Desire and distance in Kaija Saariaho’s Lonh1
A NN E S I VU OJ A - G UN A R A T N A M
Department of Musicology, Arwidssoninkatu 1, 20014 University of Turku, Finland
E-mail: ansigu@utu.fi
This article explores the relationship of desire and
distance in Kaija Saariaho’s Lonh (1996) for soprano and
electronics. The subject matter of Lonh is desire and
romantic pleasures, anchored to feminine subjectivity,
represented on stage by a soprano singer. Electronics
provide the environmental sounds and amplify the
singer’s voice. Through Lonh looms a medieval song in
the Occitan language, ‘Lanquan li jorn son lonc en mai’
by Jaufré Rudel, a famous troubadour in twelfth-century
Provence. Saariaho reverses the narrative convention of
love stories by presenting the most intimate encounter at
the very beginning. In their succeeding encounters, the
lovers move further away from each other. Similarly, in
the course of Lonh the distance to Jaufré’s song also
increases. Luce Irigaray’s concepts of love are used for an
analysis of the relationship of the loving pair. By the end
of Lonh the borderlines of speaking, singing, electronics,
language and music collapse in Barthesian jouissance
(bliss). The electronic technology in Lonh enables the
re-investiture of cultural values, and the construction of
flexible identities, crossing boundaries between the self
and the other.
A great musical work is always a model of amorous rela-
tions, a model of relations with the other, of eternally
recommenceable exaltation and appeasement, an excep-
tional figure represented and repeated sexual relations.
(Attali 1996: 143)
1. WOMAN IN THE CENTRE
Kaija Saariaho’s Lonh (1996) is a composition for sop-
rano and electronics. The subject matter of Lonh is
desire and romantic pleasures anchored to feminine sub-
jectivity. Neither the woman nor femininity are con-
structed as ‘Other’ or in contrast to masculinity, nor is
femininity seen as something striving to find means of
expression; in Lonh she occupies the centre, unchal-
lenged. This is rare; most often, women and femininity
1
Earlier versions of the article were read at the following forums: 4th
National Symposium of the Finnish Musicological Society, Turku
(Åbo Akademi) 14–16 April 2000; 8th International Doctoral and
Postdoctoral Seminar on Musical Semiotics, University of Helsinki,
13–17 October 2000; Critical Musicology Forum, City University of
London, 12 January 2001; and International Congress of the Musical
Signification Project, Imatra, 7–10 June 2001. I wish to thank Kaija
Saariaho, John Richardson, Martá Grabócz, Taina Viljanen and Sus-
anna Välimäki for their helpful comments.
Organised Sound 8(1): 71–84  2003 Cambridge University Press. Printed in the United Kingdom.
are depicted as a lack or deviation from the norm. Luce
Irigaray (1985: 69) argues that the ‘feminine’ is viewed
‘as the other side of the sex that alone holds a monopoly
on value: the male sex’. By not addressing the problem
of the feminine as marginalised gender, Lonh steps out
of the spell of stagnant binary oppositions of dominant–
dominated; male–female; centre–periphery (cf., for
example, Cixous and Clément 1993: 63–9). As a result,
Lonh offers an imaginary space for love and loving that
is not based on need, domination, possession, appropri-
ation or ‘having’. This is in tune with the kind of love
expounded by Luce Irigaray in many of her writings
(particularly 1985 and 1993): a love which respects dif-
ferences among lovers, with no pressure or need of
becoming the same or even seamlessly united:
Greeting him as other, encountering him with respect for
what surrounds him – that subtle palpable space that
envelops each of us like a necessary border, an irradiation
of our presence that overflows the limits of the body. – This
caress would begin at a distance. Tact that informs the
sense of touch, attracts, and comes to rest on the threshold
of the approach. Without paralysis or violence, the lovers
would beckon on to each other, at first from far away. A
salutation that means the crossing of a threshold. (Irigaray
1993: 207)
The movements of desire are intended to change the dis-
tance, to approach but not to achieve. Irigaray (1993:
48) writes: ‘The greater the desire, the greater the tend-
ency to overcome the interval while at the same time
retaining it’.
The key concept, for this article, is distance, a particu-
lar kind of relationship between two (or more) units
which manifest no tendency to fuse or to become the
same. In Lonh the tension is geared towards preserving
this difference, or even making it more articulate, more
radical. The starting point for Lonh is a song in the Occi-
tan language, ‘Lanquan li jorn son lonc en mai’, by
Jaufré Rudel, a famous troubadour, poet and musician
in twelfth-century Provence. The very title of the piece
(lonh = ‘from afar’) already suggests the importance of
distance. The central dramaturgy of Lonh is based on
distant love experienced by the female protagonist, rep-
resented on stage by the soprano soloist, and the distance
between Jaufré’s and Saariaho’s music.
This article concentrates on exploring the musical
DOI:10.1017/S1355771803001080
72 Anne Sivuoja-Gunaratnam
means for articulating women’s pleasure and sustaining
multiple distances. Special attention is given to interme-
diatory fluid spaces and continuous transformations,
including spatial passage (Smalley 1997: 124), which
challenge the borderlines of music, language, authority,
space (near/distant), live performance, acousmatics,
vocality and identities. Because these processes traverse
heterogeneous materials (voice, sound, music, text), no
single methodology would suffice. Therefore this article
draws methodologically from multiple fields: feminist
theory (Irigaray 1985 and 1993), studies on electronic
music (particularly Emmerson 1994, 1998, 2000, Smal-
ley 1992 and 1997), literature (Genette 1982, Alpers
1982, 1997, Werf 1995), and semiotics (Barthes 1975,
1977).
2. ELECTRONIC STAGING
Lonh belongs to the category of live acousmatic music
(Smalley 1997: 109). There is a live performer, a sop-
rano singer, and an obligatory electronic part. The elec-
tronics is used for real-time amplification of the singer
(particularly reverb) and for providing previously
sampled sound files to accompany her. Despite the dif-
ferent genealogy of the musical sources (pre-recorded
nature sounds, synthesised bells, post-processed voices),
the electronic part does not represent an alien element,
to be resisted or overcome by the on-stage soprano solo-
ist; nor does it form a contradiction to the voice, to fem-
ininity, nor to the aesthetic. It is precisely the electronic
technology that allows the re-investiture of many central
cultural values in Lonh, crossing boundaries between the
self and the other, and the construction of flexible iden-
tities. Examples of these elements in Lonh include the
virtual personae in the electronic part, not present on
stage: an unknown speaking male,2 a girl, and a vocalis-
ing soprano. The voices of the soprano-soloist and vir-
tual soprano create a semi-acousmatic space where the
source bonding3 of the soprano voice is no longer cer-
tain. This questions the enunciatory authority of the live
soprano. Furthermore, electronic reverb blurs the bound-
ary of the live performer’s voice, room acoustics, and
electronic sounds. The reverb is a central means for cre-
ating an intermediatory soundspace with fluid boundar-
ies without any firm point of origin. This kind of play
is typical in instrumental pieces with (live) electronics
(Emmerson 1998; see Field 2000: 42–50 for the play of
different kinds of realities in electronic music).
There are no major ruptures in the electronic part of
Lonh; the same elements recur from the beginning to
end. Listening to the rehearsal audio CD (Chester Music,
2
In an interview, Saariaho (2000a) revealed that there are in fact two
male voices. One of them belongs to Jacques Roubaud, a French
scholar and poet, whose reciting of the Jaufré poem was included on
the rehearsal audio CD.
3
Smalley (1997: 110; italics his) defines source bonding as ‘the nat-
ural tendency to relate sounds to supposed sources and causes’.
OM 24566) allows better access to the electronic com-
ponent, whereas in concert performances (and on the
sound recording, ONDINE ODE 906–2) its audibility is
heavily conditioned by the choices of the sound techni-
cian and the room acoustics (particularly reverb, also
induced electronically). The score includes a stave for
the electronic part indicating roughly what kinds of
sounds are sounded and at what time (see, for instance,
figure 2).
Thanks to the electronics, there are no pauses in Lonh,
spaces without sound. However, pauses between the
stanzas may appear, at the singer’s discretion, since it is
up to the singer to initialise a sound file in the beginning
of each stanza (Komsi 2000). Without electronics the
continuous flow of sounds would be impossible because
the singer is bound to have breathing breaks. Silence
within a piece has been problematic for Saariaho; she
has sometimes felt that her music would not last from
one side of the silence to the other. In . . . à la fumée
(1990), she finally forced herself to ‘write’ a silence.4
Subsequently, it has become one of the possible means
at her disposal (Saariaho 2000a). For Saariaho, silence
signifies a disruption or a void in the temporal and spa-
tial dimension of the musical flow. It can also be heard
as sign of death (Poizat 1992: 84–7). In this sense, in
Lonh electronics provides a means to transcend symbolic
death. By avoiding silences, Saariaho’s musical textures
become more fluid, even ‘mucous’, because pauses are
powerful means for constructing internal hierarchies and
articulating boundaries. From a gendered perspective
this is important, since as Irigaray (1993: 110) argues,
‘No thinking about sexual difference that would not be
traditionally hierarchical is possible without thinking
through the mucous’. In Irigaray’s conception, the
‘mucous’ is inevitable in ‘thinking of or about the
female’, something that cancels the pre-existing, tradi-
tionally appropriated hierarchical divisions concerning
identity, place and time: ‘The mucous has no perman-
ence, even though it is the ‘‘tissue’’ for development of
duration’ (Irigaray 1993: 109–10). In Lonh the means
for constructing the (feminine) ‘mucous’ kind of texture
is electronic technology (the electronic part and reverb).5
2.1. The machinery
The detailed requirements for the electronic equipment
are printed in the score; they include Macintosh
computer(s), a MIDI interface, two digital reverberations
4
In a public pre-concert talk just before the first performance of . . . à
la fumee (Helsinki, 20 March 1991), Saariaho discussed the difficulty
she had experienced regarding silence within her own compositions.
There are some slices of silence in her subsequent pieces, for instance
dramatic ones in NoaNoa for flute and electronics (1992) and the
opera L’amour de loin (2000).
5
However, this is not always necessary. For instance, Saariaho’s Du
cristal . . . (1990), a continuous flow with hardly any solid hierarchies
(the ‘mucous’) is produced without electronics, using traditional
orchestral instruments.

