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ON COMPLEXITY1
RICHARD TOOP
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On Complexity 43
Maybe I shall have some "fighting words," but not, I promise you, a
system. Let me quickly outline what I have in mind: some prefatory
comments, then three main areas of inquiry:
* first, the notion of complexity itself, and its relationship to other words
such as "complication" and "difficulty";
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44 Perspectives of New Music
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On Complexity 45
it looks on paper; perhaps that it seems very full of detail (again, this
doesn't involve assessment of the effect or legitimacy of the detail), or that it
might be hard to play or conduct.
With the notion of "complexity," however, real disagreements, real
incompatibilities of judgements can arise. I might say that I find a work by
Composer X complex (though that too does not necessarily involve a
judgement about worth), and you may very possibly disagree completely.
You may say, "No, it's not complex at all; it's just complicated." This
disagreement, I think, would really be one about personal perception, not
material substance. Accordingly, it is unlikely in the short term that we
could do more than agree to differ.
On the other hand, if I say that another work, by Composer T, is
complicated, it is unlikely that you would disagree quite so flatly. For
example, it is very unlikely (though not inconceivable) that you would reply
"No, it's not complicated at all; it's just complex." It is far more likely, if we
disagree, that you would say "Well, no, I don't think it's really that compli-
cated." This doesn't mean that we have radically opposed perceptions;
probably, it means that we basically agree on the "material substance" (if I
may strip that term of its weightier philosophical connotations), but that
you do think I am inclined to exaggerate its problematic physical aspects.
And these aspects may well have less to do with "good" and "bad" than
with elements of the idea of "difficulty."
So let us now turn to some of the meanings of "difficulty" in relation to
music, and their relationship to "complexity." They are not quite the same
as in literature or painting, though of course there are overlaps. One can
reasonably distinguish three main areas: difficulty in performance, in com-
position, and in listening. Once again, I shan't attempt to outline a
"theory"-just a general physiognomy.
Difficulty in performance is both physiological and intellectual. If, as a
pianist, I look at a score-it might be Bach, or Godowsky, or
Ferneyhough-and before I've even played a note I say "God, that looks
difficult!," this could mean several different things. It might mean that the
score calls for a level of technical competence that I don't have (or that I'm
not sure I have); this has nothing to do with substance or complexity as
such, only with my shortcomings.
Or it might be that the work looks conceptually difficult. This is where
the intellectual element enters, but there may still be a physical one too.
Suppose that I have seven notes to play in the left hand, against five in the
right: is that mainly a physical problem, or a mental one? Some paradoxes
arise here. For example, it may be more physically demanding if there are no
gaps in the groups of sevens or fives, but it is conceptually/intellectually
easier. In fact, nothing terrifies us more than discontinuity: the horror of
waiting, the panic of the pause (whether micro- or macro- ). This rather
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46 Perspectives of New Music
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On Complexity 47
a song that is well and artificially made cannot be well perceived nor
understood at the first hearing, but the oftener you shall hear it, the
better cause of liking you will discover ...
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48 Perspectives of New Music
Um sich zu rechtfertigen
muss jedes denkbare System
sich transzendieren,
d.h. zerstoren.
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On Complexity 49
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50 Perspectives of New Music
For some time, serial music has been regarded as radically asymmetri-
cal, as entirely nonperiodic. That's how its audience feels it to be, and
that's how it is conceived by its authors, who do everything in their
power to obtain a maximum of irregularity.7
I don't want to dwell too much on this article, which is now a historical
artifact. Its basic criticisms, applied to the first three or four years of so-
called integral serialism, have some potential substance. What makes it
totally abortive as an extended critique is its axiomatic assertion that
"Music is a language," as opposed to a system of communication, which as
such naturally offers interestingparallels to language. Let me now, however,
quote Ruwet's third sentence, which he puts in brackets, but which I find
most instructive. It reads:
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51
On Complexity
Now, why doesn't it apply, and why "of course"? Were the composers just
lucky? Is this a matter of token politeness to one die Reihe's editors, or is it
simply intellectual laziness in the face of inconvenient data? Personally I
think it's laziness, and I'm amazed that back in those days both Ruwet and
Levi-Strauss were allowed to get away with musically illiterate nonsense
apropos serialism. Maybe it just shows how desperate the avant-garde was
to attract the attention of other disciplines; if so, they soon fared rather
better with Umberto Eco.
But before setting Ruwet aside, let's persist for a moment with his
parenthesis. Why did works like LeMarteau sans maitre and Zeitmasze elicit
a level of enthusiasm not granted to Polyphonie X, or Kreuzspiel, or the first
book of Structures? In pursuing this question I think we can establish some
principles, however loose, that still have some relevance to late modernism
in the eighties and maybe-who knows?-in the nineties too.
