Clinamen / Nodus; Construction in Space
By LSO / Klangforum Wien / Pierre Boulez / Emilio Pomàrico
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Track listing
Show track credits
- 1 Clinamen / Nodus 14:09
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orchestra
-
conductor
-
- 2 Construction in Space 46:39
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ensemble
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conductor
-
soloist, bass flute
-
soloist, bass clarinet, contrabass clarinet
-
soloist, saxophone
-
soloist, tuba
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live electronics
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bassoon
-
cello
-
cello
-
clarinet
-
clarinet
-
double bass
-
electric guitar
-
flute
-
French horn
-
oboe
-
percussion
-
percussion
-
piano
-
trombone
-
trombone
-
trumpet
-
trumpet
-
viola
-
violin
-
violin
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- Total length: 60:48
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Review
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1 Review
“The Neuwirth Paradox, or the relationship between Mars, steam-punk and neue musik.”
The first version of the track titled “Construction in Space” was the soundtrack for a film produced by Michael Kreihsl, and was called “The Long Rain”, based on a RayBradbury story. The same Bradbury whose ‘Martian Chronicles’, spawned loads of componentry for that which came to be seen as the steam-punk imagery, where the equipment and gadgetry to cope with science fiction scenarios looked intricate and fancy almost to the point of holding our attention more than the stories themselves. But there are the stories, and they are good, deserving to be turned into films with soundtracks, as well as filmless soundtracks for steampunk-ism as a style. That is the point where Olga steps in, to leave a perennial footprint, though we will take a little detour to get to Olga’s aural imprints.
I think Ray Bradbury can be appointed as a father-figure for steampunk. His stories work as a kind of plugging-in into contemporary sci-fi narratives, for the works of H. G. Wells and Jules Verne, the acknowledged original inspirations for the sub-genre. However, Bradbury’s fiction itself, scarcely displays ‘steampunk cells’. This means that it would be difficult to launch an archaeology of steampunk as a style having Bradbury’s production as a self-referenced point of departure, confined in its own features.
Saving proportions, the trend occurs along lines proposed by Karl Marx (in ‘Grundisse’) when attempting to get an analytical grip on ‘evolution of societies’ by comparison with…anatomy:
“Human anatomy contains a key to the anatomy of the ape. The intimations of higher development among the subordinate animal species, however, can be understood only after the higher development is already known.”
It is fascinating to take a peep at how Olga carried out a true pillage of elements found in, .e.g, Franz Schubert, Gustav Mahler, Béla Bartók and Erik Satie in order to assimilate them into her music. Crucial to notice that, as the assimilating move is accomplished, the anatomy of Neuwirth music bears (one of) the key(s) to the anatomy of relevant tonal music epistemes. Once we get to know Neuwirth stream of atonalism we can deem ourselves ready to understand the intimations of atonal developments among tonal species it praised, grasped, ravaged and revitalised into a new species. In the case at stake, what matters is how atonal rationalities practised by Neuwirth recast tonal gadgetry, to the same extent steampunk recast Wells and Verne. Ray Bradbury as their plug-in into current sci-fi narratives is equivalent, in Neuwirth sick universe, to her take on Anton Webern as a plug-in connection to Schubert, Mahler, Bartók and Satie.
Where dwells the paradox in Olga’s aesthetics? It is not in the fact that her music sounds so lush, sensual and beautiful despite being target with massive discharges of thoroughly calculated cerebral cramps. By the way, it is high time for the definitive overcoming of the uga-uga bandolo binary and its manifestations, opposing ‘the cerebral’ to ‘the visceral’: the heyday of totemic thought waned away even if unnoticed to some.