(e.g. Lexicon PCM80 for general reverb and Lexicon
LXP15 for special long reverb), and a sustain pedal for
the singer. These are all commercially available,
although with the Lexicon LXP15, which generates the
infinitive reverb, there might nowadays be some prob-
lems. The CD-ROM with pre-sampled sound files can
be obtained from the publisher.
There are nine different electronic sound files in Lonh.
Both their order, and the chain of events within sections,
have been set by the composer. The transition from one
sound file to the next coincides with the stanza breaks
in Jaufré’s poem.6 The singer must begin a new stanza
and a new sound file by pressing a pedal.7 At her discre-
tion, there may be pauses between the stanzas, or the
electronic sound files of two successive sections may
even overlap. Although the electronic part is controlled
in real time, often by Kaija Saariaho herself, the singer
has very little temporal freedom. Once a sound file has
been initiated, she needs to proceed at the same tempo
with the electronic part, which mercilessly runs like a
tape.8 However, the strictures of the tempo imposed by
the electronic part are not apparent to the listener. Occa-
sionally, for instance in the second stanza, the voice
sounds as if improvising.
The electronic equipment functions as a medium con-
trolled by human will. During the performance, the amp-
lification is regulated by the sound technician and the
initiation of new sound files by the singer. The exact
content of the sound files has been priorly determined
by Saariaho, in the studio. The machinery has no power
to make decisions on its own before or during the per-
formance (see Emmerson 2000 for a discussion of the
problematic man–machine interface). This is one of the
few borders in Lonh that remains unchallenged.
2.2. Sonic environment and amplification
Saariaho (2000a) states that the electronic part has two
main purposes: on the one hand it functions as an
accompaniment to the singer (sound files), but on the
other hand it also amplifies her spoken and whispered
segments and produces a loud reverb. In the first case,
amplifying the singer’s speech and whisper, the voice
is brought forward into close focus with the help of a
microphone placed near her mouth. In the latter case,
6
There are only eight stanzas (or seven stanzas and a ‘Tornado’) in
Jaufré’s poem, but nine electronic sound files, because the first stanza
is at first recited and then sung, both of them having separate sound
files.
7
Similarly, in Saariaho’s NoaNoa the pedal is used to initiate the
sound files. But in NoaNoa there are sixty-three files to be switched
on, which requires a reliable foot technique from the flautist (Viljanen
2000). In Lonh the pedal needs to be applied at a much slower rate,
and at least in one performance the initiating of the files was taken
care of by the sound technician (16 March 2001, Turku, Pia Freund,
soprano, and Antti Murto, electrical sound).
8
I wish to thank the singer Anu Komsi for providing me a musician’s
point of view on Lonh (Komsi 2000). She has performed Lonh sev-
eral times, in Zürich, Ghent and Helsinki.
Desire and distance 73
that of reverb, the voice is sent away to reverberate in
different corners of the space through a microphone
standing some metres away from the singer. The ampli-
fied utterances are carefully notated in the score (see
markings ‘M’ and ‘long reverb’ in figures 2, 4, 6 and 7).
The two kinds of microphones and amplifications are
not active simultaneously except at the very end of the
piece (see figures 6 and 7), when all the pre-established
codes break down. Artificially altering an opera singer’s
voice is not a regular procedure within the art music
tradition (with the obvious exception of electronic
music), whereas in popular music, electronic amplifica-
tion is a standard procedure. Altering the voice of an art
music singer is particularly delicate, since it affects the
singer’s vocal identity, the ‘grain of her voice’ (Barthes
1977). John Potter (1998: 170–1) suggests that the styl-
istic implications from the use of a microphone impose
a threat to the classical voice authorities. Amplification
is also one way of maintaining the difference between
popular and opera singers, since one important quality
of the operatic voice is the ability to project loudly.
Since the advent of electroacoustic music, micro-
phones have been an integral part of music-making
within that tradition. Within a more broad tradition of
Western art music, however, microphones, amplification
and other electronic devices still represent a non-human
technology, not readily accepted by audiences or even
musicians. Even Anu Komsi (2000), at one point of the
interview, compared the relationship of sound file and
singer in Lonh to singing a duet with a robot. She con-
tinues: ‘The tape is dead for me. If there is a power cut,
I can continue singing, also with orchestra but not with
tape. I dislike the dependency on tape, that I need to be
the live member of the duo’.
2.3. ‘Noises’ and ‘pure sounds’
The electronic sound files contain bell sounds, birdsong,
whistles and singing voices, which according to Kaija
Saariaho’s personal classification are ‘pure sounds’, and
on the other hand, whispers, spoken text, hisses, rain
drops, wind and sea, which for Saariaho are ‘noisy
sounds’. Of course, this dichotomy was not invented by
Saariaho; the noise/pure sound axis has been around
since the very beginning of electronic music. Neverthe-
less, it has not lost its appeal for her. In her early article
she writes:
Initially I began to use the sound/noise axis to develop both
musical phrases and larger forms, and thus to create inner
tensions in the music. In an abstract and atonal sense the
sound/noise axis may be substituted for the notion of con-
sonance/dissonance. A rough, noisy texture would thus be
parallel to dissonance, whilst a smooth, clear texture would
correspond to consonance. (Saariaho 1987: 94)
Although this classification is Saariaho’s own, it can
readily be heard and understood by listeners, without
