massa sonora e densidade

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The words t cxlur c, mast, and densi ty provide visual and tactile analogies

for an experience of sound that is difficult to describe in purely acoustic

terms. The experience ranges from silence on one end of the spectrum to

high-intensity noise from the highest to lowest audible frequency on the

oth er, with literally infinite possibilities in between This entire spectrum

has opened up to composers .during the past half century, owing to new

freedoms in the exploration of pitch logic, time, sound color, and compositional process, all of which interrelate to create texture. The possibilities

are so rich and varied that many composers have made texture a focal

element in the structure of their music.

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Cnee the boundaries of traditional tonality began to fall away in the late

nineteenth century, musical texture was no longer limited by the strictures



T C i l l i k t , S M I ) . f ii is w t i n i i f

of tonal voice lea din g and coun terpo int. In Debussy's music, one result was

an extended use of pa rallel ch ord s; the complete sameness of motion from

one chord to the next represents a degree of homophony—a uniformity of

texture— not pos sible when voices are working, coordinated but individ

ually, toward a tonal goal.

Schoenberg, in totally abandoning any semblance of tonality whatso

ever, opened up a vast array of textural opportunities. One widely not^d

example is "Summer Morning by a Lake (Colors)," the third o f his Five

Pieces for Orchestra, O p .J 6 (1909). The opening chord in this movement

(C -G "-B -E -A ) has a com pletely static, neutral quality, made possible by

its lack of tonal implications and barely discernible rhythmic motion. With

little distraction from tonal or rhythmic momentum, the ear becomes more

alert to sound color and texture, which fluctuate subtly as the chord alter

nates between two timbrally distinct groups of instruments. (This is the

mosJ famous instance of Klangfarbcrunclodie, Schoenberg's term for a "mel

ody" of successive tone colors, analogous to that of successive pitches.)The twelve-tone technique, which Schoenberg later developed, often

played a crucial part in generating texture. Webern's idiosyncratic use pf

the technique gives rise to lean, transparent textures, exposing the intcr-

vallic consistencies and symmetries in his pitch mateiial. The spare open

ing of his Concerto for Nine Instruments, Op. 24 (1934) is a classic

illustration; it plainly and economically highlights the structure of the row ,

which is made up entirely of trichords related by inversion and retrograde.

This, too, is an in stan ce of Klangfarbcnmclodie, each trichord being played by

a different instrument.

The freer use of dissonance allowed by expanding or abandoning to

nality greatly liberated the composer's approach ro counterpoint, since polyphonic voices were no longer obliged to gravitate toward triadic rela

tionships. Whole new realms of contrapuntal texture were discovered, as

can be heard in the m usic of Stravinsky, Bart6 k, and Ives. In Bart6 k's music,

for example, a densely packed counterpoint of seconds, tritones, and sev

enths often arises from a literal, interval-for-interval imitation or symmetry

between complex lines that would be impossible if traditional relationships

held sway.For Stravinsky, in contrast, harmonic freedom more often meant the

ability to generate contrapuntal textures from highly dissimilar lines of

counterpoint. The introductory section of the Ri te of Spr in g (1913), for ex

ample, culminates in a densely complex orchestral fabric woven from a

variety of melodically and rhythmically distinct instrumental lines. Dia

tonic yet harmonically conflicting strands are superimposed, at times rep

resenting eight different and simultaneous subdivisons of the beat (triplet

eighths, quintuplet sixteenths, septuplet thirty-seconds, etc.). But where

Stravinsky apposes contrasting individual lines, Ives superimposes entire

musical passages w ith conflicting rh ythm , tempo , and tonality. A n oft-cited

I



^instance is the second m ovem ent ("P utn am 's C am p" ) of his 1914 Three

Places in New Engl an d , which depicts tw o separate m archin g bands con

verging from opposite sides of town as they play different marches.

In these examples both Ives and Stravinsky achieved bristling textures of massive weight and c om plexity by gen erating a highly dissonant collage

from otherwise relatively familiar elemen ts. E dga rd Varese, how ever, went

entirely beyond the familiar; in such works as Integrates for woodwinds,

brass, and percussion (1925) and Arcana for orchestra (1927), he deals di

rectly with dissonant and disparate blocks o f sound, clashing and con ten d

ing with one another to create a high ly charg ed polyphonicw ebTln bothTiis

instrumental and electronic music Varfcse anticipated the achievements of

Ligeti, Penderecki, and others by treating agg regate s of sound— defined by

timbre, texture, register, and rhythm — as basic com ponents of musical stru c

ture, much as a traditional composer might treat melody or harmony.

The above-mentioned examples by Debussy, Schoenberg, and Webern

offer uniquely simple, sustained, or transparent textures, while those of

Bart6k, Stravinsky, J^es, and Varfcse represent textures of unprecedented

density and intricacy. But perhaps the boldest exploration of texture before

1945 was by Henry Cowell, who pioneered the use of tone clusters. In a

tone cluster, all possible notes between a specified upper and lower limit

are sounded at one time, resulting in a texture whose density and vibra

tional complexity com e as close to noise as acoustic instruments can. (N oise

contains all frequencies within its upper and lower limits). Clusters m ay be

notated in complete detail, such as f , or with ortiy the outer limits speci

fied: | or J .

Cowell originated the use of clusters in his early piano mu sic with such

works as "The Tides of Manaunaun" (1912) and "The Hero Sun" (1922).

The performer uses fists, palms, or even forearms, and the effects range

from thunderous masses of sound and frenetic splashes of color to quiet,

expansive, ethereal textures. Ives's song "M ajority " (1921) is another well-

known early example employing clusters in the piano accompaniment.Another important concept originating with Cowell is that of perform

ing on an instrument using techniques for which it was not designed,

thereby evoking new timbres and textures. Again, he turned to the piano.

"Aeolian Harp" (1923) and "Sinister Resonance" (1925) require the per

former to reach in and sweep, strike, strum, or mute the strings with one

hand while manipulating the keys with the other. Perhaps the most noto

rious example is "T he Banshee" (19 25), during which the pianist plays only

on th e strings, ne ver touching the keyboard, while an assistant holds dow n

the damper pedal. The entire work is played in the lowest register of the

piano, where the strings are swept continuously in various ways. (Period

ically, fingernails stroke the strings lengthwise, producing an eerie



i c x n i K , n i f i i i , f i n s D f n m y

"sc re am " sug gestive of the title.) The result is a work shap ed entirely by

fluctuations in its te xtu re, do mina ted by rumbling, howling richly resre

nant waves of sound with no clearly discernible pitch (except for an occasional pizzicato).

As with works of Vardse, Cowell's music embodies the remarkable

notion that a composition may be structured or "sculpted" not from dis

creet pitches, chords, or rhythms but from raw, abstract sound. That notion

anticipates not only the music of Penderecki, Cdrecki. and other Eastern

European "sou nd m as s" com posers of later decades, but also the basic achievements of electronic music.

T C X T U R C AflD i n J T R U m t n T f l L COLOR

i n s t r u m e n t a t i o n a n d O r c h e s t r a t i o n

As a general paradigm, we might say IhqMhe number of simultaneous

pitches within a given interval span (densfl>), theirrfegisT^placement

(high or low, wide or n arro w), and their ffiythmic relaiTon<£S (e g ho-

mophonic, contrapuntal, etc.) provide the basic quantitative substance of a

musyal jex ture ; sound color , dynamics, and art iffilaho— b r ^ T T o n e is

-shaped, including the quality of accent and release-transform that basic

substance and give it further distinctive qualities.Countless examples of evocative textures in pre-1945 orchestral and

cham ber mustc literature spring from innovative use of instrumental color

Hec tor Berlioz s Syw ph ome f a n t a s t i c (1830) was perhaps the earliest work

to employ unorthodox methods of orchestration. But frequent, sometimes

drastic departures from go od " or "accep table" orchestration in the service

of timbre and texture became mo re common in the early twentieth century

particularly in the works of Mahler, Debussy. Stravinsky, Prokofiev, and

Copland, among others. These departures might involve imaginative in

strumental doublings, placement of instruments in their extreme high or

low registers, rarely. usedcK 57d voicings, or the creative use of flutter-

tonguing, muting, stnng h armonics, multiply divided strings,(a 3 or m ore) or oth er less com mon effects. —— 4

After 1945 the relationship between instrumental color and texture

became an ever more fruitful basis for innovation, even within relatively

trad.t.onal approaches to instrumentation. Stefan W olpe, for example, picks

up the technique of Klangfarbenmelodie where Webern left off and extends

.1;>o soaring dimensions in his Chamber P.ece N o. 1 h r fourteen instruments

(1964). This is evident in Example 10.1, which shows two brief melodic



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lines arching from low to high and back again, both spanning more than

two octaves. By comparing the fragments in boxes with the reduction un-„

dem ea th , one can see that sin gle lines are projected through a constantly

hanging series of doublings. The color and sweep of these lines brings an

ecstatic and kinetically charged quality (one found throughout Wolpe's

music) to a texture that is otherwise sparse and economical. (Earlier in this

passage, W olpe ackn owledges his debt by inscribing "Oh, Webern . . . "

between the staves.)

