While these proofs of concept are under development, the technological aspects of the instrument come into view. Again, the choice of technology directly impacts the sonic vocabulary of the instrument and thus also the space for developing compositional strategies. It is at this point that the experiments turn into a series of prototypes. Slowly but surely, the sonic identity of the instrument emerges. At the start of the design process, the actual sound of the instrument plays only a minor role. Now, it takes the lead. With the conceptual frameworks firmly in place, the next step is concerned with developing a sonic vocabulary that is both exceptionally varied yet maintaining a distinct character. The chaotic nature of the instruments is helpful on both accounts. Although the instruments never quite repeat themselves, their behaviors are governed by patterns of strange attractors. The design stage goes through many versions and iterations, in search of the point at which the sonic vocabulary obtains a voice of its own, and is seductive and capable of catching the listener off guard. While it is nearly impossible to pinpoint, a successful instrument completes its technical development when it passes a musical version of the Turing Test:
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- When playing the instrument feels like a duet, rather than a solistic endeavor.
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- When the instrument provides musical suggestions, propagating performances into unforeseen trajectories.
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- When there are many tipping points to explore, specifically when their edges are jagged and granular, allowing for the sonic behaviors to become increasingly fragile and volatile before they collapse and rearrange in a different configuration.
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- When playing with the instrument becomes conversational, as the instrument influences the playing as much as the playing influences the instrument.
As tinkering comes to a close and playing takes over, a great deal of time is invested in figuring out how to play with, and influence the instrument's sonic behaviors. At first, these encounters with the instrument are purely explorative, withholding aesthetical evaluations or goals. Instead, the instrument is put under various conditions, followed by a careful listen to the sonic qualities that emerge. After some time, the outlines of the character of the instrument becomes apparent. Certain timbres or behaviors might recur in similar yet different ways, as there are particular configurations of strange attractors that the instrument gravitates towards. For example, one of the instruments regularly displays looping melodic phrases of pinging sounds, yet each time that behavior emerges, the pitches and tempos vary. These characteristic behaviors inform the performative strategies that are used in play, in several ways. The instruments often lock into quasi-stable loops and the length of these loops influences the pace of play. Short loops, lasting only a second or so, lose interest rapidly, while longer loops, lasting up to a minute or so, require more time to become established. However, during performances, these recurring characteristic behaviors become the stepping stones for the exploration of the most fragile and unstable regions of the instrument. Performances are regarded as successful when they bring about unique and previously undiscovered sonic expressions. Hidden within these highly volatile phase transitions, there are ephemeral phrases of sound that capture the essence of a musical practice invested in the exploration of chaotic processes. With effort, these phrases can be carefully influenced in such a manner that the instrument begins to play itself, jumping from one tipping point to the other, continually developing novel sounds. From a compositional perspective, the characteristic behaviors of the instruments are used as a springboard to explore the most fragile edges of the chaotic system. As a performative strategy within my practice, there is a back and forth between moments of active playing, followed by moments of active listening. Periods of influencing the instrument toward these spaces of intricate instability, are followed by periods in which my influence is reduced to a minimum: allowing the instrument to sound out unimpeded. This strategy is referred to as States, aiming to influence the instrument towards a state in which music emerges through processes of sonic formation. Performances are structured around this back and forth between passages of (quasi-) stability and those that are in flux, resulting in the musical arcs that emerge from following this strategy. In this sense, the artistic practice is focused on sharing this experiment with audiences, and guiding them along with this exploration, renegotiating the notions of signal and noise.
The resulting music investigates the use of chaos as a method of tension building. The listener is kept at the edge of their seats, always wondering whether the current patterns might collapse and how the music would develop once the dust is settled. When concerts are successful, this tension is maintained throughout the performance, resulting in an ever-evolving journey, surfing along on the edge of a breaking tide of sonic behaviors. Unfortunately this is not always the case, as the instruments are not always responding in intricate or compelling manners. When the sonic tension breaks, the attention may fade away with it. Without care and attention, the fragile poetics of chaotic music falls on deaf ears, and it takes great effort to re-engage. These are the most challenging moments during performances, and they occur most frequently as the activities more related to instrument design make way for those more concerned with performance. Perhaps the instrument is not quite ready and the sonic qualities too unfamiliar, alienating instead of instilling wonder. These challenges are overcome either through a continuation of the development of the instrument, working toward an instrument that is better at cultivating serendipity, or by accommodating expectations, opening up to sonic qualities that might grow familiar with time.
The resulting artistic works take the form of live electronics performances. All of these works are based on improvisation, however, this does not necessarily mean there are no structural considerations taking place beforehand. The performances can be divided into two categories: solo performances, often with an audiovisual element; and collaborations, most commonly restricted to duets or trios.
Solo performances are structured through the performance strategy described earlier, where the instrument is influenced towards states that are captivating, moving back and forth between playing and listening. In most cases, the total duration of the performance is known in advance, used to determine rough indications of how long to linger in the different states that are encountered. My preference goes out to situations where it is possible to perform for twenty to thirty minutes. This allows ample time for both myself and the audience to get familiarized with the sonic behaviors that are encountered, without having to rush through to the next state too hastily.
The opening section of a solo performance involves a great deal of risk. There is no prior knowledge on what sounds will emerge once the volume is dialed up. These first sonic behaviors have a significant impact on how the following developments and evolutions of the sounds are perceived. What follows can be described as "making-hearing" as described by François J. Bonnet in Spectres:
“Making-hearing is the retroactive loop between a gesture or manipulation and the auditory reception of the results of that action. There is nothing unusual about this loop between an action and a sensory reception that evaluates it in real time.”
