#אופיר אילזצקי

[halas1]

One solo X One Voice 

Live recording from the Hanut 31 – 05 Sep. 2016

Short solo sets from Israeli experimental artists. The sets are completely free and could include improvised or written music, or anything in between, so long the artists adhered to the main restriction of the evening: a solo performance on one instrument alone!

*

הקלטה חיה מגלריה תאטרון החנות – 05 לספטמבר 2016

סטים סולניים קצרים של אמנים ישראלים מתחום האילתור/מוסיקה חדשה/נסיונית, או בקיצור, מוסיקה! הסטים חופשיים ויכולים לכלול מוסיקה מאולתרת, כתובה או כל מה שביניהם כל עוד האמנים נשמעים למגבלה העיקרית של הערב: הופעת סולו על כלי אחד בלבד

*

Set List

Daniel Meir

Alex Drool

Ohad Fishof

Ran Slavin

Ophir Ilzetzki

*

סדר המופיעים בהקלטה

דניאל מאיר

אלכס דרול

אהד פישוף

רן סלוין

אופיר אילזצקי

[halas1]

ישראל הנסיונית

Experimental Israel is an ongoing research project by Dr. Ophir Ilzetzki. In 2016, supported by Mifal Ha'Pais and the Israeli Center for Digital Art, Ilzetzki was commissioned 

by Daniel Meir and Halas Radio to create an original radiophonic study centred around contemporary Israeli music. As a composer identifying stylistically as experimental, Ilzetzki chose to focus on other Israeli artists who are, in some way, identified with experimentalism. In the two official years of research, Ilzetzki met weekly with prominent figures in the Israeli new music scene - composers, improvisers, sound and multi-media artists. With them, Ilzetzki ruminated in unofficial conversations regarding the main research questions. Yet, Ilzetzki prompted the artists not only to tackle the research questions via interviews, but also artistically; and so, Experimental Israel became one of the most extensive call for new works in Israeli music to date.  

 The main research questions are: How does experimentalism manifest in its artistic form, and specifically music; does the Israeli experimental practice differ from that practiced abroad, and is it possible to detect a distinct Israeli style‫? Despite its conclusions‫, the research does not attempt to suggest definite answers‫, but to place the opaque and widely used term in a clearer context‫. Since the early 90s‫, a bustling new music scene is active in Israel‫, bringing together artists of different genres. Today, these same musicians have already taken their rightful place in the international music scene, making them a fertile ground for queries such as raised by this research. Accordingly, and seeing the research could serve musicians worldwide, Ilzetzki makes sure to summarise each of its interviews into a short article in English. Each article includes the main focal points of the interview, a chronological reconsideration of the fixed research questions, as well as a look at those added during the course of research. Seeing the Israeli experimental scene is constantly growing, and hence, in flux, this research does not, and truly cannot, have a definite conclusion. Therefore, even after its official course has ended, Ilzetzki continues to add new voices to the research archive, so as to expose and clarify the topic even further. In fact, in its inception, the research was introduced as ongoing, and it is our hope that future researchers will refer to it, and continue its course. Thus, at any given moment in time, the research will serve as an up-to-date 'screen‫-shot' of the constantly developing Israeli experimental scene.  

 Experimental Israel is broadcast live from Halas Audio. All interviews, alongside interview summaries, are available in this archive. The programs are also available for download on Spotify. All of the original compositions and musical contributions by the broadcast's guests are available for download on the FMA.

 Experimental Israel was made possible due to the kind support of Mifal HaPais Council for the Culture and Arts, and the Israeli Center for Digital Art.  

  ישראל הנסיונית הינו מחקר-איסוף מתמשך מאת ד"ר אופיר אילזצקי. בשנת 2016, בהזמנת דניאל מאיר ורדיו חאלאס, ובתמיכת מפעל הפיס והמרכז הישראלי לאמנות דיגיטלית בחולון, 

הוזמן אילזצקי ליצור מחקר רדיופוני מקורי שמיקודו מוזיקה חדישה בישראל. כמלחין המזהה עצמו עם הנסיוניות, בחר אילזצקי לחקור אמנים ישראלים נוספים המזוהים, בעיני עצמם או עיני אחרים, עם הנסיוניות. במהלך שתי שנות המחקר הרשמי, נפגש אילזצקי באופן שבועי עם דמויות בולטות מעולם המוזיקה החדישה הישראלית - מלחינים, מאלתרים, ואמני סאונד ומולטי-מדיה. מולם ואיתם תהה אילזצקי, בשיחות בלתי רשמיות, על שאלות המחקר העיקריות. אך אילזצקי גם בקש מכל משתתף להגיב לשאלות המחקר בביטוי אמנותי, ולא רק בשיחה, וכך הפך המחקר בישראל הנסיונית לאחד הקולות הקוראים המקיפים ביותר שידעה המוזיקה הישראלית עד כה.

שאלות המחקר העיקריות הינן: מה היא נסיוניות בביטויה האמנותי, והמוזיקלי בפרט; האם הפעילות הנסיונית בארץ נבדלת מזו שבחו"ל, והאם אפשר להבחין בסגנון ישראלי מובהק? על אף מסקנותיו,לא מבקש המחקר לתת תשובות נחרצות, אלא למקם את המושג הסתום, בעל השימוש הנרחב מדי, במרחב פרשני ברור יותר. מאז שנות ה-90 מתפתחת בישראל סצינת מוזיקה חדישה העושה מיזוג בי�� אמנים המזוהים עם סוגות שונות; בימינו אנו, לאותה הסצינה כבר שם עולמי, ועל כן היא מהווה קרקע פוריה לתהיות מהסוג שהמחקר הנ"ל מנסה להעלות. בהתאם, וכיוון שלמחקר חשיבות שחוצה את הגבולות הפיזים של ישראל או דוברי השפה העברית בלבד, מקפיד אילזצקי לסכם כל ראיון לכדי מאמר קצר בשפה האנגלית. בתקצירים אלו ניתן למצוא את עיקרי הראיון עם כל אמן, כמו גם התייחסות כרונולוגית לשאלות המחקר הקבועות, ולאלו שהתהוו והתפתחו במהלך המחקר. כיון שהסצינה הנסיונית בישראל גדלה תדיר ועל כן הינה גוף בעל הגדרה נזילה, למחקר האמור אין, ולא יתכן, סוף אמיתי; לכן, גם לאחר סיומו הרשמי של המחקר, מוסיף אילזצקי בקביעות עוד קולות לרשימת הראיונות, אשר יעזרו לחשוף ולהבהיר את הנושא. למעשה, בראשיתו הוצג המחקר ככזה שאינו מתיימר להסתיים, והתקווה היא שחוקרים עתידיים יוסיפו להעזר בו, ואף ימשיכו את דרכו. כך, בכל רגע נתון במהלכה של ההסטוריה המתהווה של מדינתנו, יהווה המחקר סוג של 'צילום מסך' עדכני לסצינה הנסיונית בישראל, ולעברה.  

‫**‬

כל תוכניות ישראל הנסיונית שודרו ומשודרות בשידור חי מרדיו חאלאס, והינן, כמו גם מאמרי הסיכום, זמינות בארכיון שלפניכם. התוכניות זמינות גם להאזנה והורדה ב-Spotify. התגובות האמנותיות והיצירות של אורחי התכנית ניתנות להאזנה והורדה ב-FMA.

המחקר התאפשר הודות לתרומתם האדיבה של מועצת הפיס לתרבות ואמנות, והמרכז הישראלי לאמנות דיגיטלית בחולון.

‫___________‬

__________________

הטקסט כתוב בלשון זכר אך מתייחס, כמובן, לשני המינים!

[halas1]

The Last Generation of Experts

Experimental Israel celebrates its 30th installation, and a celebration it is, as our 30th guest is a person that has dedicated herself to experimentation in action and thought throughout her career – the composer Dganit Elyakim. Elyakim, a student of the late Prof. Arie Shapira in Israel, and later a graduate of The Hague Conservatory, can be easily attested to as a member of the avant-garde; in fact, her entire oeuvre exemplifies this fact. However, it is not too far into our interview, or should I say – her lecture, where Elyakim claims that today there is no, and cannot be an avant-garde!

As hinted to earlier, Elyakim comes prepared; a day prior to our interview, when we recorded Elyakim’s improv piece, 10 Thumbs 2 Left Hands, on the emaciated piano belonging to The Hall Project at the Digital Art Lab, she mentioned in passing that I should brace myself for an entire theory regarding experimentalism. Elyakim has followed our programs closely and was about to suggest her unique theory, which in abstract, at least, relates experimentalism to technological advancement.

