Ramon Lazkano: Visão Geral Musical

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Contemporary Music Review
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Ramon Lazkano’s Territories
Martin Kaltenecker
To cite this article: Martin Kaltenecker (2019) Ramon Lazkano’s Territories, Contemporary Music
Review, 38:1-2, 132-147, DOI: 10.1080/07494467.2019.1578124
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Ramon Lazkano’s Territories
Martin Kaltenecker
This paper aims at giving an overview of Ramon Lazkano’s musical universe, focussing on
four of his recent works: Ortzi Isilak (2005), two pieces from the cycle Chalk Laboratory
(2001–11), and the string quartet Lurralde (2013). In common with most
contemporary art music in Europe since the 1990s, important aspects of Lazkano’s work
are, among others, a desire to create continuity; a desire to merge and meld musical
elements; an interest in space considered as a place, or a territory; and the importance
of listening considered as the completion of a work. For instance, Lazkano’s music seeks
a new type of equilibrium and continuity including a ‘smoothing out’ of Helmut
Lachenmann’s musique concrète instrumentale, and it pertains to what one might call a
‘molecular ear’ ever more sensitive to the smallest differences within every parameter of
sound.
Keywords: Continuity; Melodic Writing; Impressionism; Helmut Lachenmann (1935–);
Ramon Lazkano (1968); Sound since the 1990s
Being Basque
Ramon Lazkano (b. San Sebastián, 1968) studied with the composer Francisco Escu-
dero (1912–2002) whose own formative years, in the Paris of the 1930s, had included
lessons with Paul Le Flem, Paul Dukas, and Maurice Ravel, from whom he assumed an
‘anti-German’, and/or ‘anti-Beethovenian’ stance not untypical of the first decades of
the twentieth century (Esparza 2009, 89). Lazkano moved to Paris in 1987, where he
still lives, to study with Alain Bancquart and Gérard Grisey at the Conservatoire. After
winning his Prix de Composition in 1990, he had postgraduate studies with Gilles
Tremblay in Montréal, and became thereafter a resident at the Real Academia de
España in Rome (1995–1996) and the Villa Medici (2001–2002). A significant
number of prizes encouraged the young composer: in 1995, his piano concerto Hit-
zaurre Bi (1993) earned him the Prix Prince Pierre de Monaco; in 1997, a jury
chaired by Luciano Berio gave the Leonard Bernstein Composition Prize to his
Auhen Kantuak (1997