74 Anne Sivuoja-Gunaratnam
the confirmation offered by spectral analysis. It must be
emphasised that while in tonal music consonance stands
for stability, norm and balance, and dissonance indicates
deviation and imbalance requiring resolution into con-
sonance, no such power hierarchy exists in Saariaho’s
conceptions of noise/pure sound or rough/smooth tex-
ture. Noise is not a ‘special effect’; it has equally import-
ant status. As sounding phenomena, they articulate
extreme and equal polarities (Kankaanpää 1995: 226–7,
Sivuoja-Gunaratnam 1998: 538–9). This is contrary to
the aesthetics of traditional Western art music education,
where the pureness of sound production is tended with
care (Smalley 1997: 120; see also Riikonen 2002 for the
role of ‘noise’ in Saariaho’s flute music from the
player’s point of view). In the electronic part of Lonh,
layers of pure sounds and noisy sounds create a fluid
texture with a myriad of subtle differences but without
definitive centre(s). This is one musical articulation of
intermediatory space (the ‘mucous’) proclaimed by Iri-
garay.
It is important to acknowledge the semantic and cul-
tural nexus enhanced by different kinds of sounds,
whether they are ‘pure’ or ‘noisy’, and whether they ori-
ginate from the singer or from the electronic sound files.
The kinds of sounds Saariaho has chosen for Lonh
exclude many cultural topics; for instance there are no
urban, industrial sounds, nor vehicles (as for instance, in
her Stilleben; see Kankaanpää 1996). Most of the sounds
in the electronic files seem to originate from nature;
birds, wind, rain, water and echo, all of these being
sounds beyond the reach of human control. They are
also sounds which an audience can easily identify (with).
This potently increases their integration into the piece.
In addition, there are also sounds that suggest human
agency; bells, soft male and female voices, and whis-
pers. Although surrogates can be easily imagined for
these sounds, it is obvious that after recording they have
been electronically post-processed in a manner that does
not negate their concrete origin.9
The electronic part creates an atmosphere of pastoral
similar to Saariaho’s La dame à la licorne (1993). A
pastoral is a genre in literature (including drama and
poetry), visual arts and music, which depicts tranquillity,
the pleasures of love, and a delicate balance between
human and nature and among humans, all this in an
idyllic landscape (Alpers 1982, Gifford 1999). One fre-
quent theme in pastorals is the lament: singers pour their
hearts into music in order to commemorate the loss of
their beloved (Alpers 1997: 81–93). Pastorals also typic-
ally include motifs relating to music, not only music-
making by humans, but also the music of nature (Alpers
1982: 450–2). This kind of acoustic environment, prior
to industrialisation and electricity, represents for Barry
9
There are several composers, for instance François-Bernard Mâche
and Luc Ferrari, for whom sounds of nature occupy a seminal role
in their composition.
Truax (1992: 375) a balanced ecosystem which has been
lost. (During Jaufré’s times, it probably still existed.)
In music, too, pastoral is a well-known musical topic
(Grabócz 1986: 39–41).10 Paradise-like pastoral is
devoid of heroic manifestations, rumours of warfare,
vulgarity or violence (see Monelle 2000: 79–80, 191–2).
In Saariaho’s adaptation there is no decay, no ruptures,
not even a thunderstorm to shake the balance. In Truax’
terms, in Lonh there is no noise. By ‘noise’, Truax
understands a destabilising force: ‘noise is anything that
upsets the balance of the system or its constraining
forces’. Confronted with noise, a listener loses the desire
to listen, since it weakens the listener’s relationship with
the acoustic environment and the sense of self (Truax
1992: 378). For Attali (1996: 26–8), noise is a ‘weapon
of death’.
By choosing to hear pastoral in the sounds of Lonh, I
wish to distance myself from the tradition of ‘reduced
listening’ (Schaeffer 1966: 261–78, Chion 1995: 31–5),
where sounds are appreciated as sounds, as ‘objets son-
ores’ without an analytical concern as to what their sig-
nification (‘sens’) might be. I rather embrace the mode
of listening which allows us to explore in detail the sonic
differences, and at the same time pay attention to their
cultural nexus (see also Field 2000 for a critique of the
Schaefferian mode of analysis). For a semiotician, these
modes are not either/or; they are simultaneous (cf. also
Smalley 1992: 515–22).11 Therefore, the cultural nexus
imbedded in sounds and their combinations is a diagonal
that traverses the argumentation in this article.
3. PALIMPSESTS
The text for Lonh originates from Jaufré Rudel’s poem
‘Lanquan li jorn son lonc en mai’. Jaufré is recognised
as the author of both the music and the poem. The sub-
ject matter of the poem is distant love, love from afar.
There are three extant manuscripts of the song with
musical notation (see, for instance, Werf 1995: 137,
150–3). None of the manuscripts was written by Jaufré
himself, who belonged to an oral culture where the cre-
ation and transmission of music was carried out without
written aid (Werf 1995: 131–9). In an interview, Saari-
aho (2000b) recounts how she had the opportunity to
hold in her hand the manuscript preserved in Paris, at
the Bibliothèque National, and the impression made on
her by the feel of the manuscript, its weight and its age.
10
According to Grabócz (1986: 39), certain pastoral themes by Liszt
already anticipate impressionist writing, since instead of harmonic
tension and release, the focus lies in their sonority and colour ele-
ments.
11
Although Smalley acknowledges the existence of several overlapping
modes of listening, he seems to prefer a mode of interactive listening
which expands Schaeffer’s reduced listening by incorporating aes-
thetic attitudes and structural hearing. In his powerful theory on spec-
tromorphology (Smalley 1997), he refuses to relate to sounds from
an extrinsic perspective.