While Klangfarbenmclodie offers a kaleidoscope of timbre that is melodic

or hor i zon ta l , an equally rich variety of color m ay be arrayed harmonically

or ver t ica l ly . For example, passages in Messiaen's Chronochromie for orches

ra (1960) employ every type of instrumental color simultaneously, each

with a distinctly individual line, thus forging a huge, prismaticcontrapun-

al landscape. Elsewhere in this work, timbrajlv distinct groups (instead of

ndividual instruments) are sim ilarlyjayef ledr each having its ow n d uraional scheme and chordal characteristics.

The dep artur es from conventional instrumentation mentioned earlier—

unusual doublings or combinations, extremes in register, fiuttertonguing,

nd so on — had become m ore com mon in new music by the 1960s and

970s; today, they must be accepted not as signs of originality but as part

f an established timbral and textural reservoir that has grown inevitably

icher with time. To these might be added one more instrumental technique

hat has emerged since World War II, that of t i n ibTan^ hdaUim .Q r-JutznS'

ormaTTon. Although related to Klangfarbenmelodie, it is perhaps more akin

o amplitude and frequency modulation in electronic music, since its focus s on transformation of a single, sustained sonority from one timbre to

nother. In its simplest manifestation,Two instruments of different timbre

ustain one chord or pitch, but one swells while the otherxiiminishes; pitch

emains constant while sound color shifts from the timbre of one instru

ment to that of the othe r. In Exam ple 10.2, from Danie. C haw

o f flute and violin (1985), this exchange takes place repeatedly, with a

attern of swelling and diminishing staggered between the two instru

ments. (The violin not only alternates color with the flute but also modu

tes its own timbre with a gradual change in bow position.)

Transmutations of this kind are frequent in the music of Steven Stucky

C X A m P U 1 0 . 1.

efan Wolpe: Chamber Piece No. 1

Copyright 1977, 1978 by Southern Music Co., Inc. All

ghts Reserved. Used by permission



m m appioacmh

C X f l f l l P U 10. i.

Daniel Godfrey: Scrimshaw

Reprinted by permission of American Composers

Alliance, New York

(b. 1949). Example 10.3 is an illustration from his Sappho Fra gment s for

mezzo-soprano and chamber ensemble (1982). Cross-rhythms and over

lapping entrances yield a texture that modulates both timbrally and rhyth

mically. Two strands are transformed, one involving the pitches D and F (flute, violin, and piano), the other involving E and F* (vibraphone and

cello). Note the shift in timbre and rhythm between the flute's sixteenths

and the piano's quintuplet sixteenths, set against continuous triplets in the

violin. Also note that the crescendo and initial decay of the vibraphone's E

mask the pianissimo en trance o f the cello, wh ose oscillation between E and

F" emerges seamlessly as the vibraphone dies away.

n e u j P e r f o r m a n c e T e c h n i q u e s .

Previous chapters have touched on a variety of performing techniques that

bring forth new and unusual sounds from traditional instruments. We h ave

had a glimpse of this versatility from expenments with the piano by Cage

and Cowell, but virtually every other instrument offers a comparable

wealth of novel capabilities.

George Crumb's Vox balaenae, for instance, opens with an elaborate

melisma for electric flute, which the flutist doubles, note for note, by sing

ing at the same time. Other startling effects that can be elicited from wood

wind and brass instruments include rattling or slap pin g the keys or valves, percussive effects with the tongue, biting the reed (creating a harsh or

"pinched" sound), blowing without lip pressure (creating a wind sound),



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tapping with knuckles or fingers, and blowing into a detached mo uthpiece.

Also, alternative fingerings and c hanges in embouchure can b e used to p ro

duce microtones (pitches that fall between those of our familiar chromatic

scale) and multiphonics (tw o or more sound s at once, produced by a single

fingering), as well as to alter the intonation or timbre of ordinary pitches* The novelty and variety of such effects have not only given rise to a

new class of performers with specialized skills (a few of whom are men

tioned in Chapter 9) but have also generated many publications devoted

exclusively to new performance techniques. Among them, N ew Sounds for

Woodwind (1967) by Bruno Bartolozzi (b. 1911) and The O t her Flu t e (1974)

by Robert Dick (b. 1950) outline nonstandard techniques, alternative fin

gerings, and specialized notation; they also include a score and recording

of music, composed by the author, that demonstrate these innovations

(Collage for four solo woodwinds by Bartolozzi, After l ight for flute solo by Dick). As is visually apparent in Example 10.4, Dick's haunting essay ex

emplifies the opulence of color and texture that can be achieved with a

single instrument.

String instruments offer a similar w ealth of possibilities. A great v ariety

of gen erally accepted but hitherto less com mo n bowing techniques ( i u l )

(f j fo nt i ccl l o, fl aut ando, col legno batt uto, ri cochet , etc.) are now used extensively

in contemporary scores. The rfcent past has also seen more liberal use of

harmonics, left-hand pizzicato, wide vibrato, non vibrato, triple and qua

druple stops, scordatura, and glissando. New practices have also emerged, such as bowing behind the bridge, on the tailpiece, behind the nut, or in

fact, anywhere on the instrument. These and myriad other possibilities

cause the instrument to resonate in unique and unfamiliar ways.

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One of many contemporary works abounding in such procedures is

Jacob Druck man 's Valent i ne fo r solo contrabass (196 9). As seen in Example-

10.5, Druckman also incorporates a rare departure, that of using a timpani

mallet (as well as bowing and pizzicato) to activate the strings.

The square noteheads in this example indicate use o f the timpani mal

let, open notes being struck with the mallet head, filled notes with the

wooden handle. In addition to the usual five-line staff, the brace contains other lines below the staff to indicate playing on various parts of the bass

(bridge, tailpiece, body front or side, etc.). The line above the staff is for

vocal sound s (" p a " ). TTiis passage offers a richness o f texture surprising for

a solo instrument, generated by startling effects in rapid-fire sequence. In

the first gesture, for example, a z through the stem indicates "buzzing"

(made by ricocheting the wooden handle closely on the strings). As indi

cated by the steplike notehead, this is to be exec uted while making a rapid

arpeggio across the strings between bridge and tailpiece. At 7'42" the x-ed

noteheads indicate a downward pizzicato arpeggio with all four strings

"choked" (prevented from resonating by the left hand). In the next figure,

the mallet handle is beaten rapidly from side to side between the A and E

strings, moving from the bridge to the fingerboard. .

Much of the groundwork for all this innovation was laid by Luciano,

'u erm , w ho is widely acknowledged as a pioneer in experimenting with

instrumental color. His Sequenzas for solo instruments (beginning with

Sequenza I for flute in 1958) are widely inventive explorations of timbre, and

although less radical in technique than the above examples, they continue

to influence and inspire the work of many others.

c x f l m p u i o . 5.

