(an English version of the following text is to be found below)
La vie à l’œuvre
La paléontologie, sur l’intuition géniale de Cuvier, tire d’un os un animal entier, sa forme, son enveloppe, son comportement même. La structure globale est induite à partir d’un fragment sur le pari d’une mécanique des articulations. Cela suppose de travailler « sur le dur ». De fait le squelette passe mieux que les organes l’épreuve du temps. Il n’en va pas très différemment dans notre manière d’envisager les musiques du passé. Partir du texte, des vestiges d’instruments, de leurs images gravées dans la pierre ou peintes dans les livres, lire des portées, étudier leurs relations, leurs superpositions et correspondances, scruter la concaténation des mesures, c’était là travail de paléontologue. Plus récemment, on eut l’idée de mettre à l’épreuve des caractéristiques des instruments anciens les axes horizontaux et verticaux ainsi dessinés. Et l’on découvrit enfin ce que le texte n’avait pas retenu sur la page : les ornements, les timbres, les dynamiques, l’esprit et la chair. Mais c’est encore accrocher au squelette ce qui paraît le compléter. Cette vision contente encore nombre de musicologues qui bornent leur appréciation de la portée esthétique d’une musique à des questions de forme, entendue comme le sens et le vêtement d’une structure. A considérer nombre de musiques d’aujourd’hui, ce savoir, qui peut être grand et admirable, ne nous est plus ici que d’un piètre secours.
Comment tirer le feu crépitant de brindilles, ses lueurs et son rougeoiement sourd, d’un tas de branches mortes rassemblées au creux des pierres ? Ce que Hubbub dispense ici n’est contenu en puissance dans aucun des instruments, pas plus qu’en leur rassemblement. Nous n’avons plus affaire à des éléments agencés, mais à des organes au travail, des fonctions en mouvement qui animent un organisme venu à la vie. Un cÅ“ur et un épiderme, un battement profond qui pulse sous la périphérie d’une peau sensible. Sa respiration occupe tout l’espace qui sépare le noyau de son enveloppe. Il n’importe plus dès lors de se soucier de l’origine des sons. L’assignation d’une source à chaque événement sonore ne relève plus ici que d’un jeu de société. Toute virtuosité individuelle — qui est grande — disparaît, absorbée dans l’entretien de cette pneumatique.
La musique se lève comme une aube, entre chien et loup. Une luisance se précise, arquée, en suspension au-dessus d’un point qui se vérifie comme son foyer, la résonance grave et lointaine d’une corde tendue. Différentiation initiale du vivant et son unité fondamentale, une cellule sonore se constitue à l’image d’une cellule biologique. Hubbub opposera ainsi un centre d’où émane une pulsation, le plus souvent réduite à une scansion lente, fragmentée, irrégulière mais d’autant plus prégnante qu’elle ne se laisse parfois que deviner jusqu’à s’absenter tout à fait, et une surface irisée, métallique, versicolore, lisse ou rugueuse, hérissée, duvet, peluche ou croûte terraquée. L’une et l’autre de ces formations cytologiques sont tissées des mêmes composants moléculaires, opposés généralement deux à deux. Parfois l’un d’entre eux se détache du noyau pour se fondre dans l’enveloppe.
A l’ancienne disposition qui articulait « basse » et « dessus » se substitue un système d’échanges et de compensations perpétuellement mouvant à l’œuvre dans les timbres et les textures, qui assure l’équilibre d’un organisme complexe. Le mouvement ainsi créé, cette circulation d’énergie au sein du cytoplasme, le dessin des courants qui le parcourent comme les transferts de masse déterminent la vie du tout. Comme une goutte avant de choir se masse tout d’abord, grossit, se déforme sous son poids, produit un pédoncule qui bientôt s’allonge et se détache laissant place immédiatement à une aventure identique, le noyau, vidé peu à peu de sa substance allée renforcer la membrane, finit par dessiner le centre vacant d’un univers où toute matière est satellisée. Digéré, assimilé dans le détail, il est lui-même devenu l’enveloppe de sa propre absence. Ce vide, attirant à lui les scories encore flottantes, devient à son tour le puissant moteur de la recomposition du noyau : la cellule est un champ de forces. Ces échanges s’effectuent dans un espace qui est aussi un milieu : le silence. Plus que le fond d’où se découperait la forme, mieux qu’un simple composant parmi d’autres, le silence est le milieu dans lequel la musique vient à l’être et s’épanouit. Comme l’eau à la vie.