She studied copies of the manuscript in modern nota-
tion,12 and subsequently also learnt to read the medieval
notation. The frequent minor thirds and the use of modal
scales in the manuscript have also found their way into
her melodic writing (Saariaho 2000a).
Very little is known about the performance praxis of
Jaufré’s songs. They are all solo songs, probably per-
formed by their author as well as by other singers. Their
popularity is suggested by the existence of several differ-
ent notated versions. In two recent recordings of musical
interpretations of ‘Lanquan li jorn son lonc en mai’, one
is with an accompanying instrument (Martin Best,
Nimbus NI 5445) and the other one is without (Paul
Hillier, Harmonia Mundi 907203). However, Saariaho
(2000c) said that she had not listened to these or any
other recordings of the song, in order to create her music
without any explicit sonorous models. In both record-
ings, the performer is a man, as was Jaufré. But while
the protagonist in Lonh obviously is a woman, she also
embodies a masculine layer, traces of Jaufré, which
however towards the end of Lonh begins to fade.
The intertextual connection between Jaufré’s song and
Lonh is the most obvious at the beginning (cf. figures
1a & b): similar melodic formulae are used, even in the
same mode and the same registral space (d1–d2). At this
point Saariaho makes no deviations to the text; she uses
all Jaufré’s verses in the first stanza.13
The relationship of the two songs is that of a palimp-
sest: the original Jaufré manuscript is covered by
another, newer manuscript, but can nevertheless still be
deciphered (heard). This is a typical feature in pastoral.
Paul Alpers (1997: 81) writes: ‘The pastoral poet
depends on prior usages and texts, either accommodating
their grander modes to bucolic modesty, or imitating,
echoing, and adapting [. . .]’. In his book, Palimpsestes,
Gérard Genette (1982) studies the relationships between
literary texts in order to differentiate subtle differences
in a more common practice of intertextuality. According
to his terminology, Jaufré’s poem is a hypotext and Saar-
iaho’s Lonh a hypertext residing on top of the more
ancient text.14 Luce Irigaray’s book An Ethics of Sexual
Difference (1993) is based on a similar strategy. Her
hypotexts are, for instance, Plato’s Symposium,
Descartes’ The Passions of the Soul, and Merleau-
Ponty’s The Visible and the Invisible, which she
approaches from the perspective of love, but eventually
draws away from them. A central theme in her book is
loving, which retains a space between oneself and the
other. In this sense, both Irigaray’s and Saariaho’s tex-
tual strategies are ‘loving’, since in their relationship to
12
There are several editions in manuscript; for instance Jeanroy (1915),
Gennrich (1960) and Werf (1972) – all of them with musical nota-
tion.
13
The text version used by Saariaho is the same as in Pickens (1978:
164–9).
14
Jaufré’s poem has been printed in Saariaho’s score in three lan-
guages: the original Occitan, French and English.
Desire and distance 75
their others (the hypotexts), the distance and differences
are retained. Moreover, in both pieces the subject matter
is love.
In the beginning (particularly the first stanza; cf. fig-
ures 1(a) and (b)), the relationship of Lonh to Jaufré’s
song is one of trans-stylisation (Genette 1982: 315–21).
The stylistic rewriting is so mild – and without irony –
that it could also be considered as imitation (cf. ibid.:
96–106), which since Adorno has had a questionable
reputation in the aesthetic market of modern music.15
By choosing Jaufré’s song as a recognisable hypotext,
Saariaho writes against the tradition that requires artistic
originality and authenticity. Occasionally, Saariaho has
trans-stylised herself, for instance Nymphea (1987) >
Petals (1988) or Amers (1992) > Près (1992), but the
appropriation of another composer’s music is quite
exceptional for her. Having Jaufré’s piece looming
through Lonh challenges Saariaho as the sole author of
Lonh.16 It is of course Saariaho’s piece, but she has
chosen to leave manifest traces to her work from another
author, who lived 900 years ago (and who was a man).
Their cultural and temporal distance is enormous, but
not too distant to exclude the possibility of approach.
The audience is enabled to access the semantic con-
tent of the poem, since prior to the first sung stanza (in
Occitan) the singer recites its text either in English or
French (sound example 2; see also figure 2). The reciting
is surrounded by an electronically mediated soundscape
consisting of sounds of non-pitched percussion, such as
a distant echo, wind, birds and whispers, the semantic
content of which remain unclear. The directional micro-
phone placed very close to the singer’s mouth (marked
‘M’ in the score) amplifies the speaking voice. The
singer and the electronic part, although sounding simul-
taneously, retain their separateness except for a few
instances (cf. figure 2, b. 18–22). In a concert situation,
it will be obvious which sounds originate from the singer
or from the electronics; however, this distinction cannot
be made when listening to the audio CD, which is acous-
matic by nature. Nevertheless, the sound recording (for
instance ONDINE ODE 906–2) is also monitored in
such a way that the singer (Dawn Upshaw in this
recording) stands for presence, and the electronically
produced sounds belong somewhere else far away in
15
See particularly the chapter ‘Music about Music’ in his Philosophy of
Modern Music (Adorno 1987: 181–4). Obviously pastiches, different
kinds of rewritings and stylistic adaptations had existed before and
after Stravinsky’s Pulcinella, but in the spirit of Adorno their aes-
thetic value from the point of view of the avant-garde has been
belittled. During Saariaho’s musical education at the Sibelius Acad-
emy (in Finland), the aesthetic climate favoured modernism, and
post-serialism represented an acceptable if not favoured musical style
(Heiniö 1995: 377–477; cf. also Iitti 2001: 17–18). A return to the
musical past within a new piece was not acceptable. It is obvious
that postmodern philosophy and textual practices of intertextuality,
allusions and quotations have displaced this modernist discourse.
16
If Jaufré and his production came under copyright law, Saariaho
would presumably have had to pay royalties for this appropriation.
76 Anne Sivuoja-Gunaratnam