Elyakim suggest a threefold division on the timeline of artistic history: a prehistoric age, an age of literacy and machine, and our own time – namely the technological era. In order to clarify the immediate dichotomy between the first two stages of artistic time, she plays for us and compares a vocal piece by Guillaume Du Fay and a piano sonata by Beethoven. Whereas the latter sounds intensely dramatic and full of narrative based change, the former seems almost of a meditative quality – or indeed as Gyorgy Ligeti suggested, music without time. Elyakim proposes that the force at the base of this huge change is the advent of instruments, or in context – of instruments that were able to lead rather than merely accompany. Whereas the voice historically took centre stage, it more often than not paraded its inherent cantabile quality. The instruments of the time, and indeed of music throughout history up to that moment, attempted merely to mimic the voice. However, the newly improved and sturdy instruments were able not only to overcome the voice, but suggested technical possibilities that would require singers later in history to become extremes experts to the point of contortion, and this now in attempt to mimic instrumental qualities and possibilities.

This is merely one example out of many technological advancements that allowed artists, if indeed in tune with the ideas of their times, to create experiments cum renegade art. As it were – art followed technology. But Elyakim doesn’t suffice with this notion, and suggest that literacy itself, and particularly musical literacy can be seen as perhaps the most substantial exchange between technological advances and experimentalism. In similar fashion to how written language allowed a substantial change in how we as a species use language, so did musical language create a similar revolution for music. Those in tune enough with the possibilities this new tool could offer, were, by default, the first experimenters in the field. Similarly, Elyakim hails someone such as J.S. Bach as a true experimenter, exemplified by his staunch stand in favour of equal temperament. Indeed, in the Well Tempered Clavier, Bach arranges the pieces in an ascending chromatic order, indicating that the old relation of scales (via 5ths and 4ths) is obsolete.

Moving into the age of the machine, the age of the experts, or indeed the age of literacy, we are confronted with an artistic boom related intrinsically to the almost fantastically swift technological changes. However, this age, which in part can be deemed humanistic, sees an odd societal shift from the tribal to the personal. Accordingly, this is an age of experts. Man and woman no longer linger on the remnants of a hunter-gatherer society, wherein a person needed several skills and traits in order to live or survive. Suddenly a person had one specialised trait in which s/he is trained, and this would be their life-long occupation.

In contrast, our current age is marked by one particular and enormously substantial technological advancement: the control of electrical currents. This, in Elyakim’s view, is seen as a reshuffling of the historical card deck, as it created de facto changes in the way we live and think. As far as art is concerned, the 20th century is marked with a shift towards electronic music, and more so, a music that is becoming more and more interactive, which, in a way, heralds a return to improvisatory practices, also a current mark of musical change. But the effects on music and art are only second, if not a consequence of the effects new technological advancements have had on society at large. Elyakim sees society as reverting to its traditional tribal role, and more so, she recognises a growing interactivity in all aspects of life. A simple example is given with social media, and the accessibility of knowledge over the Internet. Indeed, I have to agree that the Internet presents a paradigm shift that could potentially signal the dawn of a new era in the way we share information. However, Elyakim takes this thought process even further, claiming that we are, no doubt, the last generation of experts. The academies, guilds, and masters of the past are no longer necessary. One can acquire knowledge and indeed produce various products, physical as well as intellectual, without any external aid. Elyakim presents us with a generation of artists that cannot, by default, be deemed avant-garde, as the front line keeps advancing at a pace faster than our psyches can fathom. We, as artists, are merely attempting to keep up, which in turn sends us into subjective realms and indeed “scenes”. Elyakim continues and exclaims – this new technological world is suddenly interested not only in products, but also in processes. In some cases the process is of larger importance than the product, and in other cases the process is the product. Accordingly, Elyakim suggests that artists in this age are in the process of an “endless work in progress”, and indeed sees this trajectory continuing for an indefinite time.

It is at this point Elyakim and I go into a discussion regarding this analysis of our time and its supposed deterministic trajectory. The interactivity Elyakim points to, I see merely as yet another consumer related attribute, which could be taken back the Marcusean critique presented in his One Dimensional Man. Whereas there is, no doubt, a burst in daily use requiring interactive choice, it still does not quite feel as if this same interactivity allows more choice or indeed freedom on the personal level. If anything, it seems that interactivity manages to even further facilitate pacification by presenting a supposed new freedom. I continue and suggest that this poignantly exemplifies the dire need for experts and expertise more than ever before, and further points towards our need for a “filtration” system where knowledge and information are concerned. However, the point on which Elyakim and I completely agree is the current trajectory of art, which seems decentralized, in an ever-growing flirtation with chance, and seemingly preferring the question to the resounding exclamation mark. Elyakim present us with a recording of her piece 1×1.1 from her debut album, Failing Better (a paraphrase on Beckett: Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better). 1×1.1 is a form we have come to know and love in recent artistic time, namely a structured improvisation, in this case, for bass clarinet and live electronics. Very much in tow with the dedicated recording Elyakim presented us with for our broadcast (this time, a complete improvisation on piano frame (harp) and live electronics), there is an amalgamation of all her ideas in this piece. Whether her theories hold water, as is the case with theories, only time will tell. But Elyakim’s art, attempts not only to parade these theories, but also actually live by them. In a future project, Elyakim presents the idea of creating a web-based opera. The stage, claims Elyakim emphatically, has been but made obsolete by the advent of the Internet, and accordingly, an opera as an art form need no longer exist on stage, but in a non-temporal arena such as an HTML based page on the web. Like Shapira, her composition teacher before her, who wrote a radio-based opera, and Robert Ashley, whom Elyakim reveres in the utmost, who wrote his Perfect Lives for television, Elyakim wishes to join and continue this trajectory. It again raises the question – what’s next? And I personally believe that this has always been a good prompt to be made by art.

[halas1]

Tectonics 2015

“You can’t imagine what that piece made me feel… but, what is it about actually?” This sentiment is probably the most common reaction I get to my piece, Spotlight. “Surely, there’s an element of prayer here?” or: “the piece tries to juxtapose between the divine and the earthly… right?” It’s usually at this point that I find myself fumbling in words, trying to express possible meanings the piece might or might not have: “The piece is about high and low, and emotions… and yet, about nothing; I mean, it’s about the performers… and how they make sound… even when they aren’t making any sound… it’s about their reactions to one another and their reactions to the tape sounds, or, or, uhm… silence… it’s about their own emotions, or what it means to be a performer…” It’s usually right around this point that I wish I hadn’t opened my mouth in the first place. I mean, yeah, sure, Spotlight is about all of these things, but yet about none of them. The truth of the matter is that the idea, as is usually the case with me, came as a feeling: The first image I had was that of two performers dancing in slow motion, in complete silence, under a direct light. Calling it a dance is perhaps misleading, because the performers are actually mimicking a performance, possibly even the same performance they are performing right there… CUT TO: stark darkness, sounds of emaciated House beats blasting from speakers, and slightly softer… those same two performers playing crude materials with a dark undertone. That was the idea that sparked Spotlight into being – and it is from this seed that an entire piece was constructed, in many ways to serve the aforementioned dramatic moment that both initiates and concludes the journey of the piece.

My basic ingredient, hence, was this subtle space between supposed reality and dream as portrayed in the same piece, and the immediate question that this juxtaposition prompts: is the piece aware of itself, or not? The piece never answers that question (obviously), but rather utilizes this dynamic in order to take the audience through a whirlwind of emotions whilst playing with their expectation at every turn. At one point the piece mimics its own ending, only to continue as if nothing had happened. At another point the audience is presented with recorded sounds of the instruments on stage, but this in complete darkness; so, is it a tape part, or are those the live performers I hear? Besides, why am I even bothered? And why are the performers always treating that light as if there’s something or someone there? Is there… someone there, or is it simply the lighting technician whose name I read in the program notes?

The last movement of the piece presents a meditative suggestion that the audience is always very keen to be led into. The simple vocal lines backed by a light pulsating drone evoke mental images of endless time, the beyond, or an unworldly serenity. One memorable comment I heard was from a former air-force pilot; he suggested that the music evokes a mental state not dissimilar to that of being subjected to high altitude speeds for long periods of time. I don’t think I’ll ever know… but what I do know is that by this point in the piece, the audience are well aware that anything that’s been given them can as easily and very abruptly be taken away. I’m not sure what it takes to fly a fighter-jet in irrational speeds, but I’m quite sure it has to do with putting your faith in something. Will the audience be led into a trancelike state by what is evidently a treacherous piece? That soft glow above the players evokes images of holiness… and yet the composer decides to direct attention towards the most technical, unimaginative and mundane portrayal of that apparent glow, and calls it by its name… Spotlight.

But please, don’t ask me why… it was just a feeling I had…

[halas1]

The Outmoded

The 14th guest on our show is by now almost an Israeli icon. Yossi Mar Chaim is internationally known throughout musical genres and trends – from film music, musical and song, to the opposite end including traditional 20th century composition, as well as experimental music and improvisation.

