Introduction

The three pieces in this Sonic Book are outstanding examples of this aesthetic.

In Kathy Hinde’s Acts of Balancing and Unbalancing, feedback systems created using her especially-built instruments called ‘balancing jars’ produce unpredictable and fragile results. Two of the musicians explore the space of potential sounds created by them, while the remaining three respond to, shape and participate in the results. The musicians take turns at the balancing jars, so that there results a kind of ritual of exploration of the space created by the instruments, the room in which the piece is performed and the instrumental combinations as they arise. The piece, like the Oliveros, arises out of the behaviour of a particular system.

Resonators, by Greek composer Marianthi Papalexandri-Alexandri, presents us with a set of sonic sculptures. Marianthi’s work sits very much on the edge between what we might conventionally describe as ‘music’ and ‘sound art’. She works with a wonderful visual artist, Pe Lang, to create installations, concert works and - in the case of Resonators - pieces that are both installations and works for performance. The sculptures consist of a rotating turntable with rough edges housed on a resonant surface of thick card; a contact mic fixed to the surface picks up its resonances and passes them on to a small speaker. We place various pins, knitting needles and rubber tubes into the resonant surface and the turntable. Towards the beginning of the piece, we place some of the pins against the edge of the turntable to rub against it, which produces smooth and rough cyclic noise. Later in the piece, we fix the rubber tubes onto the turntable in such a way that they strike pins inserted into the resonant surface as the turntable rotates, producing a variety of pitched and unpitched percussive sounds. The experience of working with these sculptures is a fascinating one, because in some respects they are instruments that we are ‘playing’; in other respects, however, they are things to explore. The results, when we place our pins and tubes and needles, are relatively unpredictable. We place something and we listen; in response to what we hear, we place another pin or tube. Bit by bit, we construct our soundscape, but guided by the behaviour of the instruments.

 

The final piece in this Sonic Book, Irene Murphy’s FOUND by Chance, challenges the very essence of what it means to be a musician. Like the other pieces discussed previously, it begins with a thought, with a state of mind. Each time we perform this piece, we work with Irene to explore ways to uncover the consequences of that thought, and each time (so far) the result has been remarkably different.  We work on the idea through discussion, mental and physical exercises, sensory walks through areas around where we’re performing or rehearsing, sometimes making sound, often not. An important part of preparation was going out onto the streets to seek discarded objects with very particular qualities. In the premiere in Dublin in 2017, we created a sonic ‘light-table’ for those objects, which were on display on actual light-tables alongside a video of them made by Irene. Just as a light-table causes us to see something placed on it differently because of the way its illumination falls on it, we imagined our sound working in a similar way. This feels like a reversal of a common way of interacting with vision for a musician. We are certainly used to the idea of interpreting pictures and sculptures and so on as scores (‘graphic scores’), but these objects were not scores to interpret or respond to: instead, the sound is a way of changing the way we sense the objects. In the recording studio in 2022, we took a similar approach, but created three ways of ‘viewing’ objects found in the streets and beaches of Youghal, Co. Cork (to be released by Farpoint Recordings in 2024!). For a performance in Cork Opera House, 2023, Irene arranged to have us work with Japanese movement artists, again explore the streets for found objects, and take an approach to our instruments that was the same as the approach to the objects: they were to be seen simply as something to contemplate and explore, not a device for us to control in order to make sound. Any sound that happens to be made during the course of our explorations is entirely incidental. It is astonishing how communicative this ‘opening up’ of perception can be; how the audience easily participates in the growing awareness of what is around us as the piece develops. At the most recent performance in Cork Opera House, the piece ended with an unexpected and memorable 5 minute silence (which honestly could have gone on for much longer), in which all of us - QME, Irene, the audience - were in a state of profound receptiveness to the sounds and sights of Cork city outside the windows. It was a reminder that the world is full of wonder, needing only the opening of the self to experience it.

One of the delights for me of QME’s music is precisely this opening of the self; that extraordinary sense of becoming together with other musicians, listeners, the sonic world that surrounds us.