Showing posts with label soundscape. Show all posts
Showing posts with label soundscape. Show all posts

Saturday, December 31, 2011

Hans Zimmer & Co’s DAW methods are far from ‘elementary’

AURO-3D
I ’ve continued exploring the Hans Zimmer ‘Sherlock Holmes’ soundtrack described in the previous post. There are a variety of spatial effects—things that add considerable dramatic excitement to the score—that can be “deduced” from exploring the recorded cues with tools like Cubase® or Nuance®. Some deductions are, at best, “educated guesses” based on inspection of the digitized waveforms.

F or example, you can get instruments to sound like they are coming from outside the stereo image by inverting the relative phase angle of a channel. Start with a single channel (say, an explosion in this Sherlock Holmes film). Pan it hard-left. Duplicate the channel, and pan it hard-right. Then invert the phase angle (180 degrees). Now start with the volume on the duplicate at zero, and bring up the level on the duplicate/phase-inverted channel. You now hear the explosion on the left move out wider than it was when panned hard left. Sounds like a paradoxically larger space than what appeared to your eyes.

AES surround standards
A dmittedly, some of these “film” spatial sonic effects might only be implemented in live chamber music performance by the likes of Maya Beizer or Tod Machover, or other devoted electroacoustic artists. But the prospect of producing (and hearing) live ‘augmented reality’ through DAW processing and sound reinforcement becomes more appealing/exciting the more we understand how it works, even for artists who are today squarely in the analog/acoustic world.

Vier, p. 297

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Memory of the Future: Joan Grossman’s Video and David McIntire’s Music

H   istory is marked by catastrophic events that defy meaning and understanding. The 20th century was a century of prosperity and progress; it was also history’s bloodiest. The death toll from war and genocide reached 140 million people. Trauma of this magnitude poses grave challenges to memory and thought. This work explores failures of memory and cognition—The Blackout—as a condition that plagues history, and is particularly problematic in an era of mass media, in which memory is increasingly disembodied and virtualized, undermined by [what might be called] a ‘Generalized Media Disorder’. Technologies of media and war are creating a condition in which the virtual world is displacing the ethical world. The Blackout is a space of memory and thinking that collapses with Catastrophe and falls into a stupor. Humanity has been nearly extinguished by the tremendous violence it has enacted, pushing philosophy, language and ethics to their limits.”
  — BLACKOUT, jacket blurb.
A nd music can be both a political act and powerful antidote to the collapse of social memory and the erosion of community... the withdrawal into passive, vegetative isolation, each at home, continually surfing Netflix, surfing the web.
  • McIntire – ‘Revenants’ (electroacoustic recording, live percussion, 20-min)
  • McIntire & Grossman – ‘Singing Bowl’ (video, electroacoustic, live percussion, 47-min)
T he combination of the video imagery and the live and the electroacoustic music was imaginative and highly listenable and watchable. Joan Grossman’s video was elegant... with a simple beauty that leveraged symmetries across the vertical and/or horizontal axes in the center of the 8 x 6-meter projection screen in Epperson Auditorium. The video involved replication and reflection of imagery in kaleidoscope fashion, at times with superimposed additional imagery blended into the central part of the visual field.

Joan Grossman
U nlike certain computer music / media compositions where the composer-artists ‘try too hard’ or succumb to temptation and use too many of the diverse array of techniques and patches available to them (resulting in sensory overload for the audience, hindering our grasping a memorable meaning or narrative arc), McIntire and Grossman achieved a satisfying, deliciously cohesive, coherent effect.

David McIntire
P ercussionists Jennifer Wagner and Christopher Howard performed at percussion tables on the right- and left-hand sides of the auditorium, while the recorded electroacoustic tracks were played through Mackie SRS 450® powered monitors and SRS 1500® subwoofer at the front of house. Seated as I was front-and-center, the antiphonal bells and gongs and cymbals, and glass wine goblets bowed across their rims with violin bows, and hammered and brushed brass bowls, and Equilibrium® tuned-box slit-drums, and Daisy® BBs rolling on the underside of a tom-tom drum head—all of this was wonderfully ‘immersive’ with the house lights dimmed. Great sibilance of the live percussion sounds, creating a rich contrast to the electronically-filtered and distorted sampled-voice and other sound content in the digital-recording tracks. [The ‘live’ elements might be better still if yet another pair of percussionists were added, positioning them toward the rear of the auditorium/performancespace so that the entire audience could experience the intense immersive effects that we did at the front.]

Memory of the Future
T he electroacoustic recording and reproduction/sound-reinforcement EQ was expertly done by McIntire. Both of the pieces have a low-pitch ‘red-spectrum’ rumble—almost boilerroom-like, or intrauterine—that imparts a subtle but pervasive ‘interiority’ to the music, very chesty, very warm.

