Encore une fois vendredi soir, Rien à voir nous en a mis plein les oreilles. L’invité, Paul Dolden, a eu la chance de diffuser trois de ses «classiques», le genre de pièces iconoclastes qui ont fait sa réputation d’enfant terrible de l’électroacoustique. C’était un genre de rétrospective qui force quelques constats. L’extrait du cycle Veils détonne dans le reste de la production. Non pas qu’il s’agisse d’une mauvaise pièce, loin de là, mais parce que le vocabulaire n’y est pas encore abouti — le geste resté mal assuré —, mais parce qu’on y entend trop de gaucheries de réalisation technique. Des coupures trop sèches, des maladresses de montage des petits riens qui, en diffusion en salle, sont magnifiés par la loupe de l’acousmonium.

Beyond the Walls of Jericho a été l’occasion de prendre véritablement conscience de l’originalité de Paul Dolden. Sans redondance académique, on suit bien le travail sur la transformation du son qui ouvre la porte à la composition puis on embarque dans le fabuleux programme de la pièce.

Strate de son sur strate de son, l’espace sonore se remplit avec une telle densité qu’on en est vertigineusement étourdi. Le volume atteint des niveaux assez élevés, tant dans l’épaisseur des couches sonores qu’en termes de décibels sans qu’on soit agressé; on en redemande même, comme d’une sensation physique — caresse à la frontière indéfinissable et si intense entre la jouissance et la douleur — qui drogue.

Ce qui est merveilleux chez Dolden réside dans le fait que, malgré la saturation acoustique, tout reste clair et perceptible, comme dans un grand tutti wagnérien bien dirigé. La gratuité de l’effet s’évacue alors d’elle-même pour ne laisser que l’expression de la sensation. Une belle réussite que va confirmer L’ivresse de la vitesse.

Ici, Dolden ajoute le rythme, cet obsédant martèlement tiré du rock, pour aller plus loin dans l’exploration. Magicien hypnotique, il joue sur des attentes pour mieux détourner l’attention du concret au profit de l’idée. En sortant, on se dit qu’on a entendu là un créateur qui réussit le pari de visser sans appel son auditeur à son siège et lui faire parcourir un trajet aussi senti que vrai.

Dhomont

La soirée consacrée à Francis Dhomont, samedi, fut d’une autre nature. Si on peut reprocher à Dolden une diffusion un peu statique reposant toute sur le poids, celle de Dhomont est d’une lumineuse transparence; le mot perspective prend tout son sens.

La musique de Dhomont joue sur les niveaux psychologiques de perception, l’encodage et le désencodage du «message». Sa sonorisation fait de même, ramenant à l’avant-plan tel objet égaré au lointain ou laissant glisser dans l’évanescence ce qui, à première vue était riche de sens, mais qui ne révèle que le trivial par lequel on entre dans une dimension autre. (Là-dessus la fascination du compositeur à utiliser le mot «chambre» dans ses titres est à la fois guide et symptôme).

On peut regretter deux choses, la première, que le compositeur ait présenté des extraits, ce qui dilue le potentiel expressif des pièces ainsi sorties de leur contexte. La seconde, qu’il ait choisi de diffuser une pièce d’art radiophonique, Simulacres: un autoportrait, qui, si on entend bien qu’il a sa place à la radio, tombe royalement à plat en salle et ennuie sans espoir possible. Il le sentait bien, lui qui s’est presque excusé de l’allure pédagogique que son travail prenait en ce contexte. Cela a malencontreusement entaché toute la joie du concert.

Ceci dit, Dhomont fait ravaler les propos que j’ai tenus précédemment. Oui la forme temporelle médiane peut apporter quelque chose de valable. Sa dernière œuvre, Cosa mentale [titre provisoire de Les moirures du temps], est une magistrale démonstration de maturité. Le cliché n’a pas de sens ici, l’aboutissement des idées, leur mise en forme, prouvent que Dhomont atteint à un classicisme serein où la poésie n’a plus peur de se faire abstraite. Le plaisir du compositeur devant les sons (donc les idées) qu’il manipule laisse entrevoir un bien bel horizon.

Canadian electroacoustic composer Dolden champions a ‘theory of excess,’ a belief that the intoxication and seduction of information overload is a desirable condition, one that frees us to perceive the world afresh. L’ivresse de la vitesse compiles nine devastating sonic manifestos to make his point. Several hundred painstakingly scored and multitracked solo acoustic instruments collide to produce a super-dense musical black hole that even Iannis Xenakis would have shied away from. Trying to actually follow the impossible complexity drags you across the event horizon into a world where consciousness survives but meaning has been obliterated. Futile relief comes on a few tracks where virtuoso soloists battle in vain against the taped chaos Nirvana or nihilism? No matter, you can listen to it a thousand times without wanting it to make sense.

[…] Dolden’s shtick is fantastically complex computer music using samples or orchestral instruments with textures of more than 200 lines at once, so dense that the ear can’t possibly make out individual lines. Admittedly, his The Frenzy of Banging on a Can was a makeshift attempt to work live instruments into his mix, and the Bang on a Can All-Stars, for all their hectic virtuosity, pretty muchdisappeared into the taped cacophony, presumably as planned. It was a chaotic mess, but a really interestingly articulated mess, and as with all of Dolden’s music, you had to admit that his mind-boggling computerized detail creates timbres possible in no simple way. The resulting noisefest left some listeners ready to wring his neck, others (like myself) stunned by the pandemonium.

There is so much musical output contained on these two discs that it took me several listenings to come to grips with it all. In the liner notes, Dolden describes his current artistic intentions as involving the “speeding up of an excess of musical ideas so that the composition and its materials exhaust themselves in the shortest time possible”. Most of the works here reflect this principle in different ways. Another perceptual factor in listening to these pieces is the manner in which Dolden intersperses pieces for tape alone with works featuring solo performers backed with material from the solo tape compositions. This approach has the twofold effect of emphasizing hitherto unstressed aspects of the tape pieces and also of blurring to some extent the distinctions between the individual works. These considerations aside, Dolden constantly varies his approach, not hewing to a quick-cut, sound-mass approach to the exclusion of linear development.

Dolden first composes simultaneous lines of music on manuscript paper, then digitally records each line as performed by an acoustic instrument. The parts are then digitally mixed with little or no signal processing. His exclusive use of acoustic instruments is justified by his opinion that electronic synthesis techniques are unable to produce a large palette of convincingly different timbres. A huge palette of acoustic sounds are used tor these pieces, including nearly every orchestral instrument, voices, ethnic and folk instruments, and percussion. And although he does not use signal processing, he occasionally achieves DSP-like effects through ingenious mixing of his sound sources. The mixing often involves overlays of 40 or more tracks, and the massed effects and climaxes achieved are impressive. His use of digital editing is equally responsible for the results, as the pace and mood of the pieces are largely controlled this way.

The title cut and the last work in this collection, both for tape alone, could not be more contrasting. L’ivresse de la vitesse (1992-93), encapsulating as it does the composer’s more recent methods, is an exhilarating outburst of contrasting ideas and styles at a rapid-fire pace. Veils (1984-85) is a halfhour, 3 movement composition which explores a sonic world of subtly shifting timbres, comprising drones on acoustic but ambiguous-sounding origin. After the adjustment is made to the leisurely pace of this piece, it is thoroughly satisfying.

With the exception of these two pieces, I gravitated toward the pieces that featured solo instruments because of the focus they provide. This may be because Dolden does not emphasize spatial placement in these wtirks. Often, the sound struck me as completely up-front and two dimensional. No doubt this is partly because he eschews most signal processing,but the overall sound of the acoustic instruments tends to be a little washed-out. Experimenting with different microphones and preamplification should help — quality of engineering is important when this approach is taken, especially when there is extensive mixing and overlaying. The solo instruments help to impart more of a spatial quality. Revenge of the Repressed. Resonance #2 teatures a performance by cellist Peggy Lee which ranges from fleet passagework to elegiac phrases and extended techniques.

The harpsichord part in Physics of Seduction. Invocation #2 takes on a thunderous and threatening aspect in the hands of Vivienne Spiteri, thanks to Dolden’s multitracking and close-miking techniques. Two pieces feature saxophonist/clarinetist Francois Houle. One of these, In a Bed Where the Moon Was Sweating. Resonance #1, strikes a perfect balance between the virtuostic solo clarinet part (often multitracked with amazing etfect) and the tape part with its echoes (or “resonances”) of preceding events.

Physics of Seduction. Invocation #1 features the composer on electric guitar in a technically adept performance which also makes use of the processed timbres which are the domain of the instrument. Dolden shows a flair for these changes of tone. His performance on guitar here gives further evidence of his mastery of the sonic resources at his disposal.

Hal London is a freelance, part-time composer who divides his time equally between acoustic and electroacoustic music. Dolden’s approach in this respect is of special interest to him.