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Steven Connor
New Literary History, Volume 32, Number 3, Summer 2001, pp. 467-483 (Article)
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The Decomposing Voice of
Postmodern Music
Steven Connor
W
estern music has been formed around the dissension be-
tween music and voice. On the one hand, the human voice
has provided the image of music itself, distilled, claried, and
personied. For the Greeks, the power of music is epitomized by the
gure of Orpheus, in whom singing and playing are powerfully recipro-
cal actions. The lyre of Orpheus and Apollo comes to be metonymic of
the voice itself; in the terms lyric and lyrical, the voice is represented
by the instrument designed to accompany it, which has nevertheless
been suffused with vocal tonality and action. And yet, there is also within
the history of Western music, a struggle between the voice and musical
sound as such. This struggle is encoded in the distinction between the
Orphic or Apollonian lyre and the ute of Pan or Dionysus. Wind
instruments come to be uniquely expressive of the voice because they
share the voices incapacity to play chords. Unable to organize sound
synchronically, the voice organizes it temporally, through the movement
of melody; but the openness to time of melody suggests the instability of
those xed relations of proportion which Greek musical theory be-
queathed to the West. When Apollo defeats Marsyas, it is a defeat of the
aberrant powers of the voice. The ute-voice represents the power of the
one to become many, moving ecstatically and unpredictably from place
to place, and sometimes inducing panic and disorientation. The
Apollonian lyre contains many voices, which it organizes synchronically.
The one-becoming-many of the ute is assimilated to and subordinated
by the image of the many-become-one represented by the lyre. Charles
Segal nds a feminized version of this process in Pindars twelfth Pythian
Ode, written in 490 b.c. for the annual ute contest which took place in
Delphi. The ode celebrates the fact that Athena, having rescued her
favorite, Perseus, from the Gorgon, invented the art of ute music, to
preserve and to neutralize the horrifying, bestial cries of the Gorgon:
The aesthetic form of the ode, Segal concludes, is itself a victory over
Gorgonic dissonance; and the ode, like Athena, absorbs and neutralizes
this dissonance by incorporating it into a larger design, much as the
total musical and thematic structure of Mozarts Magic Flute absorbs and
neutralizes the screaming arpeggios of the vengeful Queen of the
Night (33).
Composing Voice
This argument between voice and music took another turn in the
eighteenth century in the musical quarrel of the ancients and moderns
enacted between Rameau and Rousseau. Rameau took the view that the
essence of music lay in harmonic proportion and relation. Although
harmonic theory derived from ancient sources in Pythagorean math-
ematics, it reached its summit in modern, scientic systems of harmonic
relationships, to which classical accounts of music such as Platos,
restricted as they are to considerations of melody, did not attain.
Rousseau, by contrast, championed the claims of melody over harmony,
and in the process rejected arguments for the superiority of the
moderns over the ancients. Since the form and essence of music derived
from the inections of passionate human speech, Plato and other
classical commentators on music were right to concentrate upon melos
rather than harmonia.3
Nineteenth-century music and music theory are conventionally thought
to be characterized by the repudiation of the voice and its claims by the
idea of instrumental or absolute music; both Schopenhauer and Nietzsche
see the voice as a vulgar and gratuitous excrescence in music. And yet
one must acknowledge that this apparent defeat of the voice is also
accompanied by a certain kind of enlargement of its power. For this is a
period governed by the idea of the composers identifying voice or style,
suffusing and stamping every work, no matter which particular voice
may mediate it. It is the nineteenth century that establishes the priority
the decomposing voice of postmodern music 469
of what Edward Cone calls the sense of the composers voice. It is not
only the symphony that can be sung, that can be recapitulated by a
single voice, that expresses the triumph of the lyrical. Opera represents,
not so much the cooperation of voice with score and scenario, as the
capture of the entire work of composition and performance by the act of
musicalized utterance, or enunciatory music. For Cone, in fact, opera or
song are only literalizations of the metaphor which governs all music,
whereby the music can be thought of as a form of purely symbolic
utterance, the utterance of that composite being, different for different
works, even if they are by the same composer, that Cone calls the
implicit persona of the composer.4 Discussing the relations between