Full and undivided attention is required, as the incoming sounds spark a multiplicity of wonderings: is the sound percussive, pulsating, rhythmical, textural, granular, stretched, smooth, uneven, volatile, slow, fast, airy, dense, layered, singular, tonal, inharmonic, or intervallic? Is the sound evolving on its own or does it revolve around a quasi-looping phrase? What aspects of the instrument are involved: oscillators, filters, low-pass gates, sample-and-holds, modulators, delays, reverbs, slew limiters, or mixers? Would it be possible to influence the parameter space of the instrument without crossing a tipping point, and how would a sudden change affect the sound? Should the instrument play by itself, undisturbed, and also, how is the sound affecting me? Does it evoke tension, relaxation, a sense of promise. of getting lost, of vulnerability, or confidence? Perhaps it is an ambiguous mixture of all of the above. All of these inquiries and wonderings inform the pace, intensity, and touch of play; whether the gestures are swift or subtle, focused or disjointed, decisive, wayfaring, or temporarily absent.
As sonic expressions emerge from the chaos, all of its facets are discovered, evaluated, and acted upon: knowing very well that these acts might redirect the performance irreversibly toward new musical trajectories; and triggering a revaluation of all of the above. My solo pieces often feature visualizations that respond to the sonic output of the instrument. These visualizations function as a visual temporal indicator, pointing out how much time has elapsed. Notation does not play an important role within these solo works, although in some instances, a schematic is made to indicate how the different elements in the performance eco-system are linked together.
Collaborative performances are structured through a number of steps. The first step involves who to collaborate with. For me, it is vitally important to work with artists that have a great deal of experience with improvisation, and who are genuinely interested in collaborating within a complex environment that celebrates emergence and serendipity. Once the right collaboraters are found, the premises and context of the collaboration are discussed. This includes a discussion about the notions of chaos and the manner in which chaos is implemented in the instrument. And, all the consequences, affordances, and limitations that come along with it. Important limitations include the impossibility of repeating particular phrases, or playing the same performance twice. What follows is an exchange about the spectra of: control and influence; intention and attention; prediction and wonder; meanwhile, always stressing the importance of deep listening, and as an extension, deep playing.
“[...] deep playing must include deep listening as a part of it. You listen to and process what’s going on around you in such a way that you’re able to contribute your part to a synergistic whole. Acting-and-reacting / stimulus-and-response, all at the same time.”
The next step engages more directly with these notions of listening and playing, as the instruments are demonstrated, often accompanied by a few short improvisations to experience the encounter of two performers and two instruments, each with their own sonic qualities. With some collaborative projects, this already is the final step before a performance is taken to the stage. When performing together with Kjetil Møster, Roald van Dillewijn, or Gareth Davis, there are no further discussions of musical form. The performances focus on the emergent properties of the instruments, our listening, and our performative responses to the context of the event, including the space, acoustics, amplification, audience, and occasion. These performances are in line with the notion of “free” improvisation as discussed by Richard Barrett in his book, Music of Possibility:
“I use the term 'free improvisation', then, to describe a method of musical creation where the framework or model itself is brought into being at the time of the performance, rather than being a pre-existent model of whatever nature, its form unfolding primarily as a result of spontaneous individual and collective actions and reactions.”
Other collaborations take further steps to structure the performances. Throughout the research, several approaches have been explored. These include: verbal instructions; a video delineating a temporal structure; a nonlinear notational system; and an algorithmic generative compositional system. All of these strategies are aimed at creating an environment where the emerging sonic qualities become an ever-evolving guide that informs acts of play. Collaborators are never instructed to play any specific sounds, but are rather invited to respond to the sonic environment in ways that either complement or contrast the present sound. An important inspiration is the work of Pauline Oliveros, especially her Sonic Meditations, insisting on the importance of listening.
“Each Sonic Meditation is a special procedure of the following:
1. Actually making sounds
2. Actively imagining sounds
3. Listening to present sounds
4. Remembering sounds.”
While the Sonic Meditations take the form of text scores, my own approach embraces the nonlinearity of chaos and focuses on notational strategies that allow the performers to, either follow their individual trajectories, or go with the listening instructions that are generated on the fly as the performance is ongoing. The instructions ask the performers to mimic, support, contrast, ignore, enmesh, encircle, encounter, or envelop the present sounds. The meaning of these notions is in flux as they depend on the act of listening by the performers. Each time that the pieces are performed, a different set of instructions are encountered that relate to a different sonic environment, resulting in different approaches to play. The notations are not meant to capture a specific musical structure, but instead, function as a point of departure for an exploration of a chaotic sound world that continues to reveal unforeseen sonic qualities. They are meant to guide listening and to propose ways to relate acts of play to whatever is heard. The performers discover the musical outcomes along with the audience, sharing their spontaneous musical responses, rather than showing a rehearsed form.
Discourse & Engagement
Research never happens in a vacuum. During my research there have been many opportunities to reach out to a larger research community. As my Ph.D. started, all of my colleagues in artistic research were located in the same building, facilitating many inspiring conversations, during lunch breaks as well as in more formal occasions like monthly research forums. When the Corona situation disrupted our daily routines and forced us to work from home, a number of us initiated a reading group. These online meetings were greatly inspired, allowing us to continue the discourse that took place in the studios. The texts that were discussed gave us the opportunity to investigate how the topics related to our practices, and whether our modes of thinking would overlap or differ. In the following section, some of the courses and events I have taken part in will be outlined, noting how they have contributed to my thinking. These events have all worked together to bring new ideas and maturity to my work.
