On April 25, FearNoMusic presented the fourth concert of its Locally Sourced Sounds series, a season-long showcase of the works of composers living and/or working in Oregon. Titled Grounded: an electroacoustic evening, it took place at the Eliot Chapel at Reed College. (See Charles Rose’s excellent explanation of electroacoustic music here, as well as bios of the composers.)

The first work, Beyond Mountains, by William Campbell, was for piano and electronics. The title is based on a Haitian proverb that loosely translates to “beyond mountains, there are mountains,” a proverb whose meaning is open to interpretation. Pianist Monica Ohuchi was the pianist, and sound engineers Ryan Francis and Nicholas Emerson, who also curated the program, managed the acousmatic (electronic) elements, as they did for the entire concert.

A ceaseless, repetitive syllable, sounding like a processed human voice, formed the backbone of the work at about the eighth-note level on an allegretto; it varied in pitch and volume but never rhythmically, a rapid untiring wanderer in the mountains. The piano started out with both hands in the mid-high register, Ohuchi hammering forte chords with the left hand while the right played a somber, rapidly varying pattern. At one point the pianist stood up and plucked the strings with her fingers; at another point she employed a mute stick, which imparted to the piano a similar effect that a buff stop has for a harpsichord: muted with a rapid attack and decay, as though the listener had cotton in their ears. 

These mountains referred to in the title struck me as futuristic and digitally rendered. The work at one point took the form of a reverie, Ohuchi’s heavy pedaling lending a lushness to the timbre. It felt da capo in form, with the opening themes repeated with added intensity as the work went on. As it drew to a close the overall effect was like raindrops tinkling, or horses running through snow.

Next was the world premiere of Ravi Kittappa’s pouze Vše/pouze/ Vše pouze, the Czech title inspired by time the composer spent in Prague. It was written during the isolation of the pandemic, and according to the composer:

“in isolation, the work coalesced around the dichotomies of unity/totality, all/one, tutti/solo, etc. Google translate from Czech to English, with its robotic-although humanly created- inaccuracies told me:

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• pouze – only
• vše – all
• všepouze – omnipotent
• pouze vše – used
• všepouzevše – omnipresent”

Emily Cole was the violinist, and began with an extremely dry, scarcely pitched saltando theme, with a mic attached to the violin, which appeared to be taking the violin sounds and running them through synthesis to provide distortions, warped echoes of the playing. Scraping the strings with the side of the bow, the frenetic sawing gave rise to a phantasmic refrain from the electronics. There were many wailing glissandi, and yet a quietly joyous andante ballade worked its way into the texture near the end. The emotions ranged from disquiet to curiosity to wonder.

Kirsten Volness’s River Rising was next, also for violin and electronics. According to Volness, it is “an elegy to those who have lost friends, family, livelihoods, and communities—sometimes an entire existence that can never be recovered—to unexpected tragedy.” Keiko Araki was the violinist this time. It opened with a pure, high harmonic, as glassy, ephemeral electronics sighed underneath. Araki at times played col legno, bouncing off the strings in a woody staccato. There were eerie, low squeakings, like an ancient door opening for the first time in an age. It formed into a deepening cloud like brown noise, intense and daunting. An assortment of sounds ensued: finger-tapping and frenetic bowing, such that it became at times impossible for me to tell where the electro ended and the acoustic began, and that was marvelous.

Anwyn Willette’s Mortality: Death, Like an Overflowing Spring was, in the composer’s words, “an immersive experience that invites listeners to reflect on the last few moments of life.” As Willette explained afterward, the acousmatics came about from looking around her room at various instruments and thinking “that looks kinda cool.” Mandolin and banjo were at times discernible, so much of this sound was not as thoroughly ‘treated’ as some of the other acousmatics were. Also scored for violin and electronics, the opening was awesome—it reminded me of a sludgy bass line from a doom metal song–loud, ominous and in your face, but very brief—like a harbinger of death–but maybe not the Grim Reaper himself.

There were disjunct phrases of fat notes, like a threnodic klezmer dance, and moments that felt vaguely Celtic. As a chorus sang a hymn, it was fascinating the way all these disparate elements wove in and out so briefly—I almost wondered at times if they were really there, because they were gone almost as soon as they arrived—no doubt a reflection of Willette’s intention to impart a sense of the ‘life flashing before your eyes’ that supposedly comes right before death.

The final work of the night was Caroline L. Miller’s Phobiaphages, or ‘fear-eaters,’ a title which resonates with me: staring fear in the face and devouring it before it devours you is sometimes the only way forward. This “work for dueling violins that embodies a power struggle between two personalities” opened with a series of glissandi from both instruments, followed by some of the most straightforward acoustic playing of the evening. There was a series of dissonant chords, then ululating electronics set in. The ululations felt to me like distorted echoes of the trills on the violins, a sort of live feedback mixing into the texture, but I couldn’t be sure whether they were fixed and the players’ timing was just that impeccable.

There was a lot of plain old fun sound-making: music, noise, where is the line? How does one tell where (if in fact there is a hard divide) when it is crossed and re-crossed so rapidly and often? There was a startling, simultaneous explosion of fortissimo strings and electronics, as well as bits of more traditional violin virtuosity that were sprinkled throughout the work.

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Attendant mindscapes

The panel discussion afterward, moderated by Kenji Bunch, yielded some interesting insights. Kittappa noted that his compositional process consisted of figuring out the electronic portion first, then fitting the instrument to that, a process which seemed to be a commonality amongst the composers–except for Campbell, who stated that he composed the acoustic and electronic portions side by side as he went along.

Volness stated that her acousmatics were like a tsunami, and the violin was at times intended to be overwhelmed by the electronic sounds, and the reverb is “automated to change” according to what the player is doing. Campbell spoke to the programmatic nature of many of his compositions, an element which struck me profoundly when listening to his work.

Unfortunately other responsibilities kept me from attending the accompanying concert/lecture ‘Demystifying New Music’ on the 27^th, but I’m sure it yielded many fascinating insights. Once again, FearNoMusic lived up to its name, providing soundscapes and attendant mindscapes that one is unlikely to find anywhere, except where folks are undaunted and eager in the face of new sounds and ideas.