composer, song, and accompaniment in a Schubert Lied, Cone employs
the analogy of the Christian trinity: The song as a whole is the
utterancethe creationof the complete musical persona. Like the
Father, this persona begets in the vocal persona a Son that embodies its
Word; and it produces in the accompaniment a Holy Spirit that speaks
to us directly, without the mediation of the Word (CV 18). With the
development of recording and amplication technologies at the end of
the nineteenth century, the division between classical or serious music
and mass music began to take shape. However, both modern mass music
and modernist music grew out of the encounter between the ideal of the
free, expressive, bodily voice, and the captured, manipulable, disembod-
ied voice of the phonograph and the telephone. The mass market in
sound and music that rapidly grew up through the twentieth century,
sustained by the technologies of amplication and reproduction, was
centered on the human voice. Even more important perhaps than the
gramophones power to store and propagate the human voice was the
power given by the microphone, which was the guarantee of the voices
integrity against the powers of music, which was now diminished to the
mere frame or occasion for the singer and his or her song. The voice
became a powerful and marketable commodity. Even nonvocal music
came to obey the law of the voice in mass popular music, as solo
instruments strove to impersonate the lyrical, expressive qualities of the
voice. In free-form jazz, for example, every instrument could become a
solo instrument. During the 1960s and 1970s, bands like Cream and The
Grateful Dead bemused a musical generation brought up on the three-
minute verse-and-chorus single with immensely long sets consisting
almost entirely of solos. Rather than dissolving the power of the voice,
this kind of playing generalized it. There was nothing that was not the
expression of voice; there was no background, no mere accompaniment.
It is for this reason that the electric guitar became the most important
instrument of mass music. The electric guitar represented the liberation
of the ute from the lyre. While the rhythm guitar played chords and
470 new literary history
riffs of ever greater simplicity and predictability, the lead guitar recapitu-
lated the traditional association between the voice and the violin. The
guitar merged with the players body, as the violin had been an
extension of the nineteenth-century virtuosos body. The style of lead
guitar playing emphasized linear melodic runs, characterized by
plangently wailing bent notes, which allowed the fretted divisions of
the instruments neck to be ignored. The cult of speed in guitar playing
aimed to establish the absolute continuity of the melodic line, as it were
disallowing any possibility of xed relations or proportions. The guitar
became a wind instrument whose player never had to pause for breath.
Not surprisingly, a whole range of musical effects arose to accentuate the
vocal character of the guitars sound, from the wah-wah pedal to
techniques for merging sounds articulated by the performers mouth
with the input from the guitar.
Faced with this absolute domination of voice in popular culture,
modernist or avant-garde music evolved a new form of the dialectic of
voice and music. As mass music came to depend upon the technological
replication of the individual, bodily voice, modernist music sought to
dissolve the traditional link between tonality and the voice. In classical
or art music, the voice was swallowed up into the now unearthly and
inaudible complexity of the work. In serial music, the composers voice
or style became inaudible and unvisualizable, a matter of the buried,
secret signature or coding of the works structure. The voice of the work
was precisely that, the voice of the work. Modernist music thus repudi-
ated the crasser aspects of technological Rousseauism, yet retained an
abstract sense of the organized and organizing voice that Edward Cone
posits as essential to all music. Indeed, Cones argument is best read not
as a general statement of musical aesthetics, but as an historically
symptomatic account of the ideal of modernist music, just as literary
New Criticism was a generalization of some of the demands and
principles of modernist poetry. Cones notion of the virtual voice of the
composed work is an abstract resolution of the differing claims of voice
and music as these had come to a crisis in modernism. Cone is uneasy
about modern music, and about electronic music in particular; but what
he says of the concerto might as well be said of the work of Schoenberg,
Webern, or even perhaps Stockhausen: One who achieves full identi-
cation with the complete persona of any complex work must not only
participate in the fortunes of each component persona, character, and
leading agent, but also experience, vividly and intimately, the course of
events produced by their relationships (CV 125).
