Since the 1967 publication of Bruno Bartolozzi’s New Sounds for Woodwind, there have been many books published for new sounds, or extended techniques, for the individual woodwind instruments. (Read here about some thoughts about the term “extended techniques”.) However, to my knowledge, since then, there has been no book that addresses the emerging uses of extended sounds for the woodwinds as a whole. This has become a problem for composers whose main focus is orchestral and ensemble writing.
I do not intend to disparage the hard work that has gone into the existing books for single instrumental techniques (for example, the Bärenreiter series). However, reading each individual book is not entirely helpful (or cheap) for a composer who wants to write an orchestral score with these techniques – a score that graphically reflects the Geist of the sounds (open note heads for air sounds, for example) and is consistent in its notation throughout the staves. These aspects are very important for juries, funding committees, conductors, and other people whose job it is to peruse scores. Then there are the players, for whom the score also needs to give clear information as to what to play and how to play it.
Take air (aeolian) sounds, for example. It’s a very different production technique for flute, single reed, or double reed, and they produce different sound results. However, a composer will want a unified notation and a conductor will expect a balanced sound from this notation (which usually doesn’t result!). A similar situation with percussive techniques. Different methods of production are even reflected in our terminology (slap tongue for reeds, pizzicato for flutes). And unpitched material? Ideally a composer might want to reflect it by a clef change (using a precussion clef), but for winds, often our “unpitchted” material needs a fingering, therefore five lines and a treble or bass clef (think tongue ram or jet whistle).
In spite of my love for continuing the flute traditions of notation, and my pedantic writings on “Lumping and Splitting” notations, I do agree that some things could be improved by re-thinking the notational traditions that came out of solo works that flourished in the 1980’s and 1990’s in order to make a more comprehensive, woodwind-wide system that makes a composer’s life easier. Any thoughts?
With two performances behind me, I thought I would jot down a few notes on A Pierre. Dell’azzurro silenzio, inquietum by Luigi Nono. This is a “notes to self” for my future performances, but I hope they shed some light on some questions for other performers as well. These comments pertain primarily to the flute part.
I won’t go into the background of the piece, instead, I will direct you to Daniel Agi’s helpful article and table of multiphonics for performing this work on a C bass flute. Here is a share version of the full article. I also recommend reading the “Notes on the text” by André Richard and Marco Mazzolini found in the score. Another interesting read is an article by Laura Zattra et al “Studying Luigi Nono’s A Pierre“.
Nono portrait concert with Musikfabrik Sept. 2024
The part of the score that elicits the most questions for flutists is the indication for whistling (fischio). Roberto Fabricciani, Nono’s flutist collaborator in this work, whistles through his teeth; this is the method that can best combine whistle sounds and the resonance of the flute. I would prefer whistling this way if I could. Despite my efforts, I can’t reliably control the pitch with this way. Since the score indicates exact pitches (although the octaves can be adjusted to your whistle range), I whistle through the lips.
It’s important to know that the notation can be misleading in that it shows long, held sounds. However, the “Notes on the text”, found in the score, make it clear that every note should actually be in flux: multiphonics need not be entirely stable, fischio sections should fluctuate between the flute sound and the whistles (except where specifically noted that the whistle should be held out). This is also confirmed by a conversation with clarinetist Ernesto Molinari, who appears on the SWR recording with Fabricciani. The transitions from flute sound to whistling are very important. This is in no way reflected in the notation, but it is very important. Do not think that you need to learn a special technique of playing and whistling at the same time. It’s nice if you can keep the resonance of the flute while whistling, but it is the the transitions, the in- between sounds, that are most important.
If you know Nono’s Das Atmende Klarsein, you will be familiar with the technique of whistling and playing with the resonance of the flute. In my opinion, this is a different use of the effect from what Nono wants in A Pierre. In Das Atmende Klarsein, there are melodic and harmonic considerations that argue for the whistling and the flute resonance to be as steady and balanced as possible, whereas in A Pierre, they should be elegantly unsteady.
It has now become quite common to play A Pierre on a bass flute in C. There is no published score for this instrumentation; one has to take the original and make the transposition. At some point though, I want to try this piece on the instrument for which it was conceived, a narrow-bored contrabass flute in G. (There are very few of them in existence. See Daniel Agi’s article linked above). My suspicion is that this instrument produces fewer higher partials than modern bass flutes in C, which often have embouchure holes with high walls and a sharp blowing edge so that they can project in ensemble situations. These high partials are taken up by the electronics, especially the band-pass filters, and amplified. I don’t think this sounds terrible, but I wonder if Nono had used these modern instruments in his experiments, he might have chosen different parameters for the filter’s cut-off frequencies and different transpositions for the harmonizers?