Jacob Druckman: Valent ine for solo contrabass

© Copyright 1970 by MCA MUSIC PUBLISHING. A Di

vision of MCA. INC., 1755 Broadway, New York, NY

10019. International Copyright Secured. All Rights Re

served. Used by permision



APPBOfKHtf

Given that a single instrument can produce such a broad spectrum of

sound s, one can imagine the potential of such techniques whe n applied to

many instruments at once. This realm is explored rep eatedly and with great

experimental fervor by the Am erican c om poser Donald Erb (b. 1927). In his

works for band and orchestra, conventionally notated and performed pas- 5

sages are often juxtaposed with others that deviate drastically from ordi

nary practice, with results that words cannot convey. Erb's The Sevent h

Trumpet for orchestra (1969) is recognized as a classic in this respect. It

includes, for example, a gradually ascending glissando for strings, articu

lated by rapid (and unsynchronized) pluckings; in other passages, groups

of wind instruments are asked to pe rform percussive “ trem olos" w ith keys

alone (i.e., without blowing), or to play solely upon their reeds.

One area particularly ripe for timbral and textural exploration is percussion. Dramatic differences in attack, resonance, and timbre can be

achieved depending on where, how, and with what a given instrument is

struck. Percussionists are not even limited to mallets or sticks; for example, s

metal instruments like gongs, tam-tams, cymbals, or vibraphone will pro- j j?

duce unique resonances when activated by the fingertips, m etal rods, or the

bow of a cello. Beyond this, present-day ensembles routinely employ a

dazzling assortment of percussion instruments. In addition to the usual

display of drums, timpani, cymbals, tam-tams, xylophone, glockenspiel,

triangles, and other instruments owned by most orchestras, today's scores

often call for wood or temple blocks, castanets, tambourine, guiro, maracas,

crotales, almglocken, wind chim es, bon gos, tabla, marim ba, vibraphone, or

other instruments too numerous to mention. Before 1945 many of these

were considered exotic when they appeared in such scores as John Becker's

The Abongo for percussion orchestra and dance troupe (1933), Varese's

Ionisat ion, Antheil's Bal let ni i canique, or Cage's Firs t Const ruct i on i n Metal .

The instruments just listed have long been extant in one culture or

another, but other percussion resources are new. Among them are every

day objects with resonant properties attractive to the composer: brake

drums, iron pipes, tin cans, wine glasses, whistles, auto horns, and pistols, to name a few. (The conjuring of new "instrumentation" from improbable

sources has been taken to comical extrem es by com pos er/perform er David

van Tiegem.) Some instruments have been refined or developed specifi

cally for contemporary scores; included are the musical saw, vibra slap,

lion's roar, whip, ratchet, thunder sheet, wind machine, and waterphone.

Harry Partch and David Moss are among composers who have designed

and built their own instruments from scratch, emphasizing sculptural ele

gance as well as acoustical innovation.

Since about 1960 this staggering wealth of acoustical resources has

inspired the formation of ensembles devoted exclusively to percussion,

such as the Percussion Group Cincinnati, Zeitgeist, and the Netherlands

Percussion Ensemble, among many others.



f i e u j I n s t r u m e n t a l C o m b i n a t i o n s

During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries instrumental combinations

such as the orchestra, woodwind quintet, string quartet, and piano trio

became standard, while other formats such as the symphonic band, big

band, and s axop ho ne quartet have become comm on only during the twen

tieth century. (Widespread recognition of the saxophone quartet as a con

cert ensemble is credited to Sigurd Rascher, a legendary advocate of new

music for the saxophone.) But among the freedoms enjoyed by today's

composer is the freedom to select and combine instruments purely accord

ing to imagination. One resulting phenomenon is the mixed chamber en

semble, typicalJy consisting of any com bination of string, woodw ind, brass,

percussion, or keyboard instruments, with or without voice, and usually with no more than one or two of each kind. Early twentieth-century ex

amples may be found in Stravinsky's L'hi stoi re du soldat (1917) for clarinet,

bassoon, comet, trombone, violin, double bass, and percussion (with nar

rator and dancers) or Var&se's Octandre (1923) for flute, oboe, clarinet,

bassoon, horn, trumpet, trombone, and double bass, to single out just two.

Since 1945 scores for mixed ensembles of this kind have become so

com mo n, w ritten by com posers of every stylistic persuasion, that countless

groups specializing in this repertoire have come into being. A list of the

more prominent ones would include the Ensemble InterContemporain, the

Ensemble Modem, the Fires of London, the Melos Ensemble, "Die Reihe" Ensemble, Speculum Musicae, Boston Musica Viva, the Pittsburgh New

Music Ensemble, and the California Ear Unit.

Of course, creative instrumentation may involve any imaginable com

bination, as in Jo Kondo's Sight Rhyt hmics for violin, electric piano, banjo,

steel drum , and tuba. An opposite strategy is followed by Gunther Schuller

(b. 1925) in his Fiv e M oods fo r Tuba Q uart et (1972), and by Paul Chihara (b.

1938) in his Tree M usic (1966) for three violas and three trombones.

Another trend is the use of early instrum ents or instruments from other

cultures (the latter to be explored in Chapter 11) as new sources of color

and texture. Twentieth-century works for one or more recorders are nu

merous, ranging from Paul Hindemith's relatively straightforward Tr io

1932) to the maniacally innovative 12.5.83 for alto recorder by Drake Ma

bry. More noteworthy, perhaps, is the use of the sackbu\ shawm, crum-

ho m , rebec, viol, and other less familiar instruments from the Medieval and

Renaissance eras. These are still strange to concertgoers not familiar with

arly music; in an avant-garde setting they are totally anomalous, a noto

iously irreverent example being Mauricio Kagel's M usic fo r Renaissance

nstruments (1965).

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In previous chapters we have already encountered in the music of Stock

hausen, Boulez, Babbitt, and Wuorinen vividly elaborate textures resulting

from a rigorous compositional process. Although total organization tends

to produce in their works a textural surface of galactic complexity, an

important distinction separates their music from that discussed in the fol

lowing paragraphs. Babbitt and Stockhausen did not aim chiefly at gener

ating and manipulating complex polyphonic textures, but rather at

achieving a cohesion or integration of all compositional materials (pitch,

duration, dynamics, etc.). In the works discussed below, however, texture

is a primary focus of the compositional process.A straightforward illustration is offered by the player-piano studies of

Conlon Nancarrow (b. 1912), an American expatriate in Mexico whose

eccentric artistry remained little known until the late 1960s. The control and

precision possible in punching piano rolls have allowed him to achieve

elaborate polyphonic relationships and virtuosic extremes utterly beyond

the reach of any live performer. These result from layering rhythmic strands

of different IcnifHJS, often employing such ratios as 12:15:20 (Study No. 17),

2 to the square root of 2 (Study No. 33), or 60:61 (Study No. 39).|f>ome

studies superimpose voices that accelerate or decelerate in differing ways.

In Study No. 21 (Canon X ) the upper of two voices begins at an extremely

fast tempo and then gradually decelerates, while the lower voice does the

opposite simultaneously. Thus, the upper register moves from extreme

density to utter sparseness, while the lower register gradually builds to a

thunderous mass of sound. In other words, a pattern of changing tempos

creates a pattern of changing densities. The music's texture is shaped by a

temporal process.

To some extent, the same can be said of Elliott Carter's music; but

where Nancarrow views opposing layers.of rhythm and tempo in mathe

matical terms, Carter associates them with the contrastin g "dramatic roles or personalities he assigns to instruments. Often the protagonists consist of

instrumental grou ps, each with its ow n characteristic form of behavior. For

example, his Double Concerto for harpsichord, piano, and two chamber

orchestras (19ol) might crudely be described as two concertos-olayed si-

mulianeously, pach idpnfffiahlp TTyJts^oyvn d istinctive rhythm s and inter-

vals, but just as importantly, by its own entirely distinct tempos. In fact, at

one point in the middle movement, thg_giano and associated instruments

accelerate from very slow to very fast while the harpsichord and its group

do the opposite, the tempos coalescing and diverging much as in Nancar- row's Canon X. The two ensembles do influence and interact with one

another (m Carter's words, "interrupting" or "commenting" on each oth-



T t x ru R C , i m w , n n o o c ns ii M

er's activities) much as two actors in a piay. The textural outcome,

however, is a kaleidoscopic and co ntinu ous ly evo lving polyphony o f con

trasting tempos and playing styles.