This willingness to assimilate music to the operations of voice has
recently reappeared in Carolyn Abbates investigations of voice in
nineteenth-century opera. Where Cone assumes the existence of a
the decomposing voice of postmodern music 471
Voicing Noise
Decomposing Voice
The analog form of sonorous capture made available by early phonog-
raphysounds literally inscribed into patterns of movement in the
grooves on gramophone discshas given way in the last two decades to
digital processes for encoding sound. Although analog capture offered
unexpectedly high levels of reproductive delity, it did not allow sound
to be manipulated with the ease and exibility that digital encoding
makes possible. The early practitioners of musique concrte had to work
literally with scissors and lengths of tape, and in their work with radio,
tape, and microphone, John Cage and William Burroughs both de-
pended upon a close relationship between the body and the physical
embodiment of the technology.8 This desire for the manual handling of
sound survives into the 1980s practice of scratching, which breaks
apart and reassembles the continuities of recorded music by the physical
manipulation of discs. Other, less obviously physical means of editing
sound, for example in the practices of over-dubbing that tape-recording
technology made possible in the 1960s, always had to struggle against
the law of degradation: the fact that re-recording an already-recorded
sound source always meant some loss of quality. Eventually, given
enough generations away from the master tape, the originating voice or
signal will be smothered in the murk of surface and mechanical noise.
Because it allows the production of exact facsimiles of a sound, once
it has been encoded, digital technology abolishes degradation. Once
rendered as bits, the sound signal remains available to be remixed and
reconstituted forever. It was inevitable that the seeming elimination of
sonorous decay would suggest the possibility of repairing imperfect
sound. CD technology encouraged the practice of returning to recordings
474 new literary history
separate the voice from living beings, and therefore, as almost every
early commentator observed, to preserve it after death; but because of
the comminglings of voice and materiality that it seemed to effect. Early
commentators on the telephone and the phonograph could not help
reporting what they heard in terms of the machine itself speaking.
Having separated the voice from the materiality of the body, a long
technological struggle ensued to wrest the voice back from the material-
ity of the apparatus that had made this separation possible. The voice
had to be freed from interference; from the tinniness and metallic
tincture given to it by the nature of the reproducing and amplifying
apparatus, as well as from the crackle and whine of radio interference,
and from all the forms of background noise that the phonograph
recorded indiscriminately along with the sound of the voice, noise which
human beings are accustomed to ltering out.
The effort to clarify the voice by freeing it from noise went along with
the commodication of the voice in the gramophone industry, which, as
Jacques Attali has noted, quickly turned a phonographic technology
allowing for the circulation of voices in recording and playback into a
gramophonic technology in which only playback is possible, and in
which, rather than circulating, the voice is diffused and distributed.11
Commercial incentives (why would you pay to hear others music if you
could easily record your own?) converged here with technological
imperatives. The very ductility of the material that Edison used to record
the voice on his early cylinder phonographs meant that the quality of
the recorded voice began to decline after only a small number of
playbacks. Ensuring high delity and the possibility of unlimited
repetitions meant arresting those processes of degradation.
All of this dened a sonorous economy governed by the supreme
value of the voice at one extreme, and the pure emptiness, degradation,
or waste of noise at the other. This economy is driven by the need to
produce voice and the need to expel or excrete the waste product of
nonvocal noise. But this economy of the voice is geared around
production and consumption. A consequence of this is that the voices it
produces must be used up, in order to make way for new voices and new
products; it is necessary to the production of the voice that, despite the
apparent immortality of the voice guaranteed by high-delity sound, it
degrades through time into the waste condition of noise. The very
renewal of technologies provided one means of producing and dispos-
ing of waste products: thus 78s were replaced by vinyl long-playing
records; these were replaced in their turn by cassettes, which have given
way to CDs, which are in the process of giving way to digital audio tape.