Ernesto Molinari also said that the original idea is to have the players seated, not standing. I seem to have a vague recollection of a photo from the original performance with the players seated on stools that looked like contrabass stools. He also said the work should not go on for too long, never more than 10 minutes. For me personally, I think feels correct: this work is a small puzzle of a present for Pierre Boulez, almost jewel-like, and not a zoned-out, meditative work, despite its trippy, hallucinogenic sound world.
Also, keeping to the original timing (without being metronomically, robotically strict) does create a proper coinciding of the delay lines with the fermatas. According to Juan Parra, with whom we performed the electronics – theoretically, during the fermatas, Nono has calculated an event in the past that should be heard in the delay during the fermata. The fermatas are there not only as points of meeting for the players, but for the electronics to play out their parts as well. This is why they are given specific durations. The delay lines are also specifically chosen at 12 and 2 x 12 (24) seconds long for important psychoacoustic reasons. According to experiments Nono and his team did in the electronic studio, twenty-four seconds is approximately the time in which most people do not hear a musically repeated idea as a repetition, but as an independent idea.
I hope this is helpful to anyone working on this piece, including my future self 🙂
I assume the answer is “no” – at tempo = 60 this is not really rapid.
Again my guess is “no”, neither the notation nor the tempo would qualify this as a tremolo.
Again the logical conclusion is “no”. It does not fit the criteria for a tremolo or a trill.
So why do we sometimes encounter this notation shown above? Slow-moving harmonic changes are in no way a tremolo, trembling, or whispering, therefore, not bisbigliando. So I would genuinely love to know why this notation above persists; why is the term “bisbigliando” written sometimes over slow harmonic changes? Why does this continue to be taught, where does this tradition come from, and what kind of logic it is based on?
Please, convince me!
Here are some reasons why this notation is problematic. In essence, this is a term for harp players. A little appropriation among musical terms is fine, but I think this extrapolation meaning “any movement between harmonics regardless of context” is misleading. Sometimes a passage can be played with a change in harmonics AND bisbigliando/timbre trill, therefore it makes more sense to be specific. Do you want the slow change of harmonics? Do you want a timbral trill? Do you want both?
So if you don’t really want a timbral trill, what would you write in the passage shown above? The good news is: nothing! You don’t need a descriptive word or any notational elaborations, because the notation speaks for itself. If you want a descriptive word, perhaps use “sotto voce”, “lontano”, “quasi niente” or something to that effect, if it is something atmospheric you are after.
(for an introduction to the topic of Lumping and Splitting, read Part I)
“Airy Sound” is an indication that I come across very often. Although I use it myself in my own pieces, I am aware that it’s a whole kettle of lumped-together fish!
For flutists, the main distinction that has to be made is whether the air should go:
across the flute in normal playing position (pitched air sounds), or
into the flute with the mouth covering the embouchure hole (unpitched air sounds)
I want to write about the second type, these “unpitched air” or “inside flute” sounds. They are interesting for several reasons:
you can make filtered noise with sibilant sounds (“s” – “sshhh”)
you can play with vowel sounds (“ooh” – “iii”)
you can mess around with speech (if you like muffled effects – bear in mind, speech produced with the hole covered will neither carry nor be understood, unless amplified).
you can buzz around like a trumpet (not great for your embouchure, I like to do this in improv for shorts bursts, though)
you can play jet whistles
OK, I have listed at 5 things you can do, and there are definitely more. But let’s not muddy the waters, let’s look at the ones that deal with just air, numbers 1, 2, and 5. These are all quite distinct techniques that sound very different.
So why, WHY, do some composers lump all these techniques together and call them “Jet Whistle”? This is lumping on a grand scale.
On Rogier de Pijper’s very useful webpage, he defines: “Jet whistle is a forceful and loud attack of air. It might be associated with the starting of a jet plane, that’s why they are called Jet whistle”. Exactly. Anything slower or softer is just an aeolian / airy sound with the embouchure hole covered, no jets involved.
It’s valid to imagine how a jet whistle would sound slowed-down, and one can do it a bit slowed down, the way a flutist would blow into their flute to warm it up. This is still a fairly quick action that needs time for breathing and to change the embouchure position. It takes air to get those upper harmonics resonating. Longer effects would be better served by writing a covered-embouchure air sound with the vowels “ooh — iii — ooh”, where the dashes represent gradual changes.