In many of his other works Carter fashions the same kind of richly

ayered contrapuntal textures by assigning divergent dramatic roles to individual instruments (rather than instrumental groups). In the String

Quartet No. 2 (1959) Carter views these "roles" or "personalities" in

plainly anthropomorphic terms: the first violin is impetuous, mercurial,

and virtuosic; the second violin is stubborn and rhythmically rigid

hroughout; the viola is prone to maudlin, melancholy behavior; and the

ello tends to be romantic and effusive. In summarizing their roles.

Carter has explained: "Each player, in turn, dominates a movement while

he other three mimic the leader, translating his phrases into phrases

rom their own vocabularies. In between the movements, there are three

adenzas, solos for first violin, viola, and cello, during which the other members oppose the cadenza player as if they were disenchanted by his

ctions." Example 10.6 from the cello cadenza exemplifies the way Carter

uses tempo and rhythmic detail to differentiate between these instrumen

al personalities. What appear to be elaborate cross-rhythms are really to

e played and heard as independent rhythms, relatively simple in them

elves, proceeding at different tempos. The first and second violins play

egularly spaced attacks, each at its own speed, with occasional rests; the

iola plays— in effect— a rubato line of sustained but somewh at irregu

arly spaced pitches; and the cello, in keeping with its soloistic role, be

ins with its own regular pulse but then shifts suddenly (in m. 254) to onger durations from which it accelerates dramatically, as if breaking

way from the others in defiance.

To combine and coordinate completely individual streams of musical

ctivity is a complex challenge; but in achieving it, Carter has eschewed the

mathematical precision of electronic technology or other artificial means (as

eveloped by Nancarrow, for example). Instead, he has evolved his own

rocess of manipulating time, working purely within the bounds of tradi

onal music notation. Cross-rhythms, involving many ways of subdividing

he beat, are one resource used to project and control independent tempos.

Another such tool, pervasive in Carter's scores, is met ri c modulati on, already ntroduced in Chapter 6 . Example 10.7 offers a simplified illustration of

ow this technique is used to achieve the simultaneous accelerando and ri-

ardando found in works like the above-mentioned Double Concerto.

Carter's highly fluid and variegated polyphonic textures, then, are the

utgrowth of a temporal process characterized not simply by polyrhythm

ut, as Charles Rosen has suggested, by "poly tem po." This term could also

pply to Stockhausen's Zielmasse ("Tempos") for five winds (1956), which

hieves as many as five temporally independent streams of activity

hrough the combination of strict and aleatoric notation, the latter allowing



( X f l f n F L C 10. 6 .

Elliott Carter: Stri ng Quartet No. 2, first movement

Copyright © 1961 (Renewed ) Associated Music Publish

ers, Inc. (BMI). International Copyright Secured. All

Rights Reserved. Used by permission

separate parts to establish or change their own meter and tempo autono

mously.

In live performances of Carter's Double Concerto and Second String

Quartet m entioned abov e, as well as his Symphony of Three Orchestras (1976),

the polyphony is spatially enhanced by separating dramatically and tem

porally distinct instruments or groups of instruments onstage. Stockhaus

en's Gruppen for three orchestras (1957) and Ca r r 6 for four orchestras and

four choruses (1960) also depend on spatial separation to clarify the tex

tural, timbral, and rhythmic identity of each ensemble. Both are works

TtxTURC, num. ono dcmit y

c x p m p u i o . 7.

(J - 60) (J - 75)

i t J )-J l5

T¥—flu — u— —- — —---- ------zz~.----------— *

— f — f L j —

A simplified illustration of metric modulation

whose central concern is the polyphonic interaction of distinct sound

masses or textures.

In the preceding examples by Nancarrow, Carter, and Stockhausen,

texture is the product of counterpoint generated by durational processes

involving multiple tempos. 'Hie music of Iannis Xenakis is also govern

by process, and as with Nancarrow, the process is mathematically con

ceived. But Xenakis's text ures jire not contrapu ntal, that is, they do not result from the COmbinaTibn oT indppfndpnt lines or layers of counterpoint

to'yield a composite texture. Foi'Xenakis^)the basic substratum of music is

texture, even though it may be tW-protfuct of many smaller sonic compo

nents. The only counterpoint one might speak of meaningfully in such

works is a "counterpoint" of textures or sound masses*

Xenakis's backeround in architecture^neLjSffir^eririg informgcLhlS.

approach to composition, inspiring him to establish the Center for the

Study of Mathematical and Automated Music in Paris in 1966. During the

1950s and '60s his music grew out of mathematical processes derived from

calculus, game theory, and scientific principles such as the Kinetic Theory

of Gases and Bernoulli's Law of Large Numbers. Many works from this

period rely on what Xenakis has called the stochastic methcxLTn which

sound masses are shaped by mathematical probabi l i ty j as exp res sed in

Bernoulli's lilwk Tfrp stnrhflsfir approach flo w ed Xenakis to calculate, as

a function of probability, the shape and behayior orcomDQSiteJQaSSgs of

sound made many brief sound-eve& ts. Thus, his music is often

by enormous clusters or "clouds" of small sound "particles,do mmai ___ ________

beginning, ending, and fluctuating in density as rain or hail does when

striking against a hard surface (Xenakis's own analogy^Two early and

highly influential works to exhibit this approach were Metastasis for sixty ̂

one-piece orchestra (1954) and Pithoprakla for fifty-piece orchestra ^ 1956).

1



In Pil hoprakta, fo r example, the entire string section is divided into

individual parts. For Xenakis, the use of as many separate parts as there are

orchestra players is a logical outgrowth of the stochastic process, since

large sound masses built of many small events require many individual participantsiThis prafficeT>ecamecommon for othertexture-o neniecf com -

posers as Well (esp recki,' Serocki, and Lutosiawski),

nuflong i t possible to generate massive sonorities that saturate a given

register or span of time.

Exactly how the stochastic process translates into actual rhythms and

pitches is beyond the scope of this chapter, but the musical outcome is

fascinating. In Pithoprakta alone one can perceive a great range of orchestral

sound masses, including "cloudbursts" of rapid but imprecise percussive

noises— made by^ tapping the bodies of stringed mstm ments,_as_xross- rhythms create th e lmpr^fp™* ^» im era hl p r^pdomlv spaced attacks—

s and dense fabrics created when pitchjs introduced into the equation. With

j’fegard to the latter. m axim aTdensityis often achieved by gniTuring that ap y

two. instruments sharing the sam e re gister have different pitch contours,

rhythms, or both; conse^JUTTifly, no UVOlnstruments play the same pitch_at

the sam e time I-'urthermore, the i tral span traveled by each instrum ent

ov erlaps that of its neighh u< h that ev er y part of the ensemble's range

is traversed in various ways by four or five instruments atjijime^ More

over, pitches are chosen so that every note within a four- or five-octave span is represented at least once in every beat.

By varying states of articulation as well, Xenakis has created textures of

remarkably contrasted character. One can hear in Pithoprakta, a string or

chestra sonority during which every instrument plays a forced pizzicato

(a r rac l t i ), a passage in which all strings play a continuous glissando while

moving at different rates in different directions, and another featuring col

legrto bat tut o I f rap pi ) for every player. W haL is apparent when experiencing

the entire work is the ov erall shape of these ges tures, the flnrmatinn of .their

densities, and the so m etim es gnHHpn som etim es subtle shift from one texturgjo the next—all these qualities being vita 1 to the work's structure..

Like Carter, Xenakis has added a spatial dimension to the unfolding of

texture in some of his works. Am ong them ar e Terretektorh for eighty-eight-

piece orchestra (1966), Polyt ope de M ont real for four chamber orchestras

(1967 ), and Nomos Gamma for orchestra (1 96 8), in all of which the musicians

are spread out among the audience.

The relationship betw een texture and com positional process takes on a

different aspect in Berio's Chem i ns I I b /c for nine woodwinds, six brass,

percussion, electric guitar, electric organ, piano, and strings. This work began as Sequenza V I for solo viola (1966); a chamber ensemble was then

added to the viola part, resulting in Chem i ns I I for viola and nine instru

ments (1967); the instrumentation was then further expanded to include

full orchestra in Chem i ns 11 b (1 97 0) , after w hic h a part for solo bass clarinet



rn

tcxturc, num. «no Dcnsuy ;si

was added to create Chemi ns I I c (1972). Chemi ns I I b/c is yet anoth er version,

replacing the bass clarinet w ith a ten or saxophone. With each incarnation the

music gained a new s tratum of texture, th e totality being com pared by Berio

A to an onion with man y laye rs, the outer layer providing a new surfaco and

the older layers ch an p m: in junction. "Pr oce ss" in Chemins I I b/c, then, refers

' ' to the com poser's way of workin g: revision an d /or accretion of material

through successive versions of the composition.