The first essential factor was to move beyond the kind of "point music"
exemplified by Messiaen's Mode de valeurs, and the pieces mentioned a
moment ago. I don't doubt that these pieces were historically essential, as
instances of writing from Barthes' "degree zero." Their problems lie largely
in the fact that the relationship of the single sound to the whole is too
obscure at one level, that of the instant, and too one-dimensional at
another, that of the overall structure. Moreover, there are no mediating
structural levels, or only of the crassest kind (such as the chords that occur
at the beginning of each new serial strand in the first piece of Structures).
And finally, even in "statistical" terms, the total material is over-exposed
and under-differentiated: there is too much surface information, and too
little perceptible tendency or focus within it. To that extent, though compli-
cated, it does indeed lack richness.
Yet some of these early pieces do have an undeniable presence. Where
does it come from? In part, I think, from extraneous factors. In Messiaen's
Mode de valeurs it comes from the pervasive quasi-thematic use of descend-
ing modal fragments in the upper voices, and in Kreuzspiel from the animal
excitement of the periodic percussion layer, which is undoubtedly closer to
the ethos of Orffs Schulwerk than the composer (an erstwhile Schulmusiker)
intended. In Polyphonie X, to judge by the old Donaueschingen perform-
ance, there is no such extra-schematic frame of reference, and far from
gaining thereby-in terms of "purity," or whatever-the piece fails, by
virtue of its dependence on an insufficiently rich generative basis.
So why harp on these rather dusty exhibits from the Museum of Ancient
Modernism? Because, incredibly, they are still advanced in all seriousness,
in endless popular and academic texts, as representing the "essence of
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52 Perspectives of New Music
serialism." The results have been drastic. Since the late fifties and early
sixties, there have been any number of composers who in their youth made
or read an analysis of Structures la, tried something similar without really
knowing why, spent a lot of time producing something more or less
worthless (and historically superfluous), and then turned round and
proudly announced they had gone "beyond serialism." A pathetic claim!
They hadn't come anywhere near grasping serialism, even in its kinder-
garten stage. I've met other composers, some of them quite well known,
who have dug into their bottom drawers and shown me vastly complicated
orchestra scores (mercifully unperformed) based on the naivest attempts
imaginable to appropriate the notational surface of Stockhausen's Gruppen.
Most of them subsequently turned to musical graphics-all in all, this was
probably their best option.
Serialism, like any other rich approach to composition, is only marginally
described by the recitation of its surface mechanics. Its essence lies in the
musical, philosophical, and aesthetic ideas and conflicts which it helps to
articulate. Only an idiot, I hope, would imagine that Stockhausen's Gesang
derJiinglinge is "about" the numbers 1 to 7, and Carre about the numbers 1
to 4 (or that Le Marteau sans maitre is about the chord-multiplication
technique). Yet just this kind of stupidity pervades the whole debate about
serialism. If, just for once, one came across a polemic which had clearly
grasped the aesthetic intent of a postkindergarten serial work, had some
notion of the compositional process, and then set out to criticize one, or
both, or the relationship between them, then one could talk about a
legitimate "debate." If those criteria are not met, the result is little more
than nappy-talk.
Above all, one needs to sweep aside the numbers fetish. This fetish
exists, I think, only amongst those aprioi opponents of serialism who tend
to howl "mathematics!" the moment any demonstrably conscious kind of
structuring becomes apparent. Yet Dunstable used numbers, Obrecht used
numbers, and Debussy and Scriabin used numbers. What of it? Even Phil
Glass, God help us, uses numbers, and has them counted out loud to make
sure we have noticed them. Now that is a number fetish! (And personally,
every time I hear those numbers in Einstein on the Beach, I can't help seeing
little dollar signs in front of them.)10
For what it's worth-which may not be much-traditional tonal har-
mony can be taught on a numerical basis, too. Who cares? It is what the
numbers are meant to achieve, and the possible discrepancy between intent
and outcome, that form the real basis for debate. But for that one has to
know a little music, and perhaps (as William Byrd would have agreed)
know it rather well.
Apropos serialism, which has undoubtedly been one means of arriving at
musical complexity, as opposed to complication, and whose failure to do so
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On Complexity 53
on a regular basis simply reflects the fate of just about every compositional
technique since duple organum (how many fugues do you really want to
listen to, if they're not by Bach or Beethoven?), please allow me one final,
brief polemic. The old banality about the "totalitarian" character of serial-
ism, ancient or recent, is probably best evaluated by looking at the com-
posers who make such accusations, most of whose works would have been
a great deal more acceptable to Goebbels and Zhdanov than the music they
seek to attack. In fact it seems to me that the main urge underlying the
bland pseudo-democracy of postmodernism is, precisely, the longing for a
new millenarian totalitarianism, in which the works of radical and even
semiradical modernism can once again be proscribed as "decadent art"
(defiitively, this time). For me, it is the music of the born-again modalists
that wears the jackboots.