Lorsque les particules sonores, limailles, copeaux, sciures — car le son dans l’ouvrage se dilapide en ses restes — se sont espacées au point de disparaître, centrifugées, demeure ce milieu qui s’étoffe alors à proportion et gagne en densité. Parvenu à son degré le plus haut, ce silence qui se perçoit en relief ou en creux selon l’état des métamorphoses, chasse alors la matière qui durcit par concentration et se fragmente en blocs plus rares et plus massifs. Le son se minéralise, ses cristaux s’agencent en des géométries plus fermes. La matière sonore change d’état.
La durée qui règle les déports et transformations des timbres est rigoureusement coextensive au phénomène qui s’opère. Elle traduit ce changement d’état de la matière et n’est en rien isolable de celui-ci. En retour, il ne s’exprime qu’en son déploiement. Aucune accélération n’est possible, ni aucune élision qui précipiterait la conclusion. En elle se confondent l’absolue liberté créatrice et l’absolue nécessité que l’on reconnaît rétrospectivement au réel advenu. Si la musique — cette musique-ci — n’est pas dans les instruments, elle n’est certes pas non plus dans l’idée ni l’intention qui, si l’on ne peut exclure tout à fait qu’elles s’immiscent dans son décours, ne se décèlent que progressivement. Expression spontanée de la durée pure, elle est la trace laissée dans le temps de l’effort de naître. Unique comme toute naissance, elle concentre en elle la totalité de la vie dans la lente puissance de son élan.
« Hubbub » signifie « clameur », « tumulte » et « confusion », mais également « agitation », « excitation « Le bruit et la fureur », mais aussi le « bouillon de culture » et le mouvement brownien : un nom aux résonances multiples, sonores, physiques et biologiques — et le nom de personne. C’est un indice. L’horizon sur lequel débouche une pareille conception de l’improvisation (et qui remonte aux premiers jours d’AMM) est ouvert. Ce n’est plus celui d’un sujet, son registre n’est plus celui de l’expression, liberté n’y signifie pas « liberté individuelle » (1). De là qu’une telle musique peut figurer en effet, c’est à dire travailler notre écoute, et reconfigurer jusqu’à notre corps dans son organisation perceptive. Par l’établissement de continuités inédites dans le fonctionnement du groupe et la circulation du jeu, au sein du matériau, mais aussi entre son « dedans » et son « dehors », elle appelle et provoque de nouvelles dispositions, de nouvelles contiguïtés organiques. Hoop, whoop n’est pas une Å“uvre, c’est un processus. Le seul rapport que nous puissions désormais entretenir avec lui est celui d’une expérience vitale et passionnée qui s’ouvre à son cours. Ce qui s’ensuit ne nous appartient déjà plus.
P.-L. Renou © 2003
(1) On mesure la distance qui éloigne cette pratique de l’improvisation du spontanéisme » en lequel Lyotard pointait, en 1972, l’illusion d’une réponse aux filtrages que sous-tend la notion de « musical » et au morcellement abstrait du corps qu’elle entérine. Peut-être constitue-t-elle même l’esquisse de la « réponse » authentique qu’il avouait ne pas entrevoir : « La réponse n’est pas le spontanéisme : car les sons ne sont pas des hommes, comme dit Cage, les flux libidinaux ne sont pas des hommes, la liberté n’est pas celle de quelqu’un, l’activité n’est pas expression. Le spontanéisme rabat encore les commutations énergétiques sur une mémoire, un sujet, une identité . Il appartient encore à la théâtralité (la « nature » qu’il invoque, est l’unique sujet du théâtre occidental : son « extérieur »). Je ne sais pas quelle est la réponse. » (Jean-François Lyotard, « Plusieurs silences », in Musique en jeu n°9, nov. 1972, repris dans Des dispositifs pulsionnels, 1973).