The paradox lies in Neuwirth’s music demanding ‘surfacical’ fruition as opposed to deep. The trope premise, propelled by the immense complexity of her music, implies that one ought to dig through several layers of understanding in the best of pop-hermeneutic ‘tradition’. However, one couldn’t incur in biggest mistake when it comes down to Neuwirth’s aesthetics. Beware of the paradox. The abyssal depth of Olga Neuwirth’s music-making is an art that supposes another art: that of systematically keeping oneself on the surface, as her magic is skin-deep. We’ve got to get superficial in order to allow ourselves to be engulfed by Olga’s art and, at our will, while enjoying it, cast insight back on her aesthetics without ever surrendering to the common sense assumption that ‘going deep’ makes one wiser.
The first version of the track titled “Construction in Space” was the soundtrack for a film produced by Michael Kreihsl, and was called “The Long Rain”, based on a RayBradbury story. The same Bradbury whose ‘Martian Chronicles’, spawned loads of componentry for that which came to be seen as the steam-punk imagery, where the equipment and gadgetry to cope with science fiction scenarios looked intricate and fancy almost to the point of holding our attention more than the stories themselves. But there are the stories, and they are good, deserving to be turned into films with soundtracks, as well as filmless soundtracks for steampunk-ism as a style. That is the point where Olga steps in, to leave a perennial footprint, though we will take a little detour to get to Olga’s aural imprints.
I think Ray Bradbury can be appointed as a father-figure for steampunk. His stories work as a kind of plugging-in into contemporary sci-fi narratives, for the works of H. G. Wells and Jules Verne, the acknowledged original inspirations for the sub-genre. However, Bradbury’s fiction itself, scarcely displays ‘steampunk cells’. This means that it would be difficult to launch an archaeology of steampunk as a style having Bradbury’s production as a self-referenced point of departure, confined in its own features.
Saving proportions, the trend occurs along lines proposed by Karl Marx (in ‘Grundisse’) when attempting to get an analytical grip on ‘evolution of societies’ by comparison with…anatomy:
“Human anatomy contains a key to the anatomy of the ape. The intimations of higher development among the subordinate animal species, however, can be understood only after the higher development is already known.”
It is fascinating to take a peep at how Olga carried out a true pillage of elements found in, .e.g, Franz Schubert, Gustav Mahler, Béla Bartók and Erik Satie in order to assimilate them into her music. Crucial to notice that, as the assimilating move is accomplished, the anatomy of Neuwirth music bears (one of) the key(s) to the anatomy of relevant tonal music epistemes. Once we get to know Neuwirth stream of atonalism we can deem ourselves ready to understand the intimations of atonal developments among tonal species it praised, grasped, ravaged and revitalised into a new species. In the case at stake, what matters is how atonal rationalities practised by Neuwirth recast tonal gadgetry, to the same extent steampunk recast Wells and Verne. Ray Bradbury as their plug-in into current sci-fi narratives is equivalent, in Neuwirth sick universe, to her take on Anton Webern as a plug-in connection to Schubert, Mahler, Bartók and Satie.
Where dwells the paradox in Olga’s aesthetics? It is not in the fact that her music sounds so lush, sensual and beautiful despite being target with massive discharges of thoroughly calculated cerebral cramps. By the way, it is high time for the definitive overcoming of the uga-uga bandolo binary and its manifestations, opposing ‘the cerebral’ to ‘the visceral’: the heyday of totemic thought waned away even if unnoticed to some.
The paradox lies in Neuwirth’s music demanding ‘surfacical’ fruition as opposed to deep. The trope premise, propelled by the immense complexity of her music, implies that one ought to dig through several layers of understanding in the best of pop-hermeneutic ‘tradition’. However, one couldn’t incur in biggest mistake when it comes down to Neuwirth’s aesthetics. Beware of the paradox. The abyssal depth of Olga Neuwirth’s music-making is an art that supposes another art: that of systematically keeping oneself on the surface, as her magic is skin-deep. We’ve got to get superficial in order to allow ourselves to be engulfed by Olga’s art and, at our will, while enjoying it, cast insight back on her aesthetics without ever surrendering to the common sense assumption that ‘going deep’ makes one wiser.
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