Texture is an outgro wth o f process in the music of Brian Femeyh ough

(b. 1943) as well. On a pu rely s urf ace level, his scores are fabulously ornate,

characterized by a dense succession of highly variegated gestures and ef

fects, which present immense challenges to the performer. Underlying this

is a labyrinthine system of thought, as much guided by the composer's

views on phenomenology and epistemology as by purely musical concerns.

(Femeyhough's Carcer i d' I nv enzi one I is discussed in Chapter 21.)

J O U n D m f i S S : V A R I A B L E D C n i l T V ADD

c o m p l e x i t y

I n s t r u m e n t a l m u s i c

W e retu rn again to the disco very made by Cowell, lv.es, and Varese thatblocks or masses of sound can serve )ust as well as chordSjor-indi\idual

notes in shaping a musical discourse. For our purposes, a "sound m a s s e s ) - ] \ a ^

a sono rity liberated from being hea.rdjn terms of specific-pitches orc ho rd s, ( ^

allowing it to serve as more abstract and in some ways more versatile-J/

material. N ot only is sound m ass ius i as malleable as n otes or cho rds with

respect to rhythm, register, timbre, dynamics, and other.variables, but it

can also be manipulated in terms of its apparent "w eig hr pn lld en sity " and

the relative simplicity or complexity of its surface. Sound-mass textures,

how ever, are fundamentally different from genuin ely contrapun tal ones jn

that individual lincsjof music, perhaps represented by individual ins tru-l •n r A d y

ments or instrumental groups, have no significant idenfity of their own, \ r Jc i . —I

being indistinguishable parts of a larger fabric. Thus, the texture in X e- I T w * 6 ^

nakis's Pi lhoprakta cannot be usefully regarded as contrapuntal; even ^

though it contains an enormous amount of counterpoint^each part is only

on e of ve ry m any similar parts contributing to a single m assive, compositey

texture.

An instrument or ensemble may be approached not as a vehicle for



fafiK APMOACilO

and as a source of raw sound from which textu res can

be erected oi£sculpte^/This is illustrated in the O rganbw k 1967 of^VdlianT^

Albright (b. 1 9 4 4 ); who as a comp oser an d perform er ha s been a leader in

exploiting new sounds for the organ. Two types of texture are featured in

one passage, one generated by tone-cluster glissandos N ^ a n d the other

by very rapid thirty-second note patterns both textures ranging

wildly and unevenly over the compass of the keyboard. Thg rapidity and

unpredictable contour of the thirty-seconds obviates an y pe rcep tion of spe

cific pitch or rhythmic content; what w e p erceiv e instead i s a blurred^ to-

I tality, identified by its overall shap e and dur ation . The sliding clusters are

perceived in a similar way, measured by their width, speed, range, and cor.touryi'his passage 15 without any clearly defined sense of rhythm; its

m^ranunfolds on a more abstract plane, formed by the relative durations

of the two textures and by the pacipgjpf theu.rcgisjralpcaks andjralleys.

(Souncf coloTTrateo ^faclornhere are frequent chang^sTrom one manual

to another, and hence changes in timbre.)

Two composers, Gyorgy Ligeti and Krzysztof Penderecki, came to

prominence duringthe late 1950s and 1960s as pathfindersjn using sound

masses of varying color, density,. and com plexity. Like Xenakis, but with

out the aid of any mathematical system, they treated these as the primary constituents of their music, supcrscding_mclody, harmony, and any imme-

V 1 diately discernible rhythm (dr mic ro r hy t h r i ) . Typically, the struc ture of their

works from this period unfoidrtrra large-scale rhythm (or mncrorhythm)

shaped by durations and rates of change within and between bands or

blocks of sound.

Ligeti's Atmospheres for orchestra (1961) is among the most renowned

compositions in this genre. All eighty-eight instruments of the ensemble

play a separate part, with only rarejnstances of doubling during the nine

mifiutes of the work. (As one would expect, nearly every page of score is huge, often dominated from top to bottom by strings div is i a 56 .) The opening

sonority typifies Ligeti's technique. Fifty-six muted strings, all playing su l

tasto, quietly sustain a gigantic semitone cluster sparviing five octaves, parts

of which are filled in or doubled by winds and bass. Ligeti forms masses or

blocks of sound by saturating a given register, but does so in m any ways and

with many timbral transformations. In one well-known passage (mm. 23-

28), the saturationriesults from minor-third tremolos spaced a semitone

apart; thcTmngTfernolos begin slowly and then accelerate rapidly, while

wo odw ind trem olos in the same register begin rapidly and slow to a stand

still. Thus, even though the overall texture rem ains quiet and th e pitch con

tent remains static, the shifting relationship between winds and strings

creates a subtle metamorphosis of color and surface activity.

Exam ple 10.8— showing only the winds and first violins— illustrates



C X f l f R P L C

1

0 . 8 .

G y t t r g y

L i g e t i

A t m o s p h e r e s

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. ©

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C o p y r i g h t R e n e w e d .

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p e r m i s s i o n

o f E u r o p e a n

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a g e n t

f o r U n i v e r s a l E d i t i o n

V i e n n a



' faer i e ( i p p m m

another w ay o f saturating a fixed rang e of pitches while transforming color

and texture within it. During the first two measures shown, all fifty-six string instruments are following separate routes over the same four notes

(b^ to dk) while executing a giant crescendo. (The complex interlacing of

parts to generate a dense, highly active surface is referred to by Ligeti as

( n ucr o po fy p l w h y ) The enormous tension of this moment, which has been

^bu ilding Tdr man y m easures, is sudden ly and remarkably released by a

dramatic shift to what in effect is the same texture, with the same pitches,

only now played at the quietest possible dynamic by eight wind instru

ments. The cessation of strings occurs a split second after the winds have

already entered; thus, the wind entrance is masked, leaving the impression

that the abrupt disappearance of one layer has exposed another layer al

ready present.

This passage represents poly one of Ligeti's m any varied approaches to

creating, transforming, and juxtaposing textures in this piece. At times,

entire blocks of sound enter or cut off abruptly, while elsewhere, textures

develop or dissipate gradually. Differing textures may abut, overlap, or

interlace in a variety of ways. Throughout the work, instrumental color

plays a vital part in articulating the behavior of sound masses. The simul

taneous use of nonstandard techniques by many players also has a role.Jn^

measure 76 , for example, all fifteen Jpra ss p layers blow softly into their

instruments without producing any tone, and in measures 88-101 the en

tire string section plays nothing but glissando harmonics, with constant changes in speed and contour.

In later works Ligeti's exploration of texture em braces a more expanded

harmonic palette and a greater identity for the individual performer. Lon-

tano for orchestra (1967), for instance, goes beyond semitone clusters, open

ing its vocabu lary to wider intervals an d m ore op en sonorities. *

Furthermore) the many individual lines are no longer mere "particles" in a

sound mass but more distinct voices— albeit in very large num ber—ca non

ically interwoven into a vibrant tapestry.

The most important works by Krzysztof Penderecki (b. 1933) are also

dominated by the manipulation and interaction of textures with varying

density and complexity, emphasizing a broadet spectrum of sound than

that offered by clearly defined pitches, chords, o r rhythm ic sequences. The

alternative notation in his scores makes this immediately apparent. Swajth§.

of sound— rising, falling, growing, diminishing, ov erlapp ing, an d collid

mg— are graphically depicted. Special symbols also app ear, calling for un

conventional sounds on conventional instruments (scraping, hissing,

rattling, knocking, etc.). The most striking and widely acclaimed example

of this is Threnody fo r the Vict i ms of H iroshima for string orchestra (1960),

which is discussed in Chapter 12. Other orchestral works exemplifying this

approach include

Orchestra (1967).

