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Aran
‘‘Aran’’ and ‘‘McCrimmon Will Never Return’’ date from the period 1970-72, and were written for the Promenade Theatre Orchestra, a group started by White, consisting of 4 performers; White, Hobbs, Hugh Shrapnel and Alec Hill.
‘‘Aran’’was written at a time when the PTO was beginning to combine the sounds of reed organs and toy pianos, the original instruments of the group, with some newly-acquired percussion instruments. The note-to-note procedure of the piece was determined by random means, in the hope of producing a gentle unpredictability in the final result. It was hoped that the whole would be grittily resonant. This recorded version, for 12 performers, is generally more soft-centred than the original.
American Standard
Although the instrumentation of the piece is not specified, an ideal group would be similar to that which performed this version, recorded at the first performance of the piece in March 1973. It is played by the New Music Ensemble of the San Francisco Conservatory of Music, directed by John Adams, the composer, and the instruments used here are:
Flute, clarinet, clarinet (doubling bass-clarinet), clarinet (doubling bass-drum), tuba, percussion (trap set), violin, 2 violas, cello, double-bass, and harp. A conductor is not necessary for performance, since the arrangement and distribution of parts depends on what instruments are available, and ensemble problems that arise are ‘‘to be worked out in standard American fashion: proposal, debate and vote’’. Extra materials, that anyone making a version considers appropriate, may be used in performance in various forms whether film, tape, video, speech, mime, dance etc. Each section of this performance has at least one example of the use of ‘‘extra materials’’.
The piece is in 3 parts, each separately performable, and separately titled:
1. John Philip Sousa
The use of a steady, insistent pulse makes the title’s derivation quite clear; the pulse is given by a bass drum and other instruments have constant pitches which are departed from and returned to. As with all 3 pieces, the dynamics are restrained and undramatic, with the exception of the ‘‘extra material’’ – a crisp snare-drum roll that both sets the tone and gives a dramatic touch that is not present anywhere else. This is not in the score.
2. Christian Zeal and Activity
The main body of the music consists of a series of long held notes, very consonant, in 4 parts which are occasionally synchronised to give unified chords. The instruments are divided into 4 groups according to their pitch ranges, with at least one sustaining instrument in a group, each group having a leader who cues movement from one note to the next. During this piece, the ‘‘extra material’’ consists of a tape-recording of a radio talk-show.
3. Sentimentals
This is the most melodic piece of the 3 and the one which involves the greatest range of variation, quoting extensively from Duke Ellington’s ‘‘Sophisticated Lady’’.The gentle swing of the trap set, that is added during the piece, is again not included in the score, and its presence gives the sound a distinctively Californian feel, close to that of the Beach Boys, or Hollywood studio bands.The curious ending is an ironic affirmation of the maudlin chromaticism of the Ellington piece which generates the music.
McCrimmon Will Never Return
‘‘McCrimmon Will Never Return’’ stems from a temporary interest in Piobaireachd (Pibroch), the most highly developed form of Scottish bagpipe music. The melody of the title has several variants, which are played simultaneously on 4 reed organs. The tempo is sufficiently slow that the characteristic skirls or flourishes in the music become audible as individual notes.
1, 2, 1-2-3-4
The piece is for instrumentalists/vocalists, each wearing headphones connected to a portable cassette machine. Each performer hears only the music in his headphones, music which contains ‘‘parts’’for his instrument or voice, and he plays, along with the cassette, his own instrumental part. His ability to reproduce this part depends on how familiar he is with what he hears, and this can range from careful practice over a period of weeks with his cassette to an immediate response from a first or second hearing. The present recording, to some extent, contains elements of these two extremes: a few players had played the piece on other occasions (at least one of which used the same material as is used on this recording), while others became acquainted with it for the first time in the recording studio.
Each performer plays the‘‘part’’that corresponds to his instrument.Thus, if the music be jazz, a bassist is likely to play more than, say, a violinist. In the case of a bassist hearing jazz (and, hence, usually a bass) on his headphones, he would attempt to play, as best he can, the bass-line in the headphones such that there is an intended one-to-one relationship between what he plays and what he hears in the headphones. He may try his part several times beforehand, or he may choose to busk ‘‘on the night’’, like the accompanist in cabaret who is told, in the middle of the act on stage, that there are no parts for the next number but that it is ‘‘Happy Streets and Paper Rainbows in D flat, 1, 2, 1-2-3-4’’ (and his entry must be prompt, even to the extent of ‘‘inventing’’ an eight-bar introduction).
