#wandelweiser

And yet this album, which was recorded on July 24, 2019, and released on February 20, 2020, is both descriptive of the moment we find ourselves in right now and prescriptive of how to survive it. In April 2020, many nations are trying to slow the advance of the COVID-19 virus by instituting more or less severe degrees of societal shutdown. Around the world, people are confined to small spaces. Each of the 12 pieces on this album, which is devoted to solo piano compositions by Anastassis Philippakopoulos, leaves a correspondingly small footprint; the shortest lasts 2:19 and the longest, 3:32. To live around each other under such circumstances, it helps not to impose, and Dalibert plays each piece gently enough not to rattle anyone on the other side of a thin wall. In a time when no one knows how long the hand sanitizer, yeast, and toilet paper must last, this music models the husbanding of resources. Dalibert lets the notes ring and decay, judiciously sculpting one sound’s fading with pedals before moving on to the next one. And in a time when it behooves people to think before they act, lest they or someone else suffer grievous or fatal consequences, Philippakopoulos’ compositional method models deliberate decision-making. It took him up to a year to write each piece, pondering and singing back each bar for weeks as he considered which note should follow its predecessor.  

The Athens-based composer identifies with the Wandelweiser collective, a post-Cage-ian community of composers and musicians who respect silence as much as sound, and it shows in the ways he finds for either element to expand and contract in dynamic relationship to each other. Like certain of his Wandelweiser fellows, and unlike a lot of progress-oriented composition from the past century, he’s not averse to writing a frankly beautiful melody. But he’s also a devotee of poetry, particularly haiku. His parsimonious determination to make each act within a brief sequence of symbolic actions signify its own essence, and also transform the events that precede and follow it, transfers haiku’s virtues intact to the musical realm.

Pisaro first came with the intention to participate in a two-year project during which people would congregate for soundwalks up and downstream from The Station. In addition to taking in the sounds of the river and surrounding forest, participants would stop at shelters and listen to musicians perform 12-minute concerts, some of which featured music that had been composed at The Station. Afterwards the participants would listen to field recordings made during the soundwalks, and then return for another day of walks and sounds, including new ones generated by Pisaro, with these memories in mind. Talk about your antidotes to the hectic pace and distraction of post-internet and cell phone life!  

Initially things went well, but then they got complicated. The first two years yielded such profound experiences that Eckl invited Pisaro and others to continue the project, but this was easier said than done. In 2013, a scaled-down version involving walks and field recordings, but no performers or listening shelters, took place. There was no gathering in 2014, and the following year Pisaro, Eckl and a few others did the final walk in a single day. Another year passed before Pisaro finally sat down to deal with the collected material. Art is shaped by the events around it, and Pisaro set to work on Nature Denatured and Found Again on the cusp of Donald Trump’s ascension. Imagine immersing yourself in the work of people bent upon bolstering humanity’s respect for nature when your own president seeks to empower the obtuse but well-financed forces of climate change denial. Since Pisaro lives in California, the time that he worked on this project coincided with the scourge of wildfires raging unchecked in neighborhoods near his own. When an artist’s extraordinary personal experience occurs amidst growing ghastliness, they can either ignore the world around them or deal with it in some way. Pisaro doesn’t deliver a screed against natural destruction, but the respectful way he treats natural sounds in his work and presents them as creative material on a par with man-made sound lets you know what side he’s on.  

Nature Denatured and Found Again comprises five CDs, one for every year from 2011-2015. They are broken down into four 12 minute-long tracks. If you have five playback systems on hand, you could play the discs together for a concentrated Nature Denatured experience; here’s hoping that someone somewhere puts together an installation that runs all five discs on shuffle play until all the possible combinations have run out. Pisaro assembled each disc from material relevant to a particular year, but no disc is a straightforward document of its time. Fissures in Green (2011) includes recordings of the musicians and the environment arranged so that they invite a listener to steep in the beauty of woodwinds and water and to consider the similarity between electronically filtered noise and natural sounds, but also periodically jolts you out of reverie and into the moment by intentionally fragmenting said material. Pathsplitter (Yellow Red) (2012) takes inspiration from the experience of hearing and seeing things over and over by processing them with a readymade musical form. A canon is a composition in which a complex musical piece is created by layering different instruments or singers performing the same part at different pitches. For this disc, Pisaro has fashioned one from Jürg Frey’s clarinet, his own white noise and sine tones, and collected environmental sounds.  

On Landscape in Black and Grey (2013), Pisaro works exclusively with the sounds he recorded along the Grosse Mühl. Sometimes straight, sometimes edited, sometimes electronically filtered and reassembled, the environment is everything. But for White Light Under the Door (2014), the year that Pisaro didn’t make it to Austria, he works with remembered sound in a room. Specifically he uses electronic tones inspired by the 50-hertz hum of the European electrical grid, layered into sine-tone structures. Since such tones change depending on the shape of the room and the way you orient your ears to them, this is the album’s most personal communication of the box; it’s Pisaro signaling you, from his room to yours.  

Hellgrün (Small New World) (2015) confronts the fact of change, and the fact that nature does not remain static while we regard it. The piece’s raw material includes recordings from the project’s earlier years played aloud in The Station’s performance space in 2015, bursts of birdsong, and the sounds of the river recorded at different times. Pisaro shapes, isolates, and recombines these sounds, and honors nature by giving the album’s last word to cicadas, birds and flowing water. This natural music invites us to consider the possibility of its absence. What if all this is gone, and people can’t hear it anymore? Or if mankind figures out too late that its demise is a likely consequence of waging war on nature, will people no longer be around to hear what the world sounds like?