‘Electronic Rights for this image are not available,

please refer to the printed journal issue’

Figure 1. (a) The first sung stanza of Lonh, b. 42–59, trans-stylising Jaufré’s song. Sound example 1.  1996 Chester Music
Limited, London. (b) Several notations of Jaufré’s song (Werf 1972: 86–7).
 Desire and distance 77

‘Electronic Rights for this image are not available,

please refer to the printed journal issue’

Figure 2. Saariaho, Lonh, b. 1–21. Also included in sound example 2. The content of the electronic part is roughly indicated in
the score. The on-stage soprano recites the first stanza without rhythmic restrictions. From b. 18 on there is pre-recorded singing
in the electronic part. The soprano soloist later joins the same pitch, and for a moment their voices are inseparable.  1996
Chester Music Limited, London.

time and place, a heterotopic space (Greimas & Courtés
1979: 172).
As mentioned before, in the successive stanzas Lonh’s
relationship to Jaufré’s song grows more distant, as the
original text and music are gradually excised (on textual
amputations, see Genette 1982: 323–5). Unlike Jaufré,
Saariaho does not use the same melody for all seven
stanzas. For melodic writing, she applies a formulaic
technique similar to Jaufré’s, but already from the end
of the first stanza she begins to introduce her own formu-
las (one of which is the last vocal pattern in figure 1a),
which keep on returning in modified guises. Saariaho
uses all of Jaufré’s text from the first two stanzas, but
only a few lines each from the following stanzas, and
less and less from Jaufré’s poem is taken over into Lonh
as the piece progresses. The verses become fragmented –
even words are split – and the fragments are recombined.
As a result, the linearity and semantic meaning of the
verses dissolve. As the textual dimension disperses,
vocality takes over: the soprano soloist’s voice is pro-
jected with a loud reverb, her registral space reaches for
highs, and the musical phrases become irregular.
Although fragmentation, splitting and non-coherence
may generally be taken to carry negative semantic value,
here such an interpretation is not valid. The musical
expression in Lonh never becomes violent or agonising.
Despite erasing the traces of Jaufré, the pastoral created
by the electronic sound files prevails.
4. LOVING DISTANTLY
‘Amor de loing’ (distant love) is a phrase frequently
repeated in Jaufré’s poem; it occurs nine times. It is
structurally important, because the rhyming system is
partly based on it. There is no rhyming in Saariaho’s
Lonh, not even in the musical setting of the first stanza.
‘Amor de loing’ appears there seven times, in different
melodic settings, but disappears after the fourth stanza.
78 Anne Sivuoja-Gunaratnam
‘Amor de Lonh’ is not a casual expression; it is an
important theme in medieval love songs or cansos (see
Lazar 1964 and 1995; cf. Ghil 1995: 457–61), which is
a subclass of the larger, more vague code of Courtly
Love (or rather, ‘fin’amor’; on defining the genres, see
Lazar 1995: 64–97). A central theme in ‘Amor de Lonh’
is that for the one in love the object of love is unattain-
able. In this sense, ‘Amor de Lonh’ is an ideal realisation
of an Irigarayan desire devoid of possession and
achievement. True ‘Amor de Lonh’ is mystical and reli-
gious, and in one version, its ultimate object is the
Blessed Virgin Mary. But Moshe Lazar (1995: 73)
points out that in Jaufré’s cansos, ‘the ‘‘distant lady’’ is
more a metaphoric embodiment of ‘‘unfulfilled love’’
than the incarnation of a ‘‘heavenly Mary’’ ’. In this par-
ticular Jaufré song, ‘Lanquan li jorn son lonc en mai’,
the poet loves someone who is far away and with whom
he cannot enjoy physical pleasure.17 From Jaufré’s liter-
ary ‘Vida’ or ‘Life’ (Pickens 1978: 53–9), we learn that
Jaufré was in love with a noble lady in Tripoli whom he
eventually journeyed to meet. Most probably, however,
the ‘Vida’ does not tell about the real Jaufré, but is a
fictive story (Pickens 1978: 1–5, Rosenstein 1988).18 In
Lonh, the identity of the loved one remains a secret; it
could be a man, another woman, or the feeling of being
in love.
Saariaho (2000a, b) discloses that there are two male
voices used in Lonh. Both of them recite Jaufré’s poem,
Jacques Roubaud in Occitan and a second man in
French. But is he (or they) the distantly loved one(s)?
Saariaho (2000a) denies this: she had no such poetic
interpretation, not at least on a conscious level. Never-
theless, I cannot resist exploring this possibility, since in
their few virtual encounters the soprano soloist and the
male voice are immersed in amorous discourse. The sop-
rano and the male voices meet for the first time in the
first recited stanza, where they are engaged in an intim-
ate discourse on love, whispering or softly speaking
Jaufré’s poem. This takes place in the electronic part,
played simultaneously with the soprano soloist, who
recites the first stanza of the poem. The perception of
this tender exchange is conditioned by the mixer oper-
ator’s choices and the performance room acoustics
(sound example 2; the whispers are most audible just
after the reciting and during its last words). The space
between the lovers is the closest possible; only a whisper
is enough to mediate the amorous caresses.
In their next encounter (second stanza, see figure 3),
their distance has grown. ‘She’ is represented by the sop-
rano soloist on stage, while ‘he’ remains in the electronic
17
Some authors (most notably Lazar 1964: 93–5) have suggested that
there is a carnal current in ‘Amor de Lonh’.
18
Jaufré’s ‘Vida’ serves as the main storyline in Saariaho’s opera,
L’amour de loin (Salzburg, 2000), where the three characters are
Jaufré, the poet, troubadour and Prince of Blaya (baritone), Clém-
ence, the countess of Tripoli (soprano), and the Pilgrim
(mezzo-soprano), who functions as a messenger between the lovers.
part. In their short dialogue, her sung and his spoken
(whispered) verse fragments complement each other in
such a way that they form the full text for Jaufré’s
second stanza. Their meeting is accompanied by sounds
of forest, birds and soft metallic percussion. The set-up
seems to be perfect for a lover’s exchange in the hetero-
sexual matrix of desire. Also the text deals with love
and bliss (jouissance):
Never will I enjoy her love / If I do not enjoy this distant
love
For a nobler or better one I do not know / Anywhere, nei-
ther near or far
...
In fact, it remains unclear if there are two males encoun-
tered, one speaking and the other one whispering, or
whether they are the same. From a textual point of view
the voices, or rather what they articulate, intertwine and
together produce the ‘Amor de Loing’, both literally, and
symbolically (Figure 3, b. 116–19, and sound example
3).19
But their distant love is at the same time ambiguous,
because it is preceded by the word ‘jamais’ spoken in
French, resulting in the phrase ‘jamais d’amour de
loing’. Such a phrase cannot be found in Jaufré’s text at
all; the words yes, but not in this combination. (Also the
word ‘jamais’ is written in the French way as a single
word; in Occitan it should be two words.) By recombin-
ing the words, Saariaho introduces a meaning not in the
original. But what does this phrase mean? The words do
not carry any unequivocal meaning: ‘never distant love’,
‘never distant’ and even ‘never love’ are all possible
interpretations. Similarly, the electronic environment,
with birds, bells and metallic sounds does not favour any
of these alternative readings.
Although from a textual point of view the voices are
close, their vocal qualities remain separate, as she mostly
sings and he (they) only speak(s)/whisper(s). She can
touch his (their) voice(s) only by adopting a low
speaking register or whisper, for which she has to aban-
don her vocal brilliance (figure 4). This means at the
same time a transition from ‘pure sound’, represented by
bel canto singing, to ‘noisy sound’ (as defined by
Saariaho). ‘Noisy qualities’ are produced by speech,
whispers, inhaling sounds or hisses. A voice is easily
capable of uttering ‘noisy’ and ‘pure qualities’, but in
Lonh this option is curiously granted only to the female
voice, for the male voices whisper and speak, but never
sing.20 The female and male voices, even in love, retain
their differences and distance by occupying separate
vocal spaces.
19
In Act II of Saariaho’s L’amour de loin, Lonh is sung not by Jaufré
but by the Pilgrim (three stanzas), and by Clémence (fourth stanza).
See Iitti (2002: 10).
20
In Hildegard von Bingen’s Ordo virtutum the only male role is a
speaking one: he represents the devil, who had lost his voice for his
malice!