De natura sonoris (1966) and the Capriccio for Violin and

1



tcxturc. mu, mid mm

The dense orchestral textures we have seen are commonly associated

with Eastern European composers/ especially Ligeti and members of the

so-called "Polish School" (Penderecki, Lutosiawski, Kazimierz Serocki,

Henryk Gdrecki, and Tadeusz Baird). In the aforementioned works by

Ligeti and Penderecki, however, the harmonic, rhythmic, and timbral ele

ments that contribute to such textures are means to an end, significant

mainly In terms of the overall sound mass to which they contribute. By

contrast, the music of Witold Lutosiawski is multidimensional in its corv

cems. In the fourth movement of his Venet i an Qqmes for orchestra (1961),

for instance, the harmonic and rhythmic features of individual polyphonic

"cells," the ever-changing contrapuntal relationships among those cells,

and the continually evolving totality of timbres and densities that results

are all of interest and importance.

This is visually evident in Example 10.9, which also shows Lutoslaw-

ski's characteristic fusion of precise control and aleatoric methods. Winds,

brass, pianos, and strings (and elsewhere percussion) are treated as sepa

rate timbral groups, each performing brief cells of material unique to itself

(here labeled f„ g„ h,, etc.). While the entrance of each cell is precisely

timed , bar lines are not used, thus eliminating any rigid interpretation of

tempo or any attempt to coordinate parts within a given cellyfhis practice

yields a high degree of rhythmic intricacy and spontaneity, but with no

significant change in timing from one performance to the next.

The difference between cells is marked by more than contrasts in

rhythm, interval, register, and timbre; different cells involve different forms

of interplay betw een p arts— different "ga m es " (one of several connections

between the title and the music). In the cell labeled f„ for example, all three

parts play seven notes from a repeated four-note pattern, all with similar spacing and articulation; but there are no notes in common between the

three pitch patterns and the actual rhythm is different for each instrument,

creating an elaborate interplay from relatively simple materials. In h, a

different sort of "g am e pla n" is involved. The twelve string instrume nts

enter on a semitone cluster spanning a major seventh (f* to f) and wend

their way downward by whole or half steps, continually interweaving to

maintain registral saturation. As an additional twist, however, each sub

group of instruments— violins, violas, cellos, and basses— represents a scale

of lengthening durations (e.g., sixteenths, dotted sixteenths, eighths, and

dotted eighths in the violins). Each of the other ce lls in the examp le also has

its own idiosyncratic design, yielding its own unique textural surface. The excerpt displays a polyphony of disparate textures, from the sparse and

pointillistic f, to the dense and involuted h,. ASLwlib Ligeti and Penderecki,

the structure and macrorhythm of this movement flow from the sequence,

pacing, and continuously varied juxtaposition of these materials. M ore like

Carter, however, each timbral group also projects its own internal set of

relationships, its own polyphonic personality.

L °



Witold Lutoslaw ski: Venetian Carnes, fourth

movement vo

%

1962 by Mocck Verlag, Celle, Federal Republic of

ermany. © Renewed. All Rights Reserved. Used by

ermission o f Eu rop ean Am erican Music Distributo rs Cb.

rporation, sole U.S. and Canadian agent for MoeckVerlag



V

k m m m

' r-T

* rL i

\(A

fr

r The m usic of Karel Husa (b. 1921) also entails the b uildu p o f mam m oth

instrumental constellations from individual, rhythmically independent

strands of material (motives or melodic fragments). Husa dovetails these aleatoric passages with more conventionally notated ones. Widely known

examples are his Apot heosis_of This Eart h for concert band (1971) and AdjUSjr

f o r Prague (1968) for band or orchestra. (The latter is discussed in Chapter

Vocal ensembles have proved an especially versatile resource for

texture-oriented composition. Trend-setting examples include Ligeti s(Re

quiem tor two soloists, two choruses, and orchestra and Penderecki

t y k e's ' Passion for narrator, solo voices, and orch estra , b oth of. 1965. I hese

works are filled with liitherto rarely heard effects that h av e an imm ediate

appeal, attracting many otherwise reluctant listeners to the avant-garde experience. Particularly beautiful are those sonorities that involve long,

sustained, slowly evolving clusters, often with every singer on a different

note. In many instances the text is too drawn-out to be discerned, or too

obscured by stratified attacks and releases. In other instances it is sub

sumed into an overall web of asynchronous murmuring or pattering.

N ew realms of sound mass and density open u p wh en_a]cataric iech-

niques are ap plied jo-choial com position; a broad sa m p lin go f_such effects

is found in The Wliale (1966) by the English composer John Tavener (b.- - ■ -L * n

•-* all I »»V wwtmiv ^i/vv^ ̂J Q ,

1944), a biblical fantasy for speaker, two vocal soloists, chamber choir, and

orchestra. In one instance, six voices rapidly but freely chant a line of text,

each maintaining a given pitch but with no specified rhythm or effort to

synchronize parts. Tfte result is a random, murmuring texture of indistin

guishable consonants and vowels, harmonically flavored by the six-note

chord it outlines. Another passage, seen in Example 10.10a, calls for a

continuously wavering glissando in all voices. The simplicity of notation

belies the complexity of the resulting aural impression. Since pitch, ratgjol

elissando, and rhythm of text are all freely chosen, every singer's rendition

'wTITBe slightly different, yieldin g a weft of ma ny se pa rate but interweaving

parts. In other words, the free aspect of the notation ensures an asynchro-“* • • * 11-—̂ /»Am.

V nous relationship between all participants, resulting in a dense and com

plex textural surface. To notate this precisely would require as many

written-out parts as there are singers, with a rhythmically intricate stag

gering of contours between all parts. In the case of Example 10.10b, how

ever, it is hard to imagine any ex ac t notation that could produce the violent,

elaborate flood of sounds effected here by giving the performers a few

simple choices and instructions.Aleatoric methods can also produce prolonged, subtly shifting tapes

tries of vocal sound. In The W hal e's final moments, f o r instance, singers are

instructed to ''choose any note" and to sustain it for five minutes in a quiet monotone. The random pitch choices and inadvertent fluctuations of tone

engender a veiled, shimmering entwinement of voices.



-

t c x t u k , m p s s , n n D m m 189

€ X » m P L € 10. 10.

A

s

A

B

cit01R

ohn Tavener: The Whale

Copyright © 1968 for all countries by J Sc W Chester

Music (London). International Copyright Secured. All

Rights Reserved. Used by permission. All rights for U.S.

and Canada controlled by G. Schirmcr, Inc., New York

ASCAP)

When discu ssing texture, mass, and density in recent music, the ten

dency is to focus, as we have so far, on maximally weighted sonorities—

dense clusters, massive “w alls" of sound, surfaces glittering with detaiLr-

because they make such an immediate impression^being so markedly at

odds with traditional Western practice. But the..opposite extrerpePlarge

temporal spans containing very l i t t l e sound, a Iso. represents a remarkable

departure, stimulating new ways of thinking about the experience of time

and the relationship between sound and silence, §uch sparsity of material

draw s one 's aw aren ess to the suJitlesLcpialities of sound itself (color, attack,

amplitude shape, et c> a m k to o n e's innehnost responses to it. This was a

vital consideration f^r Morton Feldman, unquestionably theleadjnfi.figure

n the use of spare, contemplative instrupfenial textures.

