Entrevista a Pedro Amaral / Interview with Pedro Amaral
2003/Dec/14
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Paris
1994
I left to
study composition in Paris with Emmanuel Nunes in 1994. It was a dream I had
had for a long time. In Emmanuel’s teaching I discovered an attitude, which
constantly put my ideas into question. And that was very important; not only
with regard to individual technical solutions, but also to the consciousness of
that bridge, which exists in every one of us, between what we construct as a
work and what we are by human nature. In this sense, Emmanuel’s teaching became
an almost permanent psychoanalysis of my musical being, or the way in which
that “being” is projected musically. The fundamental question of his teaching
is: “what is there in you, which corresponds to what you have written?”. It
is a difficult journey to make if we accept the need to dig down deeply; but it
is extremely fertile. It seems to me to be difficult that we should be
fulfilled as people and as artists without an unconditional acceptance of what
we are. This is part of Nunes’ teaching. And such an acceptance presupposes a
constant self-analysis, at every level.
After that,
we find our own technical solutions, our own individual premises. I must say,
too, that from a certain point onwards, the discovery of this individuality,
with all the compositional technique generated from it, seemed to me to be
insufficient. Self-analysis is fundamental for a complete command of our own territories, but I still needed to probe
into a wider vision, a sort of historical map of my recent past, almost a “justification”
of my individual options in a global historical context. With music, I have
always cultivated an almost obsessive historical reflection. So I decided to do
a masters’ degree on Gruppen, by Stockhausen, because it
is one of the works with takes the concept of system furthest, in the context
of serial language, which is in fact the extreme extent of musical systems (in
the middle of the fifties). The tonal system constituted an extraordinary
paradigm; from the moment it became a dead language, we had no other solution
than to invent new paradigms, transitory, personal, and relevant to today. The
fifties was a period of constant reinvention, by each composer in each work, of
new paradigms of the systematisation of musical language. (In the sixties we
were to witness an increasing corrosion of these paradigms, which fits exactly
with western social evolution throughout that decade.) However, reflection on
the serial language (which is the last relatively stable language before our
own generation) led me to need to study a huge work in this context, which is
the reason I chose to study Gruppen.
Concepts
of time and space studied from Gruppen
In this
work there is a very interesting fusion between the spatial dimension and the
transitory dimension. Paradoxically, in contrast to what one thinks when
hearing the work in concert, with three orchestras surrounding the public, with
the sound in permanent movement, the space, as an abstract dimension, does not
have a major importance in the poetry, in the architecture of the system. It is
hardly more than a consequence of the temporal structure,
which really does constitute the actual cornerstone of the musical
architecture. Strangely enough, this dichotomy between a flagrantly obvious
aspect and its almost irrelevance and place at the heart of the system, is a
constant in many of Stockhausen’s works. There is no doubt that the system can
be, as it is here, taken as far as possible; but Stockhausen goes even further,
to a purely living and sensorial dimension of the world of sound. It is this
dialectic which makes him such a creative artist.
Quite
honestly, the analysis of this work affected me hugely, both as a musician and
as a student, but not really from the technical point of view; it helped me, in
my historical reflection, to frame my own language, but at no time did I adopt
the concrete solutions that Stockhausen puts forward. Influence, when it is
profound, goes far further than the mere formal or circumstantial context of
the works.
After
having taken the first three years of classes given by Emmanuel Nunes at the
Paris Conservatoire, I did the fourth and last year at the same time as the
first year of the École des Etudes en Sciences Sociales.
I finished the Conservatoire in 1998, and obtained my masters degree at the
same time. In fact, without knowing it at the time, I had begun a period of
wider theoretical reflection, which would lead to a doctorate on another work
by Stockhausen – Momente.
Momente
and the problematics of form
My “theory”
is the following: in the fifties the creation of a serial language results in
the appearance of new forms, which are in keeping with its fundamental
principles; the development of these new forms results in turn in the
dismantling of certain principles of serialism. Obviously, it would have been
quite meaningless to continue with classical forms in the fifties – the second
Viennese school had given in to this temptation in the previous decade – Webern
in particular, in a sequence of works in which we find the clear
systematisation of classical forms, as if it were a demonstration of the
validity of his new language, as if the new principles were being put to the
test by means of the of the certainty of the canons of the past. This in itself
reveals a somewhat paradoxical train of thought. But in the fifties, the serial
language is taken to such extremes that it actually entails the research into
new forms. And at a moment when the various different aspects of musical
language appear to be reasonably well established, the last one, practically
the only one that is not on a same level as the other aspects of language, is
formed. Until then, in the first years of systematic serialism, there were
completely no forms in keeping with the nature of the musical language and its
constituent principles; there was no real consideration of form. (There are
forms that depend on the text, even if there is some development, as is the
case with Marteau sans Maître, which is dependent on the
form of the poetry and on the interweaving of three cycles, which in itself is
derived from Messiaen’s concept of form, especially the interweaving cycles of
the symphonie Turangalîla, although Boulez himself hates
this parallel to be made; and then there are the somewhat free forms, like
those of Stockhausen of the first half of the fifties).