In this performance, all the players have identical material on their cassettes, though each was recorded individually and not copied simultaneously, and their performance reflects a number of variables that occur: the starting point of the music on the cassettes is not precise (but the click of the machines switching on, however, is); the cassettes may not be all running at the same speed due to the uneven quality of the different machines, the state of their batteries and so on, and this, in turn, affects both the duration and key of the piece; players vary in their ability to ‘‘shadow’’ material (i.e. to simultaneously hear and reproduce); players, in this recording, vary in their familiarity with the material. The material itself, however, is perfectly homogeneous and the dislocations that occur do not destroy this. The piece was originally written for a series of concerts organised by John White and is, amiably, dedicated to him.
On composing Tom Phillips' Irma
In February and March of 1977, for Brian Eno’s Obscure Records, I made a version of Irma. The following notes on the piece arise out of that involvement and try to show how the piece can be made into a performance state.
Irma is a curious score – it is printed on a single sheet 50cms x 50cms. The notation consists of fragments from Tom’s continuing treatment of the victorian novel by W. H. Mallock, which he calls A Humument, and utilises those short verbal fragments that refer to either ‘‘libretto’’, ‘‘decor and mise-en-scène’’ or ‘‘sounds’’. These 3 categories are arranged in separate sections on the square sheet with, at the bottom, a line of stave notation. At first sight it looks like a piece of indeterminate music – clearly there has to be some preparatory work done before it is performable and no-one would venture to perform directly from the score - but if it is approached in this spirit, like realising a piece by John Cage or Morton Feldman written during the 1950’s, the sounding results are either largely of a documentary
interest, or rely entirely on the gifted performer to make into a coherent sounding whole. True, one could say the same thing for a piece by Cage, such as Variations I, but there the
performer is given a number of precise parameters of sound within which he should work, whereas Irma needs to be re-composed rather than realised.
If the distinction between ‘‘composing’’ and ‘‘realising’’ is overlooked, and if only the materials present in the notation are used, then the result is likely to be impoverished and it is clear that, looked at in isolation as a self-contained work, the score is notationally very thin. So one either produces an impoverished piece of sounding music, or one takes the responsibility to look further. Tom does not say explicitly that one must go beyond Irma into the rest of his work, but he does say that one has to go outside the piece. On the score he writes: ‘‘Perhaps to treat the indications here given as if they were the only surviving fragments of an ancient opera, or fragments of eye and ear witnesses’ accounts of such, and given no knowledge of performance tradition of the time, to reconstruct a hypothetical whole which would accommodate them economically, would be an appropriate basis of approach to a production.’’ So, try to put it back together and try to fill in all the gaps between these fragments. This approach, which, incidentally coincides with an interest in such procedures within my own work, seems to be the most suitable. If the ‘‘composer’’ uses the sorts of methods that Tom evidently uses in producing pictures, in making A Humument (of which Irma is a part), and if he uses the notations of Irma as clues to lead him into whatever area seems likely to yield rich results, then a much more satisfactory outcome is likely – satisfactory both in terms of the quality of the sounding material and in terms of consistency with the rest of Tom’s oeuvre.
There are clearly many ways in which the various fragments of verbal notation can be used. One fruitful way was to take each of the fragments as the notes of, say, a critic at the only performance of the work (in a hypothetical past), perhaps jotted down on the back of an envelope (then torn into fragments in a rage, or through frustration at some element in the piece? Make the piece inadequate in some way?!). These elements, then, would have been memorable for some reason or other, or used as an aide-memoire to recall something else (even something outside the work). The elements could have occurred at evenly-spaced intervals throughout the performance, they may have all been featured in some way (loudly, as solos), they may have been the worst parts (being retained to damn the piece in a subsequent review, since lost or never written – the composer got wind of the review and murdered the critic, retaining the fragments as the only link with the crime. . .). On the other hand they could be used as discrete musical units quite separate from the main body of the work, which has to be looked for elsewhere. Whatever solution, or combination of solutions, is found it is evident that the composer and librettist are more or less obliged to move outside the work itself i.e. outside the printed score. (One of the original ideas I had, which was not very practical, was to see if I could use another opera called Irma. A possibility was one written by H. J. Banawitz first performed in 1885, which would have had the right period in terms of the connection with the W. H. Mallock original. This seems to have had few performances, perhaps only one, and seems to have disappeared. I thought of looking for the manuscript, treating it in the same way as Tom had treated the Mallock novel, and making a sort of ‘‘musical Humument’’ out of it. While that seemed to have some intellectual sympathy with Tom's work, it might not have sounded anything like an opera, and it did seem to me that one of the notions of Irma is that it is conventional to some degree. Indeed, while much of Tom’s musical work lies within the field of experimental music and graphic notation, his musical taste is conservative, and the greater part of the musical references in the main body of his work are to past, and historically respectable, composers like Brahms, Mozart, Fux, Scarlatti and so on.)
