir cannot, as a behavior,

    be either good or bad. Nor can it be reduced to a "thing," or

    to a procedure that is open to manipulation bya discourse. Ir

    is a vicious circle. Discourses on music do not perturb us-or

    we wouldn't be here now-but we know that music can occa-

    sionally perturb us when, loaded with meanings, ir begs to be

    spoken about, questioned, and related to an elusivemlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBAelseioher e.Forrnerly, this contradictory elseioher e could be identified with

    a universal concept of art which also accommodated music,

    though like an unwanted and defaulting tenant. But the no-

    tion of art tends to transform itself into the a r tistic: it tends

    to recognize itself more in a diffuse cloud of feelings than in a

    specific work. We find art everywhere and nowhere-perhaps

    because it has lost one of its most powerful propellants: that ofturning against itself.

    The musical work seems to need the constant reassurance

    of a verbal discourse that would act as a mediator between its

    TRANSLATING MUSIC I 51

  • outer form and its essence. This is even more true when the

    direct experience of a musical work is not easily connected with

    that familiar and conciliatory notion of art, or with the com-

    mon belief that the music we listen to has something to do


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