The primacy of a^u lrc^s-color-antf other intrinsic qualities, and the

elative unimp ortance of narrowly defined pitch and rhy thm , are expressed

hrough Feldman's use of indeterminate notation. Example 10.11 shows an

excerpt from The Ki ng of Denmark for solo percussionist (196 4). The graphic

core p rovides only general guid^ ngs for choosing-pitch an d-l hy thmic ^

placement; tllgTWreeTforizontaf levels signify hieh, middle, and low (for pitch), an d the boxes indicate ap pr oximate increments of time within which

t\Otnqotated sounds are to occur. Other symbols indicate general categories or

'difhindi N l ) hgrvnt SOerr ty ™ m*M rocnltlng noiie-lwhile**-cou<U\

shuttle vh u f * 2nd t t l K t o e ac h



SniC APPBOACHO

Amounts of activity, leaving more specific choices to the performer- (The R,

for examp le, represents a roll on any instrument, and the large 5 means that

five sounds may be played on any instrument in any register within the

time frame.) The work's rarified atmosphere stems not just from its mini

mal density but also from two startling performance directives prefacing

the score: ( 1) the dynamic must remain uniform and extremely quiet

throughout, and (2) no sticks or mallets are to be used— instruments must

only with fingers, palms, onparls olJhrLarmfrr

ring the past three decades, texture and timbre have continued to be

an exploratory focus for many composers, but the avoidance of harmonic

and rhythmic definition found in the foregoing examples has since lost its

revolutiona ry appeal. (Penderecki himself began writing quasi-tonal "neo

romantic" music during the 1970s.) The new attraction to rhythmic and

harmonic immediacy, however, has not precluded the use of large instrumental sound masses. For instance, in The Surma Ri tornel l i for eleven mu

sicians (1983), American composer Christopher Rouse (b. 1949) deploys

weighty instrumental textures with electrifying rhythmic urgency and

force. Harshly dissonant chords played by the entire ensemble proceed

with an impulsive, strongly accented, highly energized rhythm, while re

maining homorhythmic throughout. The impression is one of large, un

yielding, blocklike sonorities charging along unpredictably. In general, the

work is a modern-day evocation of the primitivism in Stravinsky's Rite of

Spr ing or Les tw ees, and of Varese's enthusiasm for the raw, kinetic power

of sound.

Another trend, begun in the 1960s but reaching full momentum in the

1980s, has been to adopt a less dissonant, more transp arent harm onic idiom

while pursuing a radically slowed treatment of time. In this music, rhythm,

melody, and harmony evolve gradually in repetitive patterns, yielding

sustained textures in which any immediate sense of change is minimized.

The works of the Americans Steve Reich, Terry Riley, and Philip Glass

(discussed more thoroughly in later chapters) are regarded as classics in

this respect. But striking examples can also be found among the works of

c x a i d p l c i o . i i .

1 1 K T 3f ) -

1 1 .1 I * ■

Morton Feldman: The Ki ng of Denmark

Copyright © 1965 by C. F. Peters Corporation. Used bypermission

VS.•IW

*■

v-

T C X T U R C, m A h , A D D D C M I T V

Karel G oeyva erts, L ouis Andnessen, Gavin Bryars, and others from Europe

and the British Isles. Although these composers reduce the quantity of

musical information in a way very different frpm that of Morton Feldman,'

a similar pur po se is served in that the listener is left with— and draw n into

the heart of— the soun ds themselves, their acoustical properties , their phys

iological and emotional resonances, and their unfolding in time.

e l e c t r o n i c I T l u i i c

An extended treatment of electronic music, including its significance as a

virtually unlimited resource in the realm of texture and timbre, is found in

Chapters 8 and 17. It is only necessary here to outline a few points of

particular relevance. Most important is that electronic technology offers the composer a direct link to creating texture and sound mass without the

intermediation of instruments or voices. The electronic composer works

directly with the basic stuff of sound— wave shapes, frequencies, loudness

contours, noise— either generated in the studio or recorded in the environ

ment. Also important is that electronics permit a flexibility and precision

not attainable by live musicians. All of the effects discussed earlier in an

instrumental context (densely elaborate counterpoint, timbre modulation,

interaction of sound masses, etc.) can be directly engineered through such

expedients as tape manipulation, sequencing, multitracking, sound pro

cessing, and compu ter control.

The control afforded by electronics is obviously valuable when com

plex compositional processes are involved in realizing texture and color. It

is not surprising, then, that both Stockhausen and Xenakis turned to this

technology to realize their concepts. Stockhausen, for instance, could not

have given son ic form to his esoteric theories about sound color (developed

in the late 1950s) without the electronic medium. His idea was to place

rhythm, pitch, and timbre on a single continuum by choosing a pattern of

pulses—that is, a rhythm— and speeding it up hundreds of times to become

a pitch with its own d istinctive waveform and resulting timbre. This could

only be done electronically, of course. Since the waveform would be a replica of the original rhythmic pattern in miniature, an integral relation

ship between rhythm and timbre would be achieved. Stockhausen applied

this concept in Te lmus i k f o r magnetic tape (1966).

The intricate counterpoint that results from stratifying independent

and contrasting strands of activity, as noted in instrumental works by

Carter and Nancarrow, is standard fare in the electronic repertoire. Such

layering can be easily achieved with multitracking on tape recorders or

multisequencing with digital equipment (although the removal of human

striving and interaction renders this uninteresting to some composers).

Moreover, the spatial separation needed to highlight individual layers of



__und is easier to engineer electronically than with live m usicians, being

primarily a ma tter of speaker placement. In fact, distinct textures o r streams

of polyphony can even be panned (gradually shifted from one location to

another), moving through and interacting in space in ways inconceivable

with live instruments or voices. (Varese's use of over four hundred speak

ers in Potme t l ect ron i que remains the most impressive instance of this.)

Even in live performance, electronic instruments have been advanta

geous to composers working with texture. Pauline Oliveros was an early

pioneer in this respect, using multiple tape decks as a real-time medium

during the 1960s. H er many works in this genre include L i ghtp iece f o r David

Tudor (1965), I o f I V (1966), C(s) f o r O nce (1966), and Beaut i ful Soop (1967),

the last of which involves no fewer than four tape decks. I o f I V , in partic

ular, is emblematic of her meditative, intuitive attitude toward sound. Slowly changing combination and difference tones are fed throu gh an elab

orate tape echo and tape delay system, producing a dreamlike, oceanic

wash of timbres.

New realms of sound mass and density also open up when live and

electronic means are combined, especially where orchestral performance is

involved. To cite just one example of particularly monumental scope, " . . .

imoendig voller f igu r . . ." (1970) by Swiss composer Klaus Huber (b. 1924)

combines a large chorus, a gigantic orchestra, seven amplified vocal solo

ists, and a quadraphonic tape derived from prerecorded choral, brass, and percussion sounds. Not only does every member of the orchestra play a

separate part, as in other sound-mass compositions we have seen, but the

chorus of at least sixty singers is similarly divided. Most significant here,

however, is that choral and instrumental sounds are still further prolifer

ated and timbrally extended by their electronically modified counterparts

on tape. These forces combine to create a sonic environment ranging from

titanic clusters and splashes of sound to delicately surreal and hushed

sonorities.

c o n c L u s i o n

Having examined the phenomenon of texture and color in new music from

many perspectives in this chapter, we have still only scratched the surface.

Nearly every musical innovation mentioned in other chapters has implications in this area. For exam ple , collag e techniques (discussed in Chapter

13) offer unique possibilities in the realm of texture not dealt with above

The inclusion of no n-W estern instruments am ong the composer's resources

— an important feature of Ch apte r 11— brings entirely new timbral possi-



T C X T 0 K , m « 5 S . A D D D € f l S I T V

bilities barely touched on so far. The list goes on. What is important here,

however, is the newfound importance of these issues among today's com

posers, and the willingness of some to make texture, density, color, and'

related concerns a pri m ary focus in shaping their music. T his development,

perhaps more than any other, suggests the degree to which freedom from a traditional orientation toward pitch and rhythm has evolved in the past

half century. Out of that freedom has grown a new and robust enthusiasm

for sound itself and all its aspects.



-Uleitern

fTlusical Influence)

Debussy's encounter with the music of Indonesia was a rare opportu

nity for a composer in the Western hemisphere in 1889. By contrast, in

today's world of instantaneous global communication, Westerners have

ready access to broadcast or recorded music from all over the planet. Rapid

travel has made the live experience of most kinds of music more accessible

as well, both in Western concert halls and in its places of ongin; moreover,

the emergence of ethnomusicology as an academic discipline has brought

such music to university campuses. As a result, many have come to realize

that music rooted in the traditions of Western civilization, perhaps the only

music they have ever known, really constitutes a tiny fraction of the mu

sical world in its totality.