The sources that were used, then, in making the piece apart from the score itself involved the following. I obtained the volumes of A Humument and noted all connection with music, with the role of Irma, and with the possible narrative; I looked at all the prints of Ein Deutsches Requiem after Brahms, which use elements from the Humument and refer directly to a musical work; I went through the catalogue of Tom’s work (Works. Texts to 1974); I went through Trailer, which uses the Humument, in fact a spin off from the main work; I went through all the other pieces of music that he has written to see if they could be used in any way; and I checked as many paintings/prints that I could which had a direct or indirect connection with either A Humument, Irma or with music. The painting The Quest for Irma (1973) which shows her in back view looking out to sea gave much information. It is the only portrait of her and she appears even here as anonymous, or rather, faceless. It gives a marine setting for the work (though since at least two pieces of music that I have written deal, to some degree, with marine incidents it might be argued that I might have been better off avoiding such a reference, but it is very blatant). She is looking out to sea from the Dorset coast and this attitude seems to be characteristic of her behaviour: ‘‘I tell you. . . that’s Irma herself. . . watching the waves fall. . . repeating certain sorts of verse. . .’’ So here we have an elusive heroine, obsessively watching the sea off the Dorset coast, given to repetition. Further checks within the Humument revealed a spate of marine references: ‘‘boat of dreams. . . lost on rocks’’; ‘‘the sad horizon of sea, hours she spent with her sadness on the beach’’; ‘‘see, see, the things. . . the things from the changed sea’’; ‘‘a cruise in an opium clipper’’; ‘‘marine engines and boilers’’; ‘‘ten years’ travel and sport in foreign lands’’; ‘‘a certain light flashed. . . among the eastern clouds’’; ‘‘sinking lights. . .’’ and so on. On the other hand, she is not in mourning since she wears a bright red dress.
One page of A Humument is almost a summary of the feeling of Irma and is certainly one that I tried to emulate. ‘‘. . . The whole history of it is so vague. . . eagerly, gradually the words that I heard I put aside as an opera, an insufficient one; still organ for what – me, me. . . I can’t quite tell. hardly books. . . it was the libretto of the music, of the music – I can’t tell. . . I can’t tell - but all was for the same thing to capture in drawing, and to express in music, thought and study. . . the loss. . . the least important. . . moon I myself am myself in search of an object for love? way? Yes and no – enter myself. . . associating me and me. It made me within me some mystery. . .’’
Other pages give more precise information about particular sounds, rhythms, timbres and so on. The instrumentation was, to a large extent, governed by the references to musical instruments that I found in all these sources. ‘‘Tube’’ suggested tuba. The piano is mentioned
many times, especially in connection with John Tilbury. The gong is specified – ‘‘suddenly a gong in series’’ – which also gave me the whole of a short percussion interlude between the second and third sections of the work. Strings were suggested by a phrase ‘‘the history viola’’ occurring in A Humument and this gave me a reason to feature the viola in some way, in fact using it in unison with the female voice, identifying the viola with the title of the opera. The fact of having strings is such a convention of normal orchestral scoring that it would really have needed a positive clue to the contrary to have excluded them, bearing in mind the relationship of the piece to musical convention.
I used the tuned percussion, and especially metallic instruments, from certain onomatopaeic syllables, like ‘‘ting’’, ‘‘ping’’, ‘‘ding’’ which I had originally considered using as a chorus of instrumental imitations, but decided ultimately to use the instruments themselves.
