Statement of Purpose

At PechaKucha Boston earlier this week I presented the US premiere of my Statement of Purpose. I primarily think of it as a composition, but you might also call it a performance piece. I suppose “multimedia lecture” might be most accurate. It was written in September 2008 for presentation at PechaKucha Shanghai and thus adheres to the PechaKucha format: 20 slides of 20 seconds each. In Boston as in Shanghai, I think it seemed to go over pretty well.

Statement of Purpose is consciously indebted to John Cage’s Lecture on Nothing, one of the pieces collected in his book Silence, which I first read many years ago. The thing that struck me about these early Cage lectures and essays is that, in many cases, the message is in the form of the work, not the content. Rather than just describing his ideas about rhythmic structure, he demonstrates them; you experience them directly.

So in my piece, which I have described as an update of Lecture on Nothing for the digital era, I’ve adopted a mobile structure, as opposed to a linear lecture format. I take great inspiration from Alexander Calder, because in his mobiles, the individual elements are fixed, but the relationships between them are in constant flux. So here my lecture is arranged topically, around nodes of ideas. The main idea-nodes are

Aspects of Music and Audition
Stasis in Sound
Dynamism and Interactivity
The Current State of Videogames
Non-Linear Structure
The Nature of Multimedia

On each of these topics, I wrote a bunch (around six to ten, I think) of one sentence statements, single ideas that could be presented in any order. Then I wrote a program that generates a script by randomly picking one of these idea-nodes, picking some of the ideas associated with it, picking another idea-node, etc. Pauses are added between each statement to vary the density of the lecture over time (using a random walk, aka a “drunk” function or brown noise), in the same way that a tide or a rainstorm has a changing contour over time. Indications about when to clear my throat, gesture to the screen, take a swig of beer, etc. are also algorithmically scattered throughout the script, as a kind of textural element, subverting the ephemera of a typical lecture scenario.

I also interspersed a purely musical element, consisting of a set of low drones plus a set of brief melodies in a higher register (outlining an A mixolydian scale) all sung on a textless “ooh.” It’s pretty arbitrary; I thought the piece could use it, and I like the texture that results. But it also serves to focus attention on the abstract structure of the piece, rather than the content, and to suggest that the piece as a whole may be considered in musical terms.

There’s another type of behavior, too, statistically less likely to occur. While 16 of the 20 slides use the above formulations, the remaining 4 are shuffled riffs on standard salutations and closing statements: “Hello,” “Good evening,” “My name is Ben Houge,” “Thank you for your attention,” “Good night,” etc. The idea is that through repetition and dislocation, these phrases become formal (rather than syntactical) elements; it’s very similar to what I’m doing with radio broadcasts in Radiospace. Having another type of behavior helps vary and articulate the overall form. I also just think it’s funny, and I sensed that the audience was similarly amused. Humor is like music, in that it plays with audience expectations, as when I end my piece with a cordial, “Hello, everyone.”

The slides were generated using very similar techniques to those I employed in my 29 Giraffes series, but substituting text for little chunks of photographs. The colors, in fact, are algorithmically extracted from the same Nanjing Dong Lu source material I used in my Giraffes. Here again, the emphasis is more on the texture that emerges from all this superimposed text, rather than on the text itself; as with the algorithmically generated script, the slides communicate through form, rather than content.

The whole piece has an audio accompaniment, too, one 20 second audio clip per slide. To create this backdrop, I processed a recording of myself reading the text of the piece using a bunch of custom software I had lying around at the time, programs I had developed for other pieces. You can identify bits of Psalmus, Study for Eventual World Domination (my contribution to The Bike Bin Project), Radiospace, and a granular synthesis demo I did as a videogame audio engine prototype. Looking back, the evocations of these pieces that crop up (as of the Giraffes) provide a nice snapshot of my digital workspace in September 2008, which was part of the idea.

To assemble all of these elements, I selected the 20 slides I wanted to use of the many I had generated, then I wrote a program to shuffle them. Same for the 20-second audio segments I generated. In the end, it’s a combination of arbitrary decisions and procedurally generated bits, which is really how just about any artwork comes together, digital or otherwise.

The result is that ideas come and go, freely floating. I’ve referred to a lot of my pieces as “meditations,” and the term is certainly apt here. Ideas recur, sometimes in different media (text from the slides may pop up again in the spoken presentation or recorded backdrop). They “interpenetrate,” to use one of John Cage’s favorite terms. They reinforce each other, and they add up to a way of thinking, which is very much my way of thinking, a network, a web of ideas, all connected.

It’s a good time for me to revisit this piece. Especially in the past year, I’ve been thinking a lot about the meaning that can be conveyed through pure structure. I think this has come to the fore as I’ve been increasingly active in visual media. In music, we take this for granted; you could say that music traditionally conveys meaning through structure alone. Music is the most abstract of the arts; representation or mimesis in the pre-recording era was by far the exception (think of the timpani evoking thunder in the “Scène aux champs” of Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique). In some cases you can say what a piece is “about,” because you know something of the circumstances of its composition, or because of a prefatory note by the composer. But principally, music’s meaning is all in the relationships of different frequencies, rhythms, velocities, timbres, etc., and, more importantly, the calculus of how this all changes over time. You would never say that even as abstract a composition as The Art of the Fugue is meaningless.

So coming, as I do, from a background in music, it’s only natural for me to approach my visual art in the same way, applying the same types of structures that I use in my sound work to visual information, and it’s been surprising to see how the conversation unfolds differently. A prominent arts person (don’t worry, no one you know) came to see my show in Suzhou last fall, and I was kind of amazed when she asked me what my piece was trying to convey. A musician would never think to ask such a question. As Elvis Costello said, if I could have written the song with any other words than the words I used in the song, I would have written a different song, wouldn’t I?

Of course there was a bit of a conscious impulse to poke a hole in the sometimes punctilious proceedings of a standard PechaKucha event (I have my Seattle School cohorts to thank for any vestigial confrontational aesthetic). As when I sneakily built an ambient electronic piece from mildly acrimonious pre-show chatter at Opensound a few weeks ago, I like the idea of snapping people into a different state of awareness with some new or unexpected realization. I also like the pacing of it; PechaKucha is usually about people cramming as much as they can into their 6:40, but my script actually includes indications to pause for as long as 10 seconds. But both times I’ve presented this work, the audience seemed to get it and dig it; it’s not just some avant-garde stunt. The message was conveyed.

Statement of Purpose was my first project after leaving Ubisoft at the end of August 2008. The deadline was tight, less than a month, as I recall, and I liked the idea of doing a new piece completely from scratch to emphasize my new trajectory as a full time, independent artist. I remember staying up all night to get it done, with an urgency that had been missing from my corporate gig for quite a while. I consciously wanted to make a statement about the main issues I was setting out to address in my work, my mission, as I considered it (and still do). Check out some documentation from that performance, and a video excerpt below.

I originally wanted to generate my slides and script in real-time using custom software, which I feel is technically still in keeping with the PechaKucha format, but in Boston as well as in Shanghai, the organizers very understandably wanted to stick to a standard set-up for all speakers. This is still something I want to explore, though, particularly the idea of giving cues to a performer on the fly, exploring the idea of real-time score generation (which is exactly what happens in a music videogame like Guitar Hero, and which I’ve already started to explore in pieces like my Zhujiajiao Drinking Game, more commonly referred to as Beer Hero). I’ve been contemplating a revision of this piece for a long time, to include this real-time score idea, write some new modules, add some Chinese text, incorporate multiple screens of real-time generated imagery, and blow past the 6:40 PechaKucha time limit to create a full, hour-long presentation. If anyone would like to sponsor and/or host such an event, please let me know!

Departure from The Point of Departure

As I’m getting settled in on the other side of the planet, I’ve had a little time to upload some documentation of my ongoing (through Dec. 5!) show at True Color Museum in Suzhou.

First, in case you missed it, here’s the original press release and various placards and annotations. See also my original treatment and mockup.

The show got a lot of good notice in the press. Check out Tom Mangione’s feature in the Global Times on my residency at True Color and recent work, Jake Newby’s near eulogy that kind of made me cry a little bit, and these fond farewells in SmartShanghai and Shanghaiist.

I’ve also got a bunch of pictures from the show, the opening party, and my residency up on Flickr.

And I’ve got some video of the main installation itself up here, but be warned that a video clip doesn’t do justice to the scale and spaciousness of the final work.

Self-Portrait, Dusk, at the Point of Departure (live footage) from Ben Houge on Vimeo.

It’s my largest installation to date, and to a greater extent than any previous piece, it relies on a large space for its full effect, so the experience of watching a small, single channel video can’t describe the impact of the piece on-site. When you’re there in the very reverberant room, you’re enveloped by resonant sound. The screens are spaced out such that you can’t easily take them all in at once. You have to kind of unhinge your eyes a bit, so that you’re not looking at the image on any particular screen so much as the relationships and changes across screens; this multiplicity is an integral aspect of the piece. In addition to the technical breakthroughs (at least for me), which included a real-time color correction system and a scheme for networked troubleshooting and balancing, this piece marks a milestone in my use of video as a sculptural element in a larger composition, rather than serving as the totality of the canvas itself.

Most of my pieces are of an experimental nature (“What is the nature of an experimental action? It is simply an action the outcome of which is not foreseen.” –John Cage), which means they necessarily evolve quite a bit from original idea to final outcome. What’s striking to me about this piece is how close it turned out to my original conception, below.

Self-Portrait, Dusk, at the Point of Departure from Ben Houge on Vimeo.

In the process of escorting the piece from concept to final installation, some additional ideas and associations emerged. One is the format of the piece, originally intended to evoke the banks of departure monitors at an airport, but which of course also evokes a bank of security monitors, all somewhat unsettlingly trained on the same subject. Feeling the piece in its final form, I was really struck at how much it really creates a portal to another space, like there’s a magical wormhole connecting southern Suzhou and suburban St. Paul. A visiting artist friend also pointed out that the tree branches standing in stark silhouette cannot help but evoke traditional Chinese ink painting in a city with a history like Suzhou’s, where the many gardens are full of literati in training, sketching away.

The exhibition’s opening event went great. Basically, I invited all the musicians I wanted to hear one last time before leaving the country (Yao Dajuin 姚大钧 performing his rich, slowly cresting Dream Reverberations; Wang Changcun 王长存, with a masterful set of algorithmic counterpoint; and Xu Cheng 徐程, exploring modulating oscillators), and they all played exceptional sets. The same day, there was an opening at the I. M. Pei-designed Suzhou Museum of works on loan from the San Diego Museum of Art (a fine show I had a chance to check out a few days later; John Sennhauser’s Syncrophormic #18-Horizontal Duo blew me away!), but the museum chairman Chen Hanxing 陈翰星 said that the turnout at our show was better!

It’s possible that I will look back on this time in Suzhou as some of the happiest days of my life. For years I’d been longing for just the kind of hermetic retreat this residency afforded me, to be isolated in an environment where I could focus on work and study. In addition to putting this show together and constructing my Self-Portrait installation, I worked on songs for my upcoming CD release Shanghai Travelogue (next step: taking the stems to my pal Mike’s place near Seattle in early 2011 to mix!), getting caught up on Chinese study (now I’m just shy of 3000 characters), and other miscellaneous writing, reading, composing (sketches for at least two future pieces), and documentation. It was a productive, peaceful, and idyllic time; if anything, I wish I could have taken better advantage of the situation, without having to pop into Shanghai so often or taking most of the month of August to tour Germany.

Here’s a very informal tour of the museum and my exhibition that I recorded in the fleeting moments before I left Suzhou:

The Point of Departure/True Color Museum Tour from Ben Houge on Vimeo.

My friend Maya Kramer was the first foreign artist to do a residency at True Color (and I am in awe of her fortitude; she came in cold from the US, first time in China, not speaking a lick of Chinese, immediately sequestered to the outskirts of Suzhou, and totally thrived). She warned me that it would be lonely sometimes, but I remember several weekend evenings realizing that I was the only person in this huge building, and feeling nothing but contentment in my rooftop retreat. The only kink was when, about halfway through my residency, the cook who had been providing me with 3 square (if somewhat homogenous) meals/day got fired, and from that point on foraging for food became a challenge in this remote location; for the last 3 months of my residency, I subsisted on bananas, mooncakes (the Chinese equivalent of fruitcake, very solid food), and green tea.

The museum’s commitment to art is serious. The previous big group show last summer at the museum was vast, and really good. I don’t know how many people saw it, but almost certainly fewer than should have. The show was called “中国性 Nature of China: Contemporary Art Documenta.” Maybe it’s a little goofy to review a show that’s already been taken down, but I thought I’d go ahead and post my notes from that exhibition, quick blurbs about artists whose work I dug, or who at least provoked me in some way.

王岩 Wang Yan
Big, polluted, industrial landscapes
Dark and Kieferesque

施慧 Shi Hui
Big papier-mâché (or some such technique) stools/drums
Nice environmental installation, with a dialog between some drums arranged haphazardly on the ground and others suspended from the ceiling

马晗 Ma Han
Went to construction sites and ground sand from various kinds of rubble
Affixed this sand to canvas to make earth-hued, Barnett Newman-style horizontal zips, nice texture
Sand was also lined up in jars, perhaps overly documented with photographs, but gets the idea across
Same artist also did a huge flock of starched black and white shirts hanging from the ceiling
Also did these weird candied bonsai trees, dripping, lumpy texture, lit from beneath, all made out of tiny people and rice

贺丹 He Dan
Several large paintings, depicting throngs of people in realistic detail, contrasting the stark formal composition of the canvases
Big plane was my favorite, looming ominously and menacingly over the crowd, an alienating display of power and technology
Another painting of crowds carrying red flags was less effective, perhaps a bit jingoistic? Or maybe that was the point

马良 Ma Liang
B&W photographs of miniature figures in fantastical pastoral scenes, evoking historical painting
Incorporating dead fish and chicken, surreal, decay
Chinese calligraphy inscriptions

王强 Wang Qiang
Hollow, woven, suspended clouds, nice effect
Not sure what these were made out of, but some super light material that traced the clouds’ outline
I had a nice view of this piece through the skylight from my quarters upstairs

梁绍基 Liang Shaoji
听蚕 Listening to the Silk Worms
A big dark room that housed several incubators in which silk worms lived their life cycles
Additional pillows with headphones to listen to them, and some videos near the roof, as I recall
Great sound and smell, sad they tossed it after a few days

郑达 Zheng Da
OK, this was the one piece I hated; if you’re going to do a piece that evokes videogames in any sense and fails to achieve excellence, prepare to incur my wrath!
Everything about this was poor
Concept was dumb and blunt: you run around a virtual world with your avatar and click on the things you “want” (material goods, big assumptions), and they explode
Explosions only make sound part of the time, and the sounds are terrible
Explosions are ugly, particles don’t disappear, just hang in space
No life in environment, just some easy flowing water
There’s no game here, it just arbitrarily ends after a while
Bad ergonomics/interface (mouse on a low table in the dark, makes your wrist hurt after a minute)
Bad music loop
Terrible, terrible

王剑 Wang Jian
欲象 Phenomenon of Desire
Abstracted grayscale paintings, bodily forms, ephemeral, evocative
I’m told this guy used to have my studio!
Gestural clarity

幸鑫 Xing Xin
吾与浮冰 Meditation on Floating Ice
Performance event, commenting on carbon emissions, among other things
Head to a glacier at the head of the Yangtze River near Tibet
Collect a piece of ice and take it to the East China Sea to melt
“We hope the audience could try to understand such boring guys like us!”
Car plate issue (had to bypass Shanghai, one of the many ridiculous restrictions on Shanghai life imposed by the Expo)
Accompanying video of him floating down the Yangtze on a bed is cool, though!
More at

杨福东 Yang Fudong
半马索 (2010)
Videos of guys in suits leading donkeys through canyons
Nice, elegiac, typical Yang Fudong
BTW, like me, Yang Fudong also used to work for Ubisoft Shanghai!

Huge sculptures outside
隋建国 Sui Jianguo’s big suspended metal block
Also a car with a rock garden in its hood; didn’t see who that was by

金锋 Jin Feng
Printed scrolls of etched graffiti
Same guy I exhibited with at OV Gallery’s “Make Over” show earlier this year!

刘建华 Liu Jianhua’s large sheets of blank paper, slightly bent, that turn out to be porcelain upon closer inspection
These were super cool

孟涛 Meng Tao’s big canvas of peacocks are striking
He hired some master silk embroiderers to reproduce his painting and suspended them side by side, very nice presentation, stretched out on a loom
Performative documentation unnecessary, as is the fact that he did the original painting in one 24 hour session
(like that Icelandic guy at the Venice biennale…when did painting become performance? Why can’t it just be a practice or a discipline? Are painters feeling so marginalized that they feel they must subject themselves to this awkward artistic rebranding?)

汪建伟 Wang Jianwei
Not sure about his big video: 时间•剧场•展览
This was the weird historical thing, period costumes, bunch of scenes, no dialog, odd nonsequiturs very theatrical (no real set, just presented in a big, dark, black box type space)
But it was projected on a heck of a projector, which I was happy to later use for my Transportation video!

曾晓峰 Zeng Xiaofeng
Creepy dark portraits, faces of animals, weird pseudo-scientific scribbles and props

Farewell for now, True Color!

On Sound Art

I just finished reading an incredibly frustrating yet nonetheless fairly informative book on sound art called Sound Art: Beyond Music, Between Categories by Alan Licht (Rizzoli 2007). I think Mr. Licht and I were doomed from the beginning not to get along; he set out to write a book that defines and differentiates sound art from other media, whereas the main crux of my artistic endeavor is to demonstrate the connections between seemingly disparate disciplines. Yet even after acknowledging this fundamental difference in perspective, there were occasions when my furious margin notes could scarcely contain my indignation!

The overarching problem with the book is organization. The table of contents tips you off: there are only three misshapen chapters entitled “What is Sound Art?” “Environment and Soundscapes,” and “Sound and the Art World.” Threads are started, then dropped, topics change mid-paragraph. Instead of persuasive arguments and cohesive ideas, rambling lists substitute for synthesis. The text too frequently diverges into only mildly relevant territory: a history of film sound, the development of earth art, a section on “art bands,” another section on film sound unlinked to the first.

I thought the subsection entitled “Art and Pop Envy” that started out with Laurie Anderson exhibiting a jukebox at Holly Solomon Gallery (p. 151) raised some interesting questions, but then it dropped them all in favor of a dull parade of “art bands” (strangely omitting Velvet Underground, whose link to Andy Warhol as a sonic facet of his practice was tipped in the previous section, p.136). Laurie Anderson’s tape loops in boxes are included in the “art band” section, not the sound sculpture section, where they would seem to belong (p. 151). The section on site specificity is strangely not part of the “Environment and Soundscapes” chapter, although that chapter does include mention of David Dunn’s pieces scored specifically to be performed in the Grand Canyon and the Anza-Borrego Desert; if that’s not site-specific, what is? A specially tuned La Monte Young piano is also included as a site specific work, just because it’s heavy and hard to move (p. 45). That’s not site specific; that’s just lazy!

Mr. Licht never settles on a persuasive tone for the book. He drops periodic anecdotes of sometimes questionable relevance, for example, recounting his experience of a baby crying at a Morton Feldman concert (p. 85) or watching Lighting Bolt perform in an alley (p. 155). His first person “I” floats in and out of the book, between long, dull lists of names and events. Twice he inexplicably switches to the present tense (p. 143, and again on p. 150). In a book that seems to be attempting an objective, historical overview, he sometimes makes what come across as arbitrary jabs at artists who don’t meet his criteria for sound artist.

Certain artists are treated rather dismissively, on no cited grounds. Ed Tomney “must” be categorized as a professional musician (rather than a sound artist), despite a list of his art world activities; I’ve never heard of the guy, but given his treatment here, I’m on his side. Similarly Bruce Odland and Sam Auinger (also new to me) are dismissed as “anti-Russolo, and maybe even anti-Cage” (p. 118) for using resonators to tune ambient sounds in a public space (an idea I’ve actually been wanting to play with for a while, but it looks like they beat me to it); this is notwithstanding the quotation from Russolo a few pages earlier that “we want to give pitches to these diverse noises, regulating them harmonically and rhythmically” (p. 74). There’s a very odd jab at Dolby surround sound (p. 123), in which the author seems to confuse the difference between the number of sound channels and the relative loudness of sounds on those channels, although Dolby is later discussed in quite a positive light (p. 209). Steven Vitiello’s pieces “are perhaps more a consolidation of ideas gleaned from other sound artworks and gestures that may not add more than a few new wrinkles to the form” (p. 285), which strikes me as unnecessarily condescending.

And there’s a pervasive confusion regarding metaphor: “sculptural sound” (p. 203), the “surface of sound” (p. 136), “dirt as noise” (p. 80). The discussion of “sculptural sound” (p. 203) does not make clear the distinction between a sculptural object that emits or suggests sound, and a sound (including music) that suggests a physical object in its cohesion, scale, stasis, or palpability (I’m thinking particularly of some of the high-volume “noise” concerts I’ve been to). “Noise” as a genre or theoretical category (p. 77) is already incredibly problematic (I’ll elaborate on that matter another time), and the meandering section on “dirt as noise” (p. 136) only confuses things further, conflating noise with land art and tossing in radio (p. 118) for no apparent reason. The section on music and painting, which talks about the “surface of sound,” particularly struggles to make a point (p. 135 ff), especially when citing the writings of Morton Feldman, who has a very idiosyncratic way of talking about music’s “surface” that seems taken out of context here.

The heft of this hardcover book belies its modest content. While it’s nice to have a lot of pictures, it feels a bit cheeky to use them all twice: in addition to the full page version, they’re printed again in the lower margins of the pages (which also means less text on each page). Photographs of speakers in bottles are presented with no explanation that might convey something of the actual experience of the piece; only from reading the biographies in the back of the book can you glean an idea of what, for example, Steve Roden and Steve Vitiello’s installations might be like (pp. 26-31). And the photos are disproportionate to the text; for example, Hermann Nitsch is only mentioned in passing (p. 149) in a list alongside other Vienna Actionists, and yet he gets eight pages of photos (pp. 168-175)!

The selections on the CD accompanying this book are frustrating, too, containing only two or maybe three examples of sound art, even by the author’s own definition! Alongside eleven minutes of Bill Fontana’s masterful Harmonic Bridge and Bernhard Gal’s 57A, we get composer Alvin Lucier’s Still and Moving Lines of Silence in Families of Hyperbolas, multitracked free improv of Jean Dubuffet, and an “untutored foray into electronic noise” (p. 149) by art/noise band Destroy All Monsters (like Nitsch, mentioned only very briefly in the text, and similarly overrepresented in photos, pp. 176-179). Steve Roden’s rust, and really Gal’s piece, too, adhere more closely to the definition of electro-acoustic composition (there’s no indication that they were excerpted from an installation) than with any definition of sound art Licht provides (and the fact that Roden’s sound source was a Harry Bertoia chair doesn’t change that). Furthermore, disappointingly, Bernhard Gal isn’t even mentioned in the text, although I’m happy to have him on the CD (I had dinner with him after he played a NOIShanghai show at Yu Yin Tang in 2007 or so, quite an accomplished and personable fellow).

OK, those are my objections as a writer. More egregious are my objections as a sound artist.

I think Mr. Licht knows what he’s trying to say, but he’s got a hard time getting it across. He talks around a definition of sound art without supplying one in any concrete terms. “Sound art is not about a stage show” (p. 13), he writes; it occurs in “an exhibition situation rather than a performance situation” (p. 14). He quotes Stockhausen: “You have to compose differently when you know that the listeners are coming and going” (p. 44). So far, so good.

But the idea that sound art “comes from the appreciation of the total environment of sounds, both wanted and unwanted” (p. 116) is an unsupported and inaccurate generalization; as a practicing sound artist, one of my biggest concerns is keeping unwanted sounds from interfering with my pieces (a challenge the author somewhat duplicitously goes on to admit on the subsequent page). He asserts that sound art is involved in an investigation of “extended time duration and repetition” (p. 121), and that “sound artists sought the elimination of time” (p. 124). While these statements are often true, they cannot be used as absolute criteria for categorizing work as sound art or not; in fact one of my major concerns is avoiding repetition in my pieces.

In fact, there is no specific quality, parameter, or attribute of sound art that categorically distinguishes it from music. What characterizes sound art is rather a question of emphasis. Generally, yes, sound art tends to be more interested in the phenomenology of sound, in space and site-specificity, and in developing continuous or non-teleological behaviors (or if not developing new ones, simply reusing the oldest one in the book: “loop it!”). Max Neuhaus’s beautiful comment (not included in this book, but you can read it here) that he sought to fix sound in space, rather than time, to allow listeners to make their own time, sums up this aesthetic quite succinctly.

The historical precedent in music seems to me a necessary point of departure for any useful introduction to sound art. I bristle at the suggestion that occurs in these pages (p. 136) that sound or music may serve as a new medium for artists, when of course, an artist whose medium is sound has been known for millennia simply as a musician. (While I appreciate a cow with a subtile nose as much as the next guy, the recording of Jean Dubuffet scraping away on a violin on the CD accompanying this book is nothing more than a historical curiosity, contributing absolutely nothing to the evolution of sonic discourse). Allegations are often made about the limitations of music (e.g., Rolf Julius’s assertion that a composer “doesn’t know about texture” on p. 267), and they all stem from a shallow understanding of what music is, has been, and can be. Many of the artists cited as pioneers of sound art identify primarily as musicians: John Cage, Alvin Lucier, Edgard Varèse, Karlheinz Stockhausen, et al. Several times the truism that music is somehow more “time-based” than sound art seems to be taken at face value, but of course sound, by definition, can only exist in time (and if all sound artists are as inherently phenomenologically oriented as Mr. Licht suggests, this physical fact should scarcely bear repeating). What remains, then, for many artists working with sound (and this is also an important focus of my work), is to find a new approach to time that functions as landscape, rather than narrative.

Mr. Licht burned the last shred of my goodwill with the last paragraph of his book, which is sheer folly, if not nonsense. In it, he asserts that, unlike music, sound art’s “effect on the listener is between categories. It’s not emotional nor is it necessarily intellectual.” On the other hand, “music either stimulates, reinforces, or touches on emotional experiences either directly (through lyrics) or indirectly (through melody and harmony),” it “deals with human thought processes, technology, and behavior. Music speaks to a listener as a human being, with all of the complexity that entails, but sound art, unless it’s employing speech, speaks to the listener as a living denizen of the planet, reacting to sound and environment as any animal would” (p. 218). I’m sure many sound artists will be as dismayed as I to learn that the possibility of intellectual rigor or emotional depth is denied to our medium. The comments about of speech and “lyrics” come out of nowhere, a blindside that would seem to dismiss the expressive and communicative power of pure sound. Unfortunately for Mr. Licht, those characteristics he assigns here to music, the logical structure of those “human” and “intellectual” thought processes, are also what make for compelling reading; he has essentially underlined the major failings of his book.

Nonetheless, I admit there’s a lot of good information here, a lot of important names (I was particularly pleased to make the aquaintance of Michael J. Schumacher), all well indexed; I’ll definitely keep this book around as a useful reference. The artist biographies at the back of the book are also useful, although like the CD, only loosely related to the text. (For reasons that the text does not care to explicate, Hermann Nitsch is also included in the bio section.) Perhaps the reason I found this book so frustrating is that, in fact, we agree on quite a bit about sound art, which makes our differences of opinion all the more acute. He makes a lot of the points I would like to make, but he doesn’t make points in the way that I would have made them, and of course, that’s much more frustrating than disagreeing completely.

Here, if you want to make a book on sound art, these are the sections I would like to see:

-Sound as object (going back to Satie and Varèse, culminating in Cage; tie in sound poetry as well, Schwitters et al; if you had lots of time, you could even start with a discussion of “materials” and “themes” in traditional music theory)
-Sound as physical phenomenon (in fact, the logical extension of taking sound as object, touch on acoustics, including psychoacoustics)
-Sound in space (in compositions by Stockhausen and Henry Brant, also as part of the environment, furniture music, ambient music, wallpaper music, Muzak)
-Sound sculpture (sculpture that makes sound as well as sculpture that suggests sound, which would include lots of Christian Marclay’s stuff, as well as Bruce Nauman’s chair tuned DEAD, touching on instrument construction, Partch, Trimpin, et al)
-Sound in time (musical form, durational structures, narrative and drama, non-linearity, sound of indeterminate duration, correlation to other media, including abstract painting [Klee, Kandinsky, and many others], the dubious category of “visual music”)
-Acousmatic sound (i.e., sound abstracted from original source; talk about recording technology, musique concrète)
-Documentary and conceptual sound (relating back to sound sculpture, Marclay, “Box with the Sound of its own Making,” Vito Acconci, Bruce Nauman)
-Sound as a multimedia component (start with history of sound in opera, ballet, theater, touch [briefly] on film sound, radios and tape recorders as sculptural elements, sound in an installation)

A lot of these ideas flit through the pages of Alan Licht’s “Sound Art,” but no clear case is made. If anyone wants to write that book for me, I’d be happy to read it. If you’re lucky, I’ll compensate you with a longwinded, rambling, unsolicited review on my blog!

Fat Art Lessons

(Before I dive in, let me draw your attention to a recap of the Fat Art show I did for the China Music Radar blog! Also, if you want a thorough description of the installation I did for the show in collaboration with Chen Hangfeng, check out my previous post on the subject.)

I’m trying to imagine what my reaction would be if I were to check out the Fat Art show as an impartial observer. According to the show introduction, “Music to My Eyes is an art exhibition with a difference: in each of the works created for the project, sound is an integral part of the visual presentation.” But it’s really not such a unique concept; I’ve seen many shows that try to do more or less the same thing, one at Duolun a few years back, that tent annex at the Shanghai Biennial in 2004, a recent Shanghai MOCA show, etc.

Not only is it not such an original idea, but it’s also not particularly well-advised; every time I go to one of these multimedia installation spectaculars, the result is cacophony, where no piece has the sonic space it requires to say its piece, and if a good piece is even to be found, it’s usually lost in the din. Even the current Nam June Paik show at Beijing’s Central Academy of Fine Arts suffers from this problem (it’s the worst of both worlds, in fact; the sound is thin and weak, yet still manages to bleed through from piece to piece).

And now, I, too, have fallen victim.

A critical aspect of my piece is that it’s processing real-time sound coming from two microphones positioned around the gallery. It’s an audio corollary to a kaleidoscope, performing the same kind of function that Hangfeng’s video piece does, fracturing the everyday world into something unexpected and, I think, beautiful. So when noise from other pieces in the show makes it impossible to tell that the sound on the speakers is a manipulated live feed, or even to distinguish what sound is coming from my installation as opposed to the piece next door, the point of the piece is lost. In this context, I have to say, my piece fails.

But of course, some of life’s most important lessons are born of failure, so I’ve done my best to derive some helpful maxims, some logistical, some practical, some aesthetic, to keep in mind for future work. The comments that follow are not necessarily limited to Fat Art, but are culled from my experiences and frustrations with a number of sound art exhibitions over the years, issues that were very much on my mind while installing our piece.

Most important: make sure you’re prepared to handle the unique challenges presented by a show of all sound-producing works.
I’ve never seen a show all sound-producing works in which the pieces didn’t bleed into each other and diminish the experience. I think this is simply because most galleries and show organizers are not equipped to deal with sound. To successfully pull off a show like this requires the expertise of an acoustician and an audio engineer.

An understanding of the sound that will be generated by each piece is essential in determining the layout of the show, not just from description, but from actually hearing it (a challenge, of course, when the pieces are being developed specifically for the show, but one that must be addressed). Someone with some acoustical background should work to improve the acoustics of the gallery space (typically an afterthought) and help to sonically isolate pieces (typically a stab in the dark). An audio engineer’s expertise is needed when laying cables and positioning speakers, as well, to ensure that, for example, power cables and audio cables are not all run side by side (thus incurring interference). Finally, someone with trained ears also needs to be there to mix and set levels for the entire show in a systematic manner.

Given the proliferation of sound art, I’d say there’s a need for a new type of specialized “sound curator” to emerge to handle issues related to sound art and sound in galleries.

Not everything in a show about sound needs to generate sound.
There seems to be a pervasive assumption that if one sound-producing work is good, then a whole show of them is even better. But even apart from the practical considerations of acoustical isolation, the issue of aesthetic isolation remains. Exhibitions often derive their strength from a dialog between pieces, but in most new media shows, where pieces are often corralled into little cattle stalls (as with a recent exhibit at the South River Art Center), the goal is usually just the opposite.

A show about music or sound doesn’t need to include exclusively sound-producing works. There are so many mute images that nonetheless suggest rhythm or sound or music in their form or subject matter, and a sound installation might well benefit from proximity to visual works. I remember seeing an excellent Christian Marclay show at the Seattle Art Museum in 2004 that pulled this balance off expertly. Liu Ye’s paintings didn’t really need to have music by the artists depicted playing in the same room on an endless loop; maybe another piece in the show could have served as a soundtrack. A record label like Modern Sky could also capitalize on its album art, for example, the fine prints Jonathan Leijonhufvud created for the latest ReTROS album (actually on sale just around the corner at the Today Art Museum gift shop).

Bring your own gear.
We initially agreed that Hangfeng and I would provide all of our own equipment. This would allow us to work with the final hardware and ensure everything was functioning properly before arriving in Beijing. But then, in an effort to cut costs, it was decided that the museum would furnish all the gear instead. So I was greeted with a pair of “Vocal King” karaoke monitors when I arrived at the space, not exactly the “Tannoy 5A or equivalent” I had specified. And all of the mismatched projectors that had showed up for the various pieces that required them (including six for our piece) had to be sent back, as they were not up to snuff. Getting the cheapest gear ended up costing more money, time, and frustration in the end.

On the other hand, I believe Mathieu Borysevicz located all of his own gear, which allowed him to get up and running a lot sooner. I’m going to insist more firmly on this in the future.

Pay attention to acoustics.
According to the Fat Art magazine that doubles as the show’s catalogue, the Xinjiang artist Aniwar intended to create “a realm complete and utter silence,” in which the only sound would be “the rise and fall of the breath, the pounding of blood in the veins, the roar of silence in the ears.” His comments closely mirror John Cage’s often repeated account of his visit to an anechoic chamber (in which, instead of silence, he was surprised to hear two sounds: the high frequency buzz of his nervous system and the low frequency throb of his circulatory system [a claim which always struck me as somewhat scientifically specious]) to an extent that I doubt is coincidental.

But if you want to build an anechoic chamber, you don’t turn to an abstract painter. His main technique was to line the walls with bolts of felt. In the end, the installation doesn’t even look finished, with bolts of felt standing next to the entrance, which suggests to me that when the other pieces started making sound (including a video looping right outside his room’s open door), he kind of gave up on the idea.

Given this approach, complete silence was clearly not going to happen. But when I popped in to check on progress halfway through installation, I was nonetheless struck by the sudden change in acoustical space. Museums (especially the renovated warehouses and factories popular in China) are generally not conceived with a consideration for acoustics, and with all the construction and yelling going on as people were setting up their pieces, his room did have a markedly different feel. I think a lot of the time people don’t pay attention to the acoustical characteristics of the space they’re in until it changes (unless it’s really bad). So this could be something fun to play with in the future, either as an artistic parameter on its own, or just to help set off some other sound-producing element.

Mapping space and time
It’s actually a testament to the catchiness of Ge Fei’s piece that I still don’t mind hearing it on the CD accompanying the Fat Art magazine, even after a week of it seeping through the walls of our installation and interfering with my own sound. You have to read the magazine to realize that the sound is actually derived directly from the painting by Xu Ruotao next to which it was looping. The methods used are not described, but I imagine the technique was to use a tool along the lines of Metasynth to transform an image into a sound. The result was a five minute file that endlessly looped on a portable music player.

From my perspective, the act of mapping between different sets of data is at the core of digital art, full of fascinating challenges and possibilities. (This kind of mapping, in fact, inspired the name of this very blog.) But from my conversations with others (even other artists conversant in new media), it seems there are many assumptions regarding the mapping of images and sound that go unquestioned, though they are far from the only approaches possible. I guess this stems from our general familiarity with the two most common methods of representing sound pictorially: music notation (x equals time, y equals pitch) and waveform displays (x equals time, y equals amplitude). But there is no innate characteristic of the x axis (or the y axis, or the color depth or brightness of any pixel or any other parameter) that signifies time. Ge Fei’s suggestion that the painting is five minutes long is therefore completely arbitrary (and I’d say, having spent some time with the painting myself, perhaps a bit generous).

Experiencing this piece made me ponder that there are a lot of ways to map space to time in a real-time system, something to potentially explore in future work. It seems to me it would have been more effective if the mapping were happening continuously in real-time, so that you could experience the sound as you experience a painting: as long as you want to, making your own beginning and end as you come and go. You could even use some head-tracking routine to generate music based on the area of the canvas being examined.

Plan for adequate ventilation.
Our room was a small, custom-built hexagon inside one of the main galleries. I’m not sure if it’s due to the quality of construction materials used, or due to the lack of ventilation, but after a while the room started to stink, to the point where I saw a few people enter, take one whiff, make a face, and leave immediately. In the end the imperfect solution was to put the curtain aside to air the room out when the museum was closed.

This would have been less of an issue if the walls weren’t feebly trying to block out sound from other pieces; they might have been made from a more porous material. But if the walls must serve as soundproofing, then issues of ventilation (one of the trickiest issues in building a sound booth, as I learned when we installed one at my former office at Sierra) must also be addressed.

A more whimsical thought: while our experience brought the subject of smell to the fore, my friend Defne has also been collaborating with a perfumer to create the smell of the moon for her upcoming Futurist event. Tagging the subject for future research…

Even if you don’t need to be there, be there.
There’s really no reason I should have had to be on site for much of the set-up of our piece; there were workers there to hang cables, paint walls, etc. Most of the time I felt I could have been more productive fine-tuning my Max patch back at the hotel room than hanging around on-site amid the cacophony and astringent fumes of construction.

But not only was I able to catch some mistakes in installation (you can’t run power cables and audio cables next to each other), but when I was there, our piece’s needs simply got more attention. If something wasn’t happening, and I started doing it myself, help would suddenly materialize.

This really isn’t unique to putting on an art show; it’s general project management, just as true for a videogame. In fact, I was struck several times by the similarities between setting up for a big event like this one, and getting a videogame out the door.

And a few longstanding maxims were reinforced.
No loops!
If I have a mantra, this is it, finely honed from 12 years of audio development for videogames (i.e., real-time, digital systems). I think anyone who decides to loop a piece to make it run indefinitely in a gallery fundamentally doesn’t understand the medium of installation. I’ll expound upon this more in another post; basically a loop is the least creative answer to a very interesting question.

The refrigerator door effect
The only pieces that were really interactive at the show were Wang Bo’s and (maybe, depending on how it was supposed to be working) Yan Lei’s. Wang Bo’s piece included some of his cartoon characters rendered in life-sized plastic that cried out in pain when struck. This type of interaction, so distressingly common in digital artworks, is analogous to a refrigerator door: when you open the door, the light goes on, a simple one-to-one correspondence that, once observed, offers very little in terms of replay value. Further, behind these plastic figures, an animation of the same characters being menaced by a monstrous figure also looped, so that the piece actually broke two of my cardinal rules. And it must be said that the basic audio elements on such incessant display were poorly balanced in volume and timbre, offering no illusion that they were emanating from organic personages in a common acoustical space.

Let film be film, and let installation be installation
I was planning a big post on this topic to register my disappointment with the SH Contemporary show last fall; maybe I’ll still get around to it. What I noticed there was that almost all of the video art, except for Bill Viola and a Korean artist who’s name I’ve forgotten, was unduly beholden to the conventions of film. I don’t want to get mired down in semantics, but for me the most useful distinction is that film (including “films” shot on digital cameras) is about providing surrogate eyes, occuring in a dark room that is designed to make you forget you’re in a room at all; by contrast, video installation exists in a space, as an object.

To me, Mathieu’s piece falls squarely into the former category; I think it’s an eloquent film, and here as well as in other works of his that I’ve seen, he shows a particular knack for multiple channel narrative. But since his film so clearly presents a narrative arc, I found it frustrating to encounter his piece at the top of the stairs to the exhibitions second floor, where you’re almost guaranteed to start watching the film somewhere in the middle, then watch through to the end, then keep watching from the beginning until you get to the point where you came in, then try to piece the whole thing together into a coherent narrative in your head.

I’ve been proposing a simple solution to this problem for years: a countdown timer to the next show time! I’ve yet to see anyone try this.

I actually thought Sun Lei’s and Pei Li’s pieces both worked better as installations, even though they were also looping, since they were dramatically flat, more a series of tableaux than a story. It doesn’t really matter when you come and go.

In closing
Hope this doesn’t all come off as too grumpy; as my surliest composition professor, Richard Karpen, once said, if everyone simply applauds and says, “Great piece,” you never make any progress. In the end, despite some frustrations, it was a fun and rewarding experience, and I got a chance to work with many lovely people in the process, deepening my relationship with Hangfeng, getting to know other artists like Sun Lei and Pei Li, plus all the indefatigable folks who organized the show, Karen (particularly spry in addressing unforeseen challenges during set-up, and an unwobbling pivot throughout development) and her lovely assistant Lauren, Shen Yue and the tireless Ji Su from Modern Sky, the gregarious Liu Yitao from TAM, and so many others. Let’s do it again sometime!

The Power of Music

I just got back from giving a presentation on sound art at Raffles Design Institute on the campus of Donghua University, about a block from Yu Yin Tang. The hallways are emblazoned with photographs of people like Jean-Paul Gaultier and Stella McCartney, and the glass door to each room is inscribed with maxims such as “Globalization is possible when a brand is built into a cultural stereotype,” “Brands are relationships; there’s nothing else,” “Success financially is a measure of creative success; it is the same in all art” (that one was Stella’s), and my favorite, “The power of music is branding.” It was even creepier than the thought of classrooms full of students being serious about fashion marketing.

But my personal interactions were all quite agreeable. I was there at the behest of the effervescent multimedia instructor and aspiring DJ Raquel Assis, to speak to her “New Media and Environments” class. My presentation seemed to be quite well-received, although I always feel a bit like I’m cheating, since all I have to do is say, “I’ve been making videogames for the past 12 years,” and everyone snaps to attention.

Most of the questions afterwards came from other professors sitting in. One asked how living in China has influenced my work, which was an interesting question, because the piece I had just played was “Radiospace,” which on the surface (in this particular rendering) has lots of snippets of Chinese speech and pop songs, but is actually not about content at all. It’s a real-time program that uses radio broadcasts as source material for audio manipulation, and was actually completed back in Seattle, where the program mangles Britney Spears instead of the Jay Chou. A lot of my work is kind of ambivalent about content, focusing instead on structure, and that’s particularly true of this piece.

But back to the question, while I am an enthusiastic student of Chinese culture, I don’t hear a specific Chinese influence on my work in any overt sense, like using pentatonic scales or whatever (I wouldn’t have to come to China to pick that up, anyway). When I hear something in Chinese music that is relevant to the issues that concern me, I do, of course, take note (I cited a recording of a Buddhist ritual in a Shanghai temple on the French Ocora label, “Chine Fanbai: Chant liturgique bouddhique” [I guess that’s 梵呗], as an example of a static musical behavior). But I’m probably more influenced by the rush of modernity, trying to parse and correlate multiple streams of information, the hum and buzz of a huge, constantly evolving city like Shanghai.

Another question was about the limits of randomness in a closed computer system, and I replied that art made from random numbers is just like art made from pipe cleaners. There’s nothing particularly interesting about pipe cleaners, but I’m sure somebody can make some really neat things out of them; the art emerges from form and relationships. There’s plenty of randomness in a computer. You can progress from sample transforms to synthesis, continuing to insert random choices at every stage of your audio-generating function until you’re sending a stream of random numbers directly to your sound card, the very definition of white noise. If you’re not content with the randomness within your computer, then you can introduce the outside world into the system by hooking up a camera or microphone, which yields information that is potentially more random yet also more consistent than a random number generator.

In all these cases, what’s more important than generating noise (random numbers) is deciding how that noise is used, what the random numbers are hooked up to, how they’re constrained, and what happens in between random choices. If you’re getting random information from a camera, you have to decide where you’re pointing your camera. All works, no matter how aleatory, are framed in some way; they come with some context or expectation as to the circumstances in which they will be experienced. That’s where you see the hand of the artist, and this is why even performances of John Cage’s 4’33” tend to sound pretty similar, despite the fact that ostensibly any sound in the world is admissible.

I’m not sure that I answered either question very clearly, especially considering how long it took me to summarize my responses for posting here.

Two very shy girls came up afterwards and said they had done a sound art piece called “Uneasy” that is designed to make you feel uncomfortable. They’re going to send me an MP3. I can’t wait to hear it!

Below are my annotated notes (yes, that’s notes on notes, or, if you will, the derivative of notes; I think this is what Mike Min meant when he was babbling about calculus in art), and I’m sorry, I’m not going to take the time to clean them up into essay form for you.


Hi, I’m Ben Houge

Example of my work, provide some context

[play Breaking New Ground]
Set it up: SICIW, 100% Design, arctic concept
Imagine 12 speakers

Take a vote: is it music? [Response: no]

Done in Max/MSP
6 wind generators
3 chime generators
1 insect-flute generator

All the parameters of music are still there
Strong harmonic basis

So you could consider it a piece of music
Unlike most traditional music, no beginning and end; runs all day, and start/stop is determined by viewers individually entering/leaving, like sitting on a park bench
No loops, just algorithmic behaviors, many elements up to chance
Site-specific spatial element; can’t listen to it in your home on a CD player; have to go there

Background, how I got here

Piano lessons
Got a synthesizer in high school
St. Olaf College, major in Music Theory and Composition
Focused on electronic music, csound

UW, MM Composition
Sound synthesis, algorithmic processes, aleatory music, Max/MSP

Got into videogames
In Seattle for 8 years
Sierra Entertainment
Such games as LSL7, KQ8, Arcanum, Half-Life: Op4

[play Arcanum main theme]
It’s a nice enough little theme, but I was not happy with the implementation of my music in the final game; everything looped
It’s probably around this time that I really became convinced that the future of game audio was in finding unique deployment methods appropriate to the medium

In Shanghai for 4 years
Tom Clancy’s EndWar, out today!

Parallel artistic trajectory

Early on in my career I was a content provider: music composition, sound design, dialog editing, lip syncing, etc.
Eventually became an audio director, where my job was simply to make the game sound good
Producing very little original content, rather directing other content providers, e.g., working with pals from Seattle on EndWar music (though I still got my song in there for the end credits).

First thought of games as a stepping stone into film, but soon discovered what a fascinating world it was.
Whereas film is codified and calcified and super competitive, grammar of games is still being defined; more fun challenges

[Play sci-fi ambience, built entirely from random and statistical deployment of synthesized sounds]

First heard of John Cage in college, several years later, while working in games, read Silence.
Recommend to all aspiring videogame audio designers
Started making the connections, also reading Feldman
Sound Currents, Seattle school

Began finding a focus for my art, and my extracurricular work, which had previous been mostly sacred choral music, began to focus more and more around the issues I was facing in the evolving medium of games.
Sierra paid for my Master’s, continuing education program; since I had already been working in games for a while, I knew where I wanted to focus
During my Master’s I realized my mission wasn’t to write a symphony or smart little chamber piece, but to connect these dots.

[Play A Reading from _____/Variations on _____, live radio performance on KEXP’s Sonarchy]

Is this music? At the time, I would have said yes, but BMI didn’t think so.

Why “sound art”?

Most open term, least expectations.

Throughout music history, there’s an increasing tendency to incorporate new sounds into music
Mozart’s Turkish cymbals, hunting horns, etc.
Technological advancements: saxophone, sirens, electronic instruments (Theremin, ondes Martenot)
Recording technology, musique concrete, tape music, computer-generated sound, sampling, DJ’s
Now experience almost all music in recorded format anyway

Now just about any sound can be considered of musical use (pop music ahead of classical music in that sense)
So what’s the important distinction?

Not bound by medium; more likely to experiment with cite-specific sound producing configurations.
Not necessarily electronic, speakers, Trimpin, acousmatic
Sound art is not necessarily even sound producing, Christian Marclay’s instrument sculptures and manipulated album covers
Also mention his video work and our recent Screen Play performance

An aspect I find particularly intriguing is the idea that sound art is in some way an “object,” rather than a “piece.”
Music has almost exclusively been about an organization of sound with a beginning and end, unfolds as an event.
But from my game experience, I’ve become concerned with organized sound that is indefinite, that continues until a user decides when to leave.
In this regard it’s more like an ambience, like sitting on a park bench and listening for a while, then leaving when you’ve had enough.
And similarly, it’s like looking at a painting in a museum; so “sound art” seems apt.

Because of all this, my work is just one possibility of what sound art might be
Most of my work has been sound producing, but I’m expanding
Working on giraffes [algorithmically generated digital prints], expressing the same ideas of organization in different media
I kind of still consider this music, too, but most people reasonably wouldn’t, so sticking with “sound art” for now.
Also coming soon: video works.

My issues

Dynamic behaviors
No loops!
“Just loop it” is the dumbest answer to a very interesting question, first thing people think of, cocktail party response
A more interesting answer involves algorithmic behaviors (do not fear algorithms; it’s just a method of doing something, like a fugue)
Also, do not fear randomness; very fertile artistic medium, lots to do with it.
Randomness as an artistic medium; more than just a random number generator
Levels of linearity; usually a continuum, not on-off; find the right granularity for your project

Shuffling, additive systems
Combinatoriality [I’ve stolen this word from 12-tone theory; I like my definition better]: exponential increase in possible outcome when you mix several layers of indeterminate behavior
Responsive; deprived of pre-rendered dramatic trajectory, allows you to switch on a dime

This ability to switch allows you to closely follow another stream of information; this is what happens in a videogame
Mapping from one stream to another; multimedia works, real-time
Coordination between different streams

[Play Mobile 3]

Explain that this is a live performance at the 2pi festival 2006 [and not one of my greatest works, but gets the idea across]
Also served as a prototype for EndWar music system

Granular synthesis
Also interested in what happens when you have lots of similar objects doing slightly different things
Small variations, lend interest, thwarting computer’s ability to be too perfect, the warmth of an acoustic performance
Heterophony, flocking behavior, Zhang Yimou, Curse of the Golden Flower

[Play Radiospace]

Having a big visual art show soon, visit my web site for the latest.
Also, I just started a blog. Visit!


[Bonus: Play “EndWar” main menu music for big finish]

A Stash of Mustache Ashes

My pal Gregory Perez wrote me this poem on his iPhone for my birthday yesterday.  Thanks, man!

A stash of mustache ashes
Flees into Shanghai breeze and traffic

Algorithmic angles
Connecting noise to signal

Every sine surges in wavelengths
Captured alive in self-made Cages

The truth of where this sound begins
Is likely found where Ben has been