Words by David C. Obenour
Music connects so deeply to the human condition. Yet for the variety of emotional complexities we navigate on any given day, we often limit our engagement with music to those emotions we experience strongly and with certainty. Sadness. Love. Joy. Excitement. Anger. We feel these things and we want to sit with them as part of that experience. But they are only part of our existence. A small fraction, in reality.
There are other emotions too. Grasping at memories. The passing of time. Turmoil. Uncertainty. The heavy blanket of modern existence. Acceptance. Struggle. Peace. These are harder to convey in music, at least in a way that is universally understood – and for that sense – marketed and presented for those who would be receptive.
Composing for two pianos and electronics, Bryn Harrison navigates these more elusive emotions on Towards a slowing of time. Over forty two and a half minutes, music and emotion interweave in a manner that hits different on each listen – and sometimes doesn’t hit at all. It’s complex and dense but as you sit with it – much like the emotions it conveys – it makes more sense and opens up in fascinating ways.
Off Shelf: Certainly reflective of the music and how it progresses, can you talk more about the title Towards a slowing of the past? What did you hope to convey about the music by naming it that?
Bryn Harrison: I’m rather obsessed with ideas about time and memory. It seems that music is well placed to create distortions of memory or to confuse our sense of presentness, pastness and futurity. I particularly like titles that contain a sense of contradiction or impossibility. I have another piece for instance called Receiving the Approaching Memory which, again, plays into that idea of presentness and pastness becoming intertwined.
One of the musical devices I use to try to achieve this is high levels of repetition within the materials I use, so that the experience is towards moving into a space that we have already inhabited, of examining and coming to terms with that experience rather than moving outwards and away from it. In Towards a slowing of the past I wanted to take these ideas one stage further by having material that is literally played backwards, pulling the listener back to where we have come from. The piece also slows gradually, whilst constantly revisiting previous material so there is a very literal meaning to the title.
OS: Do you feel the title of an instrumental work carries a different importance to a song with lyrics or even vocals? How it stands more singularly as your statement for intent of the music?
BH: I think titles are important, whether it’s the title of a song or an instrumental piece of music. It’s a bit like putting clothes on – it conveys an intention that goes beyond its functionality or practicality. I tend to sway a bit between titles that are more categorical – Eight Voices or Piano Quintet for instance, or titles that are a little more poetic, like the title of this work. I tend to avoid titles that are too obvious or overly descriptive. I think titles should be ambiguous enough to allow the listener to form their own impressions of the music whilst saying something about the piece.
So it’s a balancing act really between conveying a certain aesthetic or intention and avoiding any direct meaning. I find that some titles come very quickly whilst others don’t appear until close to the completion of the work.
OS: The other statement that accompanies this recording is the photography by Richard Mulhearn on the cover. Can you tell us more about it? What about it struck you? How do you feel its connection to the arrangement?
BH: The covers of my last two Another Timbre releases were both abstract art images that seemed to fit with the acoustic palette of the music. Given the involvement of electronics on this recording, I wanted to do something a bit different. I liked the idea of using a photograph since – like the sampled recordings used in the piece – it captures and preserves a moment in time. Richard Mulhearn is a colleague and friend of mine at the University of Huddersfield. Richard heads up the photography department. We talked about using a camera obscura which would present the reflected image backwards but that proved to be impractical, so Richard sent me about twenty images which he felt might work well with the music. I particularly like the image on the cover. It has a sense of motion and directionality but also a certain ambiguity. It’s a bit like what I was saying about titles – the image should say something without overly describing the music.
OS: Performed on two pianos by Mark Knoop and Roderick Chadwick, can you talk about what the process was like in handing over the music to the performers? Did you continue to give input and feedback throughout the process?
BH: I have known and worked with Mark and Roderick on several occasions. They both perform with the group ensemble Plus Minus, who commissioned the work, and with whom I’ve worked with before. Mark has also performed a few other pieces I’ve written for piano and conducted my music. Working with performers who you know and who you trust is really important. They are both incredible musicians. I presented them with the finished score, and we all worked closely on the interpretation of the piece. I was highly reliant on Mark in particular to make the electronic playback part since I didn’t have the technical means to do this myself. I’m really pleased with how the recording came out and the balance between the live pianos and recorded parts.
OS: With how intentional each sound and note feels, there seems like there could be a maddening attention to detail you could ask for in a performance. Like each purposeful micro movement of a martial arts flow. Do you see or approach it that way?
BH: Yes, the score is highly detailed both in terms of rhythmic accuracy and dynamic control and relies on a certain level of precision. The parts need to dovetail accurately in order to work. I’m pleased that you felt that this was communicated through the recording. Over time the music slows and those micro-rhythmic inflexions and nuances become more noticeable.
OS: Was there anything they brought to the performance that you may not have initially envisioned? Did it cause you to evolve the music or re-evaluate your vision?
BH: That’s a tricky question to answer. I think the honest answer is that everything feels as initially envisioned and yet everything feels new. I went into the recording with a good sense of what I wanted it to sound like, and yet, each time I heard it in rehearsal, I heard different things. Some of these are interpretative – an inflection onto a note I hadn’t heard before or hearing the ways in which they choose to phrase a repeated passage. Other things appear to be more psycho-acoustical – the way in which two lines cross or the emerging of a bass line melody for instance.
OS: Mark also “realized” the electronics heard on the album. Without needing to delve too deep into gear, what type of equipment did he use? How did you write or convey arrangements for what he did?
BH: I selected certain moments from the score to sample. These were then recorded digitally in St Paul’s Hall, Huddersfield, UK and manipulated by Mark in ways that I had specified. These include playing back the recordings in reverse and speed adjusting them up or down an octave which he created in his studio at home. The live parts were recorded again in St Paul’s on another occasion and the sampled parts added later. For the long-held chord, Mark recorded that on his piano at home and then stretched the sample on his computer. I provided a spreadsheet with details of all the samples, their duration – in beats – and the ways in which the samples were to be manipulated. The score simply indicates which sample is played back and for how long. The players perform to a click track which lets them know when to start playing again and ensures synchronicity with the tape part.
OS: Your interview with Marat Ingeldeev talks about your interest in how electronic sounds can offer a different perspective on time and memory. What excites you about exploring this perspective through music?
BH: Yes, I wrote a paper on this recently for Tempo journal. Recordings are fixed events that – in themselves – don’t change over time, whereas repetitions performed live always have an element of change; the players respond to what they have just performed, and attempt to play it in the same way. Of course, listening to the CD means that we are listening to a recording that contains recordings of recordings… I find all that really fascinating.
OS: You also talk about using music to create jarring feelings, including parts that feel out-of-place for the listener. What about that did you want to explore further? What about it did you want to convey or want the listener to sit with in these moments?
BH: I’m not sure I’ve talked about using music to create jarring feelings. I imagine you are referring to the long-held chord in the middle of the piece? I certainly like the sense of disorientation that comes with this moment and that feeling of parallax when one emerges from this stasis after which movement resumes but perhaps with a growing sense of uncertainty.
OS: It almost feels like a very curious and finely focused approach. Like trying to capture a field recording of an emotion. Do you think of this recording in terms like that? Or do you maybe not view it as so experimental?
BH: I think the recording does set out to capture a moment in time, but I’m also interested in capturing an experience that will be transformative for the listener so that when we reach the end of the piece – if the listener is patient enough to listen to it in its entirety – we will be in a different space from where we started. I enjoy the playful contradiction between trying to capture a moment in time whilst taking the listener into a different space.
OS: When performed live, how precise do you want the adherence to be with the source material? How much continues to evolve through new emotion or active improvisation?
BH: The piece does not contain any improvisatory elements and the players are asked to adhere closely to what is in the score, but my hope is that each performance will be imbued with its own sense of vitality and spontaneity.