Two of the prints from Ein Deutsches Requiem after Brahms gave me a great deal of material for the second section of the opera, a slow duet between the two main characters. Print number 5 shows a number of parasols, both closed and open, and has the legend ‘‘. . . a sound was given up’’ taken from A Humument. That particular picture suggested itself since there is, within both the score of Irma and within the published Humument a fragment which reads ‘‘the first parasol sound’’, with the addition, in Irma, of ‘‘f, f’’ indicating loud. From the text of the Requiem printed on the picture, I could find the precise section of music in the
Brahms original which consists of a solo for trombone (in the score I use baritone horn for its greater flexibility and ease of pitching, but it uses the same range, and has the added advantage of resembling the French Horn, an instrument more closely associated with noble operatic melodies.). The ‘‘parasol sound’’, then, indicated that I should use that particular instrument. What it plays came from another source, from the score of Irma. which gives ‘‘quiet, high, intonation divine. . .’’ and ‘‘. . . drops the tone . . . various phrases. . .’’ all of which enabled me to have that particular instrument playing, with "divine intonation’’, a long melodic line consisting of a descending stepwise chromatic scale from top E down an octave, but very elongated. The other use of the Requiem was for the other half of the slow section, and used the following print, number 6, which refers to a sequence of rather chromatic chords in the original which I used as fragments, like the Irma score, inserting chords of my own between groups of those by Brahms to make a new sequence. So the whole of the second section uses references to the Brahms Requiem – in the first half to the harmonic content (vertical), in the second half to the melodic line (horizontal).
The last section of the piece, a chorus ‘‘Love is help, mate’’ uses a page of A Humument that is dedicated to Morton Feldman, though the actual results bear no relation to Feldman's music as such. What I did with that page was to look through some of Feldman's music to see if there was anything in it that was consistent with the way that I was approaching the score of Irma. It occurred to me to use a vocal piece for something that would be vocal within Irma and since Tom had dedicated another page to Christian Wolff – in fact a page of Trailer – and since Wolff and Feldman were close associates with Cage in the 1950’s, I used a piece called Christian Wolff in Cambridge (in spite of the fact that Tom had attended Oxford, and the Cambridge here refers to Harvard). This is a wordless choral piece which is hummed – and I used a lot of humming in the score, often as a means of separating discrete images – and consists of mildly dissonant chords. There were, however, one or two more consonant ones and I omitted those which sounded like ‘‘modern music’’, and so was left with one or two chords that I used, along with others interjected to produce a smooth flow, as the accompaniment to the melody of ‘‘Love is help mate’’. The addition of other chords was necessary because of the static quality of Feldman’s piece in which each chord is an isolated entity, and this mirrored what I was doing, on a larger scale, with the whole of Irma; taking isolated fragments and finding ways of reassembling them into a continuous whole. It could be said that I was doing to Feldman what Tom had done to Mallock since each of us extracted from a body of material what was needed for a particular circumstance, though my extraction was a good deal more cursory.
The melody that this accompanies comes from a number of sources. One of these is the stave notation and references to specific notes on Irma itself – about 60% of the notes in the melody – the rest being added by myself. One of the ideas for this came from Eric Sams’ researches into the ciphers in Schumann's music, and in particular from the fact that he originally found a clue to the cipher by finding 5-note melodic phrases in which the 1st, 3rd and 5th notes were C-A-A (Schumann’s wife was called CLARA) and this gave the possibility of finding what L and R became in the musical code, and thence other possible letters. Using this notion, using the notes given by Irma, and inserting between them other notes, the melodic lines are composed by myself but taking as a starting point the notation of Irma. The stave notation at the bottom of the score I found more usable in this way, and also as bass-lines, in transposition, rather than as originally given.
There are, obviously, some very direct references in the score, and it is the presence of these that ensure a very eclectic result: references like ‘‘the Ring’’, ‘‘the Emperor’’, ‘‘the International’’. The first of these, allied to a notation that refers to many ‘‘s’s’’ (German for E flat) suggested the opening of the Rheingold. The second, ‘‘Emperor’’, could have been a number of references – the ‘‘Emperor’’ Waltz (Strauss), the ‘‘Emperor’’ Concerto (Beethoven), the ‘‘Emperor’’ Quartet (Haydn) and so on. In the event I used the last two, and toyed with the idea of using the source for Haydn’s ‘‘Emperor’’ Quartet viz. his ‘‘Emperor Hymn’’ which became the Austrian national anthem, and which was, in its turn taken from a Croatian folk tune. I considered omitting all the musical references and only using the words of this latter ‘‘Vjutro rano se ja stanem Mal pred zorom’’ – and relished the fact that I would have been injecting something with precise semantic value, though one which I did not understand, but in the end omitted it for reasons of pronunciation difficulty. With ‘‘the International’’, I was delighted that it was misspelt (Internationale) and this made of it a lipogram (like the Ellery Queen story that omits the letter ‘‘t’’) and so I quoted the music leaving out the note ‘‘e’’. I had also considered the idea of the lipogram in another context. The original of A Humument is the Victorian novel A Human Document which leaves behind the letters AN DOC, and this gives a lipogrammatic anagram of NO ADC, that is, to avoid the notes A D and C in the piece as a whole. This seemed to be excessive, however, since it would have effectively ruled out one of the two vowels available in musical cryptography, and they are not easy to come by.