None of the above should come as a surprise, as Mar Chaim, despite his free-willing demeanour, is a trained classical musician completing degrees in music from both the Rubin Academy in Israel as well as the Juliard School of Music in New York. However, Mar Chaim claims his chameleon-like musical ability can be attributed mainly to the fact that he lived through a period where there were very few composers working in non-classical music in Israel. Today, he claims, half or more of the gigs he received as a younger man would have never been given him, but rather bestowed upon a supposed “professional” in that field or genre.

Mar Chaim tells us that his initial foray into completely free improvisation happened during his days as protégée of another Israeli great – professor Andre Hajdu. Hajdu managed to convince Mar Chaim that there is no such thing as improvisation within a given genre, as no matter how open your playing might be, so long there is a theoretical foundation to fall back on, the music isn’t improvised. Free improvisation, alla Hajdu, meant that the performer manages to surprise him/herself. This came as a sort of revelation to Mar Chaim, and from this point onwards his oeuvre started shifting more towards experimental writing and completely free improvisation. Examples of such can be found in abundance in Mar Chaim’s work, linking him to the top musicians in the experimental field (within and without the academic sphere).

Mar Chaim suggests an interesting paradigm regarding improvisation, mentioning a chance performance with Israeli saxophonist and free improviser, Assif Tzahar. Mar Chaim duly calls Tzahar one of the great saxophonists of our time, and says that upon listening to the recording of the same performance, he could not believe how well he actually played – in fact, better than ever before. Mar Chaim continues and claims that free improvisation is the only practice that can allow one to excel one’s own ability. In the aforementioned case, Tzahar’s prowess managed to coax Mar Chaim into a musical directions and a technique formerly unknown to him. Accordingly, Mar Chaim is more than willing to suggest we play together in the studio (despite my ever hesitant nature when it comes to improv), taking me by the hand and suggesting that his responsibility is to try and take me down the same route he was taken by Tzahar. Whether he managed to do so or not, mar Chaim approaches the entire act of playing as an act of joy devoid of any responsibility. Like many of our past guests, he too suffices with the mere promise of success and is willing to engage himself if only to discover something new. He delves even deeper with this notion, quoting John Cage, who claimed there is no such thing as good or bad sound, or, if you will, the idea that sound represents only itself. Finally, he closes with a metaphor from the world of chess, reminding us that there was a certain class of players in the past that would refuse to forfeit a game, if only for the possibility that something might go wrong and allow them an advantage. So is it with freedom and Yossi Mar Chaim – he seems eager to take a chance if only for the possibility that something might go terribly right.  

We segway quite naturally to Mar Chaim’s piece Intonarumori, named after the mechanical noise generators attributed to the Italian Futurist, Luigi Russolo. In Intonarumori we hear a sort of post-modern summary of musical ideas and texts by the Futurists, but manage to also get a glimpse of the finesse so characteristic of Mar Chaim’s music. Here is a composer truly looking back at ideas a century old, and through a new musical form, making sense of them in a manner the original composers were never able to achieve. Upon listening to Zang Tumb Tumb by another Futurist composer, Filippo Marinetti, I query regarding the difference between the Dadaists and the Futurists. Mar Chaim responds immediately as someone who isn’t faced with this challenge for the first time, and explains that whereas the Dadaists were negativists in the purest sense, the Futurists were very serious regarding the new world order they suggested. In Zang Tumb Tumb, Tells us Mar Chaim, Marinetti asks to paint, through sound, a picture of war – perhaps glorifying, perhaps romantic in essence, but no doubt serious. The work of Kurt Schwitters (that prompts the whole discussion on this topic) asks to pose questions, ridicule and mainly negate.

I continue with a question that harrows me, asking whether Mar Chaim himself doesn’t find it strange (not to mention dangerous) that we (both he at 75, and myself at 37) are still continuing a trajectory that started more than a hundred years ago. Unfazed, Mar Chaim claims that my question reveals that I personally view us, creative beings in history, as beings on a linear timeline (and right he was in claiming that). “Why is forward the only direction we can imagine? Can we not explore upwards, and sideways, and in many directions that seem to carry no relevance to that same linear trajectory you imagine? “I would like to see myself as ever expanding, assuming a point in time allows the freedom to travel in any direction and not only one!” Mar Chaim closes with this interesting anecdote regarding Ho Chi Minh, the great victor of the Vietnam War: Upon being asked to predict whether the French Revolution was a success, Ho Chi Minh replied: “It is too soon to tell”.

In immediate connection to the above, Mar Chaim discloses that his improv setup consists of artefacts that Walter Benjamin would have deemed Outmoded. Using, amongst many others, tape cassettes from the mid 60s, old film rolls and cameras, and even a defunct leaf shredder (used as instrument in its own accord, as well as sort of makeshift feeding mechanism of tape into tape player), Mar Chaim takes on the Benjamin tenet and exposes these artefacts in a new, artistic light. Benjamin claims that Outmoded technology ceases to interest a market once a newer, better version reaches its public. However, artistically, these defunct artefacts are now given a miraculous second life through art, like the completely deformed wax of a candle allowed to burn anew. Art allows us to revisit the past in a new light, understand it for what it really was, or see it in a way it’s never been seen before. Mar Chaim likens this to the many freedoms J.S. Bach allowed himself with a then almost defunct form, the Fugue. In fact, upon thinking about it, I can almost imagine Bach asking the same question Yossi Mar Chaim does – why should I only develop this form forward? At any given point, I can expand into any direction!

[halas1]

Procrastination & Revolution

On it’s 12th session, Experimental Israel gets a welcome insight into the world of sound artist, composer, improviser, and electronics wiz – Eran Sachs. Hailing from Jerusalem and from what could be considered musical aristocracy in our parts, Sachs is yet another example of a classically trained musician whose personal tastes and preferences send him off to an experimental approach and a unique thought process.

At the onset of our interview, Sachs and I start from a discussion regarding his setup. As a performer, Sachs has become quite identified with the no-input mixing culture, and indeed brought into the Halas studio a cumbersome setup that took him roughly 2 hours to build. For our show and session, Sachs decided to treat us with a maximalist approach and simply setup all the equipment he has ever worked with. The outcome is readily available in the improv session he presented us with, where this conglomeration of machines sounds like nothing I’ve ever heard from this artist before.

Technical discussions of the setup lead Sachs quite immediately into theoretical musings regarding music, experimentalism and life at large. Sachs equates his artistic responsibility with an attempt to create what he refers to as “a meaningful moment for his audiences”. True, not every attempt can create a transportative moment, but the ideal is a notion we’ve visited in our project in the past, namely where artist and audience meet through the careful development of material, in a fashion that can be expressed in no other manner but mystical. And indeed, like many of our past visitors who have suggested similar ideas, Sachs too shies from the ethereal in an attempt to keep his ideas concrete.

Looking at the paradigm presented here, questions regarding the identity of these same materials must be asked. Sachs is quick to reply with a historically informed answer recognizing the main trends of the last century and leading us to our current musical state, where the array of what artists and audiences are willing to accept as valid materials is wider than it’s ever been. Sachs, rooting himself well within this historical trajectory, realizes that beauty in its classic sense is no longer a goal. The moments and materials he is interested in are what he refers to as “weird”. This should not be understood as a highlighting of the mundane (even though this too is something he is interested in), but rather yet another stepping stone in the ever widening of our species’ acceptance of materials as coherent. The ideology is clear – to create a scenario for audiences at large, making them realize, through sound, that what was impossible might very well be possible.

What surprises me most in Sachs’ approach is the reasoning or underlying ideology at its base. Whereas the idea of sonic representation leading to personal shifts is something quite inherent to the experimental field (and I would add, to music at large), Sachs sees this transportative experience as a possibility for revolution. I should make clear that the revolt in question here is not yet another short-lived musical one, but rather an all out socio-political revolution, and I quote: “The possibility to utilize the transportative properties of sound within a dialectic process containing awareness of our accumulated possibilities as a species can lead towards revolution”. “…I do not know if I will ever experience this first hand, but I do recognize that dealing with a deep sonoric move (i.e. not sound as a localized event, but the opportunity to immerse yourself as a sonoric being across all the various dimensions this move might entail), opens for us the possibility of proximity to something that, so far, isn’t inherent to us as a species. More so, if this move is aware in containing our accumulated knowledge, and indeed we are at the precipice of what is referred to as Singularity, such a move can act as a safeguard to some of the threats on the human condition”. I react to this idea as one of the most outrageous notions I have heard on our program so far and confront Sachs with the reality of our local music scene, and musical scenes at large. Indeed, for revolution to take place there need be a following of a critical mass. However, the usual case within musical scenes (not to mention that which transpires at large) is that we cannot even generate consent within ourselves. This as a metaphor to society doesn’t place Sachs’ ideas in a realistic light. Sachs is quick to reply with a notion taken out of Marxist theory, mentioning ideas we have already ingrained regarding materialism (not only musical) and a class fit for revolution in all senses other than its self awareness. Sachs refers to this amorphous class as “procrastinators” – a class ripe for revolution, yet still requiring an affirmation regarding its powers and prowess. Is this perhaps why art in the 20th century tends to parade its own self-awareness, I ask? Is it perhaps a means to allow audiences to take on similar action? Unable to truly answer this question, Sachs returns to the transportative abilities of sound and claims that within the ideal circumstances, the artist-material-audience paradigm can create a type of alchemy; a revolutionary idea.