Grieg Research School (GRS)
The Grieg Research School in interdisciplinary Music Studies (GRS), organizes two courses each year, where researchers in a broad range of musical disciplines meet, present, and discuss their research. Within the first month of starting my Ph.D. in Artistic Research, I had the chance to participate in the Autumn course of 2018. This was the first of many encounters with the GRS, allowing me to present my ongoing research to a diverse group of music-minded academics. During one of these papers, Professor Jill Halstead responded by pointing me into the direction of the writings of the philosopher Elizabeth Grosz. Grosz has proven to become influential in the development of my thoughts around the topics of time, perception, and the concept of an open future. Later, I participated in a trial defense presentation, by performing a concert and presenting my research to a committee consisting of Trond Lossius and Tim Ingold. The feedback from this event greatly impacted my thinking and writing, opening up new lines of thought on my practice.
Absurd Musical Interfaces Hackathon (Queen Mary University in London)
In late 2019, the opportunity arose to participate in the Absurd Musical Interfaces Hackathon, organized by Giacomo Lepri, and mentored by John Bowers and Hannah Perner-Wilson. The event was attended by a great variety of artists and researchers, all invested in an experimental and absurd attitude toward the design of interfaces. My own point of departure for the hackathon explored the notion of precision control over uncontrollable processes. This led to a collaboration with the artist and researcher Lia Mice, who works with large-scale instruments made out of pipe materials. The Hackathon proved to be a great opportunity to engage with many like-minded instrument designers, each open to exploring the edges of their practices through absurdist investigations and experiments.
The Idea of Feedback in Music (Orpheus Institute, University of Canterbury)
In early 2020, I presented a performance paper titled, "Intraface," as part of the seminar on "The Sound of Feedback, The idea of Feedback in Music" organized by the Orpheus Institute, and in collaboration with the University of Canterbury. This event attracted a group of artists and researchers with an affinity to the unpredictabilities and instabilities of chaotic processes. The performance paper led to many constructive conversations with the other participants, with a sizable list of references to investigate. While in conversation with Scott McLaughlin, he pointed me toward the writings of Tim Ingold, who ended up having a major impact on my thinking and writing, and eventually participating as a committee member on my trial Defense.
International Conference on Live Interfaces (ICLI, NTNU)
Right before the Corona pandemic, I traveled to Trondheim to present the performance paper "Multiple Minds" at the International Conference on Live Interfaces (ICLI). The theme of the conference was “Artificial Intelligence – Artistic Intelligence – Automated Emotional Intelligence,” which connected to the questions around the themes investigated through the "Multiple Minds" performance. Is the design process of the instrument compositional in nature? Are the resulting sonic qualities composed by the instrument? Does the design process of chaotic instruments end when the instrument becomes autonomous? These, and other questions and thought experiments, led to lively discussions with the other participants.
Sounding Philosophy
Sounding Philosophy is an Artistic Research project initiated by my main supervisor Dániel Péter Biró, and brings together the fields of music composition, philosophy, and science, building upon earlier seminars as part of the Grieg Academy Composition Research Group. At various points during my research, there have been opportunities to present my ongoing thought processes to a varied group of composition students, Ph.D. colleagues, professors and invited guests, always leading to sharp discussions afterwards. The Sounding Philosophy project increased the scope of these gatherings, moving from an evening of presentations, to a series of full-scale conferences including concert programs. The conferences featured inspiring talks and performances by composers such as Ö. Sandred, T. Lossius, and M. Gentilucci. During the second edition of these conferences, the philosopher Maria Sele gave a presentation on the notion of meaning in music, based on the writings of Eduard Hanslick. Since chaotic music troubles notions of intention, there was a lot to discuss, and our discourse continued as a series of online philosophical conversations on chaos, music, and meaning.
Instrument Inventors Initiative (iii) residency
From the outset of the research, several residencies were planned, including a residency at STEIM in Amsterdam, and one at the EMS studios in Stockholm. Due to Corona related circumstances, these plans had to be revised, and for some time it seemed unlikely that the residencies would still happen. In the spring of 2021, a call for residencies at the Instrument Inventors Initiative (iii), based in The Hague, sparked my interest. As an artist-run community platform, iii supports new interdisciplinary practices by linking performance practices with technology and the human senses. They strive to balance technological innovation, theoretical reflection and human experience. During my month-long residency, there were many opportunities to meet with various members of the iii workspace, and to reconnect with my Dutch network. The workspace and sound studio also opened up the possibility to develop the "Physeter" performance, working both on the sonic aspects and a visual treatment involving multiple fans, lightweight fabrics, and lights. Turbulence in the sound would connect to the turbulence in the air as the fabric dances around in the light.
,Diffraction & Interference
“[...] diffraction can serve as a useful counterpoint to reflection: both are optical phenomena, but whereas the metaphor of reflection reflects the themes of mirroring and sameness, diffraction is marked by patterns of difference.”
The main approach that I use within my research is best described as a method of diffraction or interference. Diffraction comes about as different processes are set in motion, eventually leading to interference patterns that emerge where these processes overlap and influence one another. Instead of evaluating individual instances of processes for their own sake, a diffractive approach looks at the frictions, turbulences, peaks, and valleys as several processes come into contact with one another. It is a method that requires a constant alertness and attention regarding the manner in which a wide range of activities and modes of thought collide with one another, leading to insights that could not have been foreseen at the onset.
“Attention to fine details is a crucial element of this methodology.”