Life at work
Paleontology — following upon the genial intuition of Cuvier — pulls from one bone an entire animal, its form, its exterior envelope, even its behavior. The global structure is induced from a fragment, according to the wager of the mechanics of joints. It is not so different from our method of imagining the music of times past. Starting from the text, remnants of instruments or of their images graven in stone or painted in books, reading staves, studying their relations, their superimpositions and correspondences, examining the concatenation of bars — such was the job of the paleontologist. More recently, one tried to test the horizontal and vertical axes thus discovered against the characteristics of ancient instruments. And that is when one discovered what had not been held on the page: the ornaments, tones, dynamics — the mind and the flesh. But still, this is only hanging onto the skeleton of music what seems to complete it. This vision still satisfies a number of musicologists who limit their appreciation of the esthetic impact of a music piece to questions of form, understood as the meaning and clothing of a structure. Keeping in mind many of today's varieties of music, this knowledge — deep and admirable though it may be — is of little help to us now.
How can one experience the crackling of twigs in the fire, its bright and dark purpling, from just a heap of dead wood gathered in the hollow of a rock? What Hubbub delivers here is not present in potentiality in any of its instruments nor in the grouping together. We no longer deal with arranged elements, but with organs at work, moving functions which animate an organism come to life. A heart, an epidermis, a deep beat pulsating under the surface of a sensitive skin. Its breath occupies the entire space between the kernel and its envelope. It no longer matters then who creates the sounds. Assigning a source to each sound event is only a society game. Individual virtuosity — and there is indeed a lot of it — disappears, absorbed in maintaining this breath alive.
Music rises like a dawn, in penumbra. A glint becomes visible, in an arc, suspended above a point which acts as its centre: the deep distant resonance of a vibrating string. A sound cell begins like a biological cell, this initial differentiation of life's fundamental unit. Hubbub thus opposes the center — from which emanates a beat, most often reduced to a slow scanning, fragmented and irregular, but all the more pregnant when it barely lets itself be guessed at, or even when completely absent and an iridescent surface, metallic, polychromatic, smooth or rough, bristly, downy, plushy or crust of water and earth. One and the other of these cytological formations are woven of the same molecular matter, generally in opposing pairs. Occasionnally, one of them detaches itself from the nucleus to join and melt in the envelope.
The old distinction of "bass" and "high" is replaced by a system of exchanges and compensations constantly in flux in its tones and textures, a system which insures balance in a complex organism. The movement thus created, circulation of energy in the heart of the cytoplasm, pattern of currents flowing through it and mass transfers — are what gives life to the whole. As a drop about to fall becomes heavy, enlarges itself, changes its form under its own weight, produces a lengthening stem soon detached from itself, and gives way immediately to another identical happening, the nucleus, empty little by little of its substance which feeds the exterior membrane, finally forms the vacant center of a universe where all matter is sent off to become orbiting satellites. Digested, assimilated in the details, the nucleus has itself become the envelope of its own absence. This vacuum gathers to itself slag still floating becomes in turn the powerful force which re-composes the nucleus: the cell is a field of forces. These exchanges take place in a space which is also a natural environment: silence. More than a background against which form could be outlined, better than a particle amongst others, silence is the medium in which music comes into being and blossoms. Like water to life.
When sound particles, filings, shavings, sawdust (since sound in the process dissipates into its own scraps) are spaced out and about to disappear in a centrifugal motion, this medium remains and grows in size and density. Attaining its highest level, silence (perceived either in positive or negative relief according to the state of metamorphosis) pushes away matter which hardens by concentration and breaks apart in ever larger and sparser blocks. Sound mineralizes itself, its crystals forming ever harder geometry. Sound matter reaches a different state.
The time duration which regulates changes and transformations of tones coincides exactly with the duration of the phenomenon. It translates the changing state of matter and cannot be separated from it. In return, it is expressed only in its unfolding. No acceleration is possible, nor any shortening to bring about a sooner conclusion. Within this duration, creative freedom and absolute necessity (that is only later perceived as reality itself) are merged. If music — this particular music — is not in the instruments, it is certainly not either in the idea or intention which appear progressively — even though one cannot entirely exclude the fact that they mix in the waning. This duration is the spontaneous expression of pure duration. It is the trace left in time of the effort of being born. Unique like all birth, it concentrates in itself the whole of life in the slow power of its vital force.