At the end of our conversation, Sachs turns to his instruments in order to present us with his dedicated set. His “dance” around and with this setup takes me on a beautiful personal journey in the studio, and it’s not before too long that I find myself dancing, taking a well deserved cue from Sachs himself who allows his whole being, body and soul, to be immersed in the experience he creates for us. Rather than taking me to the future of mankind, this experience takes me to a distant past, and a place that Sachs himself refers to during our interview. I speak of an initial ritualistic state where sound and meaning meet – a mergence that can be taken back as far as first agricultural societies, if not earlier. In our studio that same late night, the rhythms were nothing to be compared to those of the past, and the sounds completely new. However, not only did they create meaning, they managed to revert Sachs and me to our primitive state, where the artistic effort becomes ritual, in our case, a ritual for something completely non-concrete. I personally wonder whether that which transpired quite organically and spontaneously in the studio could be related to Sachs’ ideas regarding revolution? If ideas regarding Singularity carry a future promise, can we assume that this aspect of our species will be diminished, or perhaps enhanced? Sachs ended his set with a moment of electronic equilibrium that allowed him to grab a beer and move around with me in the studio. As he finished the set, I thanked Sachs dearly and whilst clearing the studio I mentioned that I’d really like to hear the set again. “So would I!” answered Sachs, and so we did, together. It was not before too long when we found ourselves dancing again.

[halas1]

The Non-Monad

On our 15th session I started off with presenting our guest as one of the names that is repeated by a majority of our former ones. The reasoning behind this fact is immediately made evident as soon as Yoni Silver sits down at his instrument and starts playing. Silver is currently known as a bass-clarinet improviser exhibiting phenomenal technical ability and creativity, however this is just another faze in the short yet action-packed career of this fascinating artist. His prowess in clarinet playing was preceded by a focus on composition, as well as jazz saxophone playing, and earlier on, violin playing. Yoni Silver presents a rare case of musician that seems to be able to jump between each and every one of these heavy topics without flinching, yet as an improviser he manages to create a world of his own that, in some ways, includes all of the above, yet sounds like none of them in particular.

Silver comes from the fairly traditional background of classical music training come jazz training. However, around his early 20s Silver starts feeling the composer itch, which sends him off his trajectory as instrumentalist and opens a window onto the written page. It is at this point that Silver almost forsook his instruments, and started gaining first hand experiences in the fallacy of classical composition training, which he describes as unbearably exclusive. No doubt, a situation known to some of us very well, where, prompted by overly rigorous teachers, one is almost forced to take sides regarding what serious music-making is, and what could be considered peripheral and hence, unimportant. Silver immediately started feeling an inner reaction to this classification, and in many ways prompts a train of thought that leads us through the interview.

One of the focal points of our discussion is a question regarding validity: Why is a through-composed piece considered more valid than an improvised one? And if already on the topic, what is an improvisation? Are all improvisations experimental? And what can be considered good or bad in a musical sphere that is so much affected by mood and surroundings? Silver and I joyfully muse on these topics, not really attempting a real answer, yet one exception shines through: Silver presents himself as a person with a growing affection towards the spontaneous, more so, an admiration towards it. He manages to shed light on what I perceive as an age-old paradigm: the topic of control. Silver claims that with notated music, there is very little control over immediate sound. The composer sits and writes directions on a piece of paper, not really knowing what reaction they might create, for whom, or when. Where will the piece be performed? What will the temperature of the hall be? Will the performers be having a good day on that particular performance? A myriad of such queries can be raised, questioning the validity of a written piece. I immediately contradict in saying that only the written page can allow true control over a musical scenario and one’s subjective yet concrete ideas. Silver is quick to reply with an answer asking us to imagine a composer unsatisfied with the results of her piece, going back to the drawing board and making changes to a piece she has now but almost lost any connection with its original stimulus, not to mention impetus. The composer might think she reacts to a concrete reality, whereas it could be a momentary and fleeting feeling that prompted her need for change within a piece she by now has no visceral connection with.

Continuing this fascinating train of thought, Silver expresses ideas regarding improvised music, describing it as a true act of control. All aspects of music making are narrowed down to that one moment of performance. The music emanating there carries the possibility of a true reflection of what transpires in the moment. Silver goes deeper and crystallizes a topic first suggested by a former guest, Amnon Wolman, namely – awareness. Only Silver takes it one step further and recognizes the true need for self-awareness. If one feels agitated, angry, fatigued or any other feeling that is not considered a stage-worthy proposition, one need only be aware and honest about presenting these feelings, and by doing so allows us, the audience, a possibility to connect even deeper with the given moment.

In circular motion we return to the topic of validity, and are reminded that contemporary art is, at least nowadays, treated with immense suspicion. So much for crediting the art of now for the mere possibility of shedding light on our own times, our society seems overly keen on setting past utterances on pedestals unbefitting their dimensions. And one is left with a double lost battle – the first prompted by the aforementioned attitude, coupled with an avid academicism unable to quantify that that cannot be analyzed. It is at this point I believe I finally understand something, a notion I had been skating alongside for a while, but could not pin accurately: the experimental thought, in many ways, begs an analysis with tools we have yet to fully perfect. It’s as if an integration of theoretical-musical and emotional practices is needed before we will be able to say something truly valid about this practice.

Silver ends with a subjective comparison between the local Israeli scene and the British one, in which he is currently quite involved. From his words I get a feeling that Israel is in a lucky position to be in its baby steps as an experimental culture, and culture at large. Although the scene here began its journey with cautious attempts veering towards known forms and rehearsed sounds, we are slowly entering a time where the boundaries are getting blurred and where artists from different spheres work together in the creation of a practice seeming less and less definable. The British scene, however, is marked by an ever-growing search for definable styles. This perhaps seems like a contradiction to the ethos at the base of the whole experimental practice, yet very much befits a reactionary movement still fighting to be recognized as valid within a well-rooted musical culture.

“People treat the sounds of their instruments as Monads – a black box that is able to undertake a finite set of actions, and which isn’t destructible; a black box that doesn’t prompt one to dissect its inner makings,” Silver tells us. A few moments later, as I make my closing remarks allowing silver to set up for the final improv session of the day, I see him spontaneously grabbing our battered acoustic guitar and a small drum. The speed in which this decision is taken makes Silver seem quite comical for a moment, trying now to revaluate and simply take control of his new array of sound making objects. It prompts in me an old-new question in a stronger manner than ever before: When did he make up his mind to do so? Where does he find the courage to do so? And oh, is this spontaneous comedy going to interfere with his playing, or be integrated in it? The first sounds are made, and we are both flying in this new world he has just now created for us. And here we are now, and again now, and now again! If I’ve ever done so before, I do so now with ever-greater resolve – hear this person play… he is the true non-monad.

[halas1]

A New Religion

Due to his dual expertise, which encompasses the fields of music and philosophy, Yoav Beirach offers us a unique point of view in relation to our ongoing research topic. Beirach, a bass player, came originally from Jazz. This fascination led quite seamlessly into the realm of free jazz, a practice that, for Beirach, represented the epitome of artistic radicalism at the time. In fairness, one must mention that Beirach is a product of the late 70s, and hence, was a tad late in boarding the free jazz train. However, it was only a matter of time before Beriach’s high school friend and classmate, the drummer Ariel Armoni, introduced him to Assif Tsahar and Daniel Sarid, who, due to their future involvement in the creation of the mythical Levontin 7, represent experimentalism for an entire generation of Israeli musicians. For Beirach this quartet was not only a means to expand his understanding of jazz, but also an ‘invitation’ into a new fledgling scene that encompassed more than merely experimental practices. This is the scene that formed the backbone of what could later be described as the Israeli experimental scene.

True to his holistic understanding of art in its politico-historical and hence, social context, Beirach decides to quite music for a while and simply reflect on his trait. His main difficulty was with ��the way music is practiced.” His personal feeling was that “one must be more critical of his intentions.” The underlying question for Beirach was “how do people act when they create music?” For him, academicism in its artistic context represented an artificial escape, and he found no need for it. His inner voice begged an awareness of the context in which one creates, and this, in the widest possible sense.

Beirach’s first example is of a technical nature, yet drives his point home in a clear fashion: “The advent of audio recordings begs a revised inspection of musical form and notation. However, in this sense, experimentation and research should not be the ideal, but rather a means towards an end. I would like to hope that, in essence, a Madonna concert and an experimental one are pretty much the same.” The ideal presented here by Beirach, in essence almost political, is an attempt to soften the boundaries between that which is considered ‘serious’, and that considered popular/folk: “Our privileged artistic and social standpoints require us to find a new language. Yet how do we avoid detracting from our past artistic and social milestones whilst still setting course towards a new trajectory that takes into account all there really “is” in social and cultural terms?” A standpoint that presents a built-in contradiction, as it requires us to forgo the age-old paradigm that equates diatonicism with progress.