‘Electronic Rights for this image are not available,
please refer to the printed journal issue’
Figure 3. Saariaho, Lonh, b. 114–19; a virtual love duet. Also in sound example 3.
‘Electronic Rights for this image are not available,
please refer to the printed journal issue’
Figure 4. Saariaho, Lonh, b. 174–8; a vocal touch. Also in sound example 4.  1996 Chester Music Limited, London.
Special notation is used by Saariaho to regulate the
amount of air in the voice and the change of mode from
singing to speaking and whispering. The first tone in
figure 4 is sung with vibrato. In the next utterance, the
speaking gradually changes to a whisper (the arrow from
a black dot to an open circle indicates the shift in
expression). Due to amplification (marked with ‘M’),
even minute alterations can be perceived.21 This allows
the auditory perception of saliva and the singer’s articu-
latory muscles, the tongue, palate, throat, the grain of
her voice (Barthes 1977), or to be more precise, what
Barthes calls ‘writing aloud’:
what it searches for – are the pulsional incidents, the lan-
guage lined with flesh, a text where we can hear the grain
of the throat, the patina of consonants, the voluptuousness
of vowels, a whole carnal stereophony: the articulation of
the body, of the tongue, not that of meaning, of language.
(Barthes 1975: 66–7)
Due to ‘writing aloud’, the singer with the near-focusing
microphone is much more personally present; it is not
only her trained singing voice we hear, but also her more
intimate side.
5. TOWARDS JOUISSANCE
In the last stanza and the concluding Tornado section,
the distance to Jaufré grows to the point of rupture. Sim-
ilarly, the borderlines between the soprano soloist and
the electronic part, between music and language become
21
Similarly, in her flute writing, Saariaho notates in detail the amount
of air to be heard and the quality of vibrato. The flautist often needs
to speak or whisper while playing. The flautist Camilla Hoitenga is
a true virtuoso in these techniques (Viljanen 2000, Riikonen 2002).
Desire and distance 79
virtually erased, and even the vocal presence of the sop-
rano soloist is questionable. As the song approaches its
end, it reaches for jouissance. In jouissance, signifying
codes come to a crisis and the subject is, at least for
a moment, led beyond language. Jouissance (bliss) is
trans-sensual experience, and therefore language can
capture it only dimly, if at all (Barthes 1975: 21; see
also Poizat 1992 for elaboration of jouissance in opera
research). Jouissance is not be mixed with ‘pleasure’,
which as a textual practice obeys cultural codes, such as
literary or stylistic conventions. Jouissance orients
towards the unknown, bypassing established modes of
signification, often seasoned by erotic desire (Barthes
1975: 14, 39–40). Roland Barthes (1975: 51) posits that
jouissance is far more radical than pleasure: ‘Pleasure
in pieces, language in pieces, culture in pieces’. Hence,
jouissance is characterised by disruption and loss. These
kinds of disruptive processes are at work in Lonh on
different levels, most obviously in the last stanza.
Whereas in the first stanza Saariaho uses all of
Jaufré’s text, in the end she is satisfied with a single line:
‘For no joy gives me pleasure’. The original text is fur-
ther distorted by repetition: ‘nuills autre jois’, ‘no-m
plai’ and ‘tant’ appear several times. The vocal part is
split into four figures in terms of text, vocal register and
gesture (see figure 5, v, x, y, z).
The vocal part in the last stanza is combined from
these figures. It is based on an aiolic mode (centred on
/a/), without its fourth degree, /d/. However, /d/ – or
rather its shadow – is present, as the pitch level for the
spoken parts (see figures 5 and 6). After the first phrase,
the vocal gestures, text fragments and melodic cells
begin to move around; they are fragmented and re-
grouped. The fragmentation process is attuned by the
80 Anne Sivuoja-Gunaratnam