So why don’t I accept these longer effects as a “slowed-down” jet whistles? Because from the flute perspective, it’s very different on the technical production level, and because there are many other ways you can imagine this kind of slow, air/aeolian sound, with different combinations of shapes, vowels and sibilant sounds. This is where it pays to be specific, because there are so many different, wonderful, whooshing sounds possible on the flute! Why be generic?
(Read Part I for an intro to this topic.) Here are my opinions (at this point) about notating techniques for the flute: which techniques for the flute one can lump together (generalize), and which ones benefit from more differentiation.
Percussive sounds in Ensemble/orchestral situations
There are several places to put your tongue inside your mouth and make popping noises that resonate lightly with the flute. Traditionally, these are called pizzicati preceded by its place of oral origin: lip pizz, palatal pizz, sometimes the generic tongue pizz.Some people borrow the term “slap tongue” or “slap tone” from reed playing. There is no reed involved in flute playing, and pizzicati are not produced by any kind of slapping motion. Pizzicato refers to a plucking motion, which is a better description of what happens in a flutist’s mouth. Therefore, the term pizzicato is correct. I see these terms “slap..” and pizzicato used interchangeably, which is puzzling, but at least I know more or less what to do.
calling this a just a pizz or pizzicato is OK
As far as differentiating the place of origin for a pizz, in an ensemble or orchestral situation, I think lumping is ok – it is not necessary to specify how or where it is produced. The difference between a lip pizz or a palatal pizz is very subtle, but can be effective under amplification or other acoustically welcoming conditions. So if you really want a good pizz, you might let the flutist decide where in the mouth they can do it most effectively.
Speaking of effectiveness: please use the first octave only!
Here is a short video showing the differences (or lack thereof) between a tongue pizz produced first on the palate, then on the lips, and then a pizz with just the lips, which could be referred to as a bilabial pizzicato is you want to get fancy, or you could just notate a normal pizzicato with the letter “P” below it. Actually, any unvoiced consonant can be used this way.
In the realm of notation of extended techniques, the phenomenon of Lumpers and Splitters is alive and well. First, a short explanation of this phenomenon, then I will give you my take on how lumpers and lumping seems to be the dominant force behind recent notation trends. In Part 2 I will discuss where I think lumping makes sense, and where it doesn’t.
The first known use of this term is attributed to Charles Darwin, and is defined by Wikipedia as “opposing factions in any discipline that has to place individual examples into rigorously defined categories.” Continuing with the Wikipedia definition, a “lumper” is a person who assigns examples broadly, assuming that differences are not as important as signature similarities. A “splitter” is one who makes precise definitions, and creates new categories to classify samples that differ in key ways.” I first came across this term while reading about the findings of hominin fossils in East Africa. Do the collections of fossils represent one species, or several? A lumper would say one species, a splitter would say many.
In fields where there is only a very small sample size, or there is little objective, material criteria, such as (historical) linguistics, religion, software engineering, you will find these discussions. Among musicologists, there are lumpers and splitters who debate on the periodization of our (Western) musical history.
I am seeing a definite tendency towards lumping in the notation of extended techniques: using the term jet whistle to refer to diverse air/aeolian sounds, referring to multiphonics as split tones (no pun intended!), or all sorts of pizzicati referred to as slaps.
As to why there is this trend, “splits can be lumped more easily than lumps can be split” is perhaps the simplest explanation. And we all know that the more information that is out there, the less overview there is, and fewer people will take the time to try to navigate it. Therefore, the lowest common denominator prevails.
In my practice, I think it makes sense to lump some techniques, whereas other techniques could be more effective if they were subject to more differentiation.
Actually, this is a “notes-to-self” entry disguised as “Tips”. There are good sources for learning and practicing multiphonics such as Robert Dick’s “Tone Development through Extended Techniques” (although I know the term “extended techniques” has gone out of fashion, but the practice in the book is solid). I also have a detailed presentation where I approach learning multiphonics through the study of flute harmonics and spectral hearing. If you know of any other learning materials, please share them in the comments.
Now to the notes-to-self. It is well and good enough just to learn and practice multiphonics, but time has shown that one is often asked to perform multiphonics under less-than-ideal conditions. This goes especially for ensemble pieces when there are others playing, and it is difficult to get aural feedback from your own playing in order to make the minute adjustments necessary to play a multiphonic. However, in solo works there are also challenges, where a multiphonic might be difficult to approach in context (in a series of them, or after a particularly tiring passage, for example). So how do I prepare for that? Part of the answer is simply training in-context, as well as the reassurance that experience will bring. At times it is helpful to ask yourself, or the composer, conductor, or chamber-music colleagues which note in the multiphonic is of most importance? What voice should I bring out? Perhaps most important of all: can I find a better fingering?