G etting the pre-recorded digital tracks to ‘sit’ well amongst live performers relies on the tracks having an even level, a congenial tonal and level balance, and the right reverberant ambience. McIntire does this superbly, gracefully executing minor adjustments at the workstation control-surface in response to moment-to-moment performance decisions made by Wagner and Howard. Compressor and gain automation settings were spot-on, so that the percussion sounds sat happily in-track, with none of the live percussion effects sounding too loud or too quiet or clashing with the pre-recorded sonic material and synthesizer tracks.

F or some of the voice content (e.g., DECtalk Hawking-esque recitations of NOAA National Weather Service Marine Forecasts; alpha-bravo-charlie...romeo-sierra-tango...zulu), McIntire adds density to the voice sample by upping the compression ratio to maybe around 6:1 or 8:1 and then adjusts the threshold to a couple of dB on average-level parts. This means quieter sections are left alone and anything louder is jumped-on hard, bringing it closer to the average level. The coherence or cohesiveness of these two compositions, each with its volume level and acoustic complexity ascending to a climax about two-thirds of the way through and then tapering to a quiet conclusion, is nicely enhanced by this approach.

M cIntire’s EQ and engineering are commendable as noted above, and he does not go overboard on special effects. His EQ cuts are made over quite narrow bands, and his boosting is gentle and wide. McIntire gently applies boosts in the 50-300Hz band to add warmth. He applies cuts in the 1 KHz band, to deemphasize nasal vocal sounds, and adds generous ‘presence’ with boosts between 4 KHz and 8 KHz. The magical sense of Nature and air and space involves a wide boost applied between 12 KHz and 20 KHz, and that was really beautiful up-front, seated in Row #1. With these two compositions that explore the interplay between Nature and Technology, between humankind and other species—between inanimate noisy things like water (sometimes seemingly talking to us, almost alive, almost human), and supposedly-sentient creatures (humans) who often act in hostile, destructive and uncaring ways as though they were inanimate—the musical and artistic success absolutely depends upon making these EQ choices right.

I n summary, a fantastic, powerful experience—beautifully composed, engineered, filmed, edited, and performed. Very happy!

T he ArtSounds series, of which the McIntire-Grossman ‘Memory of the Future’ program was a part, is co-sponsored by UMKC Conservatory and Kansas City Art Institute.

J oan Grossman is a Brooklyn, New York-based independent media artist and producer. Her work has been screened in more than 20 countries and won numerous awards. She is currently Visiting Professor in Film & Media Arts at UMKC. Grossman was formerly a producer for NPR and Voice of America on a variety of programs, including All Things Considered, Afropop Worldwide, Kids America, and The Territory of Art. She has worked in Africa, China, Russia, and throughout Europe, has produced media for public interest organizations and NGOs, and has also worked as producer on European documentaries and feature films. Joan has a Ph.D. in Media and Philosophy from the European Graduate School and has taught film production and theory. She has worked with leading theorists and filmmakers such as Agnes Varda, Claude Lanzmann, Chantal Akerman, Jean Baudrillard, and Jacques Derrida. Her book, ‘Blackout: On Memory & Catastrophe’, was published in 2009 (link below).

D avid McIntire is a Kansas City, Missouri-based composer who, with composer-musicologist Kyle Gann, co-directed the 2009 Second International Conference on Minimalist Music at UMKC Conservatory. In 2010, he launched Irritable Hedgehog Music, a record label focusing on minimalist and soundscape compositions. McIntire has performed with Colorblind James Experience. With pianist R. Andrew Lee he has produced a recording of Tom Johnson’s ‘Hour for Piano’ (link below).

Memory of the Future



Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Ferneyhough’s ‘Chûte d’Icare’: Inter-Part Contagion

 Brian Ferneyhough, photo © Regine Koerner
A previous CMT post about inter-part communication and diffusion phenomena between parts caused one reader to ask whether I’d ever looked at Brian Ferneyhough’s ‘Chûte d’Icare’, a 10-minute septet (clarinet, flute, oboe, vibraphone/marimba, piano, violin, and cello) composed in 1987-88. It’s a fascinating and, to me, beautiful piece…

 Ferneyhough, Chûte d’Icare, mm. 1-2

    [50-sec clip, Nieuw Ensemble, Brian Ferneyhough, ‘Chûte d’Icare’, 1.6MB MP3]

E ach individual part ‘clings’ for a time to its idiosyncratic ‘status quo’, and then it decamps for elsewhere, perturbed by utterances emitted by its neighbors. There is a threshold of temporal and spatial ‘proximity’ that allows one part to affect others. If you are further away than that proximity limit, then you continue on your autonomous way. But if you are within the proximity radius, then you will likely be ‘infected’ by your neighbor(s).