This train of thought leads us clearly and seamlessly into Beirach’s current musical practice which encompasses traditional and popular Arab music as well as free improv, rock, pop and more. Finding the non-collaborative approach problematic, Beirach attempts, as much as possible, for his practice to be devoid of boundaries and hierarchies. The underlying political question to his practice is: “what does it mean to be together?” This presents Beirach with yet another ingrained conflict, namely between musical professionalism, and his broader stance as a naïve anarchist.

In immediate relation, Beriach’s PhD explores an intersection between music and philosophy; specifically it researches the philosophical history of music theory. One of the pillars on which his entire theory stands, stems from questions regarding “a moralistic approach towards art in a godless age”: “We seem to completely disregard the fact that past artists were predominantly religious. As such, their art, and indeed its building blocks, would have represented for them a sort of objective truth. It was much easier to speak of things in terms of good vs. bad, or pretty vs. ugly, as there was an external moral compass guiding society at large.” For Beirach this observation immediately begs the Kantian query regarding our (western) authority on supposed objective knowledge. In god’s world, the western privileged authority over truth seemed a given. However, in a godless world such as presented by the west today, has god’s representation not been merely replaced with the ‘religion of atheism’? For Beirach, Kant’s assumptions on the matter were not only visionary, but quasi-prophetic. In a true godless universe, our stance towards questions of authority over truth and supposed objective knowledge must be shattered. Accordingly, our new stance should enable us to embrace much more than we were historically accustomed to, and allow room for points of view that potentially negate or even contradict our ongoing historical trajectory.

Going even deeper into this question, Beirach reminds us that western music theory has always been based on science, and specifically Maths. This immediately promotes supposed objectivism, which in turn leads towards a quasi-fanatic following. In effect, there is no difference in our approach towards these supposed cultural ‘truths’ in a religious world vis-à-vis a godless one. In both we are confronted with representations of a higher order, which we can only accept as gospel. “Hence”, asks Beirach, “does the non-religious stance really deliver what it claims? Have we simply replaced one religion with another, or are we truly at a point of qualitative change allowing us to perceive truth as relative, or culture as representing a superficial construct?” No doubt, all questions begging an experimental approach towards art, and indeed life at large.  

[halas1]

Things Other People Say

Amongst ourselves (that is, Daniel Meir​ and I) we’ve agreed that the Halas studio is magic! Not in the Disney/fairytale kind of way – it literally is magic. Things sound better there, good things happen there… pretty exclusively. Well, the studio is currently undergoing cosmetic surgery, which posed a problem as to where Yiftah Kadan would record his set. Coming to the studio on the Sabbath was lovely – all was quiet in Holon. Kadan commented on the children literally playing with sticks and stones, saying it was like ‘the old days’. And it really did feel that way – things moved slowly (or was it the hummus we had just had for lunch). We toured the building for a suitable recording spot, but as soon as Kadan saw our stripped down studio, he said: “here”. Fitted with what will soon become its control room, the Halas studio had a window opening into yet another empty concrete space – two echoing chambers creating quite a harsh room tone. Kadan’s intuition to mic the ‘control room’ chamber proved itself brilliantly, and we eventually found ourselves creating the natural reverb that distinguishes this recording. Magic.

Like Ram Gabay just a few days before him, Yiftah Kadan deliberated regarding being interview. And like Ram Gabay he too decided against it. After having heard Gabay’s set last Tuesday, I must admit to have been a bit apprehensive for our following guest. I mean it’s a hard act to follow a one-hour+ site-specific musical saga. But in the same manner that Gabay’s set was very much a dooming Tuesday, Kadan’s was a glorious Saturday. I haven’t heard Kadan play many times before, hence was not sure what to expect, but I certainly didn’t expect this! As if painting the mood we were already in, he embarked on what I referred to as a noon raga. Sitting behind a plastic sheet shielding our studio equipment, I could only half guess what it was Kadan was doing to make his setup sound the way it did. But I soon succumbed and completely let myself go into his journey, which I felt was a journey I could have wanted to describe as well. Any person who’s experienced this feeling of having someone speak your words with their voice, knows that these are moments of true exhilaration. Such moments strengthen my conviction most – that despite all words said, spontaneous music was and still is the epicentre of this research. And what are these moments if not? Magic.

[halas1]

“Play”

Roughly 3 months ago I asked the Jerusalem based artist, singer, instrumentalist, and electronics wiz-kid, Tomer Damsky to join me as yet another guest in Experimental Israel. Through various projects in the past two years, I have come across Damsky in the role of creator, singer and performer, practicing all of the above with a shameless lack of affiliation to genre and style. This, I must admit, has already but become a trademark of the younger generation in the local scene, and specifically something I attributed to the Jerusalem based scene (although Damsky herself didn’t quite agree as to a clear divide between the different scenes in Israel). Regardless, she paraded a renegade talent and a voice of her own that, try as I may, I simply could not pin down stylistically, making her a prime candidate for that which I attempt to explore through this research.

About a week before our scheduled broadcast, Damsky, who is more often than not an avid collaborator, asked me whether she could invite a guest of her own on the program, in which they will perform together. The guest in question is Eyal bitton, a housemate of Damsky’s and a member of a non-official artists collective based around their shared Jerusalem flat in the Cats Square. Together Damsky and Bitton form the electronics duo – Kdoshey Zaglambia (referring, more in cynical jest, to the 100,000 Jewish inhabitants of the Zagłębie Dąbrowskie in Poland who were murdered during the 2nd world war). I obviously relish these opportunities, as they open up the research at hand to new voices and ideas, and gladly welcomed this new arrangement.

Awaiting me in the studio was the duo coupled with two huge metal plates, one of which was fitted with a metal string as well. The two would later rattle, hit and mainly bow the same metal plates, which were both amplified with a pickup and contact microphone, and whose audio signal was sent into an array of effects that were spread across the studio floor. The two beautiful sets presented by Kdoshey Zaglambia in the studio corresponded with noise and drone based music. However, the outcome sounded much richer and much less prone towards claiming the usual stomping ground of these aforementioned styles. Rather, it seemed to pass through musical signposts in an improvisatory fashion, collecting what was needed, and carrying off towards a new destination until the pieces were finally concluded.

However, the real point of interest was during our interview: Damsky and Bitton, although humouring me at first, seemed quite reluctant to join my usual analytical tendencies regarding experimental practices. We managed to get through some of the duo’s biography as an ensemble and individuals. We continued to inquire deeper into a specific project they had conceived, involving a task score set to a group of performers in a site-specific building in Jerusalem. As interesting as this was, we weren’t really able to extract something more illuminating from the details of this topic, and soon moved on towards another, namely the Tel-Aviv/Jerusalem divide. Although here too, Damsky, at first, was willing to indulge my lead, she soon claimed to have no interest in this type of discourse whatsoever, and it was only a matter of seconds before she allowed herself, with what seemed like complete and utter mutual consent, to hijack the interview towards an open ended improvisation, which Bitton and myself shortly followed.

Suddenly, we were in a fantastical radiophonic space fuelled by the backdrop of cassettes played through a varying speed tape recorder, and our own voices. We continued to use our cell phones that were playing our live feed from Halas, and played it back into the studio microphones, creating a unique type of feedback. Not knowing how serious we were about the whole thing gave the entire act, for me at least, a feeling of great excitement. And indeed, in conclusion of our first such session, Damsky proclaimed: “This is experimentalism”! I call this our first such session, as shortly after this proclamation, we found ourselves in a mock interview/improvisation session that took us pretty much to the end of our program.

My immediate intake from this was a realisation of comedic improv as a complete act of experimentation. Indeed, I doubt whether there was more than a momentary comical success shared by us in the studio, yet the playing field felt very familiar even if using very different tools. To me this also seemed as a highly productive training ground for the creation of specific radiophonic pieces – we were forced by volition of the moment, and our mutual choice to participate, to immediately take on the medium and try as much as possible to utilise it to our best advantage. But more than anything, I have to claim a connection to a facet I have already noticed before during such impromptu dealings in our studio, namely calling to mind the program I made with artist, Uri Katzenstein. In that session, as well as this, it seemed that the rapport and chemistry between the performing individuals was the essential factor enabling this state of “play”. “Play”, in this instance, representing a physical/mental space where a mutual agreement on supposed “rules” is instated (mainly in order to be broken), coupled with an amiability or generosity allowing each participant to truly shape the narrative.