And sometimes the composer thinks that he/she is helping by saying “oh that’s ok, I want an unstable sound, you can vacillate between the notes”. OK. That is something that has to be practiced too, because often a vacillation comes with a sudden jump in dynamic. In most cases, this is not the effect the composer is going for. This led me to a practice that I think is very helpful for close multiphonics such as this one (taken here in context from Joseph Lake’s Concerto for Prepared Piano):
I should emphasize that the basic way to approach a multiphonic is to take it apart, get to know the dynamic range of all the notes, do the throat tuning to the weakest, etc. etc. These steps have been covered in tutorials by myself and others. But once this has been done, we often get caught up in trying to get both notes equally, and then still failing. In past tutorials, I talk about using fluttertongue to help find the position of the tongue that will work, and listening and aiming for the difference tone or beatings of the notes rather than the two notes themselves (logically, aiming for one thing is easier than aiming for two, right?). Another trick to throw out is to practice this vacillation that composers are so fond of – slowly. If you can control going between the notes slowly, and minimize the jump in dynamics that sometimes accompany the movement, I find that the actual multiphonic sounds more than you expect.
So those are my thoughts from today’s practice, if you have anything to add I would be curious to know.
This is more of a public diary entry and notes-to-self than any sort of attempt to give tips or tools. Also, I attempt to sort out my thoughts of how things have changed in Darmstadt since the late 90s.
It’s been a few days since I premiered Georges Aperghis’ fascinating and wonderful The Dong with the Luminous Nose, and I am tired of mental postmortem self-criticisms that keep bubbling up into my consciousness. I need head-space for my next projects!
This piece really should be played from memory. The fact that my main achievement of the evening is I didn’t f-up the page turns with my page flipper is a testimony to that. And that the batteries didn’t run out. The list of why I didn’t play from memory is a long one – the final version of the piece was set 3 weeks before, and in that time period I had an opera to play, a family to have a kind of summer vacation with, and very time-consuming hobbies.
I was glad that there was a quality video recording, but am also happy that the recording is being removed from YouTube today, because although as a performance it was ok, I don’t want it to be the “definitive” version of the piece. Although that is a kind of joke. Little of the dramatic actions, voices, costume, that I did is actually in the score, so there never was and never will be a “definitive” version. There are no indications of how gestures are to be performed, the piece also has only two dynamic indications. For me, this is poses a very interesting interpretive situation, and has many parallels to my study and engagement with electronic music composition. Like electronic music, music that involves declamation of spoken text, a mixture of spoken text with instrumental sounds and dramatic gestures, cannot be prescribed with conventional musical notation. It puts performance, and not the written score, at its center. (Watch this documentary about Aperghis and musical theater if you want to know more about his esthetic.)
This situation for me was interesting because I gave the premiere in Darmstadt, where composition, composers and the “text” of music, i.e., the score, have historically been the focus of attention and resources. When I first attended in the 90s, I was struck by the hegemony of composers there, and their dominance, along with big-name festival organizers, in the whole contemporary music scene. There were very few composer-performers as role models in Darmstadt at that time (Markus Stockhausen was one exception), and the concept of composer-performer or improviser was neither thematized, promoted, nor rewarded. I was even advised there by a local composer to “stay away from the improv scene”, those players were really considered lame. This has changed, and I think this normalization is due to rapidly evolving technology and the emerging inclusiveness that is the result of successful activism and increased “woke-ness” by our cultural power structures.
As pointed out in Live Electronic Music, Composition, Performance, Study, our music history is written “from the perspective of the composer and rarely from that of the performer. Compositional outcomes have been the backbone of music historiography since it began in the 19th century”. This book examines questions of musical texts that are “nonexistent, incomplete, insufficiently precise or transmitted in a nontraditional format” from many perspectives (that of composer, performer, audio engineer to name a few). Historically, it makes sense that anything that leaves a paper trail (a score) will become a source for academics to pour over. We love artifacts. They provide a basis for taxonomies, give credibility, establish lineages, give credence to ideas. Since recording technology has developed, we have now another fixed source, that of recorded performances, over which to pour. This has “…opened up new perspectives, which have contributed to the revitalization of the performer’s role and the concept of music as performance.” I love this book!
Now is the time for composer/performers, improvisers, and those who work with media whose sounds cannot be codified/”textified” by a score, to assume more prominence in our Western music history and the power structures that determine our cultural life.