In the course of the creative process, there are many roles to fulfill, each accompanied by a particular set of activities. As varied as these activities are, it never feels like splitting the mind into various categories. On the contrary, each of these different modes of thought blends together towards an overall condition in which works of art are the eventual outcome. This means that thought-provoking phrases from books, informative schematics, hacked circuits, functional modules, playful gestures, attentive listening, and formal considerations are always blending, mixing, and interfering with one another. They are all destabilizing or supporting one another. Taken together they form peculiar patterns that are not apparent in isolation. Unique configurations of activities interfere with one another and form a playground where eventually, novel sonic behaviors emerge.
A feedback loop like the sketch above works as an amplifier if left unchecked. The input goes straight to the output, which is routed back to the input ad infinitum. Infinite amplification is physically impossible, so the process rather blows up until a limit is reached, at which point the process stabilizes. A feedback loop like this by itself is not yet chaotic. In fact, feedback loops are often employed as a method of stabilization. To properly destabilize the process, an element of nonlinearity needs to be introduced. Nonlinearity refers to systems in which the change of the output is not proportional to a change in the input.
In this next drawing, two of these recursive processes are connected and affect one another. Due to these connections, the possible outcomes of the system become significantly more complex. One of the strategies often used in my practice links up two or more feedback processes with contrasting tendencies. One process might attempt to increase a voltage while the other attempts to decrease it. When these two processes feed into each other, it becomes difficult to tell which process will make the most significant impact. The resulting system becomes sensitively dependent on the balance between these processes as a procedural friction is introduced. Only a few of these kinds of interconnected feedback loops need to be in place to establish a chaotic system. In a way, the system could be considered to turn chaotic when predicting outcomes is no longer merely difficult but unforeseeable, due to the sensitivity of the complex codependencies. A chaotic system like this will continually try to self-balance, swinging back and forth between an uncountable amount of non-equilibrium states. These states can be described as constellations of strange attractors within the phase space of the system. The actual behavior of the system becomes the particular orbit that the process revolves around, as it is pulled into different directions by these strange attractors.
Listening & Attention
Listening is an integral part of my artistic practice, and it forms the foundation upon which all other activities within my practice rest. As this text is written, for example, one of my instruments provides a shifting melodic backdrop to the sound of my fingers hitting the keyboard. But, it is not just the sounds of my own instruments that fill the air, my ears are equally often turned towards the sonic explorations of other composers, improvisers, and artists working in the field of chaotic music.
“Listening is directing attention to what is heard, gathering meaning, interpreting and deciding on action. Quantum listening is listening to more than one reality simultaneously.”
Pauline Oliveros is an important inspiration to my practice, specifically her insistence on the importance of listening, attention, and imagination. In her writings on Quantum Listening, she discusses a multiplicity of listening: simultaneously listening sound in different forms, informing a performative response, or the lack thereof.
“To be listening is always to be on the edge of meaning [...].”
J. L. Nancy (2007, 7)
As new works are developed, attentive, deep listening becomes a tool that extends outward from the actual sounds that are experienced. The listener explores the possibility space surrounding the actual sound, imagining avenues for potential augmentations. Through listening, inquiries relating to sonic qualities can be examined, especially regarding the capacity for emergent formation. Listening does not stop at how the instrument is currently sounding: it probes the full breadth of potential expression, imagining how it could be sounding and speculating what sounds may surface in the future.
“The process of creating is a process of listening very carefully; It is about observing how sound actually acts.”
While listening informs many decisions when the instruments are in development, listening takes on a whole new role when the artistic works are shared with audiences. In these circumstances, listening surfs along the breaking edge of the incoming sound waves. As the performance unfolds, musical formations take shape, endure, modulate, and collapse again. Playing the instrument becomes a form of exploration, carving out pathways to sonic discoveries that captivate the ears. One analogy is to envisage performances as a sonic scavenger hunt. From the outset, it is unknown what treasures may be found. The context created within the hunt itself defines what it means for the search to be successful. Once the first sonic quality of a performance is recognized, it becomes a marker around which the scavenging continues. Each sonic quality is sensitively dependent on the conditions of the instrument. The first step is to figure out which parameters can be played without erasing the behaviors completely. For this reason, my approach in these situations is to only influence one knob at a time, and to change its position very carefully while listening to the impact on the sound. At the same time, the sonic behaviors of the sound are examined in terms of their musical qualities. Listening informs the pace of play, for instance, lingering around points of stasis and instilling a sense of calm before the storm. Another, would be the acceleration toward ruptures between signal and noise, causing tensions and confusions to proliferate. The notions of what it means for the music to be fast or slow, loud or soft, and harsh or smooth are continually redefined and re-evaluated through listening. Eventually, each of the sonic qualities that are found will be pushed closer and closer towards a tipping point where the sound radically changes course. These moments often embody a sense of disruption that sends the music into a temporary freefall. My playing is often more radical during these sonic collapses, taking advantage of the instability of the sound to further scramble the conditions of the chaotic processes. Again, attentive and deep listening is required to re-evaluate in which ways the sound is affected:
Is the change radical, or more subtle?
Are the new sounds fragile or volatile?
How do these new sounds relate to what happened before?
How do they relate to my imagination?
The answers to these questions are always different for each performance and through the engagement with these and similar questions, the sounds obtain meaning. This meaning is related to the function that the sound fulfills within the context of the performance, which is guided by my listening. Sounds might, for example, build up tension through modulating beating patterns, or suggest a sense of disjointment through stumbling rhythmical pulses. These kinds of meanings may vary widely among those in attendance, as everyone filters the music through their own set of ears, informed by lived experiences, vivid imaginations, and shifting frames of reference. Through listening, the audience becomes part of creating meaning within the music.