Hubbub means "clamor", "commotion", "confusion" but also "agitation", "excitement". "Sound and fury", but also culture fluid, and brownian motion: a name with many echoes in sound, in physics, in biology and yet nobody's name. It is a sign. The horizon which was revealed by such an idea of improvisation (since the very beginnig of AMM) is entirely open. It is no more related to a subject. It does not deal anymore with expression, and its freedom is not that of the individual. (1) Yet such a music can in fact be figurative, that is to say it can work on our ears and reconfigure as far up as our body in its perceptive powers. By establishing new continuums in the functioning of the group and the flow of play, from within the music matter — but also from between its inside and its outside — this music calls and calls forth new dispositions, new organic contiguities. Hoop, whoop is not a work, it is a process. The only relationship possible for us with this process is a vital and passionate experience which opens up to it. What follows is no longer ours.
P.-L. Renou © 2003
translated by Caroline Kraabel
(1) One can see how far this process of improvisation is from the "spontaneity" in which Lyotard showed, in 1972, the illusion of a response to the filters underlying the notion of "musical" and to the abstract break-up of the body which it confirms. Perhaps this music constitutes the beginning of the authentic "response" which he confessed not to be able to see: "The response is not spontaneity: for sounds are not people, as Cage says; libidinous flows are not people; liberty is not an individual freedom, activity is not expression. Spontaneity still alludes to a memory, a subject, an identity. It still belongs to theatricality (the "nature" alluded to is the only subject of western theater: its "outside"). I do not know what is the response." Jean-François Lyotard, "Plusieurs silences" in Musique en jeu, no.9, Nov. 1972. [engl. transl. by Joseph Maier: "Several Silences"’ in Jean-François Lyotard, Driftworks, edited by Roger
McKeon. Semiotext(e) Foreign Agents Series. New York, Columbia University Press, 1984.]
Hubbub may be contacted at ubbu@free.fr
I have, for good or (more likely) ill, long compared e-ai pieces to models derived from the classical concert stage. I have praised many recordings in proportion to their propensity to remind me of, say, Ligeti’s Lontano, or Pendercki’s Threnody. Proximity to AMM is, to many, also a test of quality, and, I think, a good one. But if we were to remove all the proper names here and try (per impossibile) to reduce my conception of beauty in e-ai to recognizable, non-aesthetic qualities, what would we come up with? Perhaps a certain large-scale "glassiness" in conjunction with lots of apparently microsmic stuff going on "just beneath the surface." Repetition of a certain sort is generally eschewed, as is, of course, melody and regular pulse. Certain types of imitation are allowed among the performers, with respect to things like drones or dynamics or even "explosion events." For example, while a lengthy, single pitch unison drone might be allowed or even encouraged, the exact copying of a five-note phrase would be actionable.
Whether or not I have accurately reproduced any portion of the mostly subconscious criteria that attracts me to one work and not another, Hoop Whoop has all the operative goods in spades. Hubbub consists of pianist Frederic Blondy, reed players Bertrand Denzler and Jean-Luc Guionnet, guitarist Jean-Sebastien Mariage, and percussionist Edward Perraud who, together, have created a work of art both glimmering and trenchant. There is plenty of dynamic range and a significant diversity of timbres here, but those who are "off jazz" need not fear that they will be exposed to any Berklee School riffs. The saxophonists mostly restrict themselves to harmonics and other extended techniques, generally laying off even the sort of playing that Evan Parker engages in when he performs with AMM of SME members. The Individual sounds produced on this disc range from crunchy to dreamy or delicate, while the ensemble as a whole makes stops at icy, questioning and agonized without ever departing too far from the above-mentioned shimmering. With the exception of some five minutes or so of bumblebee material (instigated by Blondy but mirrored by the two wind players) in the middle of track 3 (the tracks have been inserted later solely to aid retrieval), there are no false steps. And even during that fast-churning bit, Mariage’s whining, double-stopped trills and wails and Perraud’s deft cymbal work salvage what could have been a painful alteration in perspective—from the "egolessness" of weather to that of the hive or ant farm. Anyhow, I love this recording, and I think that everyone else should too—at least everyone who enjoy early Ligeti, Penderecki, Roger Reynolds or the AMM of Inexhaustible Document.