T he ‘infection’ (with the expressive motif(s) emitted by adjacent part(s)) takes hold, lasts for awhile (and alters the affected part’s own utterances), and then subsides. The ‘infected’ part recovers. Or, alternately, it does not recover (“mortality”) and is reincarnated with new ideas, new expressions some bars later.

H ere is a little spreadsheet that illustrates a simple 3-state “S-I-R” (susceptible-infected-recovered) simulation of epidemic spread—the sort of contagion we hear in ‘Chûte d’Icare’. You can click on the screenshot to download it and play around with it.

 Spreadsheet for Susceptible-Infected-Recovered (SIR) epidemic simulation
T he point of doing simulations and mathematical analyses like these is not to get lucky and say “Aha! I get how it works!” or “The composer employed an algorithmic/formulaic tool to compose this!” Instead, the point is to be able to figure out a new gambit that could go into a composer’s toolbox, to deliberately create a visceral, real sensation of diffusion, or contagion, or some other natural process in her/his compositions—as part of a palette that can embody/represent Nature and call into question our roles in life and the cosmic [non-]scheme. Something that could be used either as an aid to composing, or as a convenience for testing and editing a work-in-progress, to confirm that the work does in fact accurately embody or emulate the intended natural process that is the subject or expressive element of the overall work. Alternatively, the point may be to help [some of us] find deeper meanings in the work, or prepare for listening/performing in such a way that we feel more at home with its expressions or patterns.



    [50-sec clip, Harrie Starreveld, Brian Ferneyhough, ‘Mnemosyne’, 1.6MB MP3]



Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Soundscape: The Large, Ambient Instrument We Occupy

 Oculocentrism, I See You
T wo thematic elements threaded through all of the works performed at last night’s KCEMA event in Kansas City, ‘I See You’ [ICU]: (1) exploring modes of urgency/emergency/criticality, and (2) confronting the natural tensions between aural and visual perception.

  • James Mobberley—‘Going with Fire’ (Rebecca Ashe, flute; James Mobberley, sequencer and tape)
  • Matthew Dotson—‘Song Cycle for Haruki Murakami’ (Bart Woodstrup, video; Matthew Dotson, electronics and tape)
  • Peter Lawless—‘Tim Sequence’ (Timothy Eshing, viola; Peter Lawless, sequencer)
  • Jacob Gotlib—‘Filaments’ (Rebecca Ashe, flute; Jacob Gotlib, sequencer)
  • J.T. Rinker and Carolyn Tennant—‘Directed’ (Matt Sinchak, saxophone; Jeff Herriott, electronics)
  • Len Lye / Per Magnus Lindborg—‘Tusalava’ (Matt Sinchak, saxophone; Jeff Herriott, electronics)
  • Jeff Herriott—‘Barnwork’ (Matt Sinchak, saxophone; Jeff Herriott, electronics)
 James Mobberley
T he first piece, by composer James Mobberley, is a rich and compelling work, powered by Rebecca Ashe’s incendiary flute playing Walter Piston-esque chromatics and 12-tone phrases against a sequencer track that covers an astonishing range of timbral and rhythmic textures during the 7-min work. The electronics and the flute form a duet, with phrases in the flute part carried over into the synthesizer part, turned over and mutated, pitch-bent, and—freed once again—on their independent way. The piece has jungle-ous percussive sounds admixed with rustling and emulations of wind in the trees...

 EQ spectrum of simulated wind with drum sticking
followed by aqueous ripple-ey sounds that suggest a soundscape in nature.

G    oing With the Fire’ is the third in a series of works that utilize only the solo instrument as the source for the taped sounds. The piece embodies the flash of creative fire that takes over as a work begins to gel. After the inevitable frustration period, with idea after idea, suddenly the grid unlocks, the boundaries slip away, and I find myself giving up the formal structures and preconceived notions, and simply going with the fire.”
  —  James Mobberley, program notes.
T he experience for us in the audience is ‘immersive’, and the reality that the music conjures is a coherent story of ‘going’, of ‘discovery’—a spontaneously-forming linear narrative that has an immediacy and an arc that makes sense.

 Rebecca Ashe, flute
T he Dotson-Woodstrup piece likewise has a playfulness and spontaneity. Excerpts from Haruki Murakami’s novel ‘The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle’ form the text around which the music and video are organized. The animated text fragments projected in front of the audience engage in a duet with the musical utterances—at times corroborating each other, and at times carrying on a dispute.