So we had a blast in the studio, creating perhaps not the most meaningful content, yet something that could still illuminate, if only through practice, that which I try to explore. Not to mention the two riveting sets presented by the duo, which of themselves could be seen as material shedding ample light on the topic. However, going through the whole series of events leading up to the program, there would seem to have been a very important omission that I would now like to dwell on: Just before the show started, I went through my usual check of the Halas server by broadcasting a short teaser to the soon to be aired show. As we have been encountering some technical difficulties lately, I decided to take extra caution and even played the Halas page on my cellular device in order to make sure we were broadcasting properly. I decided to use this handicap and shape it into something a tad more artistic, and so allowed the microphone in the studio to pick up the broadcast from my phone, and thus created the aforementioned feedback loop used during our actual session. The duo was already set in place, open microphones and headsets on, and as soon as they saw me fooling around in this manner, took their cue to join in. Before we knew it we were in a three-way improv including voices, cell phones, tape cassette, and various objects at hand. As I stopped the broadcast, I said: “shame I didn’t press record, that was pretty cool”. I don’t remember whether we’d even planned something concrete, but it was obvious to us all in the studio that we were going to attempt something similar during the broadcast, and as you heard, attempt we did. In retrospect, it raised the question of whether that chance moment was not the basis of our later attempt during the broadcast? Were we trying to recapture something, or rather reach an optimal goal only hinted upon by that rough yet exciting moment of play? Did we succeed, or is this perhaps not even a valid goal to set for such experimentation? Regardless, I couldn’t help but agree even more with Damsky’s claim that this indeed was true experimentation.

[halas1]

Evolution

Experimental Israel continues its journey into the great unknown of understanding the possible meanings of this little understood beast – Experimentalism. On our 6th installation we had the honour of hosting one of the most prolific and diverse musicians on the Israeli scene, Shmil Frankel. Frankel (born 1968) is a maverick string player, improviser and composer who has had the rare experience of working as musician in two completely different scenes – the Israeli and British one. This perspective adds to the richness exhibited by this very full and whole person, who is also an instrument builder as well as trained in Chinese medicine.

Frankel needs little introduction to our topical issues, and it truly seems that they are all part of his thought process and regular philosophical meanderings. With no prompting on my part, Frankel comes into the studio with a prepared answer to a question not asked, and proclaims: improvisation is not Experimentalism! He goes on to explain that whereas improvisation is to be found in almost every activity in this life and world, experimentalism is something else. One improvises all the time, Frankel reminds us – in fact, the more acuteness one shows to detail, the more factors or unknowns are inserted into the improvisational equation. Take a classical violinist, who would not regularly be deemed an improviser, but in fact she is improvising all the time. For instance, she plays the same concerto in different halls, with different orchestras – all of these factors change with every new performance. The more acute this performer is to little details that change, so is she in fact improvising with unknown factors – a different sounding hall, or orchestra, or tempo, or even ambient sounds or humidity. All of these can become a factor leading towards, or requiring improvisation. Frankel continues and gives an example from his own life: in preparing for a concert with a through-composed piece, he was confronted with completely different results than imagined when hearing the piece in the commissioning venue. Suddenly, without having prepared or even imagined these possibilities, he was required to improvise in order to get as close as possible to his desired result. However, Frankel equates both scenarios with a plumber hired to fix a problem left unknown until the actual moment when he is confronted with it. Is there a chance he will not be able to fix it? Of course! What are his aids? Well, the many tools he has with him that were collected throughout his career. And suddenly this notion of improvisation truly existing everywhere becomes quite clear.

Experimentalism? Yes, improvisation can be experimental, but isn’t necessarily. An experimental effort necessarily means delving into the unknown. The experience toolkit described before can still be available at hand, but the experiment, if truly new, might deem the toolkit completely useless. Frankel finds it very difficult to set boundaries between the technical and emotional, and leads towards a notion of the experimental sphere actually emanating from a vast energetic sphere or whole that we both in some ways agree upon, but cannot fully describe. The closest we manage to reach, in my opinion, is when Frankel describes a possible scenario in experimental improvisation where he could initiate a musical process by, using his term, “inviting” the situation to shift in a certain direction. This invitation can be followed, or declined, but in case something does create a shift in an improvising ensemble as a consequence of such an invitation, energy is created, which now also includes the audience and its own emanating energy. The performer, audience and material are united in a search through an unknown territory where the only defining factor is the energetic reaction on behalf of all participants. It reminds both Frankel and me of this moment where things seem to miraculously glue on an improvising stage and for a brief period of time give out the feeling of having reached a destination without having ever envisioned it, but only by yearning for it in some way.

This to me seemed like a pivotal understanding, as it pinpointed the fact that regardless of the openness, lack of criticism and freedom that the experimental research-lab requires, we are all very aware of when we have reached a supposed destination, vis-à-vis when we are simply still looking for something unknown. This made me question whether the experimental sphere doesn’t require a boundary, arbitrary as it might be? If we can agree, even at least in certain instances, that what we were looking for was found, does this not mean that we (the performer and listener) are working in a sphere of agreement?

This is, at least in part, answered when I query Frankel about the difference between the British and Israeli experimental scenes. We immediately discuss The Gathering, the ongoing London based meeting point for democratic music making now in its 25th year. We both attest to first hand experiences where the mutual musical agreement was taken astray by a force disabling the entire effort. This also reminds Frankel of many established improvisers who deem The Gathering, for instance, a sort of renegade hardcore activity within the free improv scene. This in some way strengthens my resolve regarding the required boundaries even within efforts that are completely new and unknown. Frankel respectfully disagrees and retorts – even if we imagine, as we did with The Gathering, a situation where a participant takes a fairly glued moment and suddenly starts slamming doors, in effect disabling the musical sphere created, he is still, by having imposed this action, creating an experimental space. True, perhaps this cannot be an experiment in music anymore… maybe it is about art now, or life at large, but it still bears the essence of flirting with the unknown. Hence, a scenario such as described above can perhaps quite locally be deemed a failure, but in the grander scheme of things, experimentalism is always a success. We are simply led into a place that has no meaning for us yet, or a sphere we cannot as of yet recognise, but it is there, no doubt, because someone obviously decided to explore it.

More so, Frankel submits a rare story of a meeting between British saxophonist and improviser, Evan Parker, and the Israeli scene, which in some way sheds light on this idea of working from within a sphere. Parker was invited to play in Israel with local performers and noticed that there is an uncanny tendency for following new ideas on the Israeli improv stage. Whereas new ideas are inserted with caution and have to truly fight for their space in the British arena, Parker noticed that the Israeli improvisers aren’t only unabashed about presenting new ideas, but are actually more than happy to ratify ideas presented by others. Frankel and I cannot agree as to whether this is good or bad and meet on some common ground stating the pros and cons of this behaviour. Yet we both agree to it being quintessentially Israeli, and not relating only to music. Regardless, it reinstates the notion of experimentalism not being able to really take place outside of a context (or perhaps us not being able to see it as such).  

Frankel, who seems to agree with most of our gusts so far in thinking that experimentalism can thrive in any artistic context regardless of style, takes this notion one step further and claims there must be something universal about the hunger for the new. In response I immediately confront him with thoughts arising in a previous installation with the composer and lecturer, Amnon Wolman, and ask whether there isn’t something to be said for awareness – doesn’t experimentalism require from the doer an awareness of what s/he is intending to do despite any knowledge (or the lack thereof) regarding the destination? Although in agreement with this thought, Frankel himself presents experimentalism as a form of ongoing evolution unique to our species. We humans have neglected some traits and tools that serve us no more; we have picked up others that are very specific. But the main change in our world today is that we no longer have to work hard in order to live. We are bombarded with options and choice on every aspect of living, and in fact, if anything, are quite bored. Whereas to some members of humanity it is more readily clear that they are searching for new stimuli, it is in fact something inherent to our species, says Frankel. We no longer have to find better tools for daily problems, and we seek the advice of specialists when dealing with these problems anyway. This leaves room for us to start exploring our subjective points of interest with an experimental approach. The aim of which is to become more complex, or perhaps richer as a species, or more sensitive to detail. Frankel calls this finesse, and this finesse can undoubtedly be seen as an advance in our collective psyche.

We somehow manage to return full circle to that same performing musician whose improvisational qualities are a function of her acuteness to detail, or the experimental endeavour that cannot be deemed in any way a failure if looked on from a distant enough perspective. Again, after the microphones in the studio close and Frankel and I are left to the residue of our thoughts, it is my reaction to something that Frankel says that prompts a deeper understanding in me. He claims that the Sex Pistols could be deemed as experimental as any effort within the “serious” music scene. Coming from serious music, I instinctively frown. But a short exchange reveals that I in fact know very little of where the Sex Pistols were coming from, what their audiences were accustomed to, and how new this new something must have seemed to them. I mull on this for while and must agree that in order to truly recognise an experimental effort, one must be at least to some extent in the know of the sphere, scene or boundary from within which it is created. If I realise that I simply don’t know enough about punk to recognise the Sex Pistols as experimental, I must also realise that an eyebrow raised at any experimental effort must say more about me than it does about the experiment.