Ltd. 300 copies, remastered edition, audiophile pressing. Perfect replica of the original packaging, newly remastered for optimal sound. ** "Equinox", Gianni Marchetti's 1977 twin album of "Solstitium", released in a handful of promo copies by RCA in their renowned "Original Cast" series, takes us on a journey through the author's groovier and wilder temperament, feeling as fresh and surprising today as the day it was made, offering immediate understanding of the reasons why it has remained one of his most sought after - and virtually impossible to find - titles over the decades.
Long coveted by diggers, samplers, and beat makers, Library Music has, over the decades, remained one of the great, unheralded treasure troves within the history of recorded music. A relic of the golden age of the record industry, this body of recordings was almost entirely commissioned and owned by record labels, to be licensed for use within television programs, radio, and film - stock or background music. Despite the obvious limitations of the context, particularly in Italy, many composers found a way to write, produce, and record albums which, while heard by few for what they were, ranked among the most interesting and ambitious works of their era. Within these, there is arguably no better example than Gianni Marchetti's astounding "Equinox".
The output of RCA's Original Cast stands apart in the history of modern Italian music, as it produced one of the most collectible and varied catalogs of instrumental music of its time. The purpose of the creation of this label was to present a catalogue mostly related to film soundtracks, original music and theme songs presented in television broadcasts or documentaries. During the late '60s until the early '80s the imprint released some of the best film scores and library music by legendary figures such as Bruno Nicolai, Ennio Morricone, Piero Piccioni, Mario Migliardi, Franco Micalizzi, Mario Molino, Gianni Oddi - and of course Gianni Marchetti.
Flirting with the cinematic through its depth of emotiveness and scale, dynamics ding behind an aural shroud, is a stunning and ambitious, freestanding work which, had it been made in another context, would likely have been celebrated for decades, far and wide. Absolutely engrossing and creatively challenging at every turn.
Ltd. 300 copies, remastered edition, audiophile pressing. Perfect replica of the original packaging, newly remastered for optimal sound. ** The first-ever reissue of Gianni Marchetti's 1978 LP "Solstitium", released as part of RCA's venerable "Original Cast" series in a handful of promo copies only, sits among the most rare and enigmatic artifacts of Italian library music, it is heralded by collectors as one of the greatest free-standing gestures in the entire genre.
Long coveted by diggers, samplers, and beat makers, Library Music has, over the decades, remained one of the great, unheralded treasure troves within the history of recorded music. A relic of the golden age of the record industry, this body of recordings was almost entirely commissioned and owned by record labels, to be licensed for use within television programs, radio, and film - stock or background music. Despite the obvious limitations of the context, particularly in Italy, many composers found a way to write, produce, and record albums which, while heard by few for what they were, ranked among the most interesting and ambitious works of their era. Within these, there is arguably no better example than Gianni Marchetti's astounding "Solstitium".
The output of RCA's Original Cast stands apart in the history of modern Italian music, as it produced one of the most collectible and varied catalogs of instrumental music of its time. The purpose of the creation of this label was to present a catalogue mostly related to film soundtracks, original music and theme songs presented in television broadcasts or documentaries. During the late '60s until the early '80s the imprint released some of the best film scores and library music by legendary figures such as Bruno Nicolai, Ennio Morricone, Piero Piccioni, Mario Migliardi, Franco Micalizzi, Mario Molino, Gianni Oddi, and of course Gianni Marchetti.
If ever there was an LP to expand the notions of Library music’s vast potential and scope, Gianni Marchetti’s Solstitium has to be it. Nearly 50 years on, it feels as fresh and forward thinking as anything that has come since.
