Ernst Helmuth Flammer: Orchestral Works Vol

Orchestral works by Ernst Helmuth Flammer

The shape of time, thinking about time as a phenomenological category, i.e. the content that is articulated through the shape of time in music, has always been important to me as a composer. Contemporary thinking is to be understood both structurally and in categories of history and present, tradition and aesthetic progress.

Aesthetic progress is an inner necessity for me, also because it legitimizes itself historically, feeds itself through the sieve of reflection from tradition, derives from it and – whether consciously or unconsciously – builds on it. Aesthetic progress, symbolic in a vacuum, not historically located, not reflected in the choice and selection of its means, remains non-binding, aimless and formless, and thus does not lead to unity in diversity. In the worst case, its disintegration – society today is shaped by the disintegration of everything that is connected, which means structure – leads to reified set pieces that at best drape progress as a facade, i.e. on a direct path to postmodernism.

Form, no matter what kind, on the basis of rigorous limitation and at the same time the consistent composition of aesthetic means, always develops out of a long historical tradition. It is necessary for the inner cohesion of a piece, if this is desired. In the past, it was not uncommon for formal thinking to be branded as bourgeois thinking by negativistic protagonists of decay, of the desired break. On the other hand, decay in art is only a tautology of the same in society.

In my early years as a composer, aesthetic rigor, which I always had in the most diverse forms, was a serial self-awareness that soon gave way to other, more subject-related priorities. These were more oriented towards the artistic requirements that arose from the tasks of the individual projects. Rigor was also increasingly subordinated to aesthetic categories.

Sometimes radically following the chosen epoch, this could end in several cases in consistently minimalistic structures. Such structures also appear occasionally in the present cello concerto Interferenceza … both in the live orchestral part and in the electronics, namely when time seems to 'stand still'.

However, aesthetic rigorism is always due to another component of composing: textual, technical, instrumental border areas are explored and consistently expanded where spaces, perspectives and visions open up. Such activity influences the making of instruments – unfortunately far less than in other epochs because of the historically diminished importance of contemporary music – but leads all the more to creative extensions in the area of ​​interpretation.

As can be heard from the two examples on this CD, dealing with the genre of the solo concerto evokes two completely different results. This signifies a complete departure from the traditional approach of the solo concerto, in that the soloist is by no means the circus virtuoso, but appears as a bearer of compositional innovation, integrated into the overall ensemble (orchestra). In several other concerts (such as the Piano Concerto Timestamps—times) he only appears as an obligatory soloist, as ›Primus inter Pares‹, as he does in Brahms's First Piano Concerto is to be experienced. Both of the present concertos are in one movement and are therefore composed through.

Interferenza mente sovrapposizione for violoncello, live electronics and large orchestra, composed between 1988 and 1990, is basically a concerto for two soloists and large orchestra, with the electronic part playing a solo role via the sound director as dialogue partner of the solo cellist. In all previous large-scale works, be it the oratorio The Tower of Babel, so be it violin concerto, which uses the electronics in an orchestral manner, the electronics have never had such an independent function.

At most at one point, to create polyphony in the strict sense of the composition and not via the layering principle, the oboe in the orchestra, as a sound and filter generator, controls the solo cello in a deconstructive way. In its function as a sound generator, it thus assumes a more active role than was possible for the sound director in non-digital times. The concept for the electronics section was developed between 1988 and 1990 in what was then the experimental studio of the Heinrich Strobel Foundation of Südwestfunk.

›Interference in the sense of superimposition‹ could be the title, which is practically impossible to translate into German. In the non-digital era, electronic timbres were built up through layers. This made numerous orchestral interludes necessary, which, as quasi-refrains, inevitably gave the piece a layer of form, that of the rondo. This rondo form is made more comprehensible by the fact that the electronic parts vary greatly after comparable beginnings.

This gradual rocking and layering has the decisive advantage over today's - digital - possibilities, which make the organization of time sequences appear more manageable, that the sound spectra 'breathe' in a variety of ways and thus (see Luigi Nonos The breathing clarity, wonderful to see there) simply evade sterilizing technical perfection.

By means of the strong, conceptually oriented use of the halaphone developed by Hans-Peter Haller in the experimental studio (spatial sound distributor, the sounds wander quickly and slowly in circular and rollercoaster movements, but also in more complex forms, such as layering of such movements at different speeds, through the room) the emergence of new two-dimensional timbres, which at the same time, as a process, push back previously dominant sound surfaces in a deconstructive manner, even when orchestra instruments are active at the same time. This is to be understood as an allegory of being as something processual (being and time) in the sense of perpetual becoming and passing away.

From an aesthetic point of view, the constant presence of the opposing states of being ›becoming and passing away‹ leads to a deconstructive approach that subjects everything that is opposed to a self-regulating equilibrium, which thus guarantees the existential continuation of everything that is.

Due to the cello as a solo instrument and the musically meaningful transposition in the context of the transformations, the electronic parts - apart from exceptions that are differently instrumented - resulted in a pitch structure in the middle range from c to about c''', so that it It made sense to equip the orchestra primarily with instruments in the extreme treble and bass ranges. Apart from various percussion instruments, this led to the occupation of four piccolo flutes, two piccolo trumpets, four (!) contrabassoons, four bass trombones and two bass tubas. This also ensures transparency between the individual levels of sound generation and makes them easier to distinguish.

The idea of ​​placing live electronics at the center of a solo concert with orchestra had been discussed for a long time with Hans-Peter Haller – the head of the Freiburg Experimental Studio until 1989. Kazimierz Serockis also had a godfather role in 1976/78 in the Freiburg studio pianophony for piano, live electronics and orchestra. The use of a completely different solo instrument, the cello, and the studio techniques, which have meanwhile been greatly further developed, opened up the opportunity to come up with independent solutions that were completely different from Serocki's. Both pieces have a common starting point, but nothing more.

Both were inspired, promoted and launched by the experimental studio and are closely oriented towards the possibilities of this studio. In the studio itself, some set pieces of the score were completely created. The composing was then literally a 'putting together', which happened at the end of 1989 in the final phase of the work.
In contrast to my earlier works for solo instruments with orchestra, the orchestra here sees itself as an accompaniment. A non-electronic prologue, seemingly more virtuoso than the following, exposes what is later composed with electronic means.

Generally speaking, the orchestral part is designed to be two-dimensional on the one hand, and contrapuntal on the other, in that sound surfaces are superimposed. In doing so, I was forced to use a harmonic material that favored the smallest intervals in the progression of the notes, which, in contrapuntal layering, led to thoroughly chromatic results. Such a harmony principle, which is certainly not particularly attractive for a normal orchestral piece, is ideally suited for live electronic layering and delay techniques, for filter techniques, for the exploration of overtone structures and thus finds its useful development in electronics. An instrumentation of the extreme pitches corresponding to the chromatic harmony also took place in congruence with the electronics, which, moreover, increasingly takes over the virtuoso part of the piece - due to increasingly densely designed layering and spatial distribution operations.

The large form is dominated by three layers:

Symmetry: it is most evident in the two large orchestral interludes, which appear at corresponding points in the opening and closing sections of the work.
rondo form. That has already been mentioned.

Developing variation as a method of variation to be understood in Beethoven's sense, the meaning of which is revealed via the ›unity in diversity‹: it determines a process of progressive alienation in the area of ​​electronic sound transformation. Therefore, in the instrumental area, the use of denaturing sounds and playing techniques could largely be dispensed with, without the piece losing any of its aesthetic rigor.

These three layers of form relate to one another in a deconstructive manner in the sense of maintaining inner balance among themselves by simultaneously emerging and being pushed back. This opens up the meaning of the complex form construct.

the silent word!...extended... for solo percussion and large orchestra, composed in 1993 and 1994, aesthetically has a partially negative approach. Heaps of listeners' expectations about the break in structural lines, cantilenas and musical phrases are denied. The subdivision into sections, miniatures and fragments stands for this, virtuosity is consistently denied in the orchestral parts. This creates a break in the relationship between the orchestra and the soloist, which, however, is closely interwoven with the parts of the orchestral percussion musicians (two drummers, one timpanist). These parts are much more demanding and complex than the rest of the orchestral parts. So that break is deconstructed a little.

In general, the treatment of the percussion instruments breaks new ground, away from the beat, more into the sound, primarily through friction with double bass bows, but also with other means. The resulting, more flat structures are rhythmically inherent in a more inward-directed, ›imploded‹ complexity, to which a dynamic, forward-driving style is rather alien.

It is replaced by an experience of time that is due to South Asian ideas of how time is structured. This also corresponds to the fact that I owe the renewal of the percussion technique in the direction of the expansion of sound worlds to Japanese suggestions. This world of drum sound, which is new to us, undoubtedly originated in Japan. Mentally, as a contemplative exercise, it is very much committed to spiritual exercises and to Zen Buddhism. Personally, this world was brought to me through the excellent soloists Isao Nakamura and Yuko Suzuki, who later became my friends.

Despite the breaks mentioned, there is a clearly perceptible formal concept of the one-movement piece, which relates deconstructively to the episodes, breaks and moments. The continuity is achieved through the reference points of the fragments to each other. More about the form can be found in the original program note for the piece on the occasion of its first performance series in the early XNUMXs, which should also be printed in full for a general understanding of the title:

With this motto of Paul Celan (the silent word!...extended...) out Argumentum e silentio I rewrote my music for solo percussion and large orchestra for various reasons. The ›nouvelle technique de percussion‹ appears ›extended‹ in this piece, which partly finds its counterpart in the orchestra, the dialogue partner of the soloist, but which the orchestra largely refuses. Not everything that is feasible and possible is also good for our lives. This perspective is reflected here in the treatment of the orchestra.

The solo part, handled with great virtuosity at times, also finds no adequate response in the orchestra ('the silent word'). The dots in the title stand here for the conscious refusal of a relationship between soloist and orchestra, as well as for the momentum, the ellipse and the episode, which characterize the structure of the piece and are only related to one another in a very delicate, sublime way. The refusal of a universally experienced hypotrophy is also a different than conceivable musical answer.

The high speed associated with virtuosity is visibly slowed down, the passage of time comes to a standstill, to a pause. And this is a silent and at the same time extended answer. The momentum becomes the focal point due to the paralysis of the passage of time, and thus experiences more significance as an individual than it actually deserves in the universe of time. In turn, it experiences a reduction of this meaning by standing next to a multitude of other moments. His relativity to all time is brought into focus and with it the relativity of our lifetime, which is no more than a smallest episode in the universe. Standstill seems to occur when rhythmic structures dissolve into the sound or, even more alienated, virtual, into the noise. There, where both stand side by side, so to speak, they are silent on each other.

Every moment of form or time has a counterpart at another point in the piece, so that the idea of ​​symmetry plays an important role in the large-format structure, along with other lines of development. The initially exposed material expands continuously to the end. The twelve islands of time are connected by interludes, from the framework of which, in the sense of the silent word, a solo cadenza, extended to 21 bars, stands out clearly and barely, which remains unanswered.

An order from Japan gave me the opportunity to create this piece. It is dedicated to the excellent Japanese drummer Yuko Suzuki.

Ernest Helmuth Flammer