By " W es ter n " w e are referring not so m uch to a geographical locality

as to an established set of musical practices and expectations; these include

jazz, popular idioms, and m ost im portan t here, the so-called classical or

concert music that prevails in the metropolitan centers of Europe, North

America, and Westernized areas of South America today. In this sense, the

music of native American or other ethnic cultures in the Western hemisphere can be considered non-Westem for our purposes.

9*.



n o i M U W i a n m u s i C A L i n f l u e n c e

As many h ave discovered, the musics of non-Western cult ure s offer n ot

onlv a vast treasury of sounds that are still fresh but also a broad range of

alternative perspectives on the ritual and societal contexts of music. Thus,

hey provide an attractive field of exploration for performers, scholars,

isteners, and composers, especially those who view the concert music radition, even in its more avant-garde guises, as a calcified residue of

nineteenth-century European thinking. (In fact, som e prefer t o label it "E u

ocentric" or "European-derived" rather than "W estern.") M any co m pos

rs consider that thinking to be outdated and lacking in vitality , not o nly in

he actual sounds produced but also in the lifeless formality (from their

tandpoint) of the usual concert setting, which reflects a detached and

imited view of music as either fine art or entertainment.

To a great degre e, non-W estem influences address these concern s. The y

also suggest fresh perspectives on many of our nine basic factors. Pitch

ogic and time a re treated very differently in some traditions. A lso, instru

ments unfamiliar to Western listeners may be used, offering new experinces in sound color. And performance ritual in vernacular traditions

often has a primacy it lacks in Western practice. In exploiting these possi

bilities, composers sometimes imitate or quote melodies and other materi

ls directly, making historicism/parody an important concern.

t m B R A C i n G s o u n D S F R o m o t h e r

C U L T U R E }

Two aspects of music from other parts of the globe have influenced the

ourse of Western music: (1) distinctive melodic, harmonic, or rhythmic

ractices, and (2 ) the quality of sound produced by instruments, tuning

ystems, and me thod s of performance not found in the traditional W estern

mainstream. Both possibilities have proved significant.

l o n - l U e i t e r n I n f l u e n c e * o n J t y l e a n d

m e t h o d

%

n the traditional repertoire there are many instances where composers

ave incorporated superficial characteristics of music from foreign lands,

erhaps beginning w ith M ozart's use of Turk ic melodies and rhythms (e.g.,

he Rondo alia turca from the Piano Sonata in A major, K.331). Later ex

mples include the H unga rian dances and rhapso dies of Brahms and Liszt,



In Pi lhoprak la , for example, the entire string section is divided into

individual parts. For Xenakis, the use of as many separate p arts as there are

orchestra players is a logical outgrowth of the stochastic process, since large sound masses built of many small events require many individual

participants.ThispracTicebecamecommon/orother texture^nenlea corn-

posers^aywelf (especially Ligeti, Penderecki, Serocki, and Lutostawski),

_it possible to gen erate m assiv e sonorities that satu ra te_a g j y e n ^

register ̂ spariTofiiff l^J^

Exactly how the stochastic process translates into actual rhythms and

pitches is beyond the scope of this chapter, but the musical outcome is

fascinating. In Pi lhoprakla alone one can perceive a great ran ge of orchestral

sound masses, including "cloudbursts" of rapid but imprecise percussive noises—made by tapping the bodies of-Stringed instruments, as rrm<;-

rhythrv>crrr o ^ ^ {frp J^ p rp cc ir tp ^ fnmimpraMe randomly spaced attacks—

^ a n c ^dense fabrics created when p itch js introduced into the equation. With

gard to the latter,maxim al^ig ns ityi s often achieved by .ensuring that apy

two instruments sharing the same register have different pitch contours,

rhythms, or both; cooscigttPnny, no two Instruments play the same pitch at

thfLsame time. FurthcrmoreTtHeTegistral span trayeled by^chjr^stxument

overlaps that of its neighbors such that every part of the enscmbje's range

is traversed in various ways by fou r o r ftVejnstrurpcntS at a ji m e . More

over, pitches are cfiosen so that every-note within a four- or five-octave

span is represented at least once in every beat.

By vary ing states of articulation as w ell, Xenakis has created textures of

remarkably contrasted character. One can hear in Pi lhoprakla, a string or

chestra sonority during which every instrument plays a forced pizzicato

(a r rach t ) , a passage in which all strings play a continuous glissando while

moving at different rates in different directions, and another featuring col

legno bnt tu l o (Jrapp t ) for every player. What is apparent when experiencing

the entire w ork is the overall shape o f these,

d e re it i^ jm T th e snHHf>n Inm Ph m ps subtle shift from one

texture to the next—all thgse_qii.alities being vital to the work's structure..

Like Carter, Xenakis has ad ded a spatial dimension to the unfolding of

texture in some of his works. Am on g them are Terrelektorh for eighty-eight-

piece orchestra (1966), Poly lope de M ont rea l for four chamber orchestras

(1967), and Nomos Gnmma for orch estra (1 968 ), in all of which the musicians

are spread out among the audience.

The relationship between texture and compositional process takes on a

different aspect in Berio's Chem in s I I b /c for nine woodwinds, six brass,

percussion, electric guitar, electric organ, piano, and strings. This work began as Sequenza V I for solo viola (1966); a chamber ensemble was then

added to the viola part, resulting in Chem i ns II for viola and nine instru

ments (1967); the instrumentation was then further expanded to include

full orches tra in Chemi ns I I b (1 9 70 ), after wh ich a part for solo bass clarinet



kxturc, m a j s , m D'ntny I S !

was added to create Chemi ns l i e (1972) . Chemi ns I I b/c is yet ano ther version,

replacing the ba ss clarinet w ith a tenor saxoph one. W ith each incarn ation the

mu sic gained a new s tratu m o f texture, the totality being com pare d by Berio

to-atvaqian with m anv Jaypre. the outer layer .providing a new su cfap* and I the older layers changin g in function. "P ro ce ss " in Chemi ns II b/c, then, lefers

I to the composer's way of working: revision and/or accretion of material

through successive versions of the composition.

Texture is an o utgro wth of process in the music of Brian Fem eyh ou gh

(b. 1 943) as well. On a p urely surface level, his scores are fabulously orn ate,

characterized by a dense succession of highly variegated gestures and ef

fects, which presen t im men se challenges to the performer. Und erlying, this

is a labyrinthine system of thought, as much guided by the composer's

views on phen omen ology and epistemology as by purely musical concerns.

(Femeyhough's Cnrcer i d ' lnv cnz ione I is discussed in Chapter 21.)

S O I M D ( M S S : V A R I A B L E D E M I T Y f l l l D

C O f T l P L E X I T y

I n s t r u m e n t a l f T l u i i c

We return again to the disc over y made by Cowell, Ives, and Vac£se that

blod ^Q iima sses of s o un dc aji.serv e .ju sta s well as chordsâx-igidI21 dua 1

n§S jii^hapin g.ajiiusicaUiisgiurse. For our purposes, g "sound m ass if s ) * V

a sonority liberated from beingjheard in_terms Qtepe afic-piiches_Q Lô rds, ( /

allowing iLto-se rvs^ as 'more abstract and in s ome ways more versatile-V

n\aledah-Not_onJy is sou nd jB.a ss.ju sias_ma 1leable a ^ QfllgsjQixhotds wi{b |

respect to rhythm , register, timbre, dyn ahu cs ra m i 3th er_vao flbles,. b u t _ i t

can also„be roarupulatecLimteun^fJis^RPJJ^n^'^ghOiiCjdensity" and.

the relative simplicity, ox_complexity of its surface. Sound-m ass textures, howeverTare fundamentally different fjQm,genuinelxcQntrapuntal_pni.tsin

thafih dividual lines o f music, perhaps represented by individual instru- j / > - , £ r . / d s

ments or ' iristnim entS ^n JBp s^Q Y^ ^ their own, \ A- / •/ being'indisHnguishablej5a^ô(.a.larger fabric-.Thus, the texture in X d - ^ v

nakis's PithopraJcta cannot be usefully regarded as contrapuntal; oven \

though it contaips ^ -en or m o u s amount.ofjcgunterpointêachjtailis..only j

one of very ma nyîm ilar parts con tributing to a single..massive,.compositey

texture.

An instrument or ensemble may be approached not as a vehicle for

massa sonora e densidade

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