Marking what will inevitably be a holy grail moment for fans of Italian library music, and an inevitale revelation for anyone approaching it for the first time, the venerable Dialogo returns to their broader initiative dedicated to the Italian arm of RCA’s legendary “Original Cast” series with the first ever vinyl reissue of “Industria 2000”, an astounding 1974 LP created by the legendary Italian pianist and composer, Amedeo Tommasi, under the moniker Jarrell. Regarded by many as one of the greatest experimental library records ever made - at times missable for the contemporaneous byproducts of studios like GRM or EMS, while doubly foreshadowing the synth infused soundtracks of John Carpenter and the idioms of Industrial music and Noise - it’s an immersive marvel that was years ahead of its time.
** Ltd. 300 copies, remastered edition, audiophile pressing. Perfect replica of the original packaging, newly remastered for optimal sound. ** Italy is a treasure trove of obscure and archival sounds. For decades, the products of its free-wheeling sonic cultures - spanning numerous musical genres - remained as sinfully overlooked, before being uncovered by devoted diggers and illuminated by numerous reissued initiatives. Recently, the Milan based imprint, Dialogo, has led the charge into the shadows of Italy’s past, releasing a steady stream of holy grails, from the astounding Ennio Morricone and Bruno Nicolai “Dimensioni Sonore” box set, issued in 2020, and a dedicated initiative to the work of Piero Umiliani, to a slew of coveted albums from the legendary Cramps catalog, and that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Their latest, the first ever reissue of “Industria 2000”, an astounding 1974 LP created by the legendary Italian pianist and composer, Amedeo Tommasi, under the moniker Jarrell, joins their recent reissues of “Equinox” and “Solstitium”, to launch Dialogo’s broader initiative dedicated to the Italian arm of RCA’s legendary “Original Cast” series, one of the most coveted and rare bodies of library music ever laid to tape. Regarded by many to be among the best and most forward-thinking experimental efforts in the entire field, and among the only library records to have ever been offered the Creel Pone treatment, “Industria 2000” is an absolute marvel of wild, avant-garde electronics and synthesis, pushing toward glorious states of pure abstraction, threaded by unexpected anchors in pop. Issued in a beautiful, perfect replica highly limited vinyl edition, if ever there was a perfect introduction to the wonders of Italian library music, this is it!
Resting within the vast expanse of visionary albums produced in Italy during the 1960s, '70s, and '80s, is the territory loosely categorised as Library music; recordings that were commissioned and owned by record labels, to be licensed for use within television programs, radio, and film, as stock. While Library music was produced in numerous countries during this period, nowhere was it more unique and groundbreaking than in Italy. Many of the country’s most noteworthy composers - Ennio Morricone, Piero Umiliani, Egisto Macchi, Bruno Nicolai, Sandro Brugnolini, etc. - used the context as an aggregator of radical experimentation and creative freedom, as well as a means to deliver forward-thinking music to broad audiences. Long coveted by diggers, samplers, and beat makers, these albums collectively represent one of the great treasure troves of 20th Century recorded sound: vast in its breath and endlessly adventurous and unpredictable in realisations of creative ambition.
Library music is notoriously mysterious. Its creators often worked in the shadows, with their music becoming far more familiar than the names of those who created it, something made that much more complex by the fact that composers often worked under numerous monikers and aliases, making it often impossible to know who truly made these astounding works. Among the most noteworthy of these figures was the pianist and composer, Amedeo Tommasi, who in addition to leading numerous, highly regarded jazz bands during the 1960s, and recording with artists like Chet Baker, Bobby Jaspar, René Thomas, Buddy Collette, Conte Candoli, and Jacques Pelzer, produced a large body of library music across the 1970s and '80s under the names Amedeo Forte, Atmo, Konnell, Mantissa, Silva Savigni, and Jarrell. It was under the latter alias that he created the 1974 LP, “Industria 2000” for RCA’s now legendary “Original Cast” series. Over the years, this single gesture has become one of the most highly regarded experimental library records ever laid to tape, commanding eye watering prices on the secondary market.