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Figure 5. Saariaho, Lonh, b. 360–71. The last verse before fragmentation: (v) a three-note upward oriented figure, usually bound
with the text ‘nuills autre’ (‘nothing else’); (x) long and high notes, bound with the words ‘jois’ or ‘tant’ (‘joy’ or ‘like’); (y) a
registral gap between figures with a rapid change of vocal mode from full voice to speaking/whisper; (z) low speaking voice or
whisper (on pitch level /d/ usually bound with the text ‘no-m plai’ (‘doesn’t please’). Notice also the singer’s vocal timbre
expressing the opposite of pleasure (sound example 5).  1996 Chester Music Limited, London.

electronic part, which creates continuity with its con-
stantly moving bell sounds. The electronic part also
functions as a medium separating the figures from each
other (figure 6, b. 392–3 and 402).
Eventually, what is left by the end of the seventh
stanza is a huge registral gap (y) in the soprano part
between the highest peak of the whole piece, with elec-
tronic amplification for the long reverb, and the lowest
spoken and eventually whispered utterances on pitch
level /d/ (figure 6, b. 399–407). The vocal and articulat-
ory distance is created within the voice, which moves
from ‘pure sound’ to whisper with much air, and finally
to ‘normal’ whisper (= ‘noisy sounds’). With the help of
electronics, a vocal paradox becomes possible: the voice
is at the same time producing ‘pure’ and ‘noisy’ sounds,
because the electronic long reverb still carries on when
the voice begins whispering (figure 6, b. 403–7). For the
first time in Lonh, the two kinds of electronic amplifica-
tion occur simultaneously: that of sending the voice far
away with a long reverb, and of near-focusing the
spoken/whispered voice (marked with ‘M’).
The gradual annihilation of text and language, and the
gain in vocal brilliance, are here simultaneous processes
(cf. Poizat 1992: 40–5). The higher pitches shine particu-
larly fully, because of the electronic amplification. The
‘natural’ voice of the soprano and the electronically pro-
duced reverb tend to blend in such a way that the origin
of the sound cannot be identified, which from the audi-
ence’s perspective leads to a dissolution of the vocal
identity of the singer.
Towards the end of Lonh, the registral gap (including
a rapid articulatory change from voice to whisper)
reappears and remains forever unresolved (figure 7, b.
448–54). The word spun over the gap is ‘amatz’, mean-
ing ‘loved’. The soprano never sings a complete ‘amatz’.
She makes several attempts, with promising long
a-vowels, but never succeeds in singing the whole word.
The singing voice and language become torn apart. She
only manages to speak it once (figure 7, b. 436–7).
‘Amatz’ is also uttered by the unknown male voice in
the electronic part, at the same time as the soprano is
singing her high /a/s (figure 7, b. 438–45). While she
steps out of strictures of language and text, he retains
his text boundness. The female and male voices do not
form a unified whole, but instead create a distance, a
gap: he clearly pronouncing in low echoless voice
‘amatz’ somewhere far away, invisible to us; but she is
present, singing high /a/s, not recognisable words, with
a strong reverb, perhaps trying to reach the other some-
where far away. The desire and distance remain: love
 Desire and distance 81

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Figure 6. Saariaho, Lonh, b. 390–407. The singer’s voice is temporally dislocated, due to the long reverb. As a result, the
high-pitch voice (from b. 395–401) continues to sound, even though the singer has proceeded to amplified airy whispers, indicated
by a double circle on top of the stave (b. 403–7). Cf. also sound example 6.  1996 Chester Music Limited, London.

from afar, which forms a contrast to their first intimate
encounter (figure 2). But as love from afar, it remains a
source of jouissance, even without the immediate pres-
ence of its object.
Saariaho’s song narrates love in reverse order from
traditional love stories: in her narrative, the intimate
encounter is not the endpoint and motivation. It has
already taken place, almost imperceptibly, at the very
beginning of the song (the end of sound example 2). In
the course of the song, the lovers move further and fur-
ther away from each other (not towards each other,
which would be the traditional narrative strategy).22 Due
to their distance, she is able to explore various vocal
identities, and change her position vis-à-vis language
and sound spaces. The ending of Lonh is like the begin-
ning of love in the Irigarayan sense: ‘This caress would
begin at a distance – the lovers would beckon on to each
other, at first from far away’ (Irigaray 1993: 207).
22
This is not a unique instance for Saariaho to reverse a narrative con-
vention. In Verblendungen (1984) for orchestra and tape, she places
the climax at the very beginning of the piece. See Saariaho (1987:
106–9).
82 Anne Sivuoja-Gunaratnam
‘Electronic Rights for this image are not available,
please refer to the printed journal issue’
Figure 7. The end of Lonh, b. 432–54, loss of Jaufré’s text, language, enunciatory subjectivity in pastoral setting. Cf. sound
example 7.  1996 Chester Music Limited, London.
In the very final bars (figure 7, b. 448–54), the split-
ting of text, music, language, presence, absence, near,
far and the origin of voice are pushed to the extreme.
The soprano’s high /a/ is picked up by electronic reverb,
which continues the voice after the singer in fact has
closed her mouth. At this point the visual cue (mouth
closed) and aural perception (strong vocal sound) contra-
dict each other. But is this vocal sound truly ‘live’, or
only reclaiming it? (For the problematising of ‘live’, see
Emmerson 1994.) There is no answer to this question.
That such a question can be raised challenges the vocal
presence of the singer. She utters her final ‘matz’ during
this reverb. This is the second place in Lonh where the
two types of electronic amplification are simultaneous,
that of bringing close the spoken part and sending the
singing voice far away with the Lexicon reverb (cf. also
figure 6). With the fragmented ‘amatz’, the two main
polarities of sound quality are simultaneously present,
that of ‘noisy sound’ represented by the uttered ‘matz’
and that of ‘pure sound’ with the sung vowel ‘a’ ampli-
fied by long reverb. And there is no way that the gap
could be overcome. Producing verbal language by the
singing voice is no longer possible, since ‘a’ without
the whispered ‘matz’ would be a vocal sound beyond