[halas1]

Indefinable

Sharon Gal opens our 16th session with a characteristic storm! We dive head first into her world of singing, or voice artistry, or performance, or musicianship (call it what you will) with one of a series of recorded etudes exemplifying her approach. Gal, a native of Haifa, now living for the past 20 years in London, seems to be a part of that same subset we have already encountered before, namely London-based Israeli experimenter.

The aforementioned etude attempts to explore a closely amplified voice exhibiting, for the lack of a better term, extended vocal techniques. Gal explains that this is a method not only for exploring the voice itself, but turning her subjective exploration into a didactic. Singing, she tells us, is still taught in a very defined and somewhat archaic fashion. Yet, what of extended voice usage? What of unidiomatic techniques? How about anti-powerful amplification based singing? And what of the voice as the ultimate instrument, whom every person possesses? We immediately realize that Gal is the real deal – a true explorer in music. This perhaps is made even more evident when Gal takes us back to the early 90s and her first forays into professional music making with the bands Mouth Crazy and Voltage. True, they were identified to some extent with the post-punk genre, but as Gal herself tells us, most of the creation process was based on improvisation.

As far as our research is concerned, Gal’s most distinct characteristic is her complete refusal to define herself and the experimental realm. Gal refers to herself as a musician – not voice artist, or singer, or instrumentalist or even performer. Experimentalism, she asks? By now that word has had so many definitions that it’s almost impossible to tell what one means when they use that term. She continues and clarifies that experiments have been in existence (at least in their modern form) since the early days of the 20th century, and that a simple definition is either too easy, or completely impossible.

Together we swerve through some of the focal points we have already visited before. It seems to me that with Gal too, one of the main points of interest is awareness. She describes to me an ability to be influenced by every aspect of living and reality culminating in the act of performance. Gal uses the concert venue (any venue) as an example: the venue itself will have utmost influence on the performance it hosts. Once you get on the mic, even during the sound check, and realise that the qualities of the hall are so and so, it’s up to you, the performer, to take them into account; they have now become part of the composition. Of course, this example carries relevance to all other fields of existence based upon one’s awareness and sensitivity to detail, and to disregard these as trivial in a compositional/performance context is a sin to the entire practice. It is important to note that Gal isn’t tying these attributes specifically to experimental practices, but rather to music making at large; a notion that prompts in me the thought of integration – experimentalism and its mindset as integrated into the realm of music making at large. Perhaps an overstatement or wishful thinking on my part, but certainly a thought that brings us back full circle to the same Sharon Gal who dedicates herself to etudes based around these practices. The same Sharon Gal who tells us these etudes are not crafted with singers or even musicians in mind; perhaps they carry a message on an emotional level for those who are open enough to learn from experiences in fields different than their own? “The voice is truly the first and ultimate instrument, and every person has one. Hence, these etudes could serve as pure music training for some, whilst serving as treatment on an emotional level for others, indeed if they are open and aware enough to use them as such”.

Gal, an avid improviser, again, doesn’t necessarily link herself to the purist practice, as she is fully aware that sometimes she improvises with a theme in mind, linking her thought-process more to a through-composed venture. Regardless, her performances enjoy her knack for theatre and ritual, which always give Gal’s pieces the added value of meaning veering away from the here and now so identified with improvised music. One of the most fascinating stories she tells us relates back to the London Gathering – the ongoing democratic (perhaps anarchic) weekly meeting of UK-based improvisers. Gal recounts the story of a time where she dabbled in cello playing and brought her instrument to one of the Gathering sessions. As sometimes happens, attendance was high, and as then occasionally happens, volume was booming! On that particular session, Gal sat down by Paul Shearsmith, who played trombone. Whereas Gal herself was virtually unheard in this setting, Shearsmith’s instrument was able to carry through the chaos. A moment before realising her playing in this context was futile, Gal noticed that Shearsmith, sitting beside her, was able to hear her fairly well, and was reacting to her every sound. This prompted Gal to keep on playing, and slowly she realised that her movement and energy in playing could similarly act as stimulus to other players. And so, she continued playing as if fully heard, realising that not only her sound carries significance in this context, but perhaps her movement, or energy, or perhaps even something she isn’t aware of at the moment. It is perhaps true that this story does not relate itself immediately to experimental practices, however I cannot imagine it taking place outside the haphazard realm, a realm so deeply bound with experimentalism from its onset.

[halas1]

Vortex

At the onset of our 24th installation I inquire with our guest, Shai Cohen, whether academia and experimentalism are not contradictory to each other? The question in itself reveals our guest as an academic, but I add to this his prowess in traditional composition (i.e. score writing stemming from a classical training), as well as a mastery of jazz idioms as practitioner. Cohen claims that the academy has become, in the past century, a body that purports to be a conveyer of supposed objective knowledge regarding craft, and this without ties to specific genres and ideas. Albeit this resonating truly, it is interesting to note that the type of musician Cohen represents (i.e. stemming from academia and classical training) seems less and less the rule as we continue our journey through Experimental Israel.

Cohen relates a fascination with experimentalism to his early days as a young classical flute (later saxophone) player. Coming from a jazz infused surrounding at home, Cohen immediately noticed the dichotomy between the way he was taught to play, and the pure energy emanating from recordings he was exposed to. Whereas within the classical spectrum there was always an ideal, disclosing a right and wrong way of playing, the energy Cohen related to in recordings of bebop etc. sent him off to playing techniques and sounds that he related to more, and soon after lead him towards initial forays into improvisation. The utmost example Cohen mentions for a music acing differently is that of the late John Coltrane. Coltrane, who in his last years no longer ties himself exclusively to analyzable jazz idioms, the same Coltrane that puts an emphasis on the spiritual is, to Shai Cohen, a prime example of experimentation, which, to him, is defined as a spontaneous exchange of energy. This realisation, in itself, not only resonated deeply with Cohen, but also virtually disallowed him from accepting the predetermined paradigms so avidly presented him as truths during his classical music training.

Fast-forward to 2016, Cohen, in an act of pure academic practice, presents us with his theory regarding experimentalism, disclaiming in advance that there is no objective truth to be found in it, rather a subjective point of view. Inspired by thermodynamic systems, Cohen recognizes two artistic systems in play: closed and open. Both systems present a triangle of events likened to a system transferring energy. In the closed system we see energy transformed into material transformed into a fantastical world. Let us take the composer for example – the energy is hers and serves as the impetus for writing a piece; the material is the first transformation of this energy, and the fantastical world is the abstract playing field presented in music. But this paradigm includes not only the composer, but also the performer, and listener: The performer presents a physical energy in playing, leading towards the creation of material, leading towards the creation of a fantastical world. Interestingly, the listener, according to Cohen, too must present an active energy when confronted with material in order to achieve, even if subjectively, this same fantastical world. This system presented here represents traditional writing regardless of idiom and style; it is a linear transformation of energy stemming from a clear system containing cause and effect. But what of the open system, the system Cohen presents to us as experimental? The open system includes these same three transformative steps mentioned earlier (i.e. energy – material – fantastical world), and adds to them the Golem. To my understanding, the Golem, represented in Cohen’s work in the form of an interceptive computer algorithm, is merely a metaphor to a vortex inserted into the liner system, diverting it towards a non-linear motion of any kind and in some instances, towards the complete breakdown of the system altogether. This same Golem, in effect, immediately cancels out the known processes, theories or practices. Interestingly, Cohen, who is also an active lecturer, relates this latter system to teaching, claiming that it presents the only real way of transferring knowledge. Whereas applying a closed system in teaching presents the ability to convey facts, the open system allows transformative experiential learning. However, here too, Cohen recognizes the possibility of failure stemming from that same erratic non-linearity, which can create antagonism within the student.

The first example of the latter practice from Cohen’s oeuvre is a piece called Dialogue?… no Dialogue. In this piece, the clarinet (played by Cohen himself) improvises into a computer; the computer immediately begins to manipulate the instrument’s sound using a linear ramp leading us from partially recognizable clarinet sounds, to completely synthesized sounds at the conclusion of the piece. But more so, the clarinet also activates two animated robots on the computer screen that react to the clarinet’s every gesture; when the clarinet is silent, so are the robots inanimate, but when the clarinet plays, a chaotic system seems to transfer this same sound into movement. The clarinettist reacts to the movement in altering her playing and gestures, and in turn the robots react in motion. Hence, the transformation of energy here can be seen as an ongoing spiral movement from musical gesture to partially automated computer movement. Imposing improvisation onto this process deems it recognizably experimental.

For my part, the aspect I find most interesting is Cohen’s insistence on superimposing “safeguards” onto this open system, in a similar fashion to the same ramp mentioned earlier. A short meander through his works reveals this practice as a trademark found throughout almost all of Cohen’s pieces; he seems to enjoy subjecting his energy to open processes and various Golems, but he also always keeps a safeguard, helping him maintain ownership. Tellingly, Cohen himself cannot exactly pinpoint the reasoning for this “intervention”, but eventually settles around the idea disclosing his preference for “going out searching” from within a known base. He relates this to an interesting thought, which I find is linked to Cohen’s initial idea of closed and open systems, claiming that even if the experiment represents a subjective process happening outside the composer’s sphere of control, the judgement regarding whether the experiment was a success or not is still an inner, and hence subjective judgement.

