“Everything changes except the avant garde”
Our new place is walking distance from Libbey Bowl, so we sauntered over last night to hear some world-class contemporary classical as the kickoff to the 2007 Ojai Music Festival. The evening was predominantly focused on works for two piano performed by Helena Bugallo and Amy Williams. The most accessible piece was probably the two-piano arrangement of Stravinsky’s Dumbarton Oaks. Other works ranged from a piece composed exclusively of decorations (glissandi, trills and the like) to an electronic piece made from cricket chirps. The finale was this:
Symphonic Poem For 100 Metronomes
by György Ligeti
Though I am tempted to spend the rest of this tirade denouncing the attribution of the word “poem” to any piece of art in which the artist wants to convey a quality of elegance, I actually want to talk about something more important to me: when the avant garde fails for me, and why.
In short, it is not that the avant garde pushes out the boundaries of convention that irks me–but rather when it does not go far enough. Doing something no-one has done before to cash in on the novelty is cheap and lazy. Only slightly less lazy is doing it in such a way that critics (often including the artist as prime interpreter) can concoct interesting-sounding but ultimately impractical theories of aesthetics.
There is an old adage that if you are going to break a rule, what you gain in doing so should at least compensate, if not thoroughly make up for, the distraction/confusion/disorientation caused by breaking that rule. Likewise, it seems to me that once the artist does something radically new and original, they are then obligated to explore that space in a deterministic way toward some ultimately valuable new outcome.
For example, the metronomes: set at different intervals and tipped off by a bunch of stage hands in a haphazard way. The end result? An interesting sonic experience, but one ultimately less valuable for anything but the novelty than, say, a Bach concerto. But suppose the artist worked in a determined way, setting each metronome to tick according to a series of prime numbers and their multiples, so that at various points throughout the piece the metronomes came together to form interesting, predetermined textures and patterns–a kind of baroque domino exhibit that, once tipped off precisely right, cascades of its own volition into a truly unique, interesting, non-random kind of “music.” That is what I kept hoping for–from the first time I saw and heard this piece: something more from the creator than just a clever idea.
And what about that stuff made all out of trills? What if you really used those decorational elements as your fundamental materials to make a new but recognizable kind of music–rather than what can only be called a kind of sonic gibberish? The avant garde so often gets so pleased with itself for discovering something new–in the sense of never having been done before–that it forgets the obligation to do something not only unique but meaningful. Combining the new with a deep, determined exploration of that space–building toward a coherent artistic experience rather than simply reacting to what has already been done–is, to me, the stuff of genius.
Coming out of a John Cage experience to hear the street noise in a totally new way–that is art, and perhaps a kind of genius as well. It is deterministic, precise and meaningful in its way. So much of contemporary classical music, like so much experimental poetry, seems to get complacent and even smug; to simply not go far enough.
Possibly Related Posts:
11 Comments
Robert
Wow I relate so much to this postand agree with you. Art which offers something more than just “uniqueness” has the chance to offer something to the experiencer.
When art is unique and nothing more, it tends towards *empty*. I have experienced plenty of such art and I wonder why the professionals, those who manage shows and museums, are willing to promote it. Empty art leaves the experiencer empty and all but a few must share that empty feeling.
In my opinion, it’s the job of professionals to cull out *empty* experiences.
If the metronome piece were “tuned” so the devices were all started in some sequence so they could move to a single syncronous click, the piece could be much more interesting.
I have created *art* which I enjoyed creating and I believed where “empty”, lacking sufficient value to be distributed. Maybe I should look at them again?
Paul
Hi Paul,
It has almost become a kind of mantra in the MFA program I’m enrolled in now to encourage one another to “go deeper.” That’s where I think uniqueness, or the interesting elements of a first draft, or a spontaneous but protean idea can serve as a portal into something deeper, more revelatory, less “empty” as you call it.
I have often had the experience of setting something aside which I thought had a certain potential, then coming back to it much later to discover completely new dimensions and angles which transformed the piece into something else – something richer.
So, go for it. Good to “see” you.
Best,
Robert
The emptiest art right now, at least in poetry, is the straight first-person lyric. You’ve read one you’ve read them all. I’d rather listen to random metronomes. Not that I really want to listen to random metronomes. As usual, I am making a point with hyperbole. Looking at the video, by the way, I’d suggest that the piece is at least partly a visual experience & so as music testing the limits not just of contingency but of categories.
By the way, I am on my 3rd attempt to get through your catchpa.
I’m with you up to a point there, Joe – and perhaps that’s why I felt so let down by avant garde gimmicks – because the stakes are so high – because, after all, poetry itself is an avant garde form of writing, whose rules exist to be broken and whose highest aim is meaningful originality. But meaningful originality comes as a pair – almost a necessary dialectic – as one without the other is equally lost.
Sorry about the cpatcah. Maybe that’s why I get so few comments.
Paul, Robert _ I have had the privilege and pleasure to be involved in a dialogue with a contemporary visual artist, quite young, during the past two years, as she was developing, refining and redefining, then elaborating an installation project. Her initial idea has bloomed into a remarkable, complex and meaningful work-in-progress of finalization. From the description of the metronome composition you provided, it would seem as if the artist had not taken into consideration the ratio aspects of a metronome’s potential for sound, nor had explored the mathematical possibilities inherent in various rhythms eventually eastablishing different permutations of rhythm. Sometimes experimental results with a new form should not be prematurely exposed to an audience; they require follow-up and refinement in order to yield a truly satisfactory result.
Thanks for your thoughts, Gabriella. I agree that careful deliberation is an important part of art – be it traditional or avant garde. I would even say to some extent *all* meaningful art is, in fact, avant garde – is pushing our understanding of ourselves, our perceptions, the world. Yet considering from the audience point of view – considering the reception and interaction with the observer (for art is ultimately what happens between art object and observer, is ultimately an internal experience /within/ the observer) – is critical to any piece, no matter how experimental.
Thanks for stopping by.
p.s. on the visual aspect – it was fascinating to see people looking all around (as it was set in 360 degrees around the audience) but also that people began to point and mutter. Perhaps the outdoor setting made it seems less like a formal listening experience, perhaps the visual element threw people off, and/or perhaps the audience wasn’t as well heeled or well behaved as they could be – but inevitably many of them must have decided, consciously or unconsciously, “this is not music” and began to laugh nervously and talk, much like children presented with a wholly new spectacle.Was that intended? If so, to what aim? Did the audience fail the piece or the other way around? Or was it all on course? If so, how is art any different than life if it is not contrived, not necessarily artificial and pointed at a particular aim or experience? Perhaps the “art” is the discussion that follows? I contend such tricks rely on gimmickry, since they profit us no more in our understanding of perception than a magic show in Las Vegas.
I seem my comment came through, though I thought I had been defeated by the catchpa — now there is some avant garde poetry! Anyway, Robert, I think you are right that the piece would have been more interesting had the metronomes been set off in a sequence with predetermined rhythms. Actually, to me, what would have been most interesting is that they would have established a pattern but then lost it because they are mechanical. A lovely demonstration of contingency & entropy. (Quite different from using digital metronomes.) As is, the piece sounds like the proverbial thousand monkeys typing, which would have been a far better title, come to think of it. Listening tro the piece again just now, though, it also reminds me of listening to frogs out here in the country where I live. And we easily ascribe “beauty” (aesthetic value) to the sound of frogs. Nor does the piece go on too long. I’ve listened to it twice now & I kind of like it. Especially the diminishing gallop at the end. The setup is also visually striking.
On balance, I would rather listen to this piece twenty more times than pick up another copy of another university literary magazine & read another first-person confessional lyric that simply assumes the author’s experience is meaningful _because they had it_.
Look, I’m not just being contrarian here. I struggle with this problem in my own work & practice. In another context recently, I was defending the use of the “lyric I” & the notion of “sincerity” in poetry. (Sincerity of intention, if not of voice. You can’t assume the two are the same.) But I think the avant garde has a case against the mainstream’s blithe assumption that personal experience without noticeable structure (the play of contingency against meaning) or philosophical engagement or meta-discourse or what the hell ever, is enough to carry the poem. So, let’s say that I prefer the Legeti piece, which is surely minor art, to reading Daisy Fried’s poems (to choose an example almost at random), which seem to me hopelessly narcissistic.
Now, let’s see if I can type in the catchpa. Two tries failed. There is something wrong here, Robert.
I’m with you there, Joe. Like you, it is a constant consideration that a personally meaningful experience does not (necessarily) a good poem make. But I don’t feel that turning away from the personal completely, into tactics that involve deconstruction, gimmicks and “head games” with language is necessarily the highest realization of the art. I think it is harder to convey the personal in a universal way, to go against this grain of mediocre confessional poetry not with a radical swing away from the personal, but by going into it and actually doing it right. But that’s me, and my project (for now) – not some summary judgment of poetry itself.
I enjoyed the metronomes piece very much. I is hard to find experimental art that is not just 2D. This piece had repetition, sound, visual appeal, a message, and much much more! The comments are valuable as well, as they tell me that there are inspired, thinking artists out there that are interested in multi-dimensional work. I would like to see more of this kind of work.
Glad you got something out of this, Joy. Thanks for stopping by.