S    onically, Murakami’s work made it evident to me that, in the words of his main character, it should be ‘something concrete’... The material was derived from several ambient recordings that took place both inside and outside of my apartment in Chicago... symbolize the ‘inner’ and ‘outer’ worlds.”
  —  Matthew Dotson, program notes.
E shing’s viola and Lawless’s sequencer tracks plumbed the reverberous La Esquina acoustic space. In fact, the rhythmic patterns of the piece engaged the room beautifully, invoking the performance hall itself as a large, ad hoc ‘instrument’, waiting to be played. The ‘surfaces’ of each part; the interface between each pair of them—the ‘liminality’ of our expression and its inevitable fading so soon after we have uttered/played it—are illuminated by this beautiful piece.

 Matt Sinchak, Jeff Herriott, ‘Sonict’
T usalava’ is a 9-minute black-and-white animation created in 1929. ‘Tusalava’ is a Samoan word denoting the idea that ‘eventually everything is or becomes the same.’ It originally had a piano score written by the Australian, Jack Ellitt, who had known film-maker Len Lye in Sydney. The original score has been lost, and Sinchak and Herriott perform using a new score written in 1999 by Norwegian composer Per Magnus Lindborg. Transmute and augment the sounds of traditional instruments, creating novel sound scapes and acoustical/expressive spaces!

T usalava’ was constructed using 4,400 drawings or animation ‘cels’, each of which was photographed—the classical process known as cel animation. The film begins with the screen divided into three rectangles, with vertical arrays of dots and circles wriggling and twisting. Eventually, they collapse into two rectangles, and the wriggling shapes continue to mutate and form intricate patterns. Out of one of the rectangles a totem figure appears and is parasitized by a wriggling shape, with several suckers. The shape scrolls off the screen, displaced by a number of spirals, which are in turn consumed by a primeval black dot.

T usalava’ is an abstract film, in a 1920s surrealist idiom. Lye (a New Zealander) was influenced by Australian Aboriginal art, though, so what strikes us as surreal may simply be exotic ‘otherness’. Tusalava references organic shapes that sprout bio-arms and devour each other, not Modernistic shapes or mechanistic parts and actions. Reportedly, Lye was a doodler and sketcher, activities that he viewed as ‘pre-conscious’ truth bypassing rationality. ‘Tusalava’ can be seen as a film about morphogenesis—in and of itself; and about movement as an irreducible evidentiary primitive. It has a concretism about it, a literality that is not concerned to symbolize other processes.

 Jeff Herriott, Per Magnus Lindborg ‘Tusalava’ score
T his entire concert is, I sense, opposing the oculocentrism of most of Western culture. Aural vs. Visual space. A new dialectic, one that grants equal rights to ears.

O h, in Western culture, sight has been ever-predominant—philosophers since ancient times have been sighted people, who held that ‘The eyes are more exact witnesses than the ears and other senses’ [Heraclitus]. We have the Mind’s Eye; before now, we never had the Mind’s Ear.

T he historical prominence of eyes, while understandable, needs to be shaken up from time to time—as the artists performing at La Esquina tonight were able to do.

T he notion of a ‘Shared Sonic Environment’ was introduced ... Public Sound Objects (PSOs)? The works performed last night each revealed the disrupting effect of acoustic velocity and the latency in musical communication over room-sized distances, with studio monitors splayed out around the hall about 2 meters above the seating.

 Jacob Gotlib
T he Gotlib composition juxtaposes the human voice of the flute with the alien, matrix-oid sequencer/tape. Sounds are transferred and colored, such that each part constitutes a ‘sonotope’. The trajectory of the piece has the flute becoming more dispassionate and automatized, while the synthesizer part becomes progressively more ‘human’—my impression only; barely implied by Jacob’s program notes. The failure to merge leads to the re-individuation of the parts’ personalities and a satisfying resolution to the encounter.

T    wo threads—the flute and the electronic sounds—struggle to merge and connect. They meet briefly in the calm middle section of the piece before falling away again.”
  —  Jacob Gotlib, program notes.
T hese works rely on story-crafting that is considerably different from conventional compositional methods. They are not assemblages of abstract sounds or disparate textures; they are not comprised of ‘movements’ in any classical sense. Instead, they have ‘scenes’ and ‘acts’—they are closer to opera than to traditional chamber music idioms. The videos predominantly serve the role of ‘set’ and ‘props’—creating the atmospherics that enable the narrative and contextualize the other performers. The performers’ ‘inhabiting’ their roles and delivering the inspired performances that they do—these things don’t happen just anywhere: they happen here, situated in this soundscape, in this video scenery.

S o, beyond ‘set’, the video and the soundscape—the aleatoric front door opening and slamming as people come and go from La Esquina; the antiphonal freight trains rumbling-scritching by on steel rails 200 feet from the building; the rustle of shoes on the concrete floor—all comprise a larger, ambient ‘instrument’ in which the performers and the audience are together immersed. Hard not to be caught up in the hyper-moment. Bravo!