Listening back is another important aspect of my practice. While the processes of making and playing are ongoing, the sonic outcomes are frequently recorded. These documentations reveal different sides of the music that has emerged, as the processes of formation are captured, and the sonic qualities are locked in place. The recordings facilitate a more analytical form of listening, examining the sonic qualities more closely through repeated playbacks. They also open the doors to a discourse focused on particular outcomes, as performances are discussed with peers and collaborators. However, it should be noted that there is a limitation to the usefulness of any lessons learned through analysis. Each performance presents new and unforeseen challenges: there are always new sounds to respond to, as well as different responses from the instruments as they are being played. This does not mean that analysis is ignored altogether, but the insights gained through analysis should be taken at face value, and each new performance will present its own unique challenges. The recordings seem to imply an almost ordered succession of musical structures. But, during performances, as the music is in the process of unfolding, these structures are hidden among an uncountable number of possible directions. It is not necessarily up to the performer to decide which direction is taken. However, through attention and listening, audiences and performers are able to follow along, riding the waves of sound towards their own conclusions.
Wondering & Tinkering
Chaotic processes defy prediction, but prediction is a prominent strategy for the construction of expectations that allows the listener to make sense out of a musical experience. When confronted with situations that are inherently uncertain, and where predictions are likely to be in error, there may be other strategies to prepare for the unexpected. This strategy would have to be open enough to encompass a wide range of possible outcomes. It would have to acknowledge the limits of comprehension, and instead, create space for the imagination. It would also foster an inquisitive sense of curiosity: focusing attention to experiencing the present more vividly; moving closer to the edge of the seat; ready to discover how things might play out.
This strategy outlined above, shares the hallmarks of becoming engaged in a state of wonder. Wonder (thaumazein) arises from perplexity (aporia). The perplexity that fuels my practice originates in the emergent properties of chaotic processes. A number of strange phenomena interact with one another. First, there is the notion of complexity arising from simplicity through nonlinear feedback. Logically, simple processes should lead to simple outcomes, but through recursion, this logic breaks down. The sounds that emerge through my practice have an extensive, rich, sonic vocabulary. Secondly, there is a movement in the opposite direction. Logically, chaotic complexity should not lead to musical structures, but throughout performances, all manner of melodies, rhythms, and timbres emerge, signaling through the noise.
The result is a sonic universe that is too complex to comprehend while simultaneously too structured to be dismissed. While it is impossible to predict what sounds might emerge, there is still a desire to discover them: this accumulates in a sense of wonder; ignited to address the perplexity of the situation. There are two important layers to this wondering. On the one hand, there is a form of contemplative wondering that engages with these larger questions of chaos, complexity, and musical structure. On the other hand, an inquisitive wonder follows the music as it unfolds. It focuses attention on microsonic details. forms imaginative pathways through the possibility space of the music; and openly acknowledges that the actual sound may very well exceed these expectations at any given moment. The Dutch philosopher Anders Schinkel proposes the following definition of wonder, capturing this duality of perplexity combined with the urge to explore:
“Wonder, I propose, is a mode of consciousness in which we experience that which we perceive or are contemplating as in some way strange, beyond our understanding, yet worthy of our attention for its own sake, and in which our attention takes the form of an open, receptive stance.”
A. Schinkel (2022, 46)
The back and forth between contemplative and inquisitive forms of wondering informs many artistic decisions in my practice. During concerts, the curiosity-driven side of wonder takes the lead. The choice to either engage or disengage with the instrument depends on the interactions between imagined sounds and the actual sonic developments. Sometimes I wonder how a sound might develop on its own: What would happen if a parameter is changed; how robust is the sonic behavior; and where would its tipping points emerge? The level of influence is determined by successions of these types of inquiries, and as the music unfolds, the wonder is projected forward, continually refocusing my attention.
While working on designing and building the instruments, wondering turns into tinkering. Instead of planning out the instruments in advance, the process involves long stretches of experimentation and making adjustments. These adjustments are made to maximize the spectromorphological vocabulary of the instrument and not to implement any sound in particular. Each adjustment affects the strange attractors in the chaotic processes leading to new and different behaviors that need to be explored anew. The aim is to develop an instrument that surpasses my understanding of its sonic capabilities, even when these capabilities are explored at length. This means that all of my instruments have the capacity to make sounds that take me by surprise, which can lead to both positive and negative experiences. In the course of the development of the instrument, the adjustments are fine-tuned to enhance serendipity, and to favor pleasant surprises. Nevertheless, my preference goes out to develop instruments that are able to breach my expectations, even when this breach introduces the potential encounter with undesired sonic behaviors. This undesirability of any sonic behavior depends on the musical context, but may, for example, consist of silence, excessive drops or boosts in dynamics, or too much stability, which could lead to a sonic staleness.
Tinkering with the developed software and hardware, reveals a wealth of possibilities for introducing different forms of nonlinear feedback within the instruments. These activities are akin to the notions of hacking and circuit bending, but instead of taking existing technologies as a starting point, these approaches are applied directly to my own designs. This method of tinkering accumulates to the point where the sonic behavior of the instrument becomes exceedingly perplexing, despite my full knowledge of exactly what goes on in the instrument on a technical level. Tinkering leads to the sonic perplexity that sparks a sense of wonder in the listener. Taken together, tinkering and wondering operate in a mutually beneficial correspondence: each feeding on the outcomes of the other.
“What attracts and holds the wondering imagination is the mystery of quality and meaning, [...], waiting to be unraveled. It is this lure of the unknown, this temptation of exploring the hidden labyrinth, that gives to the wonderful its peculiar fascination.”