Walter Horn
Bagatellen
Fabulous French quintet featuring Frederic Blondy (piano), Bertrand Denzler (sax), Jean-Luc Guionnet (sax), Jean Sebastien Mariage (guitar) and Edward Perraud (percussion). I've noticed more and more French improvisers popping up over the past decade, besides the more well-known players like Louis Sclavis & his bands, Marc Ducret and Noel Akchote. A newer scene is growing and evolving and includes a diverse group od players like Le Quan Ninh, Erik M and K.K. Roll. This is the second disc from Hubbub and I only recognize two of the members, Frederic & Bertrand, from previous work on Potlatch and Leo. Nowhere on this CD do they mention what the instrumentation is or who plays what and this was recorded live, the music is continuous with no tune or section titles. No that it should matter since this just adds to the mystery. Superbly recorded and filled with suspense, well balanced with no obvious soloing, just inter-group communication. Delicate, intricate, insect-like improv, little squeaks, rubbed strings and drums, minimal piano tinkling, scraped cymbals and other highly focused explorations. Time is slowed down, so that things unfold naturally, organically, spaciously, building, always connecting with drones and subtle interaction. I dig when one player starts a phrase and it is completely by another player, so that you can't tell which instrument you are or were listening to. There is a strong level of communication and dialogue going on here, always something to follow as it flows in waves. This mysterious and magical quintet will be playing at the Victo Fest this coming May and maybe even playing here in NYC if I can get them a gig. Another wonderful set to look forward to.
Bruce Lee Gallanter
Downtown Music Gallery
Créé en 1999, le quintette réunit Frédéric Blondy (piano), Bertrand Denzler (saxophone ténor), Jean-Luc Guionnet (saxophone alto), Jean-Sébastien Mariage (guitare) et Edward Perraud (batterie) : une des formations des plus excitantes de la scène française. " Hoop Whoop" se joue en une seule pièce de plus de cinquante minutes, dense et nerveuse a la fois. Chacun oeuvre ici pour le collectif, sans souci d'ego. Un fourmillement sonore, où s'affirme à travers le bris des matières la quête de nouvelles résonances musicales. Si Hubbub se situe dans la descendance d'AMM, c'est dans un work in progress permanent qu'ils forgent leur identité, leur unité. Sans qu'ils en soient redevables. D'une spontanéité toute réfléchie, Hubbub réjouit.
Thierry Lepin
Jazzman
Recorded in December 2001, two years after Hubbub’s debut {Ub/Abu},
{'Hoop Whoop'} shows a lot of maturation as a group. The music has grown
somewhat busier, less entrenched in the {AMM}/{Spontaneous Music Ensemble}
axis of free improvisation. It doesn’t mean that it has become overtly
noisy, but to the focus on listening and the research in tiny aspects of
sounds, the group has added a gutsier feel that recalls the feverishness of
drummer {Edward Perraud}’s old experimental rock band {Shub-Niggurath}
(especially in its later stages). The music is generally dominated by
{Frédéric Blondy’s piano and {Jean-Sébastien Mariage}’s electric guitar.
They both tend to play more extrovertly and loud. Mariage’s feedback gnarl
carries the piece for several minutes in “Part II†(the album consists of a
continuous improvisation of 53 minutes indexed in four parts for
convenience). Blondy’s feverish runs in the bass register give a maniacal
pace to the second half of “Part III†-- Mariage is quick to match him with
a gritty sustained note while Perraud heats up on the drums and the
saxophones of {Bertrand Denzler} and {Jean-Luc Guionnet} flutter like two
parakeets arguing each other’s head off. At this point, the level of group
playing reaches its peak. In the quieter sections (especially the first and
last parts), the saxophonists take a more prominent role, using extended
techniques to extract strange whispers and odd cries from their instruments...
'Hoop Whoop' is one of the great free improv albums of 2003.
François Couture
All Music Guide