Jazz, tells us Cohen, is a social activity that incorporates the vortex! Disregarding the cynicism one could express regarding the trajectory of jazz in the 20th century and its current stagnation, Cohen recognises as experimental the Platonic idea of the basic practice, as it is based on an energy shared and created by a group of people in real time. In classical music, Cohen continues, this is hardly the case! Yes, the activity can be experimental, but is more often than not attempting to maintain its classist exclusivity and hence, inadvertently perhaps, preserves a non-experimental approach. I wonder whether this is not a resounding affirmation to the question I presented Cohen with at the onset of our program, but more interesting to me at this point in the interview is Cohen’s response to yet another question I present, namely whether he, perhaps, is a jazz musician, regardless of the style of music he presents us with? Cohen affirms, but continues to mull on this topic for a short while, and wordlessly replies with a notion I am beginning more and more to associate with experimental thought: “maybe”.

[halas1]

Multitudes

Ofir Klemperer, our guest on the 27th installation of Experimental Israel, presents us with a musical split personality. On the one side, he is a classically trained musician who writes highly stylised and meticulous scores, and who claims to be dissatisfied with something intrinsic to improvisatory practices. On the other hand, he is a wonderful improviser with quite a record to show in the field, which currently, can be seen as one of his main activities. To me this is already very interesting, and carries with it something of the experimental spirit.

Trying to define his personal ideas regarding experimentation, Klemperer revisits ideas first introduced by our former guest, Alex Drool. Similarly to Drool, Klemperer recognises in himself a deep dissatisfaction, boredom, or need for change, which he subjectively equates with experimentalism. Perhaps it is more of a means towards an end, but still, if the end is experimentation then indeed the means is of less importance.

“Improvisation”, claims Klemperer, “is the power of listening; it’s knowing when a moment requires change”. And by saying this, Klemperer already sets himself within the great corpus of artists on this research who manage to extract a theory from within musical practices, which can then be attributed to many other aspects of art and life. However, Klemperer expresses a deep-rooted dissatisfaction with an ongoing attempt amongst some practitioners to make free improvisation into an “establishment” – an establishment linking itself to exclusive aesthetics, rather than fighting for the continuation of the Tabula Rasa attitude he believes free improvisation should embody.

When thinking of improvisation, Klemperer expresses a common frustration for composers. As a composer, one plans minute moments in painstaking rigour, whereas the improvised moment requires no planning. This is doubly frustrating, as the spontaneous moment can turn out to be nonsensical and unimportant, and thus, in Klemperer’s eyes, diminish the value of art. Yet sometimes the spontaneous moment can turn out to be artistically masterful, and in many ways better and fresher than any written composition. This raises the questions of whether the planned moment does not require some of the unknown, or the openness so characteristic of “free” music.

Klemperer tells us of an event he partook in as a student of the Royal Conservatory in The Hague; with an improvisation ensemble he was part of – the Royal Improvisers Orchestra. A basic plan for an impromptu orchestral composition was thwarted by one of the violinists who forgot to get on stage. Soon after the performance commenced, the violinist, realising his mistake, started running frantically towards stage whilst playing his “part”. This action “high jacked” the entire performance, as now, the improvisers on stage were forced to interact with this new and unforeseeable action. Thus, the compositions was suddenly shaped around this “mistake”, and the piece ensued with each performer leaving the stage in turn, leaving the same violinist alone on the empty podium at the end of the performance. Although Klemperer recognised this moment and indeed the way the piece unfolded as beautiful, he could not help but be annoyed. “Music allows us to communicate these great emotions, and this moment became farcical”. Whereas Klemperer was searching for musical communication on a profound level, this action felt more like entertainment. This is why Klemperer enjoys performing his music (specifically contemporary music) in bars – not as a headliner on stage, but simply in the role of musac. In this scenario, listening isn’t guaranteed, and if he still manages to get the audience’s attention, it is due to the ad-hoc relationship created with them based on carefully chosen materials.

When speaking of scoring or visual musical specification, Klemperer admits he doesn’t believe or much enjoys improvisatory means inserted into through-composed pieces, or indeed structured improvisation: “This isn’t improvisation”, he tells us. However, as a composer Klemperer recognises the different shades of specification a performer could potentially react to. Whereas one performer could react best to the through-composed part, another could react best to partial specification, and yet another could react best to no specification at all. In this manner, each performer is approached with a method that would allow them to bring the required or utmost energy into the piece. The trick, tells us Klemperer, is to know your musicians, and write for each performer, even within the same ensemble, with means befitting her or his performance sensibilities.

In his current home in Cincinnati, Ohio, Klemperer performs every Sunday with his band – Sun Night, in the Lava Bar. These performances usually include interactive musical games incorporating the audience. Klemperer gives us a few examples: A game in which each audience member writes down a word on a card later given to the performers. The performers react to the written cards in music whilst showing the same cards to the audience, but not to each other. This allows for cacophonic moments to still be accepted and appreciated by the audience, as they are let into the process with an advantaged vista. Another example is what Klemperer terms “Shred Nights”. Here a video screen is employed, showing a video performance of a known band with the original sound turned off. Sun Night then continue to mimic the on-screen performance whilst attempting to react to specific musical cues, only doing so with completely different and unrelated music. The “Light Show” is a collection of LED lights connected to a lighting desk, controlled by an audience-member. This same audience-member, through the lighting desk, is now a cuing mechanism for the band, each of whom is allocated a dedicated LED bulb. Hence, the band is allowing the unknowing audience member a glimpse into conduction. In relation to his aforementioned ideas regarding scoring, these are all methods for Klemperer to extract the utmost materials from his musicians and audiences in non-ideal circumstances.

I ask Klemperer whether this approach doesn’t, in effect, negate his feelings regarding improvised music and improvisation. Very aware of this conflict, he retorts with a profound understanding that acted also as a pivot point for our former guest, Ohad Fishof: “In me I have multitudes”. These multitudes might not be in peace with each other as much as they are with Fishof, but Klemperer recognises them and allows them their due place. This short exchange reminds him of an older piece of his, Kera Kahol (Blue Tear) which started off as a song performed and recorded by Klemperer himself as singer-songwriter. Later the same song was rearranged for his Amsterdam based band during Klemperer’s Dutch years. In this version the song already sounds a bit more stylised and gains the feel of a cabaret song, yet still maintains its earlier character. Finally, commissioned by a friend to write a piece for ensemble and soprano, Klemperer reissues the piece, now as a sort of classical aria maintaining only faintly recognisable links to the original. Here too, there is something with that very distinct aroma of experimentalism, a leanness of material, and mainly an ingrained understanding of cause and effect of the musical craft. It all leads to this exciting whole called Ofir Klemperer. I urge you to check out his works:

[halas1]

The Sounds of Movement

Maya Felixbrodt offered our project a unique look into experimentation. Coming from a background in classical viola playing and composition, the spirit of Maya Felixbrodt is experimental at heart. In the past 10 years she has written, promoted, programmed and even written of experimental practices and pieces. This fascination drew her to study composition at the Royal Conservatory in The Hague as a second BA, as well as her recently completed master from the same school. Her Master, as befitting a true experimenter, is in the field of movement, or rather, its interaction with sound. More Specifically, her research was in Laban Movement Analysis (LMA), but not of the actual movement notation devised by the same Rudolf Laban. Her research focused on two other topics or strands of the LMA, namely Efforts, and Body Fundamentals.

Felixbrodt chose not to be interviewed for her session in the Halas studio, but preferred to allow the sounds to carry her message and indeed deeper understandings regarding experimentation. And experiment she did, as her 30 minute structured improvisation for us in the studio was in fact an exploration of the effects of movement on sound. The discussion of the effects of sound-production on movement is one that has been widely explored in recent years. In fact, one is by now accustomed to the somatic artefacts that accompany any performance of live playing. In recent years we have even seen a rising criticism of laptop concert due to the general inanimate nature of their performers.

Felixbrodt decided to turn this entire discussion on its head, and asks, what sounds can arise as a consequence of movement? And indeed, into our studio she marched with what seemed like a comfy dance attire, viola and accompanying bow. Her structured improvisation was, for the lack of a better term, choreography. She asked for the studio to be amplified through a wide as possible stereo formation. She also asked for the microphones to be placed fairly close to the ground, so that her movements and steps are heard. Felixbrodt then continued to dance freely in the studio, all along keeping her viola closely at hand or literally under her chin. Thus, she created haphazard sounds as a consequence of her movement, which were varied and athletic. The result before you – a fascinating array of movements combined with viola playing, and other sounds that, through chance, found their way into this exciting structured improvisation.