This Is What Really Happened.
This Is What Really Happened is a series of "custom-built" pieces for solo performers or small ensembles that I'm hoping to add to regularly.
Around 2004, I began to get a little burned-out on what it really meant to write a new piece of music and get it played. The compressed time-frames and limited rehearsals that typically go hand-in-hand with presenting New Music meant that excellent and well-intentioned performers never really got to know me or my music (and vice versa), and the over-arching mood of the entire schedule always seemed to be one of terror and confusion. (I may be exaggerating, but I don't think either party was really satisfied with the results.)
After about three such episodes in a row, I wanted to change the way I made music, even if only briefly. I wanted to construct a piece where the performer or performers could be a part of the process from the beginning - where they could get to know the music gradually as it emerged over time, and contribute to its growth as I was composing it. The approach for this project, which resulted in the pieces below, is as follows: I will come up with some material to improvise on - a few sketches, some "found sounds", or vague instructions that the performer can interpret and play with as they wish; I'll record this session, and then electronically organize and manipulate these initial improvisations in Pro Tools - also grabbing whatever else is on hand, like a 4-track tape player or a guitar's distortion pedal; I then go back to the player(s) with these new sounds, and we'll work out another set of improvisations over what I made; I'll then record and manipulate THOSE sounds... (lather, rinse, repeat). You get the picture. Depending on the number of instruments involved, I may stack up 2, 3, 4 layers, over which the players add the final layer live in performance.
What I noticed from these experiments - and began to deliberately emphasize as much as I could - was how quickly originally off-the-cuff music could transform into something archival, even nostalgic. I loved the notion that you were not only hearing the scaffolding or original DNA of the piece as it was played to you, but also perhaps catching an intimate glimpse of the composer's or performer's memories - that an offhand gesture in one part of the piece was actually a well-loved keepsake from another era, and returned as such later on.
Around 2004, I began to get a little burned-out on what it really meant to write a new piece of music and get it played. The compressed time-frames and limited rehearsals that typically go hand-in-hand with presenting New Music meant that excellent and well-intentioned performers never really got to know me or my music (and vice versa), and the over-arching mood of the entire schedule always seemed to be one of terror and confusion. (I may be exaggerating, but I don't think either party was really satisfied with the results.)
After about three such episodes in a row, I wanted to change the way I made music, even if only briefly. I wanted to construct a piece where the performer or performers could be a part of the process from the beginning - where they could get to know the music gradually as it emerged over time, and contribute to its growth as I was composing it. The approach for this project, which resulted in the pieces below, is as follows: I will come up with some material to improvise on - a few sketches, some "found sounds", or vague instructions that the performer can interpret and play with as they wish; I'll record this session, and then electronically organize and manipulate these initial improvisations in Pro Tools - also grabbing whatever else is on hand, like a 4-track tape player or a guitar's distortion pedal; I then go back to the player(s) with these new sounds, and we'll work out another set of improvisations over what I made; I'll then record and manipulate THOSE sounds... (lather, rinse, repeat). You get the picture. Depending on the number of instruments involved, I may stack up 2, 3, 4 layers, over which the players add the final layer live in performance.
What I noticed from these experiments - and began to deliberately emphasize as much as I could - was how quickly originally off-the-cuff music could transform into something archival, even nostalgic. I loved the notion that you were not only hearing the scaffolding or original DNA of the piece as it was played to you, but also perhaps catching an intimate glimpse of the composer's or performer's memories - that an offhand gesture in one part of the piece was actually a well-loved keepsake from another era, and returned as such later on.
This Is What Really Happened No. 2 [2010]
For solo and pre-recorded viola
Duration: ca. 10'30"
For solo and pre-recorded viola
Duration: ca. 10'30"
Watch & listen to Jack Stulz, viola:
This Is What Really Happened No. 1 [2006]
For flute, clarinet and bassoon with pre-recorded sounds
Duration: ca. 12'
Commissioned by the Radius Ensemble as part of my composer residency with them.
Listen to members of the Radius Ensemble: