Aspects of The Flute in The 20th Century

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Aspects of the flute in the twentieth

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Pierre-Yves Artaud & Catherine Dale
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To cite this article: Pierre-Yves Artaud & Catherine Dale (1993) Aspects of the flute in the
twentieth century, Contemporary Music Review, 8:2, 131-216, DOI: 10.1080/07494469400640101
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Aspects of the Flute in the Twentieth Century
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Pierre-Yves A r t a u d
Translated b y Catherine Dale
Introduction
An instrument of culture which more than likely originates in the very first
stammerings of musical expression, the flute has always attracted respect, even
devotion.
Its origins are divine: Krishna, Pan and Tityrus are the earliest known virtuosi.
Plutarch observes that "the flute calms the spirits and penetrates the ears with a
sound so gracious that it brings peace and tranquility to every movement, even
down to the very soul".
Captain Cook reports that at the time of his voyage to Tahiti on 22 April 1769,
he was extremely surprised to find an unknown type of flute: "22 April 1769,
Tootahah provided us with a sample of his country's music; four people played a
type of flute which had only two holes and which, as a result, could play only two
notes a semitone apart; they played these instruments rather as one would play the
transverse flute, with the single exception that the musician, instead of using his
mouth, blew into one of the holes with his nostril, while stopping the other with
his t h u m b . . . " .
Nose flutes of this type are found equally among the pygmy tribes of Africa and
in the Phillipines.
The explanation which was provided later relies on a high degree of spirituality;
primitive peoples believed that there were two kinds of air: the first, exhaled
through the mouth, was considered impure since it originated in the viscera. The
second was exhaled through the nose and arose in the head, the repository of the
soul. This second kind constituted a pure breath which was capable of being heard
by the gods and the dead only when it was amplified by the flute, the sole wind
instrument in which the air is not soiled by the instrument since it does not pass
through its tube.
The shakuhachi, for its part, was introduced into Japan from China and became
an instrument of Zen spiritual meditation; indeed, examples of this type may be
multiplied almost ad infinitum.
It is interesting but fundamentally quite natural to meet the flute again and again
throughout the history of humanity and to observe that its role in creation in the
twentieth century is a decisive one.
In this respect, there has been an undeniable infatuation for the shakuhachi
flute in the West for several decades. Performances on the shakuhachi have
fascinated composers both in terms of the instrument's virtuosity and in particular
of its fluidity of sound, and have facilitated a reconsideration of the manner of
131
132 P.-Y. Artaud

writing for the Boehm flute at a time w h e n the historical need to liberate the
Boehm instrument from certain aesthetic criteria was becoming urgent.
For m y own part, ever since my encounter with Yoshihisa Taira shortly after his
arrival in Paris (1966), I began to become increasingly aware of and enthusiastic
towards traditional types of music, particularly that of the Japanese tradition and
the shakuhachi. At the A u t u m n Festival (in 1970, if m y m e m o r y serves me
correctly) I attended the recital given by Yokoyama and Tsuruta, w h o had been
invited to Paris by Maurice Fleuret. This was a revelation, one of the most
important musical experiences of m y life, which enabled me among other things
to penetrate more fully the universe of m y friend Taira and to reconsider in large
part m y own technique and sensibilities.
In 1986 1 met Yoshikazu Iwamoto at the Almeida Festival in London. I attended
the rehearsal for his forthcoming recital and was dazzled not only by the presence
but also by the instrumental and physical control of this great master. I cannot
remember exactly h o w the idea of playing together arose, but naturally it could
only delight and fascinate me, as well as cause me some anxiety. The fascination
of anyone w h o regards this instrument and his art with such passion and
veneration may easily be understood; the anxiety to which it gave rise stemmed,
I believe, from the challenges it posed:
1.
2.
3.
H o w would one construct a convincing programme from traditional and

contemporary music for the two solo instruments?
H o w would one integrate the two sonorities in a duet?
H o w would one avoid falling into the simplistic notion of superimposing two
different worlds or, worse, of caricaturing a culture either through naivety or
through the adoption of a sort of cultural colonialism (in the m a n n e r of Ravel:
"Laideronnette, Empress of the Pagodas"!)?
As far as the first point is concerned, it was fascinating for me to observe the
ease with which one m a y pass without any transition whatsoever from the
Japanese Middle Ages to the present day. The progression from this period to
Takemitsu or Berio is unquestionably more apparent than the progression from
Bach to Berio.
I attribute this fact to a common concern for the treatment of the sound which
overrides that for structure, for although the latter concern exists in both periods
it is not essential to an immediate perception of the music. I would simply like to
state that even in the case of a hyper-structural work such as Unity Capsule by
Ferneyhough, the concern to elaborate a very strict form recedes into the
background w h e n the piece is heard, for the listener is confronted with the concept
of a sound fantasy. In reality, of course, this structure is not effaced; it is absorbed
by our unconscious perception, and is clearly indispensable to our long-term
memorization of the piece. A closed structure is as indispensable to musical
architecture as it is to monumental architecture. Once the building itself is out of
sight we are left with an impression of its spaciousness, the strength of its lines and
its general aspect. In the same way, after hearing a musical work, its structures,
intensities (orchestral colours, dynamics) and general form associated with its
duration remain in our memory.
A musical work should therefore associate both aspects, and it may be observed
that these two repertoires do indeed unite them.
133
With regard to the second point, I confess that my little knowledge of the
shakuhachi together with my years of working with Taira have taught me a thing
or two.
It is true that the difference in the nature of the two sounds could make their
combination in a duet a delicate procedure. However, the considerable degree of
freedom exercised by the flutes enables them to approach one another in a
satisfactory way. But duet playing also allows the differences between the two
instruments to be emphasized and therefore for one part to distance itself as far as
possible from the other. The first three duets that were composed for us illustrate,
completely by chance, three typical cases:
1.
2.
3.
High Song by Jo Kondo provides an example of strict, "abstract" writing in

which the shakuhachi must renounce all cultural identity in favour of a sound
which is stable in both pitch and tone; this quest for stability constitutes
ultimately the original reason for the existence of the Boehm flute.
Synchrony by Yoshihisa Taira seems as though it is written for two shakuhachis.
Moreover, the composer has retained deep cultural associations throughout
and his highly gestural music imposes on the Western flute a phrasing and
sound which remain very Japanese. It was for this reason that I asked Taira for
permission to perform this work which was originally written for two flutes in
a version for flute and shakuhachi.
Nada by Mike Vaughan offers a very interesting synthesis of these two cases
in that the two flutes are required to alternate constantly between Eastern and
Western attitudes; moreover, the work, which is composed according to very
elaborate structures in terms of its notes and metrical scheme, is none the less
very gestural, and such an effusive sound fantasy permits a highly successful
osmosis between the two flutes. The selection of the bass flute in partnership
with the shakuhachi constitutes an important aspect of this osmosis.
The final point concerns the perilous situation which must be avoided at all
costs. Clearly, the choice of repertoire is crucial and, from this perspective, one
must know exactly which composers one wishes to address.
The second condition depends first of all on the performer having thoroughly
assimilated the culture of his partner. Iwamoto has a very solid "Western"
technique and, at the time of our first concert (August 1987 in Dartington), I for
my own part had behind me twenty years of knowledge of the Japanese tradition
which proved sufficient for me to have absorbed "physiologically" certain
technical and cultural principles. Without this kind of approach such a duet
combination would prove as musically sterile as the performances of those
Baroque music ensembles which play original instruments and believe that by
merely purchasing a Baroque flute or a viola da gamba they will achieve the
desired result. It is indeed naive to limit musical expression to a single technique
while severing it from its culture.
The prevailing sentiment of the time, and ideas concerning vibrato or modes of
attack must be completely modified, therefore, in the progression from Taira to Jo
Kondo. This may only be achieved if the condition of cultural assimilation is
fulfilled, and the latter requires years of study. If the technique itself can be learnt
fairly rapidly, the rest takes time, time without which nothing of any depth or
truth may be achieved.
134 P.-Y. Artaud

For me, the formation of this duo constituted an important step in my career,
first and foremost because it represented a challenge, secondly because it enabled
me to realize a musical quest which had concerned me for over two decades, and
finally because it allowed me to work with Iwamoto, a man for whom I have much
friendship and musical esteem, and a disciple of Yokoyama to whom, without his
knowing it, I am equally indebted.
1. Some Characteristics of the Modern Repertoire

The real golden age of the transverse flute coincided with the beginning of the
present century. Far from disregarding the considerable contribution made by
Baroque music or even the importance of the technical research carried out at the
beginning of the nineteenth century, we are obliged to recognize that the flute
achieved its birthright (in written music at least) only with the advent of atonality.
The current enthusiasm for the flute is proportional to the lack of trust certain
Romantic composers had of the instrument, considering it incapable of expression
(Berlioz) or vulgar and colourless in sound (Wagner).
It is true that the technological discoveries characteristic of the industrial age
have given birth during the last sixty years or so to a number of illegitimate
instruments of which neither the sonority nor the playing technique could pretend
to the least attempt at unified characterization. What better way to perplex any
well-intentioned composer!
In 1830, while Theobald Boehm (1794-1881) was taking the initial steps in the
research which would produce, less than two decades later, the invention which
would revolutionize the conception not only of the flute but also of the oboe and
the clarinet, the Baroque flute and several mechanisms ranging from five- to
thirteen-keyed systems were still in use.
The French were following in a line of aesthetic descent from the great artists
Hotteterre the Roman or Michel Blavet, which was characterized by delicacy of
sound and diversity of tone colours; at the same time, Boehm himself was
recognized as a great virtuoso, and Nicholson in England seemed closer to the
present conception with his remarkable fullness of sound.
It took Boehm's discovery, therefore, to finally recapture the imagination of the
great composers and to impose a new instrument, the sound possibilities and
techniques of which had been completely renewed.
Theobald Boehm
Boehm was born in Munich and was educated individually, attending school
between the ages of nine and eleven only. He learnt Latin, French and English.
While he was apprenticed to his father's trade of goldsmith, the young Theobald
began to study the transverse flute, and one of his neighbours, Johann Capeller,
the flautist at the Royal Court, decided to help him by giving him free lessons. His
curiosity in and liking for the flute simply grew and, when he was only sixteen
years of age, he constructed his first instrument, a four-keyed model. In 1812
Boehm entered the Isartor Theatre as first flautist. During 1815 he spent some time
in Geneva where he learnt to make musical boxes. His taste for travel led him to
France, Switzerland and Germany, and he visited Strasbourg, Frankfurt,
135
W~rzburg, Nuremberg and Hanau, studying and establishing himself as a flautist.

On 1 June 1818 he became a flautist at the Munich Court and began to take
composition lessons. His opus 1, the Concerto in G major for flute, dedicated to
Anton B. F~rstenau, received its first performance by Boehm himself in 1820.
Numerous tours as a soloist in Germany, Austria, Switzerland and Italy brought
him great renown. During the course of these journeys he frequently worked with
Paganini and the singer Catalani.
:
In 1828 Boehm set up his own workshop for the manufacture of flutes and
employed Rudolph Greve, son of the famous Mannheim manufacturer, Andreas
Greve. The first Boehm flutes remained the eight- or nine-keyed conical models,
based on the Tromlitz flute. It was not until several years later that Boehm, after
following quite naturally in the tradition inherited from his predecessors, began to
call the old principles of construction into question: this was brought about, no
doubt, by the shock he received during a tour of England in 1831. The English
were full of praise for his technical qualities and pleasing sound, ibut they
expressed reservations concerning his power and capacity for expression. It was at
this same time that Boehm heard the famous Nicholson who dazzled him with the
fullness of his tone. Nicholson's flute was bored with much larger Holes, and
Boehm decided to apply this principle to his own instruments. During the same
year he finally perfected a new system of keywork. The new flute was extremely
well received in Paris due to the efforts of Coche, Dorus and Camus in particular.
In Germany, it was frowned upon. Boehm continued to study ways in which he
might perfect the flute and, in 1846-1847, he took a course in acoustics with Carl
von Schafthautl, a professor at the University of Munich. These studies resulted in
a decisive improvement which consisted of making the foot joint and body of the
flute cylindrical and its head joint conical. It was thus in 1847 that Boehm realized
his definitive model based on scientific principles.
Much technical and scientific research followed, and at the London Exhibition of
1862 Boehm presented a diagram which he called his schema and which aimed to
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Figure I Schema for determiningthe positions of the tone holes of wind instruments at various
pitches
simplify or dispense altogether with the calculations concerning the length of the
flute and the position of the holes in relation to the chosen range. It did indeed
appear that Boehm had followed these principles scrupulously in the construction
of his instruments.
The realization of this schema is inspired in its simplicity.
t Boehm,T. (1964) The Flute and Flute Playing, New York: Dover Publications.
136 P.-Y.Artaud
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
First, plot the line B on the selected scale: since the length of this line is 670mm
it may be easier to select a scale of 1/2, 1/3 or 1/4, but the actual scale chosen
is not important.
To the right of B, mark the thirteen points of intersection which represent the
thirteen notes of the first octave: C 3, C sharp 3, D 3, D sharp 3, E3, F~ F sharp 3,
G 3, G sharp 3, A 3, A sharp 3, B3, C 4. These thirteen points will extend over half
of the length of B. The distance between them is determined by a geometrical
relationship of 1.0595.
From these thirteen points, plot thirteen perpendiculars to the line B (above
and below the line).
Draw a line A parallel to B any distance from B. It is advisable to regulate this
distance carefully (if it is too small, it will not permit any intermediate
calculations; if it is too large, it will not produce an adequate gradient for the
diagonals and will allow imprecise statements of distances only). Try to
calculate the distance AB so that the diagonals are at an angle of approximately
45 ~ about 1.5 times the distance from the point of intersection of C 3 to that
of C sharp 3 should be sufficient.
Next, plot the diagonals: first take C 3 on the line B and join it to A with a line
which ends at the point of intersection of C sharp 3 on A. Extend these lines
above and below B. Repeat the operation for each of the thirteen points.
All the diagonals drawn in this way will therefore re-intersect the perpendiculars under the line B. If the schema is realized correctly, all these new points
of intersection will be aligned and will determine the position of C.
The relationship between the distances AB and BC will be identical, 1.0595.
A renaissance of the flute

Such definitive modifications of the instrument facilitated a radical enrichment of
the repertoire in every domain. In the orchestral sphere it achieved a remarkable
degree of independence. Claude Debussy's symphonic poem, Prelude to "Fhe
Afternoon of a Faun", begins with the famous solo which exploits the sensuality of
the low register to marvellous effect. Maurice Ravel showed more interest in the
brilliance of the upper register (except in Bolero, of course). Igor Stravinsky
mastered the virtuosic aspect of the flute in Petrushka, The Firebird, The Song of the
Nightingale and the Concerto, for example. Naturally, chamber music also took
possession of the flute and gave it an unrivalled position in increasingly varied
instrumental combinations. Thus, within a short space of time, Arnold Schoenberg
produced Pierrot Lunaire and the Wind Quintet, opus 21, his first important serial
work.
Simultaneously with the production of this repertoire a second, solo repertoire
began to develop to completely unique proportions and experience a degree of
growth which had never been known before.
Announced somewhat timidly by Debussy's Syrinx (1913) followed by Sigfrid
Karg-Elert's Sonata Appassionata, opus 140 (1917) and Hindemith's Eight Pieces
(1927), the age of the solo piece was confirmed by the two masterpieces of 1936:
Density 21.5 and Five Incantations by Var6se and Jolivet respectively. From the end
of the 1950s, a constant stream of composition produced such remarkable works
137
as those by Takemitsu, Matsudaira, Yuasa, Ferneyhough, Taira, Berio, Donatoni,

Yun, Nono, Huber, Hosokawa, L6vinas, etc . . . .
The reasons for this passion for the transverse flute must no doubt be sought in
the nature of its sound. It is indeed a flexible instrument and one which permits
both a high degree of virtuosity and a wide range of colours. The flute is not very
demonstrative in the domain of nuance even though the modern instrument
enables greater freedom. A type of music composed of sound "effects" would be
out of the question (although with the possibility of amplification everything may
be reconsidered); the composer tempted by the flute must concentrate on notated
music.
The very limitations of the instrument lead to its use as a compositional
laboratory in the way that the string quartet and pianoforte were used previously.
Various solutions to the problem of the monodic instrument (of which J. S. Bach
was already aware in the Baroque period) may be proposed.
It is possible, in fact, to work almost without constraint on the combination of
sound parameters.
The flexibility of the embouchure facilitates all sorts of "gymnastics'" and the
most recent techniques are themselves highly malleable. For example, a multiphonic sound on the flute only rarely contains more than two perceptible
frequencies. On the other hand, it is practically always possible to imagine a
contrapuntal treatment of these two components. This procedure is radically
opposed to the treatment of the bassoon or the oboe in which the richness of the
chords allows monolithic use only.
Thus, the solo repertoire consists for the most part of polyphonic works which
use numerous techniques of performance.
In this respect, it is convenient to distinguish two periods separated by the year
1967 which saw the publication of Bruno Bartolozzi's treatise New Sounds for
Woodwind. 2 This treatise precipitated (albeit in a rather disordered way) the
movement towards these techniques of performance.
The need for such new techniques had become urgent; compositional resources
had to be renewed if complete disinterest were to be avoided. I was aware of this
problem myself and, with my friend, the composer G4rard Geay, had instigated
the writing of a treatise which was completed shortly after Bartolozzi's work, but
which, unfortunately, remained unpublished until 1980. 3 These two compendia
are distinguished in numerous ways: Bartolozzi reveals a concern for all the
woodwind instruments and, in particular for their polyphonic possibilities, while
Geay and myself concentrated on the flute family currently in vogue (piccolo,
concert, alto and bass flutes). These two treatises each sanction in their own way
a reconsideration of the concept of the solo flute piece.
Works composed after 1970

The principal characteristic of the works of the 1970s is without doubt the
provision of a vast testing ground for all the newly available material. The
temptation to exploit all this material is great, but the historical need not to seek
to avoid this new exploratory period is equally so: one must learn to recognize,
2 Translated and edited by Reginald Smith Brindle (Oxford University Press, London), 1967.
3 Artaud, P.Y. and Geay, G. (1980) Present-Day Flutes, Paris: Jobert-Transatlantiques.
138 P.-K Artaud

understand and assimilate the physical and expressive properties of these new
possibilities.
Numerous attempts were made in the domain of narrative or gestural
composition (Taira, L6vinas, Yun, Huber, Richard, Mefano...) as much as in that
of the abstract or structural treatment of the material (Malherbe, Ferneyhough,
Dillon...). If the results of these attempts often seem rather poor on a purely
numerical count, one need only note the appearance of certain masterpieces
among which the works of Ferneyhough, Takemitsu, Taira, Radulescu, Nunes or
Dillon may be ranked, to name but a few.
At the same time, the whole family of flutes developed. In so doing it was
reverting to a former notion, for the instrumental family had found itself curtailed
by the development of the symphony orchestra and by its technical corollary,
instrumental specification. As early as the first decades of the twentieth century,
Ravel and Stravinsky rediscovered the mysterious charm of the alto flute and
incorporated it in a significant way into Daphnis and Chlod and The Rite of Spring.
The bass flute appeared later (at the beginning of the 1960s) without ever really
having asserted itself in former times.
The works, inspired by Charles Koechlin,4 in which this change in the
conception of the flute occurred became increasingly numerous; similarly, the
regrouping of these instruments as a flute quartet took on a new dimension. In this
respect the role played by the Arcadie Quartet 5 should be mentioned. Some years
later flute ensembles rose to a degree of prominence which was comparable to, and
often surpassed that which they had experienced in the Middle Ages and the
Renaissance, until orchestras consisting of between twenty and twenty-five flutes
were formed in Yugoslavia, America and Japan, and of as many as forty in Paris
with the formation of the French Flute Orchestra by myself in 1988.
The flute family
With the increased possibilities made available by the application of precise
technological developments to flute construction, the instrumental family advanced considerably, and from the four instruments which constituted it during
the 1960s, it has increased to more than ten. Figure 2 indicates the ranges of the
most frequently used flutes (the most common Ones are underlined). It excludes
some of the rarer instruments such as the piccoletto in E flat, the bass in F or the
slide flute of Greta Vermeulen.
Certain frequencies may or may not be sounded depending on the make and
quality of the instrument: these frequencies are shown in brackets, as in the case
of the low B on the C flute which requires an additional B key, the use of which
is uncommon in Europe.
It may perhaps be necessary to specify that although the Boehm system is a
generalized one, certain differences in the details of construction exist, however,
and these may involve certain technical limitations in performance. These
limitations are summarized in Figure 3 below.
4 FuneralSteles (1950) for piccolo, concert flute and alto flute.

s The Arcadie Quartet was establishedin 1965 by Pierre-Yves Artaud, Pierre-Alain Biget,Arlette
Leroyand Jean-Pierre Lebocq.

Piccolo
TrcblemG
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ConceniuC Flute~Bb
( f l ~ d'amour)
at
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139
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,~
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Figure 2 The flute family
The advent of electronic techniques

From an early stage, the field of investigation of the repertoire incorporated
-techniques which were derived from electronics. In 1961, four years after the
composition of Var6se's Po~me Electronique, Bruno Maderna wrote Musica su due
dimensioni in which the recorded material consists principally of the electronic
manipulation of pre-recorded flute sounds (which are taken from the piece itself).
Unfortunately, the composer offers no further indications concerning either the
treatment of the material or its performance directives. Any conclusion reached
may be done so only on the strength of a rather imprecise hearing of Severino
Gazzelloni's old recording which is, of course, unavailable at present. Thus one
cannot be certain of the composer's intention to amplify the flute or not. In my
opinion, amplification is not desirable since the two dimensions implied by the title
acquire more poetic force through the innovative superimposition~ of the acoustic
instrumental sounds with those of the electro-acoustic tape.
Since 1961 there has been a succession of pieces which have proposed a tape
consisting of concrete or electronic sounds either with or without the amplification
of the soloist. Mefano, L6vinas, Risset, Reynolds have all contributed to the
expansion of this repertoire which, in spite of its inherent interest, could serve only
as a stopgap until the advent of the computer and interfaces such as the flute 4X
enabled the instrumentalist both to control the machine and to operate within a
relationship which was liberated from the anti-instrumental constraint of an
objective beat imposed by the tape recorder.
On the other hand, if the same drawbacks are presented by the kind of tape on
which the flautist is superimposed on other material which he has pre-recorded
himself (Reich, Radulescu, Mefano, Nunes), this does at least allow an interesting
multiplication of personality: in performing with himself, the spatialization of the
flautist's own personality creates a completely new type of sound space while
enabling him to minimize the problems of temporal integration (or intonation)
since he has proposed the material himself.
The new virtuosity
This immensely rich repertoire may give the impression of a vast experimental
terrain laboured by numerous creators who have each exploited and continue to
exploit the flute as a laboratory for the exploration of their own predilections. This
6 Ddserts, composed seven years earlier, did not propose a superimposition of this kind.
140
P.-Y. Artaud
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141
indeed seems to be the case the more one considers that the flexibility of the
instrument lends itself admirably to the most daring experimentation in terms of
both its sound and its sheer virtuosity. One important consequence of all this has
been to encourage performers to launch into the conquest of unexplored territories
in order to exercise greater control over all these fringe techniques which were
considered curiosities or nuisances by the traditional school, and to classify and
rationalize these to the point at which they m a y become elements of a new
instrumental language.
The control of all these elements may be defined as the concept of a new
virtuosity which requires that the sound be considered as a structural entity in the
same way as the parameter of polyphony. Thus the n e w virtuoso cannot be
content with aligning the maximum number of notes possible while leaving aside
those articulatory elements which are determined automatically by a cultural
definition of the musical phrase. Nuance, attack, vibrato, colour, intonation, all are
determined by a logical relation between the notes and their function within the
phrase.
The new virtuosity implies first and foremost a firm control of traditional
technique. It exceeds this in requiring the assimilation of a further 140-150
fingerings to the forty-two currently in use in order to produce micro-intervals,
glissandi and multiphonics. In addition, it demands an ability to combine attacks,
timbres, vibratos and intonations in new and infinite ways.
In reality the question extends beyond that of a new technique and its pedagogy
to a complete reassessment of the concept of the instrument and its relationship
with the score, in short, of the state of mind of the instrumentalist.
This greatest possible degree of facility demanded of the instrumentalist has
forced him to rise compulsorily and progressively to the level of a researcher (a role
which he assumed occasionally in the past), then to participate very closely in the
act of creation itself, to such an extent that he often acquires a creative function in
the compositional process. It has become frequent practice to link the name of a
composer with that of his performer, as in the case of Severino Gazzelloni and
Luciano Berio, Aur61e Nicolet and Heinz Holliger, Jean-Pierre Drouet and Georges
Aperghis or Sylvio Gualda and Yannis Xenakis.
This stimulating interaction is often responsible for the emergence of positive
and powerful creations. Indeed, h o w could one dispense with it if one has the
imperious desire to go beyond admissible limits, to violate comfortable territory, to
shatter this into pieces in order to recreate the instrument and its language
completely?
In this conquest, the flute has indeed proved the driving instrument of this
century and has brought in its wake an enormous resurgence of interest in all the
wind instruments which has conferred a new social status on their performers.
2. Works Composed Before 1970

1 Density 21.5 by Edgard Var~se 7
In just three minutes three centuries of tradition in which the flute was perceived
as a garrulous, pastoral instrument, avowedly its principal distinguishing
7 Recordedby Pierre-Yves Artaud: CD Neuma 470 76.
142 P.-Y.Artaud
features from the seventeenth to the nineteenth centuries, are called into
question.
In just three minutes a n e w instrument is revealed and an unprecedented trend
a m o n g composers in which the flute is rapidly raised to the privileged rank of
leader in musical creation is set.
In just three minutes the overriding course of flute writing which w o u l d engulf
every future composer is laid bare.
A cry in the desert

The circumstances in which Density 21.5 was c o m p o s e d are quite paradoxical and
merit some discussion here. From the outset Var6se's works stand apart from this
brief solo: his sound world is rather one of elevated decibels, powerful forces,
concrete sounds which explode into a space which Var6se himself imagined on a
planetary, even cosmic scale. In his works, the first percussion orchestras
(Ionisation, 1931) a n d the first electronic sounds in dialogue with the orchestra
(Ddserts, 1954) appear, while the Po~me Electronique (1957) issued forth from every
part of the i m m e n s e French Pavilion designed by Le Corbusier for the Brussels
Universal Exhibition of 1958. A n d it was Var6se, moreover, w h o worked for a
n u m b e r of years on an e n o r m o u s project, Espace, which was a work intended to
be played simultaneously in several towns on the earth, and transmitted live across
the whole world b y radio.
Given this situation, a solo for flute lasting three minutes m a y come as a
surprise, so greatly does it seem at odds with the creative aspirations of its
composer; a n d the observation that Density 21.5 was the only piece that Var6se
produced during a twelve-year silence (1934-1946) can only serve a priori to
deepen the mystery. This paradox itself will, however, provide the solution to the
enigma. If Var6se ceased composing for such an extended period, it was, of course,
on account of an aesthetic crisis which p r e v e n t e d h i m from continuing to create
the music which he heard inwardly, a n d which was fundamentally free from the
unwieldiness of instruments and the technical limitations of performers. He aimed
to create music of an extreme rigour in which sounds flowed through space in an
infinite variety of colours and intensities. Only the electro-acoustic universe could
offer a solution to this problem, but the technique was in an extremely
rudimentary state at this time. The possibility of continuing seemed so remote to
Var~se that he fell silent and preferred to wait.
In the midst of his passage through the desert, Density 21.5 a p p e a r e d therefore
as a cry of revolt, a desperate chant, an impossible stake. H a v i n g been urged for
several years b y Georges Barr6re to write a piece for him, 8 Var6se s u c c u m b e d at
the height of the crisis p e r h a p s because he saw in this gesture the m e a n s of
increasing the impact of his cry of alarm on the musical world: w h a t could be done
8 This fact is not generally known and was confirmed by Louise Var6se in a letter dated 1982
which she wrote to me in reply to some questions I had asked regarding the composition of Density
21.5. She writes:
Var~se's friend, the eminent flautist Georges Barr6re, had long been begging Var6se to write him
something for his instrument. He became even more pressing when he acquired a new and unique
flute made of platinum, which he was to inaugurate at a benefit concert for the Lyc~e Francais in
New York. A month before the concert, Barr~re received that long-solicited score, which Var~se had
given the esoteric title of Density 21.5 - obvious, of course, to those who knew the density of
platinum.
Aspects of the Flute in the Twentieth Century 143
hereafter with these frail instruments, limited in every respect like musical
cripples, powerless to escape from their narrow cage? Var6se tortures the flute and
the flautist, demanding of them feats of embouchure which were inconceivable at
the time and which remain just as problematic fifty years later.
Density 21.5, a piece inspired by electronic characteristics

The work is cast in an overall ternary form which is characterized rhythmically by
a mixture of ternary and binary structures.
The first section is composed of twenty-three bars. It reveals a crescendo of
fluctuating intensity which culminates in bars 14, 17 and 21, and closes rapidly
into the following section.
The first three bars may be considered an exposition of all the material which is
subsequently developed later in the piece.
72
f
~z
mf
f )
mf~
Figure 4
The most~significant rhythmic and intervallic motives are stated at the outset,
., ~
together with the major and minor seconds which also constitute
the pnncipal thematic material of Syrinx, a piece on which Var6se resolutely turned
his back after this mischievous glance in its direction.
The second bar introduces the ternary idea and is subdivided into unequal
lengths of one, three and two units respectively. At the end of this bar an
intervallic expansion gives rise to the second held n o t e G 3, which, following F
sharp 3, presents the minor second motive. This sequence concludes with a rest
which will provide the principal material of the second section at its opening.
The two long notes (F sharp and G) also form the basis of an important use of
dynamics which exposes the principle of manipulating the sound, since a dynamic
change does not merely imply a variation of expressive nuance as in classical
music; it underlies a constant variation in timbre. One has only to listen to the
clarinet solo "The Abyss of the Birds" from Olivier Messiaen's Quartet for the End
of Time to be convinced of this. The relative neutrality of the mf rhythmic motives
which surround these two long notes throws into relief this procedure which
occurs continually throughout the piece. A high point in its usage may be seen in
bar 11 in which the fff D 4 requires the overblowing of the instrument to such an
extent that the harmonics of the note are reinforced and become audible: we thus
find ourselves at the brink of polyphony.
Throughout the whole of this first section the treatment of the material is highly
systematic; the initial motives recur either in their original form or in intervallic
transformations as in bars 3, 9, 10 and 11, 13, 15, 16 and 17, 20 and 21, 22 and
23, thus spanning the entire range of the instrument.
144 P.-Y. Artaud
Figure 5
Bars 9-11
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Figure 6 Bars 16 and 17
..................... I
:_ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
psubilo
Figure 7 Bars 20 and 21
Two other important observations m a y be made which apply furthermore to the

whole piece. The degree of control exercised over timbre is paralleled by an equal
precision in the mode of attack (slurred, detached, ordinary staccato, accented) and
in the termination of the sound: crescendos, diminuendos, straight sounds or
shortened ones.
Finally, on two occasions (bars 14 and 17), (Figures 8 and 9), Var6se projects the
sound towards the rest by means of an immense crescendo, as he does in O c t a n d r e
also. These sonorities originate in one of the earliest types of electro-acoustic
manipulations, that of playing a sound backwards. Thus, an electronic model has
served to inspire purely instrumental writing.
The opening of the second section (bars 24-28) presents one of the greatest
peculiarities of the work: a five-bar rest punctuated by a few very discrete attacks.
This is in fact a premonition of what Karlheinz Stockhausen would later term
"'coloured silence".
These few seconds of silence must not be considered as a breathing space, a
musical "interval" in the Western sense of the use of silence. On the contrary,
silence is representative of negative music and, like the Yin and Yang, the one
depends on the other for its meaning.
145
L~;U
~..~:
'.,
Figure 8
Figure 9
In bar 24 all the positive, explosive energy released in an enormous crescendo

hurls itself like a contained explosion into this long silence charged with negative
sound energy. This section creates a rare degree of tension, almost as if it is lying
in wait like the birds in the forest which become immobile at the slightest
unfamiliar sound. The genius of the composer is apparent in the simple idea of
emphasizing the silence and increasing its expressive tension by introducing a few
very small sounds into it. A house at night is never completely silent; the creaking
of a floorboard or the dripping of water into the wash-basin occasionally make the
ensuing silence unbearable. Such is the role of these staccato notes, the majority
of which are linked to key clicks which break the silence and extirpate its
immensity like stars piercing the sky.
&hargoly a r t i c u l a t e d )
+
t~
5a,
i**
++
~'~
s
>
,~d..'l
~.
-___...
i
..
..
,x,
~.
"~
r---e~
,.
Figure 10
+ +
,j
~
mp
_g"
r..."
.P:~" mp
Figure 11
+ +
~"
+
~
"
146 P.-Y. Artaud

This first example of the use of key clicks against the tube leads once again to
the limits of playing technique.
The calm is followed by a storm. Bars 28 and 30 explode abruptly, exposing the
principle of this second section which, while using the same material as the
opening, will distort it in every sense, sweeping ceaselessly over the entire range
of the instrument.
J:60
Figure 12
The three notes used at the beginning of this section form transpositions of the
opening semitone-tone idea.
The third section, beginning in bar 41, and the coda retain the same character:
abrupt changes of register, nuance and rhythm, and variety of phrasing and attack.
The climax of the work, a rhythmic development of the minor third interval BS-D 6
written in the flute's fourth octave, occurs between bars 46 and 50.
If the flautists of today, assisted by their highly capable instruments, execute this
passage with comparative ease (and this is still not always the case), one must
nevertheless restore it to the context of 1936 in order to realize the risks involved
in such a performance, risks as great as those which had been taken in the bassoon
solo of The Rite of Spring twenty-three years earlier.
These four bars demonstrate clearly Var6se's desire to exceed the narrow
limitations of the flute which constrained him; for example the fff dynamic which
follows on the low A flat should sound more powerfully than the high D: of
course, Var6se knows that this is possible only in the mind, but he rebels and tries
to ignore it.
The coda of Density 21.5 for its part introduces another example of writing
inspired by an electro-acoustic model: the filtering of a sound spectrum. The C ~
may be considered as the fourth harmonic of a C 1, and the succession of
frequencies which follow it as the successive components of a complex sound
which are supposed to be inaudible.
There is a remarkable recording 9 of this piece by the French flautist Ren4 Leroy,
made in the presence of the composer. Throughout this final sequence Var6se kept
his foot on the sustaining pedal of a piano causing the sympathetic vibration of the
9 EMS 401 (1950), New York, published in France by Boite a Musique, BAM LDO24 (1956).
147
strings, and thus creating a sense of filtering while restoring at the same time an
increased sound space.
The projection of sound in space was a major preoccupation of this composer,
moreover, which is apparent in almost all his pieces, including Density 21.5. The
systematic usage of the extreme registers corresponds to a fairly wide diffusion of
the lower ones, while the upper ones, on the contrary, are projected in a highly
directional way. I myself created a spatial version of Density 21.5 at the Darmstadt
Festival in July 1986 in conjunction with the Freiburg im Breisgau studio and its
director at that time, Peter Haller, which provides a totally new and convincing
interpretation of the work.
The piece is, therefore, essentially one which works on the parameters of the
sound.
1. Attacks: these are of various types and are used in every register.
normal attack
sustained attack
JJJ
articulation by the diaphragm
accentuation
J
j
accentuation within a sustained

sound
staccato
a~
key staccato, like a "Bart6k

pizzicato"
oe
2.
3.
4.
Nuances: these operate independently of register and should be considered as

absolute. They range from pp to fff.
Dynamics: these occur in defiance of the possibilities of the instrument, often
going against traditional reactions.
Terminations of sounds: the sounds are curtailed in a rigorously codified way:
148
P.-Y. Artaud
g
5.
6.
7.
8.
mF
straight
decrescendo
a crescendo towards silence

(a sound in reverse)
shortened, curtailed suddenly
Timbres: the extreme nuances and variety of the parameters previously listed
may be seen as together contributing to th~ formation of sound objects of
varied timbres.
Rests: rests are incorporated for their expressive value and constitute a
tangible, structural element.
Intervals: the structural unity of the work is achieved among other means by
the presence of certain privileged intervals, minor seconds, major seconds,
minor thirds and octaves, which saturate the entire piece.
Rhythms: these contribute equally to this unity and proceed principally by
means of diminution and augmentation:
3 _ _ J
J.
149
This rigorous treatment of the parameters of the highly economical opening

material is clearly representative of electro-acoustic compositional procedure. It is
inspired by the spirit of the latter, exploits its models, and creates a remarkable
degree of tension in the work through the almost absolute impossibility of
retaining for the performer the total objectivity which is required to execute it.
Density 21.5 provides the first example in the history of the flute of a piece which
treats the instrument for its intrinsic, objective qualities. In attempting to sublimate
these qualities, Var~se forces the flute and the flautist to a historic questioning
which sounds the death-bell on three centuries of ornamental, elegant writing.
From this moment on, the future appears wide open to those who are able to
recognize it. The elegant flute, the shepherd's reed pipe, the carefree caperings of
previous centuries are all over. The curtain has fallen on the old concept of the
flute, dominated by Syrinx. Density cries out, Density makes the instrument
explode with a degree of intensity never before attained. Var~se does not write for
the flute, he wrestles with it.
Out of this fierce struggle- emerge unsuspected sonorities; little by little the walls
seem to tumble down leaving a new and hitherto undiscovered flute to flourish.
2 Five Incantations by Andrd Jolivet 1~
While Edgard Var6se was working on Density 21.5 in America, his friend and
disciple Andr6 Jolivet in France was undertaking the composition of a cycle of five
pieces, five incantations for solo flute which I consider to be the other important
event in the development of flute repertoire at the beginning of the present
century. It is important for diametrically opposed reasons, however, for if Var6se
writes almost "against the flute", imposing on it performance techniques which we
have already discussed, Jolivet, on the other hand, endeavours to restore to this
instrument its primitive spiritual and incantatory dimension.
Andr6 Jolivet's fascination for African civilizations is well known. It was during
the course of a journey in North Africa, where, in the summer of 1936, he heard
a flautist in Blida (Algeria) improvising on the ancestral nay, that he decided to set
to work on this composition. It is without doubt the first time in the history of
music that a work of such dimensions has been dedicated to the solo flute (sixteen
minutes minimum, since two of the pieces are of aleatoric duration).
The five pieces, or rather prayers, are entitled:
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
For the welcome of the negotiators and the peaceful conduct of the interview.
That the child which is to be born will be a son.
That the crop which will grow in the furrows dug by the labourer will be rich.
For a serene communion of the being with the world.
For the protection of the soul of the chief on his death.
In these titles one aspect of Andr6 Jolivet's originality may be found, for, taking
the opposite stance to his contemporaries or immediate predecessors who sought
a relationship with the Romantic or Baroque periods, Jolivet attempts to reestablish a direct link with the prehistoric origins of music; and, for the first time,
10 Recordedby Pierre-Yves Artaud: CD ADDA 581 055.
150 P.-Y. Artaud

the sound palette which is used by Jolivet anticipates the works of Takemitsu,
Taira, Hosokawa or even Ahmed Essyad. The reference to popular flutes, with
their crude sonorities clouded by breath tone, asserts itself at the first hearing. The
range of expression of Five Incantations is so wide that it seems almost infinite.
In the first incantation, the flute may be considered to be orchestrated in
polyphony resulting from the alternation of two types of music, the one located in
the highest register in unsteady rhythms (triplets, quintuplets, sextuplets) and
mixed with flutter tonguing, the other occurring in the low octave in a binary
march rhythm.
The second incantation exploits the full range of attacks available on the
instrument. Its form is a simple ABA and the more restless, unstable and agitated
the A section appears to be (it evolves around a pivot note E flat3), the more the
B section contrasts with it through its irregular stature and its concentration on the
exclusively rhythmic aspect of the instrument.
The central piece consists simply of a modal melody which repeats itself
untiringly an indeterminate number of times. Its simplicity contrasts fiercely with
the essential activity of the four other pieces (like the eye of a typhoon?).
The fourth piece, which is cyclical in form, is presented as a huge m o n o d y - a
meditation in sound - the range of which takes as its point of departure the
interval of a seventh, C3-B 3, and continues to expand until it encompasses almost
all three octaves with a degree of lyricism that recalls the spatial projections of the
sound which occur in Density 21.5. But whereas Density concludes on a shrill,
questioning fortissimo also, this fourth incantation returns to its primitive state
w h e n all is said and done, a journey in space rather than in time - or perhaps one
should say in space-time? - which derives nevertheless from a notion of
temporality inspired by Asia rather than by Western sensibilities.
The final incantation, like the first, orchestrates the flute through the use of two
principal themes. The first is a cry of despair, a mournful lamentation, the
heart-rending nature of which is entrusted to the upper register of the flute (A4-G
sharpS). The second theme returns to the march with its regular phrasing and
treatment of the flute as a percussion instrument. On the whole, this fifth
incantation calls for large amounts of stamina and virtuosity.
3 Sequenza by Luciano Berio (1958)11

Initial contact with the work reveals a high level of sonic invention which asserts
itself unquestionably at the expense of the syntactic and structural rigour of the
piece. The use of widely separated registers and extreme nuances, the supple
volubility of the discourse, the incessant hesitation of the material as it evolves in
sudden leaps and bounds from pointillism to melodic shape indeed constitute
Berio's response to the eternal problem of the monodic instrument and establish
the work in the line of descent from such pieces as Johann Sebastian Bach's solos
for transverse flute. But Sequenza is equally prophetic of the future investigations
of timbre which characterize the following decades and which include multiphonics, flutter tonguing, harmonics and key clicks.
11 Recordedby Pierre-Yves Artaud: Fontec FOCD 3252.
151
Rhythmic notation
Proportional notation, although now familiar, was a complete innovation at the
time. A regular beat (M.M. 70) is symbolized by a small vertical line attached to the
fifth line of the stave. The spatial distribution of the notes in time and space
determines the rhythm (and the length of the rests); the duration of each note is
presented graphically also:
: very short
F
: the duration is proportional to the

length of the beam
f-v]
: aleatoric duration
This notation clearly permits a very precise approach to rhythms which would
have been impossible to quantify in the traditional system, or which would at all
events have proved a stumbling-block to an initial reading. It enables us to
conclude, on the other hand, that in the most virtuosic sections of the work,
gestural activity prevails over strict temporal control. Sequenza oscillates constantly
between these two requirements.
Figure 13 Metronomic m o v e m e n t s
Form and content

In its formal design Sequenza may be related to a circular form which should not,
however, be confused with the classical ABA form. Rather, the continual
discursive flux, segmented constantly by the recall of the initial thematic intervals
either literally or allusively by means of their syntactic presentation and articulation should be observed. The coda thus confirms the exhaustion of the possibilities
for the development/variation of the material as it proceeds towards silence.
Sequenza begins with a serial idea which is treated freely, however, and the
ensuing elaboration demonstrates that it would be pointless to enclose the work
within a serial schema at all costs. The series may, however, be found stated
without repetition at the end of the seventh line and at the beginning of the
152
P.-Y. Artaud
70 M.M.
1
l,,m
1
2'.P
---
line_ ZZ
liae_l
Figure 14
eighth. If the analysis were pursued, it would reveal a continuous variation

treatment of the material.
.~- P e
p,~
,,~
[.~
.6~
~- - ~..~
Figure 15
il^~ t
I J.,JI
J,,J'Li
F-
~.L L ;F
"
'LTF : i{tJ
zl-_
'
, r.
lir~K,5 IB aad 17
-,f:=~-
Figure 16
The ideas determined by Luciano Berio recur throughout Sequenza, but they are
altered continually either by contraction or expansion. This phenomenon of
memory is an important element in the unitary perception of the piece and may
be observed on the structural level as much as on the formal one. The sound
material includes several specific techniques which may be conveniently singled
out.
1.
2.
The use of rapid tremolandi which are interrupted abruptly (Figure 17).
Flutter tonguing around a narrow chromatic interval (Figure 18).
P~F sera~re
(B~p)
153
0e
Figure 17
~,
~, ~, ~
~,
~'
~
,
.p.p
Figure 18
3.
Timbral manipulation on a single pitch as a result of fingering the partials:
Figure 19
.
Clusters of rapid ornamental sounds sweeping across the full range of the
instrument:
,J r]r IT
r!
LT
Figure 20
These four methods of performance place so m a n y innovations at the disposal
of the attempted transformation of the flute into a polyphonic instrument.
For the first time, moreover, two multiphonic sounds obtained by the fingerings
for the low C and D flat appear, and these enable, not without some degree of
difficulty, the third and fourth partials to sound together (Figure 21).
The concern to interject the staccatissimo notes into different registers together
with the abrupt opposition of extreme nuances belong to this attempt also (Figure
22).
This concern is clearly reminiscent of that of Var~se in Density 21.5.
Silence must likewise be taken into account as a structural dimension. It serves
to separate two ideas or sections from one another. The work falls silent on two
154
P.-Y. Artaud
--
Figure 21
,>
~'j.
~.
--
~t,~,
Figure 22
occasions, the first of which occurs at the end of the opening section (line 8) where
static notes of an extreme ppp assume the function of a rest.
Following the climax (lines 34-35), the swirling sound hastens towards
extinction by means of key clicks and leads once again to a feeling of silence
coloured by an almost inaudible harmonic before it sinks finally into silence:
,'~ d ; . ,,~lto col fia~o
cre$c.
s p a ~
Con /e c l ; t ~
#.
(il possibileJ
dim.
~PP
Figure 23
Silence m a y also emphasize the entry of an idea by reinforcing it through

isolation; in short, it serves to break the continuity of a phrase.
The originality of Sequenza I by Berio embodies a significant dialectic of the time
in which it was conceived (1958). On the one hand, it refers to gesture and its
corollary, chance, while on the other, it demonstrates allegiance to a strict manner
of writing, the precepts of which are enshrined in the current thought of the
Darmstadt school of which Berio was one of the leading figures. Finally, if the
dominant style appears to be that of pointillism, the vocal, even lyrical aspect of
the work was undoubtedly inspired by his collaboration with Cathy Berberian who
was a tremendous inspiration to Luciano Berio throughout her life.
155
4 Mei" by Kazuo Fukushima
The composer provides an epigraph which specifies the precise meaning of the
Chinese ideograph at the head of the piece: pale, intangible, transparent: - ~ .
The work was written in memory of Dr W. Heinecke, founder of the Darmstadt
Summer School, who died suddenly in a car accident in December 1961. As in the
case of Kazuo Fukushima's entire output, moreover, the work is conceived as a
requiem, since the act of composition is, for him, inseparable from that of prayer.
Works such as Kahda Karuna (meaning compassion, a bond with other beings) or
Kadha Hi-Haku (the spirit of flight) bear witness to this fact.
Met unfolds very clearly as a classical ABA form. It begins with a note which
emerges out of silence only to return there after a few seconds. The following two
notes grow out of this initial sound and, by a process of dovetailing, each idea is
determined by the preceding one until the culminating point of the introductory
section (bar 11) is reached; the coda to this section consists of a descending
quarter-tone motive and its consequent which is obtained by rhythmic augmentation.
The two extremes of this introduction, C 3 and B4, provide the point of departure
for the following section and demonstrate once again the use of the generative
inverted chromaticism of Density 21.5 as structural material:
Figure 24
The second section is shorter and begins in bar 16 after the slow liquidation of
a C8 which fades as the breath of the instrumentalist expires. This section is more
animated rhythmically and deliberately exploits reminiscences of Western styles of
composition which Fukushima willingly admits to having borrowed from Berio's
Sequenza or Le marteau sans maitre by Boulez (Figure 25). Its mode of expression
is more striking, contrasted, and these movements contribute to a dramatization of
the discourse which concludes at length on Bs. This pitch constitutes the climax of
the work and prepares the coda which is a reprise of the opening material.
Clearly, the effectiveness of Mei does not lie in its formal or syntactic innovation.
Its considerable transparency at this level exists only in order to allow the listener
to concentrate more fully on other parameters, and essentially that of timbral
evolution, which are basic to all compositional design.
The material
In terms of rhythm, Met" is principally a gestural work in which the determination
of a beat could achieve only a secondary role, except in bars 36-43 at the start of
the second section. In this respect, the opening is particularly significant since it
156 P.-Y. Artaud
"Y~
-"~
Figure 25
specifies the direction lent et rubato after the time signature while its first note is
simply a sustained fermata (as in the case of many other indications, this has been
omitted by the editor) which destroys any attempt at rhythmic recognition before
this may be even remotely perceived.
In reality, it is the heartbeat, the respiration of the performer and his relationship
with the notion of time which determine the length of each melodic idea. The
opening bars thus imply the ensuing ones and the whole piece is built
progressively in this way. The concepts of phrasing and rhythm are therefore
organically connected. In the same way, the nuances are entirely determined or
implied by this evolution of phrase and form. Syntax, form and nuance become
physiologically inseparable concepts.
With regard to pitch, Mei" may be related to a chromatic system, but the
composer's desire to free himself from this restrictive yoke is apparent on a
number of counts. Three phenomena may be cited:
1.
The use of quarter-tones. The use of micro-intervals, chiefly as acciaccaturas,

testifies not to the desire to extend the system of twelve semitones, but to a
more subtle means of expression in which micro-intervallic ornamentation
occurs merely in order to increase the tension of the phrase and to confer the
vocal dimension of the work to a far greater degree:
r
Figure 26
. The use of glissandi. The desire to create a sound continuum is expressed in

these glissandi which are exploited to three different ends:
(i) Ornamentation: in this context the glissando may be considered as
Schleifer or portamento (Figure 27).
(ii) Tension building/reducing element: the long ascending glissando leads
the phrase to the climax of its intensity (Figure 28).
157
~
Figure 27
ra/L
t~,
~-i
,,,I
;~
~ l;
~i
J"
Figure 28
Conversely, the long descending glissando reduces the tension:
a tempo
Figure 29
(iii)
Mode of attack: this case occurs twice in bars 16 and 17. These glissandi
are technically impossible to realize, but their suggestion is reminiscent
of the shakuhachi with its powerful breath attacks (breath attacks which
m a y be introduced in this very case, moreover):
% ..-..
'V v ~ . d
YYd
~f
Figure 30
The use of the flute as a percussion instrument. The flute refers explicitly to
oriental percussion instruments on three occasions:
(i) At the end of the first section the accelerando punctuated by vigorous
accents evokes a series of temple blocks proceeding to a gong stroke, the
resonance of which is left to die away (Figure 31).
158 P.-Y. Artaud

::,.
_>
~V
l~ff.
Figure 31
(ii) At the beginning of the second section, attacks mixed with key clicks,
then low accents further on (see Figure 25) imitate the "tsuzumi" drum
of NO theatre. The way in which the attack of a note is expressed will,
therefore, eventually take precedence over its exact pitch.
At this precise moment how can one avoid recalling Density 21.5? When I put
this question to Fukushima in August 1989, he replied in a very interesting way,
declaring to my great surprise that, in 1962, he had never heard Var6se's piece. He
added that, by contrast, the famous inverted chromaticism, an undisputed
characteristic of 70% of flute repertoire, was in fact a traditional melodic figure of
the NO flute (as indeed are the long, sustained, high notes such as those which
occur at the end of Density, or in the coda of the central section of Met'). He
concluded by affirming that he had assumed this legacy completely, and added
mischievously that perhaps I ought to reverse my initial comment and consider
whether Var~se might have been influenced by NO theatre!
In 1962 Met opened up an important new direction in music which achieved a
perfect synthesis between two cultures. This synthesis was not a naive imitation,
a type of "neo-colonialist" mimicry, but a true integration of two types of material,
the alchemy of which created a new means of expression which proved
indispensable to the development of the repertoire of the instrument.
At this moment everything was poised for a complete renewal of the
instrumental language. Density and Andr~ Jolivet's Incantations together with
Sequenza and Met many years later, had prepared people's minds for such a degree
of expansion that one might speak of an explosion. What was missing finally?
Simply that a systematic exploration of the technical possibilities which allowed a
composer to write freely or almost freely required an exposition of the tools of the
trade. This would arrive in the late 1960s with Bartolozzi's treatise.
3. Works C o m p o s e d After 1970
1 Voice by Toru Takemitsu 12

This work is an exemplary illustration of the second generation of pieces, the
advent of which was made possible by the publication of Bartolozzi's work and the
efforts of various performers.
Clearly, the composer's imagination may assume free rein in the treatment of
the sound due to the material (multiphonics in particular) which is newly available
to him. In addition, the role played by Aur61e Nicolet, one of this century's greatest
12 Recordedby Pierre-Yves Artaud: Fontec FOCD 3255.
159
flautists as well as one of its most remarkable musical personalities, for whom the
piece was written, must not be ignored. The encounter between two personalities
of this dimension can often be a more creative force than all the treatises in the
world!
The title of the work is indicative of an interesting intention since it reveals a
concern which would reappear in L4vinas, twenty years Takemitsu's junior, to
regard the musical instrument as an extension of the human body, the amplifier
of the voice or indeed voices, both physical and interior.
Voice consists of two sections separated by a rest and is presented as a
commentary on a poem by Shuzo Takiguchi taken from "Hand-made Proverbs".
In the first section, the poem is presented in French: "Qui va la? Qui que tu sois,
parle, transparence", while in the second section it occurs in English: "Who goes
there? Whoever you are, speak, transparence". The distinct phonemes and curt
attacks of the French language imply a parallel treatment of the musical material:
ppp or fff dynamics, a lively and strongly contrasting section.
The second section, which provides an echo of the first in the clearer, less
brusque tones of the English language, is set to breath sounds, whistle tones or
pure sonorities which revolve in a more flexible, ethereal tempo. The diminuendo
at the close of the work mingles the voice in whispered tones ("whoever you are!")
with the breath in a final exhalation of the sound which fades away to nothing.
From a technical point of view, three essential considerations arise:
1.
The importance of the use of multiphonic sounds. We have come a long way
since Berio's cautious attempt. Multiphonics bestow upon the flute the status
of a polyphonic instrument. Several multiphonic trills are used (lines 4, 11, 15)
and an embryonic contrapuntal treatment may be detected (line 14). Multiphonics are used not only for their timbre therefore but also for their pitches.
2.
The treatment of the voice. Toru Takemitsu leaves the choice of speaking,
whispering or shouting to the performer. Naturally, the organic requirements
of the poem and the music often seem to impose irrefutable solutions.
Nevertheless, one may distinguish between:
(i) the amplification of the voice by the tube of the flute: speaking while
covering the embouchure plate completely. Symbol: (9.
(ii) the reverberation of the voice in the tube of the flute: speaking while
remaining in the normal playing position. Symbol: kJ (see the beginning
of the work).
(iii) the transformation of the voice into flute sound: the sound of the voice
is transformed into instrumental sound in the manner of additive
synthesis. This occurs at the very end of the work.
(iv) the polyphonic treatment of the voice with the sound of the flute:
singing any pitch at random while fingering and playing the one that is
written (see lines 2, 3, 4, 6 etc...). Symbol: ~ . .
(v) growl: a technique employed by jazzmen involving the raucous singing
of a melodic line which follows that of the instrument as closely as
possible (see line 11). Symbol: as in (iv) + "growl".
3.
References to the shakuhachi. These occur constantly throughout the work.

Toru Takemitsu's familiarity with the instrument is apparent, moreover, from
his Eclipse for biwa and shakuhachi. These references are expressed not only
160
P.-Y. Artaud
by the ff or pp breath attacks (symbol: ~ ) on lines 3 or 6, for example, but also

by the numerous sounds which are coloured by the breath (symbol: ~") and
which frequently fade into imperceptible hissing noises decorated by whistle
tones.
The path was n o w marked out for numerous generations of creators w h o had
been seeking for some time already to effect this synthesis between East and West.
Two Japanese composers became engulfed by polycultural creation in the wake
of Toru Takemitsu: for twenty years Yoshihisa Taira devoted the major part of his
activity as a composer to writing for solo or concertante flute; Toshio Hosokawa,
twenty-five years Takemitsu's junior, enriched the flute repertoire considerably
and asserted this style of writing which is closely b o u n d up with cultural
sensibility once and for all as one of the most important trends in contemporary
music.
2 Arsis and Thesis or The Song of the Breath (1979)13 by Michael Ldvinas
Composer's text:
"The composition of this piece for amplified bass flute oriented m y research in the
following works in a most decisive way. 14 My concern was to define a musical
direction based on the mutation of instruments either electronically or by means
of amplification. The instrument would be understood as a "'speaking-trumpet",
an extension of the h u m a n body. It would be heir to those ancient masks in which
the actors spoke and sang. Thus the works that I composed between 1971 and
1982 (Calls, Overture for a Strange F~te, Rustling of Wings, Concerto No. 2 for Space
Piano, Unreal Counterpoints) all took their point of departure in one way or another
from Arsis and Thesis or The Song of the Breath. The flute plays a leading role in
each of these works, and they have in common, firstly, an extensive use of the
breath and of white noise in general, secondly, the presence of specific melodic
lines which issue from the respiratory r h y t h m of the instrumentalist, and, thirdly,
a treatment of instrumental timbre which is perceived as fundamentally different
to the electronic sounds already current and in musical use as sounds in their o w n
right at this time. is
In m y music, technology was never used to transform the instrument, but to
reveal its hidden dimensions. The specific parameters of the instrumental world
which were brought to light and developed by electro-acoustic techniques and the
amplification of space, were able to develop an order and a language which were
at once post-serial and free of the new academicism which had established itself
in the electronic sound models of the 1970s. It seemed to me that the sound world
of the instrument and its properties of a "speaking-trumpet" which the new
technology had revealed, possessed the powers of true post-serial expressivity.
The flute and its direct relationship with h u m a n respiration provided an
important anchorage for m y work as a composer during the years 1971-1972.
The sound of the breath and of h u m a n respiration had most certainly been
exploited in the contemporary music of the 1970s. Composers had used this timbre
13 Recorded by Pierre-Yves Artaud: INA GRM AM 821 10 in the collection French Music of
Today.
14 Micha@l L6vinas, "'What is instrumental?", a paper read at Darmstadt in 1982, published by
Schott.
15 See "Sound and Music", an article by Michael L~vinas, Entretemps, 1987, Paris.

in a number of different pieces for flute, and indeed it might even be considered
as one more hackneyed device arising out of tape-recorded music. In Arsis and
Thesis, the use of this timbre achieves a new perspective while referring back to
the most ancient and original element of music: the movement of the breath with
its rise and fall (arsis and thesis) engenders and legitimizes the melodic movement.
Arsis and Thesis proclaims the rebirth of pre- and post-serial melody with a timbre
which is the very essence of melody itself: the breath.
Only a flute could lend tone quality to this breath by imbuing it with the colours
of the tempered frequencies!
Only a flute could impart a melodic curve to this extraordinary and privileged
moment of respiration: the inhalation of the breath (arsis).
In reality, the amplification of the flute enables this timbre of the inhalation and
exhalation of the flautist in the air column of his instrument - increased in volume
beyond all proportion by the microphone - to be heard from the very beginning
of Arsis and Thesis. This breath with its natural rising and falling movement (see
the episode of the grandmother's death in Proust) monopolizes the melodic phrase
of the piece. The structural element of arsis and thesis, with its possibilities for
modification through acceleration and deceleration, and transformation into
raucous rattling sounds, will provide the formal framework for the entire piece
until its final exhalation" (Micha61 L6vinas, April 1990).
3 Capricorn's Nostalgic Crickets by Horatio Radulescu
This composer of Rumanian origin who has been a naturalized French citizen since
1974, is one of the most remarkable representatives of a school of composition
which developed in France in the 1970s around the group "Itinerary", the
so-called school of "spectral music".
By reorganizing the obsolete notion of tonality as a result of the observation that
a monodic instrumental sound is, in fact, an intrinsically tonal phenomenon due
to the superimposition of its harmonics, this school succeeded in realigning
tonality with the micro-intervallic system, and opened up a whole new direction
or culture: contemporaneity, electro-acoustics and instrumental writing may at last
be reconciled.
If harmonic richness is not the principal characteristic of the flute, its fragile,
supple sound and timbral virtuosity are elements which could only serve to excite
the sound poet in Horatio Radulescu. From an important output of works for flute,
I have chosen to discuss Capricorn's Nostalgic Crickets, opus 16H (1972), a piece for
seven flutes or seven groups of seven flutes. The work may be performed by a
single performer playing with a tape (which he should preferably pre-record
himself) or by seven live flautists.
Horatio Radulescu writes the following with regard to his piece:
"A series of twenty-four quarter tones, selected for its melodic beauty, creates a
square matrix of ninety-six sounds from the succession of its four forms, original,
inversion, retrograde and retrograde inversion.
Each of the seven instruments sets out from a different point and plays all
ninety-six sounds in the prescribed order, as in a circular canon.
But that is merely the narrative.., the discourse.., the following of a logical
process... Let us turn the page in order to discover the inner life of these timbral
phenomena.
162
P.-Y. Artaud
Each sound (written note) consists of a frequency plateau which lasts for
approximately nine seconds (the beat is measured in objective time).
This frequency plateau becomes the fundamental tone or predominant function
of a micro-"timbre life", a "spectral existence" which demands a particular register
from which these ninety-six spinal columns of timbral phenomena are transposed
to different octaves. Thus the concept of melody becomes ideal and may no longer
be regarded as absolute; it will be just one of the secrets therefore of the fusion of
frequential functions.
There are four types of timbral existence, four methods of producing and
activating the sound:
1.
2.
3.
4.
[ ~ yellow tremolo, a single pitch, a horizontal tremolo, is played (generally

in the upper register of the instruments) using different fingerings which vary
the depth of timbre, like a flickering star or an irregular morse code signal,
accompanied by the reinforced components of the second spectral formant;
faint whistling noises are produced by the harmonics especially when the
fundamental is rather low.
L ~ stable multiphonics, homophonic micro-tonal structures with aleatoric
lacunae due to variations in dynamic intensity.
~
unstable multiphonics, varied illumination of the formants of a single
multiphonic.
[ - ~ flutter tonguing and singing in unison, generally in the low register.
Identical frequential functions receive different types of timbral existence

according to the side of the matrix on which they occur. But the progression of
each of the seven instruments to this same function (note) at different times
characterizes this same frequency plateau in variable ways. Thus the complete
score deploys a myriad of 672 timbral types within a chorale consisting of
ninety-six quasi-macro-homophonic emanations/situations.
A statistical reading of the four timbral types, distributed between (or taken up
by) seven sources more or less simultaneously, gives rise to the effect of a random
but controlled operation in which ninety-six situations lying between the poles
"regulated random operation ~-- - ---* pure accident" pass through the subconscious.
Perceived on the macro level, this is similar to a natural phenomenon such as the
chirping of crickets or cicadas, but at a speed at least fifteen times slower. Perceived
on the micro level, the type of timbral existence, with its own rhythmic and
dynamic micro-life, produces an extension of the sound source (cause) and the
parameters of the sound (effect) which at times serves to disguise the seven
woodwind instruments.
An attempt is made to simulate or assume the characteristics of other, wider
sound sources such as: natural phenomena (N), articulated language (L), synthesized electronic sounds (E), abstract human sources (H), and instruments or objects
(I/O) other than the woodwind instruments concerned. From a technical point of
view, these types of performance enrich the cause, while aesthetically a radical
filtering ensures that there is no compromise in the creation of the desired effect.
The musical language seeks to go beyond its own conceptual boundaries, for a
leap is taken into another semantic orbit which engenders a phenomenological
sound world".
163
4 Unity Capsule by Brian Ferneyhough

If Ferneyhough's interest in the flute became apparent as early as 1966 with the
Four Miniatures for flute and piano, and grew steadily until 1986 with the Carceri
d'invenzione, a cycle in which the different representatives of the flute family from
the piccolo to the bass flute constitute the principal thread, it is Unity Capsule
(1975-1976) above all which continues to attract attention.
A symphony for solo flute
The musicologist Harry Halbreich defines Unity Capsule as "a symphony for solo
flute". It must, of course, be understood that Unity Capsule is organized in terms
of a parametric stratification which stretches the notion of polyphony to its
absolute limit.
All Brian Ferneyhough's music is organized around the concept of the rapid
perception of sound events. Ferneyhough himself likens his work to a film in
which the succession of images into which an arm movement, for example, may
be broken down (twenty-four frames per second), creating, in its proper place, a
slow, logical movement, would be replaced by as many unpredictable images: an
aeroplane taking off, a car race, a game of tennis, a ski run, etc . . . . The projection
of such a film would have a profoundly disturbing effect on the observer who
would find himself unable to determine the proposed discourse in an intelligible,
analytical way. He must remain in a state of watchfulness, of alert concentration
in order to grasp as much as he can. Precisely where does the boundary between
analytical and global perception lie, at what moment does the message appear to
lose its meaning, and what produces such apparent disorganization in the
subconscious?
Brian Ferneyhough certainly demands a high degree of virtuosity of both the
performer and the listener. For the latter, active listening is required at every
moment (in a musical situation, the problem is heightened still further by the fact
that the displacement of sound at a rate slower than that of light blurs the signals
to a much greater extent when they occur in rapid succession). It goes without
saying, moreover, that the performer must exercise the highest level of digital and
sound control over his instrument, but it is equally indispensable that he master
virtuosity in score reading so that he may quickly disentangle the amalgam of
signals which pass before him at great speed. The situation is analogous to that of
a motorist arriving at a change of command on the road in which all the road signs
are jumbled together. He must locate the correct one in a fraction of a second.
Similarly, the flautist finds himself thrown into a state of tension which determines
certain choices as well as a playing technique and type of sound, in short, an
entirely personal creation since it is impossible to master all the signals.
Forty years after Var~se, Ferneyhough also explores the unattainable and makes
the flute perform hitherto unimaginable feats.
Polyphony
If in the past, different solutions to the problem of polyphony were proposed by
J. S. Bach, T. Boehm and E. Var6se. Brian Femeyhough integrates all these
solutions. The composer thus organizes ideas concerning notation, virtuosity and
timbral manipulation (extending to the use of the voice) in closely-knit counterpoint. In the latter area, the technical achievements of the last forty years clearly
sanction the most daring procedures.
164
P.-K
Artaud
The method of effecting a polyphonic reading of the score is demonstrated in the

extract below. The main stave is used for the notation of fixed pitches as in a
traditional piece, while the lower line indicates vocal sounds, phonemes, key
noises, exhalations or inhalations; in summary, all operations concerned with noise
production. Superimposed on these are indications showing special fingerings,
qualities of attack, modifications of embouchure position, specifications of different
types of vibrato, etc . . . . Each note thus forms the basis of a symbolized polyphony
which comprises between three and six or seven levels.
r,, r
" e
,,/u , ~ 6 , . . v ; l l
w,.~-i.d~r~,
I '~ . . . . . . . . "~ W--.- . . . . .

T
(1",
+~.,.,-.,--.,
s
.,
A
[ ~
l]
I II
,[
w '~
.L~..~ -~;a&~__
,
--fill
I--"~
'
r
'~
T.,
I -I I
~,.
,d;
r~
--
"
. . . .
,-'-s
"
L,
~.+,.,
Figure 32
Indeed, Brian Ferneyhough has at his disposal a whole domain of which Var~se
could only catch a brief glimpse. The use to which Ferneyhough proposes this
domain be put is most spectacular, as may be judged from Figure 33 which
documents the different performance techniques extended to the intervallic scales,
more as an aspect of notation than a true playing technique.
The mere enumeration of these sonorities does not, of course, take full account
of their complexity for two reasons:
1.
2.
Certain techniques have ramifications, as in the case of harmonics which may

occur at the octave, the twelfth or the seventeenth, and qualities of attack
which may incorporatKe all the subtleties lying between unattacked notes (_L)
and accented notes (T(~), or the different types of vibrato which may occur at
infinitely variable speeds!
The raw sounds presented here may be combined with one, two or three other
sounds, creating sound objects of innumerable varieties.
The interaction of these playing techniques and their superimposition on more

traditional frequential and rhythmic writing make it easy to understand the ways
in which the polyphonization of the flute may be pushed to its ultimate limit.
Figure 34 will doubtless serve to clarify the dual notion of polyphony and
complexity by analyzing the use of these different techniques and intervallic scales
throughout the work.
The table in Figure 34 gives rise to the following comments:
1.
Timbral complexity remains constant throughout the work, and may be

considered on equal terms, moreover, as structural and grammatical complexity.
~+
temperedsounds
quarter tones
Pitch designations
fifth tones
micro-intervals
glissandi
~,~
normalsounds
sound + breath
,~
Aeoliantones
resultant sounds
~1
~
Sustained sounds
timbralvariationsproduced
by the lips
timbral variationsproducedby
the fingers
harmonics
multiphonics
flutter tonguing
,~
vibrato
diaphragmvibrato
..L (~ differentattacks
~*-'~/y modificationof the embouchure
position
Vo;m~ use of the voice
f
Resonantsounds
),
pizzicati
tonguerams
9x
I
key clicks
tongue trills
singing/shouting
Miscellaneous
trumpet sounds
clusters of aleatoricsounds
Figure 33
165
166 P.-Y.Artaud
2.
3.
A slight reduction in complexity may be observed towards the end of the

second section, however, and this reduction coincides, in fact, with a rhythmic
acceleration. The density of events thus remains the same in statistical terms,
but one form of complexity replaces another.
The end of the work, on the other hand, presents maximum acceleration and
accumulation of the parameters; it leads to a paroxysmal climax in the senza
misura postlude in which the material overrides structural considerations and
stifles the flautist himself, who "expires" in one last exhalation after a silence
of nine seconds.
We must note, nevertheless, the limitations of an inventory of this sort which

photographs and freezes in time what amounts simply to perpetual molecular
movement, and takes account only of the presence or absence of phenomena
without indicating their importance.
The rhythmic and structural treatment contributes also to the most efficient
ordering of the combination of operations. Through the progressive transformation
of degrees of emphasis and density, the general schema of the work is intended
to propose the ideological experience peculiar to this work which serves to liberate
the listener by offering him the possibility of totally subjective perception. This
remains valid at the level of both the macro- and the micro-structure which are
conceived with reference to a matrix which determines proportionally the general
dimensions of the work.
The point of departure (from which Ferneyhough has partially and consciously
deviated slightly) consisted of nine subdivisions set out in three larger groups. All
the operations must obey an initial proportional series: 4 / 3 / 2 . Thus the proportion
of the first three bars complies with this rule, for example, as does the number of
subdivisions in their three large sections respectively.
The rhythmic organization is similarly the object of a type of generation, the
principle of which may be clarified by the opening of the work. Ferneyhough
writes: "the length of a figure is determined by its duration in relation to one or
several elements which belong to a sequence produced in the following way: the
length of each bar (calculated in quavers) creates an identical number of bars in
which a certain number of equidistant impulses are distributed . . . . The individual
units are then either separated or grouped together at will (always in the correct
order and without repetition)" (Figure 35).
The close of the work presents a small-scale reflection of the large form of Unity
Capsule. The eighth section may thus be shown to correspond to the first. The
essentially rhythmic material of the opening appears in polyphony, while the
element of silence is offset by new events, preparing the frenzied coda in which the
irrational element of virtuosity pervades the entire work and continues beyond the
point of silence at which the instrumentalist himself runs out of breath (Figure 36).
The extreme imbrication, the spatio-temporal organization of the parameters,
leads to a total fragmentation, a loss of continuous discourse, a virtuoso
caricaturization of the language comparable in these respects to the literary work
of James Joyce. The musical tension is carried beyond the realms of the possible,
the perceptible, and out of the ultimate fragmentation of this non-discourse arises
a degree of tension which is conveyed and sublimated by the relationship between
the composer (the score), the performer and the audience; as the creator of sensory
perception, this tension is responsible therefore for the creation of the music itself.
Pitches
i ii iii iv
i ii iii
i ii iii
X
X
%
"3
167
i ii iii iv v
X
X
Sustained
sounds
X
X
9r162
Resonant
sounds
i X
X
X
X
X
X
Tongue
trill
X
X
Tempo
Voice
Multiphonics
Fifth tones
Glissando
X
X
nn/
Miscellaneous
fV~
'
Singing
!
I
a_J
168
P.-Y. Artaud
II
I
i ii iii iv v!
i ii iii iv va vb
ia ib ic iia iib iiia iiib iiic
X
X
Clusters
I
I
L___
I
I
I
Colour~d
sounds
X
X
X
X
X
X
X
X
Harmonics
Mixtures
l
Natural
sounds
169
III
I
ia ib iis lib iic iiia iiib
misura
.X
senza'
2
ia ib ic id iia
X
X
X
X
X
X
X
X
X
X
X
X
X
X
X
X
X
X
Whi- ~ l u -
Trumpet
stle ster~
sounds
'
Temuo ! I
!
'
"
Parodistic
Isection I
Figure 3 4
Density 21.5 and Unity Capsule: two works, one question for the future
There can be no doubt whatsoever that Femeyhough succeeds in completing a
quest embarked upon by Var6se four decades earlier. The exploration of material
begun by Density 21.5 in 1936 achieves its purest form of expression in 1976 with
Unity Capsule.
The two outcries are identical in their intensity and in the message they bear,
even though they are separated by two generations. Both composers explore the
170
P.-Y.
Artaud
~SZ
i
:
~r
i
i
ti
"--'--"--'-" ~
im~.sl~s in 2 bra's
!
|
i
FI~4____LL
C~AIN
erJ'n, 1
re#y2
.m,,'7 3
'~,,7 ~
'~.".
Figure 35 Rhythmic phase generation
impossible, compelling the flautist to surpass himself, and to struggle against his
own limitations as much as against those of his instrument. With Unity Capsule,
Brian Ferneyhough is to Var6se and Density 21.5 what Debussy and Syrinx are to
Couperin and his Concerts royaux: a jewel, a miraculous gem which will never be
surpassed. From this m o m e n t on, the quest must proceed in other directions.
What might one expect in reality? Surely not that a flautist might play even more
rapidly at some point in the distant future, or that he might prove capable of
mastering more parameters than his senses m a y grasp at any one time. At the
most, one might reasonably hope that, with some improvement in the analytical
perception of sound phenomena, the listener might become increasingly virtuosic.
This is the case with sportsmen w h o n o w measure their performance to
o n e - h u n d r e d t h rather than one-tenth of a second. There is little doubt that the
division of the second into one thousand parts will soon be used. This sharpening
of auditory acuteness will in turn produce a slight improvement in performance
since, according to Professor Tomatis, one m a y play only what one is able to hear.
It may be asserted without fear that these improvements will constitute only a
minimal advance, however: it is difficult to see h o w a flautist might execute more
than sixteen notes per second, while at the same time assigning three or four
different playing techniques to each one.
171
SECTION 8
,f.
l"
J'~
(~"~")
~ ,,~=.
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: ,~i J_~
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I "
I
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SECTION 1
IFar' P~.rr"~J~
ar~l
T1
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s~.emce .~d la*
~ ,"~-'~'~"
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Figure 36
The speed of performance and degree of control required by Unity Capsule
return us to the electronic universe. A computer performs infinitely better than a
human being at high speeds, and while reference to the second as a unit of
measurement is, for the latter, a normal premise which allows the control of
quantifiable events from this temporal basis, it must be transposed to onehundredth of a second on the computer, for which the second constitutes a long
duration. The electronic universe is characterized firstly by the mobility and
infinite diversity of material created by an extreme polyphonic treatment within a
context of wilful virtuosity, and secondly by the systematization of this treatment.
Density 21.5 desperately invokes the electro-acoustic universe which was scarcely
in existence at that time. The piece anticipates the premises of this universe and
prophetically announces certain of its principles. Var6se declares the aesthetic
impossibility of moving forward for the creator who uses only a totally outmoded
tool. Ferneyhough was born into the electronic age, however, and has grown up
with its techniques; his thinking is, moreover, attuned to them. His life began
172 P.-Y.Artaud
almost as Var6se's came to an end, and from that moment on, his culture became
linked to the artistic revolution which saw the spectacular emergence of electroacoustic music. In reality, the question is indeed one of a culture rather than of a
simple technique to be mastered. This culture modifies thought, technique and
sensibility, and gives rise to an instrumental creation imbued with this new
aesthetic.
Far from reaching a hopeless conclusion, Unity Capsule invites us to embark on
a new journey; it demonstrates that the universe of imaginative thought remains
wider open than ever before, and that the instrumental domain may be
understood in new ways.
Once again the limits of a purely acoustic world are illustrated in Unity Capsule.
Unlike Density 21.5 which opened the door that its composer wished to close,
Unity Capsule closes this door by bringing instrumental virtuosity to its apotheosis.
One may go no further, the road has come to an end; after Brian Ferneyhough new
directions must be explored. Perhaps the solution would be found in part at least
in the techniques of live electronics which would reconcile acoustic with
electro-acoustic music. In 1936 VarOse pressed for this solution. In 1976 Ferneyhough confirmed it.
5 Grund by Emmanuel Nunes 16

Grund by Emmanuel Nunes is for nine flutes (one live and eight pre-recorded
instruments) which are exclusively alto flutes in G and bass flutes in C.
The work is indeed concerned with the treatment of the new concept of
virtuosity which imposes on the performer the perfect control of all current playing
techniques within the framework of a language which derives its principal material
from these very playing techniques.
According to this hypothesis, Emmanuel Nunes organizes these techniques in a
veritable orchestration which is dependent upon their innate qualities, sound
constraints and flexibility.
Grund was composed in 1982 and constitutes the eleventh in a series of works
begun in 1978 entitled The Creation. With regard to his piece, Emmanuel Nunes
writes:
"'The score for eight pre-recorded flutes

Ten sequences (a,b,c, etc...) form the basis of the work. Each one uses the
following eight notes only: A, B flat, B natural, C sharp, D sharp, F natural, F
sharp, G, or their transposition a fifth lower. The "original" and its transposition
are superimposed from time to time, thus attenuating the exclusivity of the eight
notes. The occasional introduction of the remaining four frequencies, especially by
means of "tongue rams" (sounding a major seventh lower) or multiphonics, which
are never used simply to create contrast, must also be pointed out. An eleventh
sequence (K) is merely a combination of different elements of the other two
sequences.
Within a given sequence, the register of each note remains unchanged, and for
all ten sequences eight different "registrations" exist.
Each sequence is presented in eight forms which are more or less directly
derived from one another; in fact, these eight forms constitute merely as many
16 Recordedby Pierre-Yves Artaud: CD ADDA581 110.
tP-
173
[j aw
lP-
(plus their transpositions)
F i g u r e 37
voices in a heterophonic texture which, although "rudimentary" in terms of pitch,

serves to support a complex contrapuntal texture amidst, or even between the
other dimensions of the sound. Each of the eight forms is prolonged until the
return of its exact starting point; its beginning and e n d thus ~function as
quasi-"nodal points" between which this counterpoint is developed. This situation
corresponds to that in section XVI of the piece. In order to provide a schematic
characterization of the transformations to which each sequence is subjected, both
diachronically and simultaneously (that is, the occurrence of several forms of a
single sequence at the same time), the "sequential content" of the seventeen
sections of the piece may be summarized in the following way, taking account also
of the ninth voice, the solo alto flute.
Section I (duration: approximately 5'38").
Tape: eight alto flutes.
Recomposition of section XVI (without K ) b a s e d on the superimposition of
periodicities which embody the maximum degree of contrast in their metrical
values as much as in the pluralism of their playing techniques (organized
superficially here rather than exactly).
Solo flute: 2K - 4K - 6K.
Section II (duration: approximately 1'06").
Eight loops which change systematically from one loudspeaker to another at each
repetition, and which are composed of the six forms of sequence i only; wide
diversity of playing techniques, but a strong fixation on a single type of melodic
contour.
Solo flute: 7K.
Section III (duration: approximately 3'35").
Eight loops which change systematically from one loudspeaker to another at each
repetition, and which are constructed from the division of the single form 5K into
eight segments composed of very close or very widely separated durations.
Solo flute: 8K-3K (without tape).
Section IV (duration: 2'45").
The eight forms of sequence a. Extreme systematization of the loop process of
sections II and III, which is a priori a "mechanical" and "uninventive" process,
174
P.-Y. Artaud
Wide diversity of playing techniques.

Solo flute: 1K - maximum discretion.
Section V (duration: 2'45").

Tape: four alto flutes and four bass flutes.
Development of section II. Clarification of the overall texture by the intermittent
rarefication of the flow, and the strong characterization of the former by the spatial
distribution of rests emphasized by a certain predominance of pizzicati and key
clicks.
Solo flute: 5k.
Section VI (duration: approximately 0'08").
Tape: two alto flutes.
Maximum reduction, both of the duration and the sounds; a single interval of a
major third forms a kind of line of demarcation between the first group of sections
(I-V) and those that follow. The two pre-recorded flutes, in addition to the solo
flute, present the forms 8h and 4d.
Section VII (duration: approximately 1'03").
Tape: four alto flutes.
This section witnesses a number of increasing and/or decreasing processes of
dovetailing which are delineated by changes in playing techniques, their localization in space and, in part, by the speed of evolution from one repetition to the
next.
Solo flute: 3c-6f-7g-5e-2b.
Section VIII (duration: approximately 1' 11").
Tape: six alto flutes.
Development of section VII, based on the same forms of the solo flute, namely: lb
(without tape) - 5f - 2c - 4e - 7h - 6g - 3d.
Section IX (duration: approximately 0'58").
Tape: eight alto and two bass flutes.
Contrary to the preceding two sections, the order in which the solo flute presents
the different forms remains practically unchanged on the eight tracks. Changes in
tempo and performance technique again play a decisive role in the overall profile
of this section, and allow the degrees of recognition of the repetitions to be judged
correctly.
Section X (duration: approximately 0'21").
Sequences i and j in the form in which they were stated in section XVI, that is, the
eight forms of a single sequence recur in their initial position, as eight "voices'"
synchronized vertically from the moment of their composition (see above).
Solo flute: 4f.
Sections XI, XII, xIIi, XIV and XV are spread evenly throughout a duration of
approximately 1'05" (13" x 5); in addition, there is a general pause of five seconds,
at the end of which the solo flute attacks a sound (5h) in the extreme upper register
which sets in motion the six bass flutes of section XVI. During section XVI the
maximum degree of vertical structuring occurs on the tape. By way of an interlude,
a monody composed of eight fairly short ideas, distributed differently by the eight
175
loudspeakers, makes way for the seventeenth and final section.

Solo flute: 2a - 4a - la - 6a - 5a - 3a - 8a - 7a.
Tape: multiphonic chord.
A relatively large n u m b e r of "rhythmic modules", centred upon the predominance of a particular proportion, was composed at the outset. Nevertheless, these
modules were almost never employed directly as prefabricated elements; on the
contrary, they have served as the basis of support for a series of diverse derivations
and transformations, effected according to the demands of each sequence, or with
the aim of "modulating" one particular form in a given direction in order to
arrange it contrapuntally in time in relation to the others.
The term sequence is applied to each of the ten eight-voiced fragments, the
principal compositional characteristics of which may be summarized as follows:
1.
2.
3.
Each "voice" is emitted by a loudspeaker (taking its position (in front, behind,
right, left) into account).
The fixed octave registration of a note within a sequence does not change. This
registration does not determine the melodic unfolding of each "voice" but is
nevertheless its only "vehicle".
The fact that all the sequences have only the same eight sounds at their
disposal makes the possibility of a "'distinct harmonic content" for one
sequence in relation to the others virtually non-existent. This forces the
expression of any distinguishing features onto the other parameters, and in
this way justifies such restriction. This very restriction acts as a catalyst to the
transfer of important formative functions to dimensions of the sound which
normally demonstrate these functions only to the smallest degree.
Each voice (form) is intended to exist outside its original context also, in relation
to the vertical as much as to the horizontal dimension."
The rather large disparity between playing techniques and types of articulation,
together with the fact that these may be separated in time, and the conjugation of
all these effects, have led Emmanuel Nunes to develop "harmonic models" of
playing techniques, in the sense that the most diverse methods of sound
production may be superimposed or even synchronous.
6. 5.4.88 by Drake Mabry 17
"'5.4.88 for amplified flute was commissioned by the Canadian mathematician
H e n r y Crapo for Pierre-Yves Artaud and was produced in Hiroshima, Japan, on 21

May 1988. The work is published by Editions Transatlantiques and has been
recorded on compact disc for Neuma. The title refers to the date on which the
work was finished. The work is of ten minutes' duration.
The origin of the piece dates back to 1984, the year of m y first visit to Paris.
Pierre-Yves Artaud was director of the studio for instrumental research at IRCAM,
and I took part in his workshops in m y capacity as a composer. While attending
his masterclasses, I was deeply impressed by the poetic character of his playing, his
devotion to contemporary music and his superb technique. I hoped at that time
that I might have the opportunity to dedicate a piece to him. However, it was not
17 Textby Drake Mabry. The work is recorded by Pierre-Yves Artaud: CD Neuma 470 76.
176
P.-Y. Artaud
until several years later when I finally settled in Paris that my idea was able to
become a reality.
5.4.88 for amplified solo flute was written in April and May 1988. It embodies
the results of my research into contemporary performance techniques. The
techniques that I chose for this work include: souffle (a sound which combines
both breath and tone in equal measure), pizzicato (a technique of sound
production which is similar to a string pizzicato), tongue rams (a percussive
technique which results from the possibility of obtaining pitches below those of
the normal range of the flute), whistle tones (harmonics) combined with the souffle
described above, and finally key clicks. Although the majority of the sounds
obtained by these techniques are quite easy to produce, I have introduced a very
slight amount of amplification. I have not used any other electronic procedures in
order that I might concentrate entirely upon the natural sonorities of these unusual
flute techniques.
souffle
vS
pizzicato
)1
tongue ram
iTl"
key click
whistle tone
w.-r.~
Figure 38
Most of the techniques described above are obvious, and an explanation of them
may be found in Pierre-Yves Artaud's book, Present-Day Flutes. Nevertheless, the
particular qualities of one of these, the whistle tone, struck me greatly, for these
177
qualities had never before been employed in such a thorough way as I employed
them. Usually, whistle tones are produced in such a way that the fundamental
note of the flute is more or less completely obliterated, allowing only the very high
whistling noises to come through. I asked Pierre-Yves Artaud if it might be
possible to regulate the playing of whistle tones in relation to the fundamental of
the flute. Moreover, I wanted the fundamental to be a balanced mixture of sound
and breath (as in the souffle sonority mentioned above). The result was a
combination of whistle tones, fundamental and breath which, although technically
fragile, was so astonishing that I decided to incorporate it into the work. We
experimented with several technical variations in an attempt to find a balance of
variables which would determine the subordination or independence of each
voice. When this process was complete, Pierre-Yves was able to produce examples
of parallel motion in which the fundamental and the whistle tone proceeded in the
same direction, oblique motion in which one voice remained static while the other
moved, and contrary motion which produced the striking effect of two voices
capable of proceeding in opposite directions. This use of whistle-tone technique
produced a sound which was both melancholic and beautiful, and it is on this
sound that the work is brought to a close.
I have spoken principally of technical considerations until now. For me, it is
these technical considerations which support the musical palette enabling me to
communicate with my audience and my performer. In the period in which I wrote
this piece, I had no fixed musical or inner project or system. I felt that I had
something inside me that I wanted to say, but I did not know exactly how to
express it. Thus, as is the case in all my music, both the piece and myself had to
pass through periods of struggle, frustration, exaltation and bewilderment.
Reflecting on the period in which I composed this work, I realize that I was
attempting to develop, trying to find my way, passing through various psychological stages which led me towards calmer times. I believe that this state of mind
is entirely apparent in the structure of the work. 5.4.88 comprises five s~ctions
which are played without a break. The introduction presents the point of
departure (a psychological state) from which the piece develops, the second section
is a scherzo (a psychological transition) which rapidly reaches saturation point, the
third is composed of multiple periodic phrases (the rearrangement and reorganization of the ideas), the fourth is another scherzo (a more difficult psychological
stage) which reaches a further point of saturation but by a shorter and less difficult
route, and finally the closing section denotes the arrival of a more serene world by
a combination of whistle tone and souffle.
Section I: Introduction (bars 1-37, ~" = 84).
Serving essentially as an introduction, this section presents the fundamental
musical elements of the piece (Figure 39). These appear, for the most part, in the
first four bars in the order: souffle, pizzicato, tongue rams and flutter tonguing.
Whistle tones appear a little later in bar 13, while key clicks, the only elements
which do not occur in the introduction, appear in the third section.
The musical fragments of this section supply the material of the development.
For example, the passage of flutter tonguing from bar 4 provides the basic material
of the following two scherzos (sections II and IV). The introduction itself may be
divided into two sections. The second of these (bars 15-22) is a condensed
variation of the phrases in bars 1-15.
178
P.-Y. Artaud
=84
3
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~ 5 ~
P<~
16
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I I
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14- "-
F i g u r e 39
FlaR. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
~ 3 ~
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PP
Bars 1-4
Section II: Scherzo 1 (bars 38-60, ~J = 84).

The second section begins with short repeated pizzicato phrases which develop
eventually into a motive which is repeated after several interruptions by passages
of tongue rams (Figure 40) until the pizzicato motive rises to its highest pitch. This
may be deemed the first of the two saturation points mentioned above.
j.
~-
F i g u r e 40
~ , ~
Bars 5 0 - 5 2
Section III: Periodicity (bars 61-108, J = 72).

The third section is based on a treatment of periodicity which is derived in
principle from the music of Philippe de Vitry and Guillaume de Machaut. There
are four different layers of periodicity which are superimposed. Each layer may be
identified by a specific characteristic. During the unfolding of this section, each
layer appears in various transpositions. The entire musical material of this section
is introduced and modified by that of the initial introductory section. The
distinctive phrases of each of the layers are as follows:
Layer A: tongue-ram sextuplet with a periodicity of sixteen beats.
,/.72,
Figure 41
Layer B: flutter-tongue quavers with a periodicity of twenty-four beats.
FIaCr .
-I
I~. ~
179
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,I
Figure 42
Layer C: pizzicato quintuplet with a periodicity of twelve beats.
,~
:~
5
P
Figure 43
Layer D: souffle with a periodicity of twenty beats.
lr
1r
L /
P
Figure 44
The phrases presented in each layer may appear in their complete form;
however, at times the musical phrase is confused or truncated by the appearance
of a phrase from another layer. Thus a hierarchy is established in which one layer
assumes priority over another. Layer A, for example, takes precedence over all the
others, whereas layers B and C have priority only over layer D. Sometimes two
layers occur simultaneously as in the case of layers A and C. The result of this
situation is that some of the pizzicati in layer C are obscured by the phrase in layer
A, and those which do persist occur only during the rests in layer A's phrase
(Figure 45).
--g
YP g
FP
Figure 45 Bar 73
180 P.-Y. Artaud

I n a d d i t i o n , several e l e m e n t s occur freely a n d i n t u i t i v e l y , a n d these comprise, i n
particular, k e y clicks (indicated b y n u m b e r 1 o n the time graph), w h i s t l e t o n e s (2)
a n d s u s t a i n e d souffle (3). The role Of these e l e m e n t s is to act as a link b e t w e e n the
a p p e a r a n c e of the p h r a s e s , to p r o l o n g t h e m , a n d s o m e t i m e s to i n t e r r u p t t h e m .
The f o l l o w i n g time g r a p h (Figure 46) illustrates the s t r u c t u r a l o r g a n i z a t i o n of
this section. T h e e n t r y of the p h r a s e of each laver is i n d i c a t e d b y u p p e r case letters,
Time graph of Section III
(4/4 meter, quarter-note = 72)
Guide to symbols
A = tongue-ram sextuplet
B = flutter-tongue eighth notes
C = quintuplet pizzicato
D = souffle
1 = key dicks
2 = whistle tones
3 = sustained souffle
A]C or AID = simultaneous occurrence of layer A with C or D
[ ] = periodicity altered
X = scherzo II material
Measure numbers and division into beats
1.
61
A
i-7--6-~'---i-
4
1
. . . . . 3 . . . . . :~ . . . . . ; 6 - - - - 2
3: .... 6"9--i-
62
63
..... 3 ..... 4 ...... ;7---i-----3
. . . . . 3 . . . . . . 4- . . . . . 7 2 . . . . i - . . . . . 3- . . . . . 4 . . . . .
C/D
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
77
A
. . . . . 3- . . . . . ~ . . . . . ~ 4 - ' - - - ~ . . . . . 3 . . . . . 4 . . . . . 7 ; - - - - - i - . . . . . ; . . . . . 4- . . . . . 7 6 . . . . i - . . . . . 3 . . . . . 4 . . . . .
A/C
5.
..... 3 ..... 4 ..... 7;---i-
64
C
. . . . . : i . . . . . ;-~ . . . . i - . . . . . ;- . . . . . 4 . . . . .
. . . . . =2. . . . . 4 . . . . . 7 0 - - - 2
~-7--?-;---i-
4
B
2
2
78
79
C
4
1
80
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
4
B
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
6.
81 2
A/D
82
C
4
3
83
84
3
1
.~--.
-i : .... 85 .... -i ..... ;- ..... 4 ..... -86-'---~ ..... ~ ..... 4 ...... 8:;---2 ..... 3 ...... 4- ..... -88 .... -i ..... ;- ..... -2 .....
A/C 2
7-89
. . . . i" . . . . . 3- . . . . . -2 . . . . . ; 0 - - - - 2
. . . . . -; . . . . . 4 . . . . . - 9 1 - - - i
. . . . . . 3 . . . . . 4- . . . . . ;-~ . . . . i - . . . . . ; - - - - 4
C/D
.....
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
9.
93
A
4
94
[C]
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
10. 97
4
X
3
4
[DI
95
4
96
[B1
2
[C]
4
[.4]
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
98
3
4
[A]
99
3
4
[1)1
Figure 46 Section III: time graph
100 2
X
181
while the intuitive elements are indicated by numbers. An italic letter indicates an
incomplete statement of the phrase.
Section IV: Scherzo 2 (bars 109-172, d = 168).
Longer and more complex than the first, this scherzo comprises three sections, the
second and third of which are condensed versions of the first. Thus the initial
passage in bars 109-124 reappears in an abridged version in bars 123-135. This
passage is concentrated further on in bars 135-141. The musical material of this
scherzo consists essentially of hazardous and ephemeral juxtapositions of all the
preliminary musical material. Thus the performer is frequently required to
combine tongue ram, pizzicato, flutter tonguing and breath techniques within a
very short span of time, as the passage of tongue ram and souffle in Figure 47
illustrates.
t~7
II.
'
Figure 47 Bars 137-138
At the end of this scherzo, a long passage of flutter tonguing (derived from the
material of bar 4 of the introduction, as well as from the first scherzo) rises to its
highest pitch, reaching a level of saturation in the same manner as the first
scherzo, although in a much more intense way.
Section V: Whistle tones (bars 173-246, ~ = 90).
After the tumult of the preceding section, there follows a meditative, melancholy
tone produced by the techniques of whistle tone and souffle. There are two
subsections joined by a pivot point, and a final coda. In this section, varied
applications of the technique of whistle tone occur, including passages in parallel,
oblique and contrary motion (Figure 48).
The souffle sonority (the fundamental of the whistle tones produced with equal
proportions of breath and tone) comprises a slow melodic line which diminishes
after having reached the pivot point. Above this the whistle tones proceed from
the ornamental, improvisatory musical material in the first part of this section
(Figure 49) toward material of a more clearly defined pitch in the second (Figure
50).
The coda consists of one final phrase of the whistle tone and souffle
sonorities from the beginning of the section, but pulsating key clicks in the low
register are now added (Figure 51). This final phrase depicts the entry into a
peaceful realm, a realm that I would like to see continuing in some way after
the closing silence."
182 P.-Y. Artaud
Parallel
Oblique
Contrary
~'~"
Figure 48
ca
itJ
nl
1 '(7
~,~1~.
I
1
Figure 51
7 Jupiter and the flute-4X project, 18 Philippe Manoury

The genesis and development of the flute-4X project
" I t all b e g a n w i t h t h e p r o d u c t i o n of t h e first r e a l - t i m e 19 s y s t e m s of n u m e r i c a l
s y n t h e s i s a n d in p a r t i c u l a r of t h e f a m o u s 4X m a c h i n e w h i c h w a s p e r f e c t e d b y
G i u s e p p e di G i u g n o at I R C A M in t h e 1980s. A l t h o u g h t h e c o n t r o l of a c o m p u t e r
"'in real t i m e " w a s n o w p o s s i b l e , it w a s still n e c e s s a r y to f i n d a w a y of
s y n c h r o n i z i n g it w i t h a m u s i c a l i n s t r u m e n t . D u r i n g this s a m e p e r i o d , a n e w f o r m
of c o m m u n i c a t i o n b e t w e e n d i f f e r e n t m u s i c a l m a c h i n e s , k n o w n as t h e M I D I
s y s t e m , 2~ b e g a n to b e d i s c u s s e d a n d h a s f l o u r i s h e d e v e r since. M I D I i n s t r u m e n t s
are, h o w e v e r , m e r e l y i n t e r f a c e s i n t e n d e d to c o m m u n i c a t e w i t h a s y n t h e s i z e r in a
w a y w h i c h is accessible to p e r f o r m e r s (a p i a n o k e y b o a r d , clarinet fingerings,
etc . . . . ), for t h e y are silent i n s t r u m e n t s w i t h n o acoustic p r o p e r t i e s of t h e i r o w n .
It b e c a m e i m p o r t a n t t h e n to u n i t e w i t h i n a single i n s t r u m e n t its characteristic
acoustic p r o p e r t i e s as w e l l as t h e p o s s i b i l i t y o f c o m m u n i c a t i n g w i t h a c o m p u t e r .
T h e flute-4X p r o j e c t c o u l d b e g i n .
It w a s L a w r e n c e B e a u r e g a r d , t h e n flautist w i t h t h e E n s e m b l e I n t e r c o n t e m p o r a i n ,
w h o in 1982 first e n v i s a g e d a s y s t e m w h i c h h e r e a l i z e d w i t h t h e h e l p of Xavier
C h a b o t . T h e p r o b l e m l a y in f i n d i n g a m e t h o d w h i c h w o u l d e n a b l e t h e c o m p u t e r
to r e c o g n i z e t h e e v e n t s p l a y e d b y t h e i n s t r u m e n t a l i s t . T h e r e a r e i n d e e d c o m m e r c i a l
s y s t e m s ( p i t c h - t r a c k e r s ) in existence w h i c h are c a p a b l e of c o n v e r t i n g a s o u n d
signal p i c k e d u p b y a m i c r o p h o n e into M I D I i n f o r m a t i o n , b u t a b o v e a certain
t h r e s h o l d of v i r t u o s i t y t h e y s o o n p r o v e u n a b l e to effect this t y p e of o p e r a t i o n . T h e
r e a s o n for this is s i m p l e . For e a c h n o t e s u p p l i e d b y t h e i n s t r u m e n t , t h e s y s t e m
m u s t i d e n t i f y b y m e a n s of a r a d i c a l filtering device, w h i c h p i t c h is p l a y e d f r o m
is Text by Philippe Manoury.
19 In music, systems which may be designated "real-time systems" are those which perform
calculations at such a speed that the ear does not perceive any time lapse between the input of
data to a computer and the provision of the result. This system contrasts with "deferred-time
systems" in which several minutes, or even hours had to elapse before the sounds or musical
structures could be calculated. The latter may be used in the case of music which is diffused on
magnetic tape, whereas the former may produce results in a live concert.
20 MIDI (Musical Instrument Digital Interface) is the first system of communication between
diverse machines constructed specifically to connect with one another. Previously, each machine
was detached, and the information Was unable to pass directly from one to the other. The standard
MIDI system provides a series of parameters which permits the encoding of the fundamental
musical elements: the pitch, the timing of the beginning and end of an event (note on and note
off), its intensity (or velocity) as well as other parameters, such as deviations in frequency (pitch
bend). Each parameter is encoded on a scale of values from zero to 127. Thus concert "A" will
have the value sixty-nine and the intensities will be graded according to the same principle.
184
P.-K Artaud
among the forty or so available on this instrument. When the flow of information
becomes too rapid, the system proves too slow to respond, particularly when one
takes into account the wide choice of possibilities which may be effected in real
time. Beauregard's idea was therefore to reduce this choice by fitting magnetic
receivers under the keys of the flute which would indicate to the computer the
fingering currently in use by the flautist. When one becomes aware that a given
fingering produces only two (or possibly three) sounds (the fundamental and the
first harmonic), it is clear that, the choice being restricted in this way, the result
may be provided instantaneously. Two types of information were necessary,
therefore, the one mechanical (provided by the fingering through the registering
of open and closed positions), and the other acoustic (provided by the microphone)
from which one may determine whether the signal corresponding to the said
fingering is located in the region of the fundamental or in that of the first
harmonic.
I remember well the first demonstration in which the computer, without
emitting any sound, readily displayed on a screen the notes played by Beauregard
regardless of their speed. I understood immediately that the days of electronic
music on magnetic tape were coming to an end, although its possibilities were by
no means exhausted. This was the beginning of the end. The possibility of
synchronizing a powerful machine with a traditional instrument permitted a
unification of two worlds which had previously coexisted only in a fairly artificial
way: the worlds of instrumental and electro-acoustic music. At the root of this
unification an important element came to light: tempo. Until that time, the
combination of these two musical worlds had, in fact, compelled the instrumentalist to follow the inexorable progression of a magnetic tape. He could neither
slow down nor speed up, but merely follow. From this time on, it became the
instrumentalist who dictated his own tempo, with all the variations appropriate in
performance, to the machine which followed him step by step.
Parallel to the work of Beauregard and Chabot, Barry Vercoe, an MIT researcher,
was investigating the problems associated with score reading and the detection of
tempi. He wrote a fairly didactic little piece in which a relatively simple
synthesized score accompanied the live performance of the flautist. At IRCAM we
held numerous working sessions in which Pierre Boulez, Andrew Gerszo, Thierry
Lancino and myself took part; the aim of these sessions was to determine the
diverse musical configurations which might occur within the framework of
following an instrumental performance in real time. These ideas provided the
theme of various lectures which we contributed to the course given by Pierre
Boulez at the College of France.
After Lawrence Beauregard had left us, the project was resumed and then
improved. Pierre-Andr6 Valade, who was the driving force behind the creation of
the first pieces composed using this technique, supervised the construction of a
new system in which Michel Starkier, an engineer at IRCAM, replaced the
magnetic receivers by optical ones and then constructed a new interface between
the flute and the machine. The diagram in Figure 52 represents the system as it
appears today. However, the work which has proved the most musically
productive was that carried out by the American mathematician, Miller Puckette.
He rewrote and perfected all the old programmes, and in particular implemented
score-reading procedures which were sufficiently reliable for concert use.
PRESENCE OF'll~
185
~C,L I N I )
eE'rEc'non O~ ~s
Figure 52
The procedure, which has since been improved, was as follows. From the stream
of MIDI information yielded by the instrument, the system must detect the notes
which activate the synchronized operations of the machine. In a case such as that
shown in Figure 53 in which each pitch appears only once, the system reacts rather
Flute
o.J
I,i
"~: '~,,d
~'"
,.F d
i "~-"
L___3 -J
|
J
t
N e x t ex~oecteci ~
note
'
'
t
i
'
Figure 53
186
P.-Y. Artaud
like an accompanist following a soloist. That is, in reading the score, the eyes
anticipate the actions of the hands. Thus the machine, having executed the
required operation on F, positions itself in readiness for the B which follows and
so on. After each event the machine awaits the next. Since the risk of error is
always possible, the flautist may, by means of a pedal, move the programme
forward if he plays a wrong note. It must be added that this procedure for
following scores takes account of the chronological succession of pitches only and
excludes all other data such as r h y t h m or intensity, p h e n o m e n a which prove too
variable in performance. But there are also cases in which the note required to
synchronize the following operation appears in the text on one or more previous
occasions. In these cases, the machine must detect not " o n e " note but a group of
notes in such a way that there can be no confusion over the choice of the correct
note. This occurs in the passage in Figure 54. This procedure has since made way
(i)
,'
(!)
Expected
note~
The
c#
which activates operation
4 Intervenes
m"~J ~
L3--J
Figure 54
for a genuine score-reading procedure in which the entire score is registered, for,
in the case of more complex scores, such as polyphonic sequences for piano, the
likelihood of the same sound appearing is far greater.
The composition and perfection of the programmes took around two years of
work which I carried out in collaboration with Marc Battier, Cort Lippe and Miller
Puckette, and the piece was created in 1987 at the time of the tenth anniversary
of IRCAM.
The musical ideas developed in Jupiter

Jupiter was composed with the constraint of having the 4X as its s01e interlocutor.
I deliberately eliminated all recourse to any sort of instrumental ensemble, wishing
to develop the relationship between the soloist and the machine to the utmost
degree. In this respect, almost 80% of the sounds produced by the 4X are derived
from those of the flautist at the actual time of their performance. Only in a few rare
exceptions in which I required sounds of a more percussive nature is anything
either recorded or prepared in advance. It is the very quality of the sounds
produced in the concert which serves as a basis for all the electro-acoustic
structures. This point seemed to me to be fundamental in demonstrating that truly
organic relations could be created between the musician and the machine.
187
In this work, the flautist engenders his o w n sound world in accordance with
certain pre-established principles. The first of these principles is that of the
retention and displacement of the sounds of the flute in r h y t h m and pitch. Thus
in Figure 55 all the soloist's C sharps give rise to different harmonic and rhythmic
f,~
J.
].
[,t
Lt
Figure 55
figures, but each one is obtained b y the transposition and "freezing" of a single
pitch produced b y the soloist. The sound, received first of all by a m i c r o p h o n e
placed close to the embouchure, is transposed b y a harmonizer ''21 then frozen in
an infinite reverberation which permits the dissociation of the instrumental
sound's duration from that of the transformed sound. Through the accumulation
of diverse transformational rules in this w a y b e t w e e n the instrumental sound and
its emission from the speakers, one m a y arrive at musical configurations which are
sometimes extremely remote from the original sound. The danger, as m u c h as the
interest of this method, lies in the importance of the transposition. In fact, since it
is the sound of the flautist which will be thus displaced, the transposition occurring
at some distance from the original sound, its acoustic quality will be all the more
varied. It becomes possible, therefore, to play on the notions of similarity or
difference b e t w e e n the instrumental sound and its transformation.
A further case, s h o w n in Figure 56, demonstrates the possibility of the
multiplication of the instrumental sound. In this way, I transformed a single event
into a succession of events. Certain sounds within this succession h a v e also been
"frozen", creating derived harmonic structures. In this case, the harmonizers
revolve in loops which transpose the initial sound to a different pitch each time.
Certain pitches are then picked up within a tenth of a second b y the infinite
21 A harmonizer is a system of treating the signal which first came into existence with the
possibility of the electronic treatment of music. Through this system it is possible to effect
transpositions of a sound picked up by a microphone without modifying its duration. Formerly, as
in the case of tape recorders played at variable speeds, the duration of a sound played at a higher
pitch was shortened proportionately while that of a lower sound was extended.
188 P.-Y. Artaud
~-.-r ~
,,,
ll;l
J ~.
ItIJTlll
6o.
f.
ul'. E TTT L
~ .~/~
~,~
-~,~.
Figure 56
reverberation which cuts off at this point in order to prevent any ensuing sounds
from entering. Such operations are, of course, quite impossible to realize without
the help of information which enables a degree of temporal precision inaccessible
to man. Thus, in the preceding example, I have derived harmonic structures from
a simple pivot note, and in the latter, as in a chain reaction, a harmonic structure
arises from a melodic structure which is itself a multiplication of sounds played by
the flute.
In these two examples, I have confined myself to the formation of sound
structures from the instrumental sound. I considered it important, moreover, to
analyze cases in which the instrument would confront totally alien sounds:
synthesized sounds. In Figure 571 have noted the description of a sound produced
by additive synthesis in which the pitches are plotted on the horizontal axis and
amplitudes (or intensities) on the vertical one. It may be observed that their
4
o ~
PiE&~.s
Figure 57
189
amplitude levels remain constant. In Figure 58 the effect produced by a spectral

envelope which will filter the different partials of this synthetic sound more or less
as each case demands may be seen. That is to say, all the amplitude levels which
are not included in this envelope will be filtered out and therefore eliminated. The
result is a continual appearance and disappearance of certain frequencies according
P,
E I
rr
Figure 58
to the position of this envelope on the sound. Figure 59 shows the displacement
of the same envelope on an identical sound. It may be seen that the same groups
l
I
9
~/
|l
O..
,E
(
Figure 59
of frequencies are no longer present. I then imagined a system in which the

melodic movements of the flute would act upon the morphology of the synthetic
sounds. In other words, a system in which the sounds produced by the 4X would
be modified by the instrumental playing, thus creating a sensitive relationship
between the soloist's performance and its consequence in the electro-acoustic
domain. The procedure consists of virtually "hooking" this envelope onto the
notes produced by the flute so that the frequencies which emerge from the 4X lie
within a parallel band to the instrumental pitches, tn its simplest usage, this
consists of making the high frequencies appear and the low ones disappear when
the flautist proceeds in the upper register and vice versa, but it has proved possible
to use it in contrary or staggered motion to the flute. One of the most interesting
features of this type of process lies in the fact that the relationship between the
190
P.-Y. A r t a u d
soloist and the synthesized sounds becomes very much a living one, for, just as a
sculptor hews a perceptible form out of a rough block of stone, the soloist sculpts
a fairly unpolished sound by releasing subgroups of sounds which evolve in
conjunction with it. A second feature of interest, more from a compositional point
of view in this case, lies in the possibility of playing on the harmonic and spectral
qualities of the sound separately. That is, a sound comprising some thirty partials
will be presented only by subgroups of these partials, sometimes in one register,
sometimes in another. Thus the harmonic characteristics of the sound will be fixed
for the duration of a given period, whereas its spectral characteristics (arising from
the filtering operated by the progression of the flute) will vary.
One final example will demonstrate a case which does not act simply upon the
instantaneous nature of the sounds but upon the entire musical discourse. The 4X,
since it follows and recognizes all the notes played by the flautist, effects the
detection of an initial rhythm in Figure 60 and of a second in Figure 61. These two
=60
k
o
lY
I ~'~
'
~- ~"
ralL
r---3-.---.- 3
~d'~,l
~'-~"
~ =60
~
I ~'"
[Detection of t h e durations
I,.,"."--".
~1
r;
~'
~; ~
~ 3
~.J.,
Ik~'
..J~
"i
7"-
,]
Figure 60
rail
[Detection of the durations
Figure 61
rhythmic sequences are then stored in the memory and, later in the piece, the 4X
produces an interpolation between the first and second rhythms. That is to say,
intermediate sequences will be played, proceeding from the first rhythm to the
second, in which the shortest notes will be lengthened and the longest ones
contracted as shown in Figure 62. It is completely impossible to notate the rhythms
produced in this interpolation in traditional notation since their complexity would
prove insuperable. Thus two sequences detected at two points in the piece may
serve as the basic material for a third moment. During the execution of the
rhythmic interpolation, the flute may effect different methods of diverting the
discourse, either by arresting it and freezing the last event in a reverberation
(Figure 63), or by causing modifications in sound quality on relatively free rhythms
(by different modulations or a variation in the level of reverberation) (Figure 64).
Since the machine recognizes everything that the instrumentalist plays, it is
possible to synchronize any programmed operation with any musical event. It is
all a matter of taste and of composition properly so called.
J=60
ralL_
191
_J=60
r_~3-----~
--3-.[o~
/
/
/"
/"
//
Rhythm I
Intermediate
sequences
Rhythm2
tall . . . . . . .
Figure 62
Interpolations Stop
Flute
IA
k v
Interpolations
Stop
Interpolations
Figure 63
4x I
14interpolationsbetween II(V~/0 ~=~e.

L. ( l e n t )
flute
,.~
~'~)
~Y~.,~
~'lm~-loa~e}
-~A
~r~
t*~
WefY~
nignlT~
Figure 64 In this sequence the flute incites the locking of the synthetic score in a reverberation. The
events must be divided between the different registers in which this score occurs (low, high, middle and
very high).
Conclusion and expectations

Jupiter was the first piece in a domain that might be called interactive music. That
is, a type of music (not improvised, it must be stated, but rigorously notated) in
which the role of the performer may hold some importance at the level of the
morphology of the musical discourse. Later, in Pluto for piano and 4X, I expanded
this concept by creating that of "'virtual scores" in which the information supplied
by a performer (pitches, durations, rhythms and intensities) would interact with a
192
P.-Y. Artaud
discourse produced by an electronic system. The field of investigation in this

domain is very wide and exciting. But the principal problem we have encountered
arises from the fact that a system such as the flute-4X is neither generalized nor
commercialized. It is sometimes difficult to reconcile musical demands with
commercial ambitions, and we can only hope that a manufacturer will have
sufficient taste for adventure to agree to construct a system which has proved itself
musically even though its repertoire is still limited. Gaugin once said to some
pretty ladies: "If you are in love, you will be happy"; I am tempted to paraphrase
him by saying: "If you are adventurous, we will be happy" (Philippe Manoury,
April 1990).
4. A Model of Development in Instrumental Construction:

The Quarter-Tone System
In 1980 Pierre Boulez asked me to reorganize instrumental research at IRCAM, an
area which had been virtually neglected for a year already following the departure
of Vinko Globokar. The project which I reinstated consisted of a department in
which research was obliged to rely, on the one hand, on the important technical
resources of IRCAM and, on the other, on a team of technicians, composers and
instrumentalists who were already used to this type of research. Thus the Studio
for Instrumental Research, which remained operational until 1986, was created.
The research undertaken by this team was initially of a practical and functional
nature, and was directed toward the structural modifications of side-holed wind
instruments. This practical research occurred as a result of the revolutions in
structure witnessed by IRCAM during this period, and it meant that I was hardly
ever able to work effectively with computers, for these were not readily available
at that time. The concern for instrumental efficiency resulted from the fact that the
saxophonist, Daniel Kientzy, and myself had worked alongside brilliant acousticians such as Jean Kergomard, Mich61e Castellengo and Ren6 Causs~ for some
considerable time, and in a way it seemed relatively simple to continue this
approach.
The instruments of the woodwind family (and in particular the transverse flute)
ultimately present a very wide field of investigation which had in fact been
explored only minimally in this period already, due largely to economic reasons.
Indeed, experience quickly revealed, if this were necessary, the extent to which it
was difficultto change even one small detail of these instruments, so great was the
perception of them as a model of quasi-perfection, descending from Boehm's
invention of the middle of the last century and realizing an ideal balance of sound
qualities, for a gain in one area inevitably amounts to a loss in another.
Occasionally, inspired inventions such as the Marchi clarinet have met with
resistance from clarinettists themselves who refused to accept a single supplementary key which would have increased the range of the instrument by an extra
octave, enabling them to dispense with the soprano clarinet and obtain much
simpler fingerings in the upper register. For if innovation often runs foul of
economically viable imperatives, it may also frequently prove incapable of
overcoming the obstacle presented by the musicians themselves who may reject an
instrument simply because it differs very slightly from the one which has been
193
familiar to them for years: one becomes so accustomed to the qualities but also to
the shortcomings of one's instrument.
The research carried out on the flute led to the creation of a whole series of
adjustments under the generic title of "prepared flutes". The function of this
research has most frequently been to address the problem of multiphonic sounds
(by enabling an increase in their n u m b e r and the creation of new categories of
sounds), and, in particular, to resolve the difficulty posed by playing in microintervals. The flute traditionally employs around forty-two fingerings. It is not
difficult to calculate therefore that a further forty-two must be learnt in order to
produce quarter tones. This total does not include the smaller intervals which may
be controlled accurately by the lips alone and which then require the learning by
heart of 150-200 fingerings. This step is almost never taken by performers. Having
posed the problem to Mich~le Castellengo and Jean Kergomard, the latter arrived
at a solution which seemed entirely satisfactory. A description of this solution is
given below: 22
" T h e theoretical problem is not a straightforward one, for it involves several
different physical systems, each corresponding to a particular fingering. The
traditional solution held by instrumentalists in order to provide the appropriate
adjustment to the range is that of inserting an additional length between two parts
of the instrument, generally close to the excitatory system (the reed or, in the case
of a flute, the embouchure). But they are fully aware that this solution has a greater
effect on those notes which correspond to a short "'effective length" of the tube
than on those which correspond to a long effective length. The term "effective
length" refers to the elementary theory which determines that, for a given
fingering, the system behaves as if the tube ,ended at the first open hole.
In order to resolve the problem, a system which corrects the length depending on
the note played must therefore be sought. Indeed, let us say:
f=
mc
41er
where m corresponds to the nth register (m = 2n for the flute and those
instruments which overblow at the octave, m = 2 n - 1 for the clarinet and those
instruments which overblow at the fifth; the term "register" designates the group
of notes which belong to a single regime of playing,-that is, fundamentals, octaves
or twelfths); f represents the frequency of the fundamental of the note played, left
the effective length, and c the speed of the sound.
Af and Df refer respectively to the augmentation and diminution of the
frequency A f / f of a given interval; thus, for a quarter tone Af = 0.0293 and Df
= 0.0285; in general, for an ith of a tone,
a f = 21/6i - 1 and Df = 1 - 2 - 1/6i
For different notes, the following must obtain: A f / f = Af or - Dr; the required
correction of length is therefore:
A1
-Af
-
l~tr -
Af or
Df.
22 This passage was written by Jean Kergomard and Xavier Meynial, Acoustic Laboratory,
University of Maine, Faculty of Sciences, Mans, France.
194 P.-Y. Artaud
From this, the following equation m a y be deduced:

mc
A1
Af ~ - o r / k l
1TIC
Dr ~ - ,
and its conditions must be satisfied.
jR11 Re I
R3
I"
Figure 65 Correction of length 1 equivalent to the micro-interval. (R = register)
Figure 65 illustrates the variations i n / M plotted against f. It may be observed

that with each change in register there is a lack of continuity which prohibits the
identification of a single solution for a l l the different registers (even if one imagines
using resonance systems to activate the tube). This is w h y we believe that we must
restrict our inquiry to finding one system per register. For each of these, if k = 27ff/c,
then:
m/~
kA1 = - Af ~
or Df
mT~
In order to fulfil such a condition, we must first postulate that the frequency of
a note is determined only by the resonance frequency of the tube corresponding
to the fundamental of this note. This creates the risk of affecting the timbre, but
allows the formulation of an initial approach to the problem: what kind of system
placed above each of the side holes would be capable of producing a correction of
length given by equation one over an entire register?
The theoretical solution to the problem

Without going into the details of the theory, we may summarize our reasoning as
follows: since the intention is to operate upon the resonance frequencies, elements
which do not dissipate energy must be chosen. It may be demonstrated that by
selecting tubes, open in the case of instruments which overblow at the octave,
closed in the case of those which overblow at the fifth, and placing them at an
adequate distance from the embouchure or reed, the desired translation of
frequency may be more or less realized. An interval of eighteen semitones may be
treated with a tolerance of 15% on the micro-interval. Thus, for a quarter tone
(50%), the results are accurate to within almost 7%, which is quite adequate w h e n
195
one bears in mind the range of freedom.., and the instrumentalist's ear. The
position is determined by the register which is to be treated (thus at the upper joint
between the barrel and bogy for the first register of the clarinet, and on the
mouthpiece for the second). The characteristic dimensions (the relationship
between the length of sections in open tubes and their volume in closed ones) are
proportional to the micro-interval chosen.
Application to the realization of quarter-tone systems

Following these approximate calculations, the dimensions of the systems are
refined by taking into account the actual geometry of the instruments. After an
initial empirical attempt the results obtained on the flute (open tube) and clarinet
(closed tube) attain a satisfactory degree of precision in the facility of their emission
and timbre (Figure 66).
Toc~e~
/%
: ..... J
7
2
Figure 66
Results of experimentation. Clarinet (left), flute (right). - - without the system; . . . . with
the system. Flute: a u g m e n t a t i o n by a quarter tone. Clarinet: diminution by a quarter tone.
Conclusion
The situation created by the problem proves distinctly fruitful when the argument
is supported by small disturbances on the first resonance of the instrument. A
patent has been taken out. In order to complete this study, a better knowledge of
the coupling between the excitatory system and the sound tube is necessary, so
that the effect of the harmonic disparity between the resonances and the relative
pitches of the different resonances for a given fingering may be understood
quantitatively."
5. The Notation of the N e w Playing Techniques

1 At the crossroads
The passing of the century of Gutenberg, the era of the written symbol discussed
by Marshall Mcluhan, and our immersion in the audio-visual age seems to
constitute a critical test for musical notation which, for the moment, it is
surmounting only with great difficulty.
This crisis arose naturally from the thorough re-examination of the musical
parameters, from their newly devolved importance, as well as from the appearance
of a new type of music created by the abrupt intrusion of electronic techniques
which have both thrown the sound world into confusion and deeply modified the
196 P.-Y. Artaud

mentalities of the listener, performer and composer himself. The electronic
universe has revolutionized our listening habits since different sounds occur in
everyday life, and these serve to modify the instrumental world itself. Perhaps
more than 80% of our auditory universe currently passes through the loudspeaker.
At the same time, the possibilities for investigating the sound have been increased,
and this degree of reflection on the sound world has led to a revision of every
aesthetic and compositional criterion.
Simultaneously, the attitude towards instrumental performance has evolved to
a point at which notational practices no longer seem to satisfy present requirements. What is at stake is nothing less than the ability of the signs to guarantee
their role as transmitters of the message.
How many performers have not found themselves a prey to serious questions
when faced with an enigmatic text preceded by a table of explanations of the
symbols used which is sometimes longer than the score itself, and of which even
the most thorough reading does not seem to provide the desired key?
As a pedagogue, I have often been in a position to observe the misunderstandings which result when instrumentalists, confronted with a contemporary score
that they have not been able to hear in advance, are entrusted to their own
devices.
The problem is certainly not a recent one, and similar errors may be made in
classical texts, but historical distance permits the limitation of their significance. In
this context, the notion of error is much more subjective, and it becomes more
appropriate to speak of reading and appreciation, in short, of the problem of
interpretation.
2 Interpretation
It is without doubt necessary to try to define the notion of interpretation in order

to clarify its relationship to a written text more easily. The act of interpretation does
not simply consist of reproducing, but indeed of creating a stylistic unity from the
original reading of a text. There is, therefore, a rational component which is set in
opposition to a further irrational component.
The rational component may be defined as the sum of thousands of details
which belong to the domain of the written sign, and may, therefore, be quantified:
durations, frequencies, intensities, elementary phrase marks such as legati, staccati,
and other articulations.
The irrational component intervenes with notions such as timbre, character,
pulse, vibrato.., everything pertaining to the performer (Michel Portal describes
sound as the soul of the musician) which cannot therefore be reproduced from one
individual to another. Any interpretation worthy of its name should not exclude
either of these two components; it should work on both levels simultaneously. It
may be easily understood that if the first component relates to the domain of
the rational and conscious and may be quantified and therefore notated, then the
second, antinomic component emphasizes the impalpable, the irrational, the
indescribable. It operates on an unconscious level which is determined by an
individual's personality and social culture.
The reading of the combination of signs in the score automatically unleashes the
second, unconscious level, the individual cultural level, which communicates the
musical message.
The interpretation results therefore from the reading of a group of principal
197
signs (placed on the stave) and secondary signs (placed around the stave) which
determine its framework. The notation supports, but does not constitute the
emotive message of the music itself, for the musician must knowingly decipher
these signs in order to communicate the musical emotion unconsciously.
3 The evolution of notation
The two preliminary questions of what to notate and how to notate it have always
confronted creators, the changing preoccupations of whom have led to varied
responses.
Notation has evolved very rapidly from the late Middle Ages in which only the
skeleton outline of a work was provided for the performers, to the twentieth
century in which the desire for hypernotation tends to produce an overloading of
the notation with a multitude of indications.
The exacerbation of this system may be found in the scores of Brian
Ferneyhough who imposes a reading of between six and ten symbols on a single
note; the calligraphy is irresistibly reminiscent of the sonagraph in its aim to
rationalize all the parameters.
The need to preserve music was indeed laid down in former centuries in
proportion to the development of the Western concepts of polyphony and
orchestration. Just as our civilization has sought to bequeath a message to future
generations through the erection of indestructible monuments; so it aimed to
perpetuate essentially volatile musical works, and to this end it was forced to
perfect, specify and codify its notational practices. This need became more
pressing, for, with the invention of printing and the creation of the notion of a
public, the score rapidly gained independence. However, until the middle of the
present century, the development of notation was concerned solely with quantitative elements: duration, pitch (frequency), intensity, speed or tempo. The code
which was finally established in the nineteenth century satisfied these imperatives
definitively by providing a comprehensive language. Nevertheless, it still proved
necessary to use peripheral indications such as allegro, andante.., to indicate
tempi; dolce, con calor, espressivo, rythmico.., to indicate expression; and ~ ,
(or crescendo, decrescendo), f, mp, f . . . for nuances, as well as numerous
dashes, dots and accents for attacks and phrasing (legati or staccati).
A compromise was effected in every case, and even though several attempts
were made to rationalize musical notation to a greater degree (in particular, the
very famous one by Jean-Jacques Rousseau), these never succeeded in becoming
established, and experienced only local and short-lived recognition.
All this codification overlooked the qualitative aspect, entrusting the latter
simply to the tastes and knowledge of the performers: the tone quality of a sound,
its expression, use of vibrato, quality of attack and subtleties of phrasing actually
constituted an integral part of the learning process, cultural elements which were
inseparable from musical and instrumental personality. We should remark in
passing that, in spite of everything, the heart of the problem still remains
untouched: the role of the performer/medium remains decisive, however precise
the notation may be.
This situation finally exasperated certain composers such as Debussy and
Var6se, who believed themselves betrayed by performers. Var6se hoped and
predicted that performers would soon disappear: he once wrote "we will at last be
able to hear our works as they are written".
198
P.-Y. Artaud
Fortunately this prediction was not fulfilled. It was made, however, at a time
w h e n the introduction of electronics into music shook the discipline to such an
extent that only today are we beginning to appreciate its full significance.
Indeed, from that time on, the need for n e w sounds was able to find unlimited
territory for experimentation in electro-acoustic music (in which the composer
becomes at one and the same time his own performer); the possibilities for the
investigation of the sound phenomenon combined with the developments in
acoustics revolutionized the concept of timbre which soon became scientific rather
than empirical. Defined in terms of quantities, timbre could be notated and
reproduced. Perhaps the real twentieth-century score was the magnetic tape
rapidly followed by the computer programme.
At all events, a fundamental change in the attitude of the creator intervened. In
the past, his role had been that of a builder of cathedrals, erecting stones according
to the aesthetic criteria in vogue at the time, and submitting to the laws of physics
and gravity. In the same way, polyphony imposed its models, while the rules for
combining instruments resolved timbral problems. Suddenly the composer became
the explorer of his material and, from that moment on, he attempted to manipulate
the inner life of a single sound.
All this required a change in the attitude of the performer and entailed
numerous innovations in notation. Instrumental performance found itself implicated in the search for new timbres, while the range of playing techniques
developed since the 1960s offer evidence of this search. The concept of technique
was thus expanded to one of sound technique in which all the parameters of the
sound suddenly became objects for conscious manipulation and had to be treated
completely independently of one another in order to create new sound objects
with an autonomous life of their own.
This new virtuosity clearly had to give rise to an adequate form of notation.
Therein lay the principal problem, for it was no longer a matter of codifying merely
the quantitative elements, but the qualitative ones as well. This created a crucial
stumbling-block: in what terms might a timbre be described? And above all how
might a new timbre be described with sufficient reliability to communicate it to
musicians w h o are supposed never to have heard it before? In other words, is it
possible to imagine an u n k n o w n sound, and invent a universal codification of it?
At a certain stage in the act of communication, musical technology proves
powerless to provide a rational description of sounds that are to be heard by so
m a n y listeners, each of w h o m is different in morphological as much as in
perceptual and psychological terms. From this stage on, the musician borrows an
approximate terminology from his colleagues in the plastic arts: dark, luminous,
smooth, rough, dazzling, delicate, as well as from his literary colleagues:
impassioned, expressive, insensible, well-phrased, dull, humorous, dramatic,
carefree . . . .
Clearly, all this terminology could serve only as a last resource, capable of
transmitting only the most subjective and individualized information: what exactly
is meant by a rough sound of good tone quality, a humorous staccato or an abrupt
attack?
Visual artists m a y speak of yellow or blue, since everybody has seen yellow and
blue before. Thus, from an acquired cultural base, it is possible to refine the
description of a particular colour. We cannot be sure that everybody perceives
indigo blue in the same way, but the main point is that ten people, faced with this
199
colour, will all identify it in the same way. Thus the essential concern is not to
qualify an absolute, but to note that the relationship between one colour and the
others creates a sort of sensorial algorithm enabling everyone (with the exception
of pathological cases) to reach an agreement. The only important thing is, then, a
relationship, an identifiable and quantifiable degree of tension which, like the
notion of doubling from one to two, three to six, four to eight etc . . . . remains
constant. But h o w might the colour yellow n o w be explained to a non-seer? The
boundaries of language are broken down as soon as the latter becomes dissociated
from the other required meaning, and it becomes powerless to convey information,
the deciphering of which does not lie solely within its domain. Yellow may be
described in words only if the describer has seen this colour. The same applies to
music: an Aeolian sound may be described in whatever way one chooses, but it
will remain a closed book to anyone who has not heard it, The case of music is still
more complex, for if each one of us may analyze the work of art, painting or
sculpture which appears before us, the same is not true in the case of the musical
score, for this constitutes an undisclosed film of the work and not the work itself.
From this point on, h o w may any kind of agreement be reached? Do we not at this
stage arrive at breaking point, the ultimate limit of the possibility of transmission?
Perhaps only the magnetic tape is truly appropriate to capture the reality of the
sound that the instrumentalist is merely able to approximate? Or perhaps we must
achieve a more distant historical perspective before we m a y absorb these new
sounds into our brain, our individual computer, and t h e n command our body to
synthesize them? These questions remain unanswered.
4 Ambiguities in the traditional system of notation

The notation of duration is supposed to determine clearly the beginning and the
end of a note at least. That is the case in theory, at least as far as values in a simple
relationship with the unit are concerned, but in practice it becomes obvious that
the vocabulary of signs does not permit the representation of any more complex
reality. The ends of phrases are often lightened and shortened, thus a crotchet may
become a ~ . . , or even a ~.
Likewise, h o w should the little articulatory silence which separates two staccato
notes be notated? All these problems may be resolved only by an examination of
the score coupled with the skill and musical taste of each performer; w h e n
aesthetic considerations impose the determination of these factors, the notation
becomes impotent.
Similarly, indications of nuance and attack do not provide a c o m m o n basis for
interpretation. Sf has changed its meaning m a n y times in the last h u n d r e d years,
not only according to theoretical principles but also in accordance with personal
criteria. P and mf do not designate a particular n u m b e r of decibels; rather, they
indicate a very vague conception which embraces at one and the same time the
level, character and colour of the sound. Nuances must be envisaged, moreover,
within a context comprising:
1.
2.
3.
The type of work being performed (solo, quartet, ensemble).

The period of composition.
The concert hall in which the work is performed.
200
4.
P.-Y. Artaud
The practices of each composer; some employ a scale of nuances ranging from
p to f, others from pppp to ffff!
Many other ambiguities persist; firstly, the representation (Iof,phen~

of
different lengths by means of dots to which a second sign
p, ~, .) must
necessarily be added, reveals a weakness in the suggestive powers of the symbols
(unless only genial simplicity is involved); secondly, the customary designation of
the starting point as the first beat maintains the classic confusion between events
and durations; and thirdly, the concepts of regular bars and metres derive from the
notion of the phrase, which goes beyond that of the bar and is by its very nature
essentially irregular and asymmetrical.
The stave together with the three accidentals (flat, natural, sharp) reduces the
frequencies employed to twelve equal semitones; this situation does not reflect
reality in the slightest, for there is not a single instrument currently in use which
operates within a scale of pitches describable in terms of a rational tempered
system, Pythagorean or otherwise. The deformation affects not only the horizontal
axis of time, therefore, but also the vertical one of frequency.
It must be stated that, in spite of all these shortcomings, traditional notation still
presents the best solution, since it is generally established and provides a universal
frame of reference. All the omissions that it reveals are compensated for by a
culture which serves as an interface between the written sign and the sound signal.
The distortion beween these two conceptual and acoustic realities constitutes the
essence of musical interpretation.
The resolution of the notational problem requires a new way of thinking. After
all, there is a fundamental contradiction in the proposition of a solution which is
entrenched in the continuation of the traditional system in order to denote a new
sound universe which is expressed in terms of a singularly original technique.
5 Some proposals
The discovery of new signs does not always signify the invention of a direct
relationship between the graphic symbol and the resulting sound, although this
would be wholly desirable and possible to achieve in a certain number of cases:
vibrato is one case among others. The symbol which is adopted ( ~
)
provides a more accurate description of the reality of the sound than is afforded
by the usual terminology (vibrato molto, irregular vibrato... ), for it indicates
precisely the variations in amplitude and speed which are confused by language
under a single term.
The problem lies above all in the invention of a very clear and immediately
recognizable code which will identify the required playing technique or sound
quality instantaneously upon reading, and in which any variations might be
explained simply by reading the anamorphisms of this code.
One of the models of this type may indeed be found in Brian Ferneyhough's
score Unity Capsule which enables the evolution of the sound to be followed by
that of the symbols employed in the score alone (after a very long preface,
admittedly, but this is inevitable). Similarly, Grund by Emmanuel Nunes, a work
for solo alto flute and tape (consisting of eight pre-recorded flutes) offers an
exemplary solution to this problem (the text is reduced in favour of explicit
graphics) since the entire piece is based on performance techniques.
201
In order to understand fully the mentality of the performer, let us imagine a

motorist on a winding road: he drives in accordance with the road signs, relying
upon their symbols which instantaneously trigger off in him certain technical
responses enabling him to follow the road in complete safety. Clearly, if the
symbols were replaced by a long phrase such as "'look out for the dangerous bend
to the left, reduce your speed, pull back, do not brake on the turning", an accident
would be inevitable! Although the crucial information, " . . . b e n d . . , left", is
present, it is submerged in a flood of additional, indeed useless, secondary
indications, and even if this information is extracted and placed alone it has in no
way the same force of persuasion.
It is a well-known fact that the performer does not carry out the indication
crescendo, but that he reacts to the symbol ~ .
In order to clarify an effective type of solution, an example will enable me to
explain certain choices I made in collaboration with G4rard Geay at the time of the
conception of our treatise Present-Day Flutes, the first edition of which was
completed between 1967 and 1969.
I will take the example of a sound which is completely lacking in tone quality,
a breathy sound which we designated an "Aeolian tone". The symbol of a
downward-pointing triangle, the use of which had been left free by the existing
symbolism, was selected. The presence or absence of the breath on a sound could
then appear as follows:
J d
while the progressive movement from one state to the other was represented thus:
The symbolism is obvious: V = breath alone; V + o = a combination of the

sounds. The dimensions of the triangle imply a direct relationship with the
proportions of the combination.
The same principle may be applied to key clicks, for example:
r,~
202 P.-Y.Artaud
If the triangle or St Andrew's cross are merely arbitrary conventions, their

presence, intensity and combination may be appreciated automatically by this
second convention with virtually no further explanation. The effectiveness of the
system is complete, or practically so!
6 The limitations of such a system
The limitations of this system are obvious: the notation of quantity is again only
approximate, and the balance between the proposed playing technique and the
traditional sound is entrusted to the judgement of the performer alone.
At the present time, this limitation seems to me to be unsurmountable, since
current instrumental technique still leaves a large part to approximation. For
myself, I regard this not as a limitation but as an enrichment, and if one accepts
the notion of interpretation described at the beginning of this article, it is to be
hoped that the unstated will always tend to mix more with the stated, without
combining with it, however, so that the tension created by the distance separating
the two may be iflcreased to breaking point. It is in this tension, moreover, that the
profound nature of all instrumental writing may unquestionably be found.
The micro-intervallic domain itself will be mastered more and more efficiently,
and the time is probably not too far away w h e n one will ultimately be able to hear
quarter, third and fifth tones, together with even smaller intervals.
It is likely that, at such a time, the five-lined stave will become inadequate, and
in particular that there will be a concern to designate the exact "colour" of a note.
The terms currently in use do not, as we have seen, solve anything. Only
quantitative information enables us to establish a field of meaning by consistently
designating each p h e n o m e n o n in the same way. One possible solution, for
example, might be to indicate by means of certain numerals or symbols, which of
the harmonics are to be emphasized.
But all this remains to be invented; we are witnessing the dawning of a new
universe of sound. The capacity for h u m a n development is practically unlimited,
and the feats performed by today's virtuosi will undoubtedly cause those of the
next four or five generations to smile.
The constant and deeper exploration of perception will constitute an additional
area for concern if, among other things, a dialogue with the computers of the
future is to be achieved. Live electronics are indisputably one of the principal
directions of the future. In order to master this technique, the instrumentalist must
present the machine with a rich sound signal which is both identifiable and
capable of being reproduced.
If this may seem impossible to realize at the present moment, it is only a matter
of time. Impossibility is merely a-historical fact; there is no such thing as an
"'unplayable" piece which has not at some time been mastered, and then rapidly
included as a classic of the repertoire studied in every conservatoire.
In the light of these developments, the evolution of the notation became
essential also, just as it had proved necessary to gradually introduce methods of
rhythmic notation which would satisfy the new demands for precision made by
Romantic and twentieth-century serial music. The type of solution reached with
regard to duration must be found in the domain of sound structure.
7 Should notational systems be standardized?
This old sea serpent regularly raises its ugly head. Everyone has their own answer;
203
indeed, successions of conferences are held on this very subject.

It was without question during the last century that t~heneed for standardization
was least felt since individual instrumental invention had given way entirely to
collective orchestral needs, while at the opposite end of the scale, the great virtuosi
imposed their knowledge on a score which existed for the exploitation of their skill.
The code in force was, therefore, satisfactory in the main.
The Baroque period, by contrast, witnessed an important oral tradition, since the
notation proved unable to communicate concepts of rhythmic inequality or
ornamentation. Identical symbols did not always designate the same objects, and
lengthy prefaces and tables of contents were sometimes necessary.
The return to the heterogeneity of sound thus raises the problem once again,
and the same obstacles stand in the way of the partisans of standardization.
It is tempting to imagine that there is one symbol and one alone which
corresponds to each type of sound. This form of notation would clearly simplify
life, but would it not impoverish the message of the sound in a more alarming
way?
A language is enriched by the diversity of its vocabulary, orthography and
grammar, the inner workings of which constitute the sole guarantors of its aptitude
to convey a refined thought. If its vocabulary or grammar become impoverished,
it loses much of its spiritual value under the fallacious pretext of simplicity.
Can a single grammar satisfy the originality of creation? Indeed, why should we
wish to dispense at all costs with the graphic beauty of a score or the personality
of certain symbols which reveal so much about the personality of their author?
The actual manner of writing has assumed such importance that certain
composers prefer to see their manuscript reproduced by hand rather than
consigned to the anonymity of printing. Is it not important, moreover, to consult
the manuscripts of Baroque scores which provide genuine graphological evidence
of the resuscitation of the creator's soul, and stimulate their performer in defiance
of the centuries?
There exists a poetics of the sign. Its role is much greater than it appears, but it
does not deny the importance of the effectiveness of the symbol (which, in Spite
of everything, limits its invention to proportions which seem to me to be
sufficient). In this poetry we see more than sonorous or literary charm: we see the
revelation of the deeper meaning of life. Let us allow the beauty and the magic of
the sign to express the profound mystery engendered by music.
8 The notation of fingerings

There are three systems used for the notation of fingerings, two of which contain
a certain number of variants. The graphic system consists of representing each hole
by a little circle: white = open, black = closed. Only the two holes situated in the
centre of the body which are never operated directly by a finger do not appear.
This system requires a large amount of space and creates ambiguity in the reading
of the G sharp and D sharp keys which, unlike the others, remain closed when
they are not in use: a circle (O) indicates that the finger is not placed upon the key
(Figure 67).
The graphonumerical system is a variant of the first system. It uses the same
symbols, but the levers are represented by numbers (Bartolozzi adopts this system
in his book New Sounds for Woodwind). Although this method of notation has the
204
P.-Y. Artaud
disadvantage of superimposing a graphic representation and a system of numeration, it nevertheless removes the ambiguity between open and closed holes.
The numerical system uses numbers only, as in piano fingerings. It is the keys
which are numbered, however, and not the fingers. For example, the presence of
the number three indicates that the third finger will activate its key, but it does not
indicate whether this action will serve to open or close the holes. Elsewhere,
additive notation (5, 5A, etc...) is used for fingers which operate more than one
key in order to avoid errors. Within the context of a search for standardization
which m a y be readily understood by all instrumentalists, this numerical notation
alone is common not only to wind instruments but also to strings and keyboards
which have no other resource than the numbering of the fingers, and for this
reason it m a y perhaps be preferred.
Systems of notation: example on E flat
Graphic
Graphonumerical
qO
s,,2
qe
@
T
~"0
O~
"0
|~
9
9
@
~0
9
~--
,0
,9
1
O
Numerical
O~
;":qO~'",
left hand
I
2
3
4
5
right hand
3
4
O,
b2
O~
O~
0--
or 1 2 3 4 5 / 2 3 4 5
or
5;
12345
2345
5,
9 key operated by the prescribed finger

9 key not in operation
Figure 67
9 Examples from the repertoire

Example 1 Yoshihisa Taira, Cadenza I (I~ditions Transatlantiques)
(la) Note the position of the symbol for glissando opposite the note; this makes
it legible and avoids confusion with that for vibrato which must always appear
above the stave:
, = ~,,ssanuo
'.
= vibrato
Aspects of the Flute in the Twentieth Century 2 0 5
The breath (Aeolian tone) is symbolized here by the triangle V. I propose this
symbol since it is the only clearly differentiated one still available in musical
notation.
F i g u r e 68
(lb) The partials require two figures:
a c t u a l sound
ik~t2
t)
~-4k
s
8
~.~
v
bG
%.,
K~.
Figure 69
(lc) The following sweep always occurs on C sharp, although this is not made clear
in Figure 70.
Example 2 Micha61 L~vinas, Rustlings of Wings (Heugel)
(2a) The composer does not employ any special symbol for the notation of the
pizzicato (a tongue attack without the emission of any air), since this method of
playing is the norm in the work, as the preface explains.
The complex trills, being of an aleatoric nature, require no special notation
either.
Since the final note of the glissando which occurs later in the piece is not
fingered, it would be preferable to place it in brackets (Figure 71).
(2b) As in the case of the pizzicato described in (2a) above, the breath sound is not
notated distinctly for precisely the same reasons. The notation of every note in the
quasi-glissando which follows the trills is unnecessary. Since the desired effect is
that of a glissando, graphic notation would be preferable (Figure 72).
206
P.-Y. Artaud
~ja ,=:~~ 2 ~ < * ~ ~
~,~
balavage Sweep
:,p~,~
"-~.
~~ -~ ~
. o
',
.,
Figure 70
,~= t32
~_=_L60
R~p~.titions tr~s li~es
5ons ~9 secs et d~tach~

Bruit des coups de langues
.~~ .,, . ~,.-.~ . 7 " . I. } .L ' . .~. ~I. I. .I .I I. I . [ .I I .
Ila..
,,
.f
Figure 71
~l~t..la,g,,
~
+_~-
~--~;~.....:.r~
~-,
207
(2c) The breath is represented this time by a circle surrounding the note. This
symbol may occasionally be found (as in Saih I by Paul Gutama Soegijo, for
example), but it seems to occur less frequently at present.
J=l~
~r-- ~t..!a.n~
.-'--
,'
"f
.,~_
6.
_ ~, _
.if'
~r~
~,
'
dim._
".
.
5"
"
Cft$~
"
--
"
envff~,n
7[
. ~
F i g u r e 72
Unfortunately, this very attractive short piece by L6vinas (which is pedagogical

in origin) is notated approximately, and this makes performance in the absence of '
the composer extremely problematic. This approximation affects both the nature of
the sound itself and its rhythmic structure.
.f
.doigt~ de dot~ , jouer avec les deux clefs de triile

souffle.
Dur~e de cette mesure : o environ

langne
-H
disparattre peu d p e t
F i g u r e 73
208
P.-Y. Artaud
Example 3 Robert Aitken, Icicle (}~ditions Transatlantiques)

This piece is actually notated in tablature. The performance directives are notated
on the lower stave while the resulting sound is represented on the upper one to
facilitate checking during the performance.
Since the digital actions always correspond closely to a traditional fingering, the
composer's preferred solution is to write the notes on the five lines of the stave as
usual, while specifying below it the detail which permits the distortion of the
resulting sound.
,_
S~
PLay.[iG
tc.~_~_5
--
(~"'TcIIIJ)01(d. ,,_-'
:...9}~
--T
~d'~
',
YJ,j]]! ',
~t"~'---', ~_.
"-",',P~'", ",
-).U~ ,
-~-~
ra
C-'jj]'Ti,: 9 ~*-.----p.~c--s~,;,.,
9radu,~t,tertt~o~r~.
Figure 74
8 i.o io beat.s--
(I
off]
,-3,m~tc pouc~
Figure 75
[ thumb off ~" = remove the thumb for the full duration of the arrow
If the system appears rather complex at first, it must nevertheless be stated that
it is assimilated very quickly and soon becomes quite clear. Moreover, it allows the
avoidance of a much more fastidious attempt in which a fingering would have to
be written for each note. In such a case what would become of the aleatoric
sections?
Examples 4 Andr6 Richard, Enchanted Gardens (unpublished)
Observe the combination of pizzicato ( 2~ ) a~>d key noise ( >~), giving ~ >, together
with that of the breath (~) and the keys ;~.
209
f
- i ~
,.
rl
, r
y i
'
I,~-'.~>
"'l'l
I'
"
~
7
'
Y'T
" I
. ~
"c~)~W~.~'~~'a
T~;']'<'I","
L
I
i
v TM.
";~
I '
I
:-
7 "
>
', ," ~ ' 7 - - ! " ? ' ' /

"
L."
I
i'r i =
. . . . .
'
.~I
"
ll
..Lt-..'l
"]""
'
I'D
,
i
ll~i~tT'44=t:l:l~q
II
I I I
* preferably with a contact microphone

Figure 76
The key noises played with the embouchure completely covered ( ~ ) sound a
major seventh lower. The composer has not specified the embouchure position,
nevertheless the required effect may be understood easily from the fingering for
each sound:
"0
t-j J
~
In the case of a sound effect which differs from the given fingering, it is clearer
if all three parameters (embouchure position, fingering and resulting sound) are
notated.
In order to simplify the reading of the score, one may eventually choose to
notate the first and second or second and third of these parameters only (as Andr~
Richard does), but never the third alone or the first with the third.
Example 5 Brian Ferneyhough, Cassandra's Dream Song (Peters)
vi~io~ ~ e
~l~'~hr
bni
i;~Le.i
T
~
Jf f " ~ lar
Figure 77
210
P.-Y. Artaud
(5b) Observe the smorzato (or lip vibrato) in Figure 78 which Brian Ferneyhough
symbolizes by ~
and which, in the given example, is combined
with normal vibrato (produced by the throat).
T,
"
9
ild/
,,.ri
I,.
+:r~7.. #"~:
d,~"
~:,.~
:;
', i . _ ~ -
,,,
~6.
17
r~,. ~ 2 ~
I
marc,
T~ E.
W-:~
r
....
t~1
nor~q,
r-(j;--:a~.,-k'" b . , . . . . .
:"
Ilili--i--..i~i~
--
- ~ " r.
' --#Jt, , ~
7 '"
poeo
Figure 78
~,,,,,i,,,
non
9
bo,o
....
I.
l
(/1~,
'~J
--
j.-.fll
.~
--
(JJ
.. 0
mohol
.,
(J)
t
lihlit
4par;m-i
I).-
Ii. ) r l l .
i*:_
mill I
t,
~
9
"~l,
. . . . .
imlll.
" I~..~
Figure 79
Example 6 Pascal Dusapin, Here (Salabert)

The use of traditional notation for the glissando constantly obscures the exact point
of the note at which the action should begin (Figures 80 and 81).
r"
i~" .~"-2_ 2'~~.;=L~
Figure 80
-"
i~
ii
i L:
/
9 ,X
/~
. = GO
. . . . . .
7~[ T " i ' l P ~ ' r r ' , , i " i i Y
~., c//
.
-
211
tl,P,
,, ;~%
; . =d,,
: ::ri7
'
"
: ~=
iT
' 'r ~ '~
| /
;,
Figure 81
Example 7 Toru Takemitsu, Voice (Salabert)
(7a) The work calls for a number of techniques which employ the voice mixed with
the instrumental sound or which resonate in the tube. In the case of the latter,
various embouchure positions which are covered to a greater or lesser degree must
be identified. Takemitsu differentiates between two types:
(1)
(2)
embouchure covered (~
embouchure removed from the chin
The first symbol is sometimes used with a completely different meaning

(Aeolian tones). Care must be taken to avoid confusion.
The breath attack (of the type found on the shakuhachi) borrows a symbol
which is often reserved for harmonics: ~ .
The singing voice is notated by a little circle ~ , the position of which suggests
an exact pitch; this is not the case, however.
Another way of notating the breath (this time alone) may be found as early as
the second beat: ~ . This symbol appears in a very similar form in Ferneyhough
(,~) where it signifies the resonance of another percussive or vocal operation in
the flute.
Notice also the violent attack r which shrewdly borrows the traditional sign for
accentuation ~ , and the designation of the accelerando (or ritenuto) by L--------7
or /"
--~ which may be read easily.
..f.
I~
o
o6
Q
I.
:3
t,----
'F
cJ r a d u a I l y ( ~
VP
I
Figure 82
212
P.-Y. Artaud
(7b) The harmonic does not indicate the fingering of the fundamental which is
immaterial to the composer. It is obvious to the performer that the note sounds at
the written pitch. The change in tone quality on the four Cs is signalized only by
the different fingerings stated above the stave, each of which must be observed in
addition to the required playing techniques: homorhythmic singing and a
shakuhachi attack.
A/
lolo:~:~0..AP~.
9"
rrf,:
,,,
,'
,9 o
.o 7 - 7"
=.,
'~
-"L
~ ~" X..
o
-tr-
L~
h~
II
._;, =.,=,, _
LLL
Lt
'
p , < ~.
F i g u r e 83
(7c) The multiphonic trill is notated as in a normal multiple trill, and the shouts
( d a . . . ) are indicated by the use of the symbol ~ again; here the symbol signifies
the retention of the embouchure in normal position since there is insufficient time
to remove it from the m o u t h as in Figure 82. Thus a single symbol signifies two
actions which occur in close proximity but which are nevertheless different.
The growl (typical of jazz) does not receive a specific symbol either. The word
is simply written out in full.
le
o
lm
o---!
o~
:~
,,r
ffz
"
L
i
Figure 84
In summary, V o i c e poses an interesting challenge from the point of view of the

notation of timbre, which constitutes a major element in the piece. And yet it may
appear that certain intentions are rather imprecise or that some of th.e symbols are
redundant. I believe that this degree of imprecision is in fact a predominantly
wilful act on the part of the composer w h o is anxious to entrust to each one of us
213
the freedom to decide the best means of commenting instrumentally and vocally
on the poem by Shuzo Takiguchi which provides the very structure of the work:
"who goes there? speak transparence, whoever you are!".
Example 8 Drake Mabry, 5.4.88 (]~ditions Transatlantiques)

(8a) The symbols for breath tones ,~, pizzicati ~ and tongue rams ; may be read
very clearly.
p ~
, 9 ~
.----------------=~
p
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
. ' r :====..- p
- - ,
rr
Figure 85
(Sb) Whistle tones are written on two staves in order to clarify the counterpoint
between the fingerings and desired frequencies which forms the basis of the entire
coda of the work.
c7
....
g
i I
'i
Figure 86
The final three examples are taken from the bass flute repertoire, an instrument
which has experienced increasing and undisputed interest for almost thirty years.
P.-Y. Artaud
214
This instrument is interesting in more than one sense, and it is its role as a
resonating body which offers the most remarkable qualities in the present case. On
account of its size, all the variations in timbre together with the resonances assume
a volume and presence which, in m y opinion, make the flute the most appropriate
instrument for the legitimization o f a language composed of new techniques.
In short, the bass flute serves to amplify the sound, while retaining the agile,
virtuosic qualities of the flute in C. Finally, its full sound enables it to be treated
as a solo instrument in the same way as the others, but without the need for any
amplification by aerial or contact microphone, while its blending with an
instrumental ensemble does not propose any particular problems.
Example 9 Yoshihisa Taira, Maya (Rideau Rouge)
(9a) The intervention of the voice in the form of shouting or singing in certain
sections is notated here on a second stave in order to simplify reading. The shout
in particular has no prescribed frequency and is represented in the absence of a full
stave by a symbol which suggests its intensity, form and duration by means of
proportional notation.
"15"
"
a
_n~:
,f ~
~.!
p <
#i
o.
Figure 87
4 2 3 ~:
4~.
42.
mp
,!
o . .
pp
4 M*5
I
..
2c
Figure 88
215
Example 10 Michael Ldvinas, Arsis and Thesis (Salabert)

(10a) The breath tone is notated by means of a concentric circle surrounding the
frequency played; the progression from one state to the other (normal tone/
Aeolian tone) is indicated by an arrow --~. This form of notation is a very practical.
one which is often used trivially today.
,j
I~,-~:::---~_
@:~_~-~__~ ~
0 ~ <~,~t p~ a I ~
--- ~--~ . . . . . :: ,:.--~- - - - = ~ - ~ : - - - ~ - - ~ - - - ~ - ~ F T ~

,.~.~--=~., . . . . . . . . .
~__:~-~
,
~-.
Rail.
,, .
T~
r-V~
~--T-
,~--~
Figure 89
(10b) The voice is in unison with the instrumental sound. The vocal part is
represented by the square notes. The perfect unison between the two simultaneous actions (playing and singing) renders the use of a second stave obsolete.
9)=80
~'ra. Accel.
[]
~rn
Rail
vp--
Lent'J=60 ~
r ~
,~,-~ . . . . . . . . . . .
Figure 90
Example 11 Yoshihisa Taira, Hierophony IV, Meditative (Rideau Rouge)

(11a) The type of breath attack used on the shakuhachi is notated by the symbol
(see Figure 68).
The vocal part is notated on the same stave in square notes 9 or [] according to
the approximate durations of the notes. There is no major drawback in this
particular case: the two parts may be read very clearly.
It is important to note that the bass flute sounds one octave lower; it is
transposed, therefore, and so is the voice. A performer should take his bearings
from the written interval. The voice should, if necessary, always be transposed one
octave higher in the case of the bass flute, and a fourth higher in the case of the
alto flute in G.
(11b) Observe the notation of the symbol for vibrato above the stave in order to
avoid confusion with that for glissando which is written opposite the note.
216
P.-Y. Artaud
1~ lM~S l~,)t po*'dble
r~
po,.L
p ~:
"
lap
r':l
*Iz-P-<@10
r~
,2
fl
t~n~po
in
po
r~
d=~,
.~-~ ,.-------._.~
lo,,o-
j5 c
Figure 91
In ~ c z n ~ Tr'~e l~nE
loi.tai,)
a
"
PP
z,/a.
..~
4- FTa~t
.,,"
,,
',.,
. . . . . .
"'
~ . . . . .
Figure 92
~._ .

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Contemporary Music Review

Aspects of the flute in the twentieth

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9 1994 HarwoodAcademicPublishers GmbH

Aspects of the Flute in the Twentieth Century

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132 P.-Y. Artaud

H o w would one construct a convincing programme from traditional and

Aspects of the Flute in the Twentieth Century

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High Song by Jo Kondo provides an example of strict, "abstract" writing in

134 P.-Y. Artaud

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1. Some Characteristics of the Modern Repertoire

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Aspects of the Flute in the Twentieth Century

W~rzburg, Nuremberg and Hanau, studying and establishing himself as a flautist.

~. .~,.~, r, .~- .~'-

?'- ? ' - ! ' - -

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A renaissance of the flute

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Aspects of the Flute in the Twentieth Century

as those by Takemitsu, Matsudaira, Yuasa, Ferneyhough, Taira, Berio, Donatoni,

Works composed after 1970

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138 P.-K Artaud

4 FuneralSteles (1950) for piccolo, concert flute and alto flute.

Aspects of the Flute in the Twentieth Century

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Figure 2 The flute family

The advent of electronic techniques

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Aspects of the Flute in the Twentieth Century

2. Works Composed Before 1970

7 Recordedby Pierre-Yves Artaud: CD Neuma 470 76.

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A cry in the desert

Aspects of the Flute in the Twentieth Century 143

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Density 21.5, a piece inspired by electronic characteristics

144 P.-Y. Artaud

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Figure 6 Bars 16 and 17

Figure 7 Bars 20 and 21

Two other important observations m a y be made which apply furthermore to the

Aspects of the Flute in the Twentieth Century

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In bar 24 all the positive, explosive energy released in an enormous crescendo

146 P.-Y. Artaud

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Aspects of the Flute in the Twentieth Century

articulation by the diaphragm

accentuation within a sustained

key staccato, like a "Bart6k

Nuances: these operate independently of register and should be considered as

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a crescendo towards silence