Compositional Strategies
The compositional aspects of my artistic practice can be divided into three interlocking parts. First, there are the deliberations regarding the development of the instruments that are used to produce the artistic works. Secondly, there are the considerations regarding performative strategies, marking out the conditions, or playgrounds within which the performances take place. Thirdly, the balance between compositional and improvisational aspects of my practice are negotiated, including possible forms of notation, visuals, and other strategies that are used to structure collaborative settings. Each of these aspects will be elaborated upon below.
“Very often when working with technology, it is the instrument that must first be composed in order to have performance, and consequently, improvisation.”
At the start of the development of a new instrument, my primary concerns go out toward the conceptual and technical aspects of the work ahead, before any thought goes out to the eventual musical or sonic aspects of the instrument. This conceptual layer deals with questions regarding the type of chaos that will form the heart of the instrument's operation. While all of my instruments are based on the principles of nonlinear feedback, this still leaves many important facets open to inquiry. Chaos is present in countless phenomena, each of which could potentially become a source of inspiration for a new instrument. For example, one of the instruments developed as part of this research takes its inspiration from the classic, Three Body Problem.
“Although this discovery [that it is impossible to reduce the Three Body Problem in the form of an integrable system] was not clearly understood at the time, it implied the demise of the conviction that the dynamic world is homogeneous, reducible to the concept of integrable systems. Nature as an evolving, interactive multiplicity thus resisted its reduction to a timeless and universal scheme.”
I. Prigogine et al. (2017, 72-73)
Once a conceptual point of departure is in place, it serves as a guiding light in the face of myriad design considerations, while simultaneously illuminating the outlines of the compositional playing field. It is at this point in the process that the first sounds come into play. These sounds have little to do with the eventual sonic qualities of the instrument, but rather serve as a proof of concept. Most often, this part of the process is conducted with digital means, utilizing rapid development techniques that are borrowed from the live coding practice.
“[...] in the case of live coding, the performative act of coding becomes a prototype for its further action—rehearsal and performance at once, a score performing itself.”
Alan F. Blackwell et al. (2022, 172)
As mentioned earlier, in the section on listening, the resulting music is often recorded and discussed afterwards, both during periods of practice and after the concerts. Listening back to these recordings produces a different analytical lens, revealing the musical formations that emerged. Sometimes, passages are encountered where there is a struggle to musically connect to the sonic output, while other passages exceed expectations. These result in evocative experiences that prove difficult to explain as they come about through the chaotic processing of a multiplicity of meaningful details.
Annotated Portfolios
Annotated portfolios is a methodology introduced by John Bowers. The artifacts of the research are the result of a myriad multifaceted choices. These choices may point to: ergonomic concerns; sonic flexibility; gestural constraints; build quality; compositional structure; or other issues. Throughout the research, both the process and outcomes of the practical work are documented in the form of sound and video recordings, and images. When these are presented on their own, without any further context, important information about what is actually happening might go unnoticed.
“Annotations make a collection of designed artefacts into a portfolio. They bring together individual artefacts as a systematic body of work.”
The artistic outcome of my research consists of a collection of works, encompassing the development of instruments, and a series of musical performances that are based on the qualities of these instruments. While each of these instruments could be examined on their own, they also form a larger portfolio of works that explore a common theme and context.
Written annotations can add context, explanation, and reveal obscure, but nonetheless important, details. This method clarifies the chain of practical and artistic decisions that have accumulated to lead towards the completion of the artifacts, compositions, and concerts.
“Annotations and the designs they annotate are mutually informing. Artefacts are illuminated by annotations. Annotations are illustrated by artefacts.”
To give an example, while working on the designs of the instruments, a common strategy is to let them play without any performative interferences. When the instruments are making sounds that grab attention, a recording is made. This recording may very well sound like the instrument is actively played, as the sonic qualities jump back and forth between different behaviors. Annotations can clarify what is actually going on, providing an analysis of the context. These annotations consist of text, but also other means of analyzing the music including: examinations of waveforms; spectral analysis; descriptions; and interviews with collaborators.
“Typically a portfolio can be annotated in several different ways reflecting different purposes and interests and with different audiences in mind.”
Feedback Musicianship Network (University of Sussex)
Early on in the research, my former colleague at STEIM, Marije Baalman, introduced me to Chris Kiefer, an artist and researcher at the University of Sussex. We ended up meeting online where he mentioned that he was writing an application to set up a research project around the theme of "Feedback Musicianship." Some years later, the project received funding and a series of seminars were organized. In May 2022, I participated in their meetup by playing a performance at the opening concert, and joining in on the presentations and discussions throughout the next few days. During my presentation, I introduced the concept of the mirage as a metaphor to discuss the ungraspability of chaotic forms of logic. Within this particular constellation of artists and academics, this notion resonated well. There is a great deal of overlap between "Feedback Musicianship" and "Chaotic Music." Many aspects of my practice that usually require a great deal of contextualisation, were rather understood as being part of the baseline of the practice.
All of these gatherings, combined with many other conversations with colleagues and peers have made a lasting impact on my research, and my thinking around chaotic music. Without these interactions, the research would not have been able to progress to its current state.
Chapter III
Methods
The Norwegian model of Artistic Research is geared toward research in artistic practice: Engaging with the actual art practice is the most important pillar upon which such research rests. Discussing the methods that are used to conduct the research necessarily builds upon the methods of my practice. The resulting artistic works do not come about through a hylomorphic implementation of predetermined plans. Instead, the practice is occupied with setting processes in motion that are then cultivated towards a stage at which they are shared with others. The methods available to me are all rooted in an attentive and explorative curiosity. In hindsight, it seems like there is always a pathway to the end result, but while the artistic work is in development this pathway is overgrown and impossible to make out. The first steps involve conceptual and material planning, theoretical studies and consultation with others. From there, the artistic outcomes are gradually uncovered as all of these activities become entangled, forming larger and more complex structures. As time progresses, the resulting artistic work is found within the interference between many ongoing processes.