language. Curiously, this last enigmatic ‘a’ is sung at
the pitch-level /a/.23 In the last bars, even the uttering
subjectivity becomes split between the live singer and
electronics, when the ultimate peak of jouissance is
reached and all the pre-existing codes and borderlines
are lost.
6. CONCLUSIONS
Kaija Saariaho has crossed many thresholds on her way
to becoming one of the most famous contemporary com-
posers. As many commentators have pointed out, one of
these thresholds is gender (cf. Moisala 2000, Iitti 2001:
17). In her music, she frequently voices women; most
of her songs, for instance, are written for female voice,
particularly soprano, and her songs deal with women’s
experiences. Lonh forms no exception to this pattern.
In this context Château de l’âme (1995) should also be
mentioned, which describes many kinds of loves, one of
them being love for a child, a rare topic in the Western
art music tradition. One important thread in her orches-
tral piece Du cristal . . . (1990) is formed by rhythmic
patterns imitating the superimposed pulses of a pregnant
women and her yet-unborn baby. While composing this
piece, Saariaho was in fact expecting her first child, to
whom the piece is dedicated (Saariaho 2000a).
Woman-centredness does not mean the annihilation or
rejection of traditions that have been advanced by males.
She has found interesting texts for her music not only
from women writers, for instance Sylvia Plath, but also
from male writers (for instance Jaufré, Paul Klee, Franz
Kafka, Vassily Kandinsky, and William Shakespeare).
This often results in a change of gender for the central
character: in Saariaho’s art, a male poet’s protagonist
becomes a woman, or is voiced by a woman. As in Lonh,
where the male protagonist of Jaufré’s poem becomes
she, Saariaho appropriates his story as hers.
Not only in Lonh, but also elsewhere in her musical
output, Saariaho employs a stylistic device of multiple
dichotomies, for instance ‘noise’ vs ‘pure sound’, ‘near’
vs ‘faraway’, ‘presence’ vs ‘absence’, ‘voiced’ vs ‘whis-
pered’, ‘human’ vs ‘electronic’, etc. Sexual difference
(‘female’ vs ‘male’), with its cultural implications, is one
of these, but not the fundamental one. The dichotomies
never form a solid and permanent grid, but are in con-
stant motion, forming new temporary constellations.
This results in a rich multi-layered texture, saturated
with transitions progressing in different tempos at vari-
ous structural levels. Saariaho’s transitivity is without a
logos, solid identity or centre. It enhances changing sub-
ject positions in the experiencing of her music. Lonh
23
Susanna Välimäki has suggested to me that this ‘a’ on /a/ could also
stand for the Lacanian ‘objet petit a’, which is something that can
never be reached. I find this remark titillating, since this last sung
pitch stands for the unachievable, loss, jouissance.
Desire and distance 83
depicts love that allows various kinds of encounters and
spaces between the lovers; loving is not singular, it is
plural and fragmented. Lonh also celebrates the cultural
power of a woman artist to voice love, woman and the
feminine.
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Copyright Permission
Figures 1–7 (except for Figure 1(b)) are reproduced with
copyright permission from Chester Music. All the
musical examples (except for figure 1b) are by the com-
poser Kaija Saariaho. The text she has used for the com-
position is by Jaufré Rudel, but is so modified that it can
be considered to be adapted from the poetry by Jauffré
Rudel.
P. Seymour (eds.) Companion to Contemporary Musical
Thought, Vol. 1, pp. 514–44. London: Routledge.
Smalley, D. 1997. Spectromorphology: explaining sound-
shapes. Organised Sound 2(2): 107–26.
Truax, B. 1992. Electroacoustic music and the soundscape: the
inner and outer world. In J. Paytner, T. Howell, R. Orton
and P. Seymour (eds.) Companion to Contemporary
Musical Thought, Vol. 1, pp. 374–98. London: Routledge.
Viljanen, T. 2000. Kyborgisubjektisuus Kaija Saariahon teok-
sessa NoaNoa (1992) huilulle ja elektroniikalle. Musiikki
3–4: 186–96.
Werf, H. van der. 1972. The Chansons of the Troubadours and
Trouvères. Utrecht: A. Oosthoek.
Werf, H. van der. 1995. Music. In F. R. P. Akehurst and J. M.
Davies (eds.) A Handbook of the Troubadours, pp. 121–64.
Berkeley & Los Angeles: University of California Press.
INTERVIEWS
Komsi, A., 2000. Interview with the author, 27 March 2000.
Teacher’s reading room, University of Helsinki.
Saariaho, K., 2000a. Interview with the author, 10 March
2000. YLE (Finnish Broadcasting Company), Helsinki. A
major part of the interview was broadcast by YLE, 18
March 2000.
Saariaho, K., 2000b. Public interview with the author, 7 March
2000. Main Hall, University of Helsinki.
Saariaho, K., 2000c. E-mail message to the author, 6 June
2000.
RECORDINGS
Rudel, Jaufré. Lancan li jorn son lanc en mai. CD recording
by Martin Best. In The Forgotten Provence. NIMBUS, NI
5445.
Rudel, Jaufré. Lanquan li jorn son lanc en mai. CD recording
by Paul Hillier. In Distant Love. Harmonia Mundi USA,
907203.
Saariaho, Kaija. Lonh. Score and Rehearsal CD. London:
Chester Music, 1996.
Saariaho, Kaija. Lonh. CD recording by Dawn Upshaw
(soprano). In Private Gardens, Helsinki: Online Records,
ODE 906–2, 1997.
 1996 Chester Music Limited, London. All rights
reserved. International copyright secured. Reprinted by
permission.
Sound tracks on the Organised Sound CD compilation
are reproduced with permission of Ordine Records.
The images of the music examples are available for
online reproduction, as no rights have been secured.