But with the arrival of digital technology the inexorable march of time
through sonic entropy is halted and reversed; the river of time can start
476 new literary history
Traditionally in Western music noises have been taboo, and there are precise
reasons for this. It began from the time when staff notation was introduced, and
music could be notated in precise intervals for the rst time. Then it was mainly
vocal music, sung predominantly with vowels rather than consonants. If I sing a
melody of consonants now, people would say it isnt music: we have no tradition
of music composed in these sounds, and no notation for it. There you see how
narrow our concept of music is, from having excluded consonants, these
noises.12
I have always been very sensitive, perhaps overly so, to the excess of connotations
that the voice carries, whatever it is doing. From the grossest of noises to the
most delicate of singing, the voice always means something, always refers beyond
itself and creates a huge range of associations, cultural, musical, emotive,
physiological, or drawn from everyday life, etc. Classical vocal music, whose
implicit model was instrumental music, obviously transcended the bitumen of
everyday vocal behaviour. As has already been said many times, the voice of a
great classical singer is a bit like a signed instrument which, as soon as you have
nished playing, you put away in a case. It has nothing to do with the voice that
the great singer uses to communicate in everyday life.14
During the late 1960s, Steve Reich also became interested in explor-
ing the degradation of the voice. He undertook a series of experiments
with the musical possibilities of allowing two tape loops playing the same
sound to drift slowly out of phase with each other. Perhaps the most
remarkable outcome of these investigations is his 1966 piece Come Out.
The raw material of the tape was a sentence spoken by Daniel Hamm, a
victim of a police beating at a civil rights demonstration in Harlem. In
the course of explaining how he had to demonstrate his injury in order
to get medical treatment, Hamm said, I had to, like, open the bruise up
and let some of the bruise blood come out to show them. Steve Reich
took the words come out to show them, and created a series of tape
loops, which he played simultaneously. As the tapes lose synchronicity,
the words are decomposed and develop into a thickly compacted yet
highly complex and energetically mobile mass of sound. Unexpected
overtones and counter-rhythms are derived from the coming apart and
regathering of the sound of Hamms voice. Interestingly, the process
highlights in particular the slight distortions of Hamms voice that
derive from the interaction between the voice and the recording
mechanism in the piece of tape that forms Reichs source. Eventually the
articulate voice is lost altogether in a terrifying sonic swirl that we sense
is destined to go on thickening and ramifying for ever. The voice
dissolves into sound; but that sound is not mere noise, but rather the
sounding of voice in the very condition of degradation.
The piece is related to an earlier piece of 1965 which performed a
similar operation on a phrase from an evangelical sermon, Its Gonna
Rain, and a work of 1967 called Slow Motion Sound, which latter Reich
was never able to realize. The score for the piece is simply as follows:
Very gradually slow down a recorded sound to many times its original
length without changing its pitch or timbre at all.15 The point of the
exercise was to reveal the complex movements of pitch and timbre
within an utterance that do not get noticed in ordinary hearing because
they occur too fast, in something of the same way that a slowed-down
lm allows one to perceive movements that are not otherwise percep-
tible. In this case, the voice presents itself as a kind of innitely
extendable resource which will yield musical outcomes precisely to the
degree that it is decomposed and made unrecognizable as voice. Here,
as in Come Out, the voice is subjected to a form of technological assault
that destroys its qualities of continuity as voice, and reduces it to a kind
of rubble of endogenous noise, from which it nevertheless gathers a
kind of unsuspected music. Come Out is the most effective and provoca-
tive of the three pieces, because of the disturbing congruity between
what is being done to the voice and what the voice has begun by telling
480 new literary history
[I]n the saturated buzz-world of electronic media, our voices are inscribed with
all kinds of phonies other than our own. The fact is, we cannot nd our voice
just by using it; we must be willing to cut it out of our throats, put it on the
autopsy table, isolate and savor the various quirks and pathologies, then stitch it