Comprising twelve tracks centred around the process of synthesises, “Industria 2000” is thematically rooted around the environments and work in a mechanised and industrial world. Rather than the here and now, it seems to project itself into some imagined future, and in so doing embodies this notion by presenting a totality of music that is often years ahead of time and stands almost entirely on its own within the field of 1970s creativity. Ranging from hypnotic, minimal pieces like “Mondo Industriale” that foreshadow the work of John Carpenter by a handful of years; to wild, complex electroacoustic gestures like “Industria 2000”, “Meccanizzazione” and “Sala Macchine” that could easily be mistaken for the contemporaneous byproducts of experimental electronic studios like Groupe de Recherches Musicales GRM or Elektronmusikstudion EMS, the proto-industrial rhythmical textural assaults of “Energia Pesante” that prefigure numerous idioms of noise and underground electronic music by a decade or more, and wrenches thrown by pastoral, melodic pieces like “Lavoro Sereno”, and off-kilter, completely uncategorizable works like “Lavoro a Catena”. Once encountered in both its discrete moments and totality, there’s little question why it made the cut and passed the rigorous criteria for inclusion in Creel Pone’s incredible catalog of CDr reissues back in 2012.
An absolute marvel that’s remained almost entirely inaccessible on vinyl for decades, Jarrell’s “Industria 2000” is a true visionary release, transcending the perceived bounds of Italian library music as one of the greatest experimental works in the entire canon, as well as one of the most definitive artefacts of Amedeo Tommasi’s celebrated career. Joining Dialogo’s broader initiative dedicated to the Italian arm of RCA’s legendary “Original Cast” series, this beautifully produced, limited edition LP immaculately reproduces the original Italian press and marks it’s first appearance on vinyl in roughly 50 years. An engrossing listen from the first sounding to the last, this is a holy grail moment for fans of Italian library music, and an inevitable revelation for anyone approaching it for the first time.
THE COMPOSERS NOTES ON THE WORKS
The Machines, which date from the period 1967-1972 represent a departure from the more traditionally “narrative” nature of the rest of my pieces. I use the word Machine to define a consistent process governing a series of musical actions within a particular sound world and, by extension, the listener’s perception thereof. One might thus regard the Welsh Rarebit as a Machine in which a process is applied to the conditioning and perception of the world of bread and cheese.
Autumn Countdown Machine presents the guaranteed dis-simultaneity of six pairs of bass melody instruments, each conducted by a percussionist playing in time with, and making minor adjustments to the setting of a bell-metronome.
Son of Gothic Chord presents four keyboard players’ mobilisation of a sequential chord progression rising through the span of an octave.
Jews Harp Machine presents various permutations of the articulations “Ging, Gang, Gong,Gung, Ho!”
Drinking and Hooting Machine presents some observations on the world of bottles and their non-percussive musical potential. The effect of this piece has been compared to that of a large aviary full of owls all practising very slow descending scales.
John White, March 1976
THE SQUIRREL AND THE RICKETTY RACKETTY BRIDGE
The piece, for one player of two guitars, was written at the request of Derek Bailey, the jazz guitarist, in 1971. I had worked closely with Bailey from 1963-6 in and around Sheffield as a member of a group which included Tony Oxley on drums and myself on double-bass. Since that time, I have lost all interest in jazz, and in improvisation, and since Bailey was involved in both I wrote a piece which uses a technique which Bailey would be unlikely to have evolved in his playing. The two guitars are played simultaneously, each one lying flat on its back, and they are arranged side by side so that the two fingerboards can be played with the fingers hammering down on them, like two keyboards. In addition, the score contains a number of ironic references to jazz and to its critical literature - short texts added to the ‘musical’ notations, somewhat in the spirit of Erik Satie, involving the performer in a hypothetical dialogue with the composer using fragments culled from particularly banal pieces of jazz criticism e.g. “ ‘there is an area up here’, holding his hand above his head, palm down,’ where musical categories do not exist.’ ”. The left hand of the player moves at an even pulse, like the walking jazz bass, at a tempo “between Lady is a Tramp” as a medium bounce, and Cherokee as an embarrassment to lesser, and more intrepid, musicians”, while the right hand punctuates this with short notes, like a highly selective, or extremely lazy, trumpet soloist. The title involves an oblique pun to do with the nut of the guitar, the guitar’s bridge, the faint noise of the music in between – that each attack gives two pitches rather than one – and an English children’s song about Billy Goat Gruff.
Derek Bailey recorded the piece on Incus Records in 1971, and this new version is a multiple one, four players on eight guitars, in which each player uses a pair of guitars which are characteristically different from those used by the others.
Gavin Bryars (1971)