By 1955,
the musical language is sufficiently systematised and stable enough to allow
for the appearance of new forms. The composers realised that without a tonal
context there is no reason for musical form necessarily to follow a single
narrative sequence or a self-completing cycle. Joyce’s late-felt influence had
its effect on the world of musical composition.
In the
context of tonality, classical forms depended on a closed world where the key
structure is effectively unambiguous and has a controlling share in the form.
The tonal language (which one could compare to a fixed model of the universe, a
perfectly stable gravitational system) quite logically calls for fixed forms.
In a language whose terms of reference are by definition more open-ended (one
could compare it with a universe that is in constant expansion), the new world
of form quite naturally calls for new musical forms – forms that are in
expansion, forms that are themselves open-ended. And so we come to the world of
open form. However, open form – at the beginning, around 1956 (Stockhausen and
Boulez) – was based on systems of integral serialism, so to speak. But as the
actual notion of open form develops, so the system itself becomes fundamentally
modified, and plays itself out. In Stockhausen, for example, each section needs
to be so individually characterized that it requires a point of reference –
almost a tonic, to use tonal terminology – that identifies and embodies, as it
were, its singularity: it marks the end of the extreme relativity of serialism
and its famous abolition of the principle of identity. It is no coincidence
that Momente has an almost completely tonal harmonic
morphology: major or minor chords, major and minor chords or diminished chords
(although Stockhausen obviously completely disfigures the principle meaning of
this morphology: we really don’t hear a single fragment of Momente in
tonal terms, in spite of the actual structure of its harmonic material).
In other
words, in the middle of the fifties the musical language led to the appearance
of a new formal typology and, less than ten years later, the situation is
inverted: the acquisition of this new formal typology will destroy the world of
musical language that produced it. I was fascinated by this small observation
and my analysis of Momente became so detailed that it ended
up by being the single subject of my doctorate.
I always
think of form as a thing in itself. In this sense, my ideas differ
fundamentally from those of Emmanuel Nunes. Form in his music is the direct,
practical result of the relationship between the various parts of the musical
content, as they are developed, not a structural dimension in itself. In this
sense, what I learnt from Stockhausen was fundamental. Not in the development
of my technique (the technique of Momente cannot be
repeated), but it enabled me to pinpoint and back up some of my own ideas as
regards form. There are, however, other artists and works that have influenced
me in this field as much as Stockhausen has. Maybe even more. Like Proust.
Proust’s work is fundamental to me as a composer and at the deepest level of
artistic appreciation. I have been reading Proust for several years; I stop and
start constantly as if I was wandering around a city in permanent rediscovery.
There is a
fascinating aspect of Proust, which is particularly relevant to the
consideration of questions of form. For example, the structure of his
sentences, which are sometimes very long and which need to be read in various
stages. As a first reading, for example, we could leave out the many
parentheses and interruptions. Later, bit by bit, the sentence acquires
additional elements on further readings and at subsequent levels of understanding.
This sort of thinking has influenced me greatly, not only in the structure of
phrase in musical terms, but also in the creation of an overall form which is
coherent with it. In fact this follows Proust’s example closely where
“sentence”, “section” and the “whole” of the work obey exactly the same
labyrinthine principles of construction.
For
example: my work Script for marimba and live electronics
has a fragment at the end which I have called Post Scriptum
which is a detailed study of phrase and form in this sense. The score has a
series of parentheses of various types. The performer begins by reading the
score and playing only that which is not in brackets – in reading the score,
when he gets to a bracket he jumps over it, ignores it, and carries on until
reaching the end of the score. Having reached the end, he starts again and
includes a first level of brackets. As in mathematics or in computer
programming there are various levels of brackets. It is the same in literature,
and in musical literature, as I understand it, the same is also true. The
fragment, which to begin with is a single phrase, grows from inside, expands
and completes its meaning as a result of repeated readings. In a sense what is
being created is an open form. Not an open form as Boulez understands it –
which provides the possibility of a variety of orders of a finite number of
objects. Nor an open form as Stockhausen understands it – where the interpreter
plays the same musical object repeatedly, but from different perspectives. Post
Scriptum can be seen as an open form in terms of the actual
meaning of phrase, of form, and of the work as a whole: as the player comes
into repeated contact with the same musical objects, meanings, ramifications,
extrapolations, developments are added to his understanding and an overall
meaning begins to be unveiled as the result of a succession of intermediate
meanings. The form opens out gradually. Sense of phrase in Proust has directly
influenced my work – but there are other examples of this sort in the last
sonatas and last quartets of Schubert, for example, although less generalised,
certainly, and less systematic.