back together and see what happens . . . . [T]he problem of voicebodies (and
the hunger to become entangled with other voicebodies) could resolve itself
into the pure pleasure of speech in ruins. . . . Wounds can bleed or they can
sing.16
University of London
NOTES
1 Aristotle, De Anima, Books II and III, tr. D. W. Hamlyn (Oxford, 1993), p. 32.
2 Frank J. Nisetich, Pindars Victory Odes (Baltimore, 1980); quoted in Charles Segal, The
Gorgon and the Nightingale: The Voice of Female Lament and Pindars Twelfth Pythian
the decomposing voice of postmodern music 483
Ode, in Embodied Voices: Representing Female Vocality in Western Culture, ed. Leslie C. Dunn
and Nancy A. Jones (Cambridge, 1994), p. 22; hereafter cited in text.
3 This quarrel between the proponents of primitive voice and modern harmonic systems
is discussed in Carl Dahlhaus, The Idea of Absolute Music, tr. Roger Lustig (Chicago, 1989),
pp. 4657.
4 Edward T. Cone, The Composers Voice (Berkeley, 1974), p. 160; hereafter cited in text as
CV.
5 Carolyn Abbate, Unsung Voices: Opera and Musical Narrative in the Nineteenth Century
(Princeton, 1991), p. xiii.
6 Luigi Russolo, The Art of Noises, tr. Barclay Brown (New York, 1986).
7 Douglas Kahn, Track Organology, in Critical Issues in Electronic Media, ed. Simon
Penny (Albany, N.Y., 1995), p. 208.
8 See Frances Dyson, The Ear That Would Hear Sounds in Themselves: John Cage
19351965 and Robin Lydenberg, Sound Identity Fading Out: William Burroughs Tape
Experiments, in Wireless Imagination: Sound, Radio, and the Avant-Garde, ed. Douglas Kahn
and Gregory Whitehead (Cambridge, Mass., 1992), pp. 373407, 40937.
9 The philosophical history of the cleaning up of the voice is discussed in David
Applebaums Voice (Albany, N.Y., 1990).
10 Frances Dyson, The Genealogy of the Radio Voice, in Radio Rethink: Art, Sound and
Transmission, ed. Daina Augaitis and Dan Lander (Banff, 1994), pp. 16799, esp. 17475.
11 Jacques Attali, Noise: The Political Economy of Music, tr. Brian Massumi (Manchester,
1985), pp. 90101.
12 Karlheinz Stockhausen, Stockhausen on Music: Lectures and Interviews, ed. Robin
Maconie (London, 1991), p. 109; hereafter cited in text as SM.
13 Robin Maconie, The Works of Karlheinz Stockhausen, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 1990), p. 59.
14 Luciano Berio, Two Interviews With Rossana Dalmonte and Blint Andrs Varga, tr. and
ed. David Ormond-Smith (New York, 1985), p. 94; hereafter cited in text as TI.
15 Steve Reich, Writings About Music (Halifax, 1974), p. 14.
16 Radio Play Is No Place: A Conversation Between Jrme Noetinger and Gregory
Whitehead, TDR: The Drama Review, 40 (1996), 100101.
17 Trevor Wishart, On Sonic Art (York, 1985), p. 135.
18 Roger Doyle, sleeve notes to the CD Babel (World Serpent, 2000). See too John L.
Walters, Rising High, The Wire, 166 (1997), 3233.
19 I have explored different aspects of the cultural phenomenology of noise in
contemporary culture in the following: Feel the Noise: Excess, Affect and the Acoustic,
in Emotion in Postmodernism, ed. Gerhard Hoffmann and Alfred Hornung (Heidelberg,
1997), pp. 14762; and Noise, a series of radio programs broadcast 2428 February 1997 on
British BBC Radio 3, a transcript of which is available on the World Wide Web at the
following URL: <http://www.bbk.ac.uk/Departments/English/Staff/skcnoise.htm>