So now, finally, let us turn to the current notion of "New Complexity." I
shall consider the term itself, the history of the music that gave rise to it,
and perhaps the relationship between the music of Brian Ferneyhough-
who in this context has the same sort of key position that Stockhausen held
in terms of fifties serialism-and the work of some younger composers.
Let's admit that the term "New Complexity" is partly a journalistic
convenience. But it is not necessarily to be despised on that account. In
Aesthetic Theory, Adorno writes:
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54 Perspectives of New Music
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On Complexity 55
Ferneyhough, but even within late modernism its origins go back much
further-in particular to those early works of Pierre Boulez dating from
what I would call his "Artaud period," that is, the period immediately
preceding the tabula rasa mechanics of Structures 1 and Polyphonie X.
Those pieces from the late forties, such as Le Visage nuptial, let me
emphasize, were byperexpressive. It is that hyperexpressive tradition that the
young Ferneyhough latched onto in his own early works of the late 1960s,
and it is that tradition for which he has sought to find new perspectives ever
since. Inevitably, that means complexity, in the sense of richness of musical
discourse that I outlined earlier. Ferneyhough's complexity, therefore, is
"new" only to the extent that where it succeeds, it constantly discovers or
discloses new domains of aesthetic experience.
What is more evidently new about the New Complexity is its sudden
flood of new adherents in recent years-without it, this symposium would
scarcely have taken place. But in the process, the image of what I would in
any case prefer to call the "New Transcendentalism" has inevitably become
somewhat blurred. The intricate sculpting of Ferneyhough's serialism has
been dialectically confronted, and partly supplanted, by the al fresco
stochastics of Xenakis. And yet the basic adventure remains the same.
Among other things, Xenakis's music, like Ferneyhough's, has always
tended to confront the performer with enormous technical problems, albeit
of a different kind. Xenakis has a rather neo-Bachian tendency to switch
instruments in and out like organ stops, without worrying too much about
the physical limitations of players or instruments. Ferneyhough writes
much more idiomatically for instruments, yet the sheer gestural disjunction
of his music constantly creates situations which are psychically rather than
physically exhausting. A school of thought which now draws on both these
approaches, always in pursuit of "das Unerh6rte," is almost axiomatically
inclined to take instrumental writing to the verge of impossibility. Just how
"possible" or "impossible" the results are will doubtless be a principal
theme of the coming concerts and forums. Certainly, the path of the "New
Complexists" is fraught with dangers. But in the current, desperately
anaemic situation of art music, it may well be, to paraphrase Holderlin, it is
only where danger lies and is sought out, that there is some hope of
salvation.
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56 Perspectives of New Music
NOTES
2. "For just when concepts go astray, / A Word leaps in to save the day"
(Faust I). After finishing this paper, I was dismayed to realize that, not
for the first time, many of my quotations and references had already
been used, often decades ago, by Heinz-Klaus Metzger [for example,
the present one is alluded to at the start of "Gescheiterte Begriffe" in
Theorie und Kritik der Musik (1958)]. I would have preferred my
admiration for this writer to have taken a less flagrantly parasitic
form ...
3. "With words one has a warrior's blade, / With words a system can be
made" (ibid.).
4. "Die neue Musik ist ein Frauenzimmer, das seine natiirlichen Mangel
durch eine vollstandige Beherrschung des Sanskrit ausgleicht." Karl
Kraus, Aphorismen (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1986), 96.
5. " 'In any sufficiently rich system / axioms can be formulated / which
within the system / can neither be proved or disproved / unless the
system / is itself inconsistent.' / To justify itself / every conceivable
system / must transcend itself / i.e., destroy itself. / "Sufficiently rich"
or not: / freedom from contradiction / is a shortcoming / or else a
contradiction." Hans Magnus Enzensberger: "Hommage a Godel," in
Gedichte 1955-1970 (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1971), 168.
6. Liner notes to Factory Facd 266.
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On Complexity 57
10. After this talk had been given, the Canadian composer Rod Sharm
objected with some indignation that at the time of Einstein on the Beac
Glass was an impoverished part-time taxi driver. However, I can't see
any reason to change my impression of the work: to fantasize about l
dolce vita in a state of penury is in no way morally superior to actually
enjoying it.
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