The illustration above was made during a workshop at BEK, The Bergen Center for Electronic Art. At the start of the workshop, the participants, myself included, were challenged to draw a schematic, illustrating how our practices were organized. The drawing captured a wide scope of ongoing processes, some overlapping and forming patterns of ripples. The square boxes function as frames, focusing attention to certain areas where the interferences add up together, becoming something more than its parts. The workshop took place while one of my instruments was in the midst of development. My days consisted of a blending of soldering up circuits, reading N. Katherine Hayles, studying electronic schematics, discussing philosophy, admiring the illustrations of Moby Dick, listening to Jaap Vink, and following lectures. All of these sounds, smells, thoughts, schematics, and streams of information formed vast networks of connections through interference. Out of this complex network, the notion of the mirage, as a metaphor for an ungraspable form of logic, slowly came into view.
“It is difficult to see the diffraction patterns—the patterns of difference that make a difference— when the cordoning off of concerns into separate domains elides the resonances and dissonances that make up diffraction patterns that make the entanglements visible.”
K. Barad (2012, 50)
This method of diffraction connects well to the chaotic processes that inform the artistic work. Chaos itself becomes a source of interference affecting the course of development of new works. Setting out to work on a new piece, the sonic outcome is intentionally left open, as a question mark. As the processes of making unfold, these sonic qualities gradually emerge. In turn, these qualities are themselves added to the pool of diffractions: the sounds of early prototypes affecting the processes that gave rise to them in the first place. The sounds of these prototypes are spectromorphologically quite limited. They do not rise to the level that it becomes possible to examine behavioral aspects of the sound. Yet through their limitations, they influence my thinking regarding the possibility space for future development; affecting all of the other processes that are at play. Over time, the prototypes mature into instruments capable of expressing complex and intricate sonic qualities, informed by a body of knowledge shaped through the processes of their own development.
The diffractive method of practice is decisively nonlinear, and at times it is hard to unravel the underlying processes that have led to pivotal realizations or artistic outcomes. Most importantly, it requires constant attention, not just to what each process enacts within its own context, but rather how those processes affect adjacent contexts. Whereas earlier in the research, the descriptions of method took the form of recursive loops, moving from ideas, to prototypes, to performances, and back again, my current thinking embraces a far more complex but ultimately more honest account of how my practice is conducted. Each activity impacts and interferes within a plane of artistic potential, sections of which may end up onstage to be shared with audiences, which in itself becomes yet another vector affecting the artistic practice.
Nonlinear Feedback
“Nonlinearity and feedback are necessary conditions for the existence of chaotic processes.”
The main method used to establish the chaotic processes that form the backbone of my artistic works, consists of combining nonlinear elements within feedback loops. The notion of feedback, or recursion, or circular causality, by itself is easy to explain. Feedback occurs when the output of a process is "fed back" as an input into the same process. The input becomes an output, which becomes an input again in a loop.
Another approach is to implement nonlinear transformations within a feedback loop. To give an example, in one of the instruments, the signal of one oscillator is compared to another, resulting in a gate-signal: either a high or low voltage. This gate-signal is consequently used to trigger another process, whose output feeds back as an input to the original oscillator. In these types of cases, the output shifts back and forth erratically depending on the state of this comparison. All of these feedback-based approaches to establishing complex, chaotic systems are influenced by the field of cybernetics.
“Cybernetics is fundamentally about analyzing systems that use feedback, which is feeding the output signal back into the input signal, that allows a system to adapt to changes in its environment. This leads us to the idea of machine intelligence, but also to autonomous systems and systems that can be self-regulating.”
However, within most of the early usages of cybernetics, feedback is implemented as a form of goal-oriented control. Whereas my own practice uses similar methods to move away from control, establishing states of chaos and disorder. Feedback is used to regulate processes, but the implementation of nonlinearity obstructs this effort. In a sense, my instruments act like aimless cybernetic entities, perpetually engaged in efforts to self-balance yet too unstable to ever fully succeed. All the aesthetic qualities that emerge as the instruments are played come about as the circuits attempt to negotiate conflicting flows of electricity. The sonic behaviors emanating from the speakers are the byproduct of a cybernetic feedback system that is trying to mediate the logic behind its own operation.
As more and more of these nonlinear feedback paths are strung together, the behaviors of the overall system become incredibly versatile but also highly unstable. While designing and playing the instruments, a great deal of time is spent listening to these behaviors, assessing whether the chaotic complexity is compelling enough to become the cornerstone of a new musical work. As a result, my playing gets caught up inside of the feedback loops, as the circuits are amplified through speakers, processed through my perception, and translated into performative gestures, affecting the circuits. In cybernetics, these types of entanglements or couplings are also known as reflexivity.
“[...] feedback can also loop through the observers, drawing them in to become part of the system that is observed.”
My playing influences the patterns of sounds that, in turn, influence myself as the music sparks a sense of wonder and pulls me in. The sonic behaviors of nonlinear feedback sounds like music to my ears. It is a type of music that continues to confound and astonish me.
Information - current and upcoming notes and wait times - and instructions - Encounter - generated algorithmically by SuperCollider as part of my piece, Follow the Unfolding.
An early sketch in SuperCollider investigating three cross modulating sine wave oscillators through live coding.
An illustration made during the "Rewilding Practice" workshop at BEK with Mark Fell and Robin MacKay.
Documentation of: Pixels, Frames, Beats & Drones, an audio-visual collaborative happening, J. Welsh, T. Lossius, Ø. Brandtsegg, P. Wanthiang, and T. Ham at Surnadal Billag, 04-09-21.
The start of this example, recorded using the Physeter modular, is complex and highly textural. About halfway through the recording, the sound suddenly changes to a rhythmic downward glissando. This change is both a disruption and the onset of a new sense of form.
Recording made with the Physeter modular instrument. In this example, the sound, at first, seems stable and moving very slowly. However, the sound then suddenly stumbles upon a tipping point, switching to a different pitch center. Each time the sound stabilizes, a sense of logic is instilled, yet, each time that logic fades away when the sound transforms.
These sounds come from an early prototype circtuit made on the OMSynth. While the sound is highly textured, it mainly produces only one type of behavior. This is far too limited, and the circuit needs a lot more development before the sound reaches the spectromorphic richness that is desired.
This is a medley of similar-sounding melodies, recorded on the Physeter modular. Although there are timbral similarities, the rhythmic and melodic content is different each time.
A short capture of the sounds of the Physeter modular, playing in the background. After a number of quasi-repititions, the instrument is influenced toward new behaviors.
Recorded on the Physeter modular. The sonic behaviors in this example are quite robust. As the sounds are explored, they maintain certain qualities (like the higher resonances), while other elements, (like the beating patterns) are changed more drastically. This combination of elements that are more or less robust, sparks an exploration to find the edge of the stability of the sonic behaviors.
Excerpt of the sonic output of the algorithmic composition for the piece 'Follow the Unfolding.'
This recording was made during the residency at iii, featuring the Physeter modular synthesizer and two gong speakers.
An example may help to clarify how this plays out. In September 2021, there was an opportunity to participate in a residency as part of the Pixels, Frames, Beats & Drones project. At that time, one of my instruments was in development and it seemed like a great environment to explore its capabilities. I was also reading up on cybernetics through the writings of Norbert Wiener. On the first morning of the residency, I noticed a gentle waterfall rushing down the mountain at the back of the building where we were working. Hours later, when we went out for dinner, the waterfall was making a lot more noise and had nearly doubled in size. The next morning I decided to take a closer look. Noticing that the waterfall was still intensifying, I consequently spent some time filming close-up footage of the water splashing down on the rocks.
This footage ended up being used as part of the performances, which included several films, live streams, and projections covering the walls and various objects scattered through the space. The turbulence of the water became an important point of reference for the sound, as my instrument conjured up sonic turbulence. In a curiously cybernetic sense, the destructive, entropic process of the waterfall became one of the creative motifs that were enmeshed into a more complex, multilayered art installation.
Entering into an artistic collaboration with open intentions, each of the participating artists had brought along instruments and materials, although none of us had a clear view of what the week would bring. For this to work, there needed to be a trust in place. This is a trust in the premise that as long as attention is paid, the contours of the artistic work will gradually come into view. It equally requires vulnerability, engaging with unforeseeable processes, and maintaining confidence that their emergent qualities will be recognized.
As an example, the following recording of the Physeter modular can be dissected into a range of states:
A 0:00 - 0:10 - Brooding, bubbling, frantic, noisy
B 0:10 - 0:55- 303 Hz tonal drone, evolving beating patterns, wavering filters
B’ 0:55 - 0:58- Sharp interruptions while the drone continues
C 0:58 - 1:25- 891 Hz tonal drone with a lower bass frequency of 183 Hz, some interruptions
B’’ 1:25 - 1:32- 303 Hz tonal drone returns in a variation without additional patterns
B’’’ 1:32 - 1:37- Sharp interruptions punctuate the drone
D 1:37 - 1:42- The interruptions take over to form a noise state
A’ 1:42 - 1:50- The noise shifts in timbre, resembling the bubbling noise at the start
E 1:50 - 1:54- Short disharmonic drone consisting of a 323 Hz frequency over a 174 Hz frequency
A’’ 1:54 - 2:13- The drone collapses back into frantic bubbling noise, but in a fast paced rhythm
F 2:13 - 2:32- The rhythm decelerates to alternating (199 Hz and 2747 Hz) melodic pulsation of 100 Bpm
F’ 2:32 - 2:50- The rhythm slows to 46 Bpm, the melodic pulsation changes to 401 Hz and 2734 Hz
F’’ 2:50 - 3:24- Instability and rapid changes in speed and rhythmic complexity
G 3:24 - 3:45 - Melody destablizes and becomes more elaborate: 2744 Hz, 2334 Hz, 1675 Hz, 1041 Hz
G’ 3:45 - 3:50- Melody stabilizes at 91 Bpm in a pattern with a recurring 2204 Hz beep and ornamentations
The analysis highlights the movements between moments of relative stability and those that can be described as frantic or brooding. In the sections B, C, F, and F’, the performative influence is minimal, allowing the instrument to sound by itself, creating a sense of calm. On several occasions, this tranquility is disrupted by sharp interventions due to the unstable nature of the instrument, especially in sections B’ and B’’’. These stabs of noise, much louder in volume compared to the surrounding tonal drones, signal the brooding instability of the chaotic process that is listened to. However, the real interest takes place in sections A’’, F’’, and G. The balance between signal and noise is at its most complex and intricate. Shards of melodic and rhythmic motifs are scrambled and reshuffled, eventually settling into a relatively stable pattern again in section G’.