MUSIC IN THE WILD

John Zorn, John Cage, Toru Takemitsu,

and Harry Bertoia

My first serious encounter with genre-defying music must have been in the early 2000s in New York City when I was taken to a performance by John Zorn and friends at a club called Tonic. Zorn performed in a series of flexible ensembles that included both traditional and unusual instruments, laptops and other technology, or pretty much anything that was capable of creating weird sounds and/or noise. It’s been over 20 years now but that concert still resonates and marks a moment when my senses were awakened to an offbeat way of performing, receiving and experiencing music, courtesy of the sheer musical mayhem onstage. 

I didn’t know what to expect when I agreed to attend the event. I had moved to NYC only a few years before and I had never had much exposure to hence interest in jazz, new, or experimental music. I had some favorite bands that were ‘fun’ but the rest of the music I listened to, mostly because I had to learn and perform it, was ‘serious’ music played by regular, classical instruments in an orderly and predictable fashion. 

The important details of that night evade me now, like what pieces were being played, or who exactly performed with Zorn, but I remember noticing that Tonic was a very small space and that it was absolutely packed. Everyone present was clearly there by choice and the reception was ecstatic as saxophone riffs mingled freely with cello sounds, duck calls, laptops and more in bursts of spontaneous music creation. A designated distortionist turned dials ever higher on some device until everything seemed extremely loud and unhinged. The night ended several hours later with my ears ablaze.

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Many years have passed since that night and my taste has had some time to adapt. New York was a great place to broaden my perception of what music could be as I took first an interest, then a liking to composers and pieces that were still within the standard repertoire but slightly more contemporary, more conceptual, less conforming to centuries-old rules. I now don’t see the chaos of the Tonic concert as apart from music but rather as an integral part of the compositional process. Music, I have come to believe, is always present, just waiting to happen. What we call 'composition' is simply a meticulously, and sometimes more loosely curated sampling from an infinite reserve of choices. By the sheer power of our intention and imagination we summon something real into existence that wasn't there before.

If chaos is the presence of everything at once then the opposite would surely be nothing, or total silence. In music, moments of pause are not at all unusual and have an important function. Rests, as they are known, do not sit idly but are rather hard-working multi-taskers: they heighten the drama, create tension and anticipation, separate musical ideas and sections. But silences used in this way are brief and mostly cast in a supporting role, always in service to the star of the show, sound.

There are only a handful of instances when silence is shoved into the limelight and forced to become the main event. Of those few examples John Cage’s 4’33 is the most well-known. For what seems an eternity, but is in reality less than a five-minute interval, the tables turn and the audience becomes the work. Every murmur, cough or rustling of paper in the concert hall adds a random note to a musical experience happening in real time as the musician, or musicians on stage, do nothing but wait out a performance in three movements, tacet, from start to finish.

Everything we do is music.

-John Cage

This work and many others have rightfully placed John Cage (1912-1992) among one of the most innovative experimental composers of the 20th century. Aside from sound he studied quietude with an unparalleled passion, experiencing it first-hand in an anechoic chamber at Harvard University, and writing about it extensively in Silence: Lectures and Writings (1939-1961). An eclectic artist, his music teems with novel ways of manipulating sound: from timbre - turning the piano into a percussion-sounding instrument by inserting bolts, rubber, plastic, and other everyday objects between the strings of the piano - to structure. Known as aleatoric or indeterminate music, the latter kind of pieces hinge on various musical parameters being chosen not only by the composer and/or performer but by pure random chance. The throw of a die or a quick consultation of the I Ching decides how the piece will develop and never do two performances follow the same path.

A student of Zen Buddhist philosophy, Cage saw music as "purposeless play...an affirmation of life...not an attempt to bring order out of chaos nor to suggest improvements in creation, but simply a way of waking up to the very life we're living." 

While I have played only one piece by Cage - In a Landscape, which is thoroughly lovely but not exactly experimental - I am slightly more hands-on with another composer in favor of letting music unfold naturally. Largely self-taught, Toru Takemitsu (1930-1996) considered music "the only thing" and his whole reason for being in the aftermath of WWII. Avoiding overt Japanese influence in his music early on, it was Cage's compositions that encouraged him to later explore his national heritage. Seeing himself as the gardener, Takemitsu compared his music to a Japanese landscape where light and shadow, proportion and restraint, all work together and exist in delicate harmony.

The most important thing in Japanese music is space, not sound. Strong tensions. Space: Ma (間)...I have used few notes, many silences, from my first piece.

-Toru Takemitsu

Rain Tree Sketches I and II are a wonderful example of this ideal state made real. Like tiny drops of water ensconced within the leaves of the rain tree they depict, the sketches exist in a small capsule of time and space all their own. At once contained and infinite, they are perfections in miniature, single grains of sand containing the entire universe. A meditative calm is felt long after the last note (and silence) have dissipated.

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Ever since that Zorn concert I have looked forward to moments when music would find me in unusual and unexpected places. One such encounter occurred in Maine in the summer of 2021 where we spent a wonderful vacation sailing on boats, hiking, basking in the sun, and walking to, from, and around lighthouses along the rocky coast. Exhausted and weathered from the outdoors we drove into Portland for the last leg of our trip to discover a vibrant city full of great food and a youthful night scene. The eponymous Museum of Art (PMA) was on our sightseeing list, and it didn’t disappoint. Light-filled spacious rooms displaying original paintings, sculptures, glassware, and other instances of stylish design awaited our curious eyes at every turn.

As it happened we were at the museum just as the Small Sonambient Sculpture by Harry Bertoia (1915-1978) was being played. An Italian-American designer of jewelry and furniture, Bertoia wandered into making instruments by accident. Striking a metal rod while trying to bend it, it made a sound that "echoed in [his] mind for a long time." Taking this experience a step further, he began creating musical sculptures, soon amassing an impressive collection. He arranged his favorites in a Pennsylvania barn which served as both a performance and recording space. Bertoia printed 11 albums of the performances in a series entitled "Sonambient," but the sculptures could also be heard live at private concerts attended by close family and friends.

Today, the modestly-sized sculpture at the PMA performs once in the morning and once in the afternoon, the rods swaying and clanging as it is set in motion.

Encountering music where we hadn't sought it out, we stood in pleasant surprise as the gentle vibrations filled the room. A feast for the eyes and ears, it was a soundscape at once so novel yet so completely in tune with its surroundings.

Man is not important. Humanity is what counts, to which, I feel, I have given my contribution...Every time you see some tree tops moving in the wind, you will think of me.

– Harry Bertoia

In a more intentional setting, in 2022 the Nasher Sculpture Center in Dallas organized a series of concerts with a variety of instrumentalists playing with and among a collection of Bertoia sonambients. Solo or paired, the musicians improvised on acoustic and electric strings, drums, pianos, saxophones and more while interacting with the statues themselves in explorations of new sonic possibilities. Over an hour each, all the concerts are available online and well worth a listen.

The piano duo one is, (of course), my favorite.

sculptingsound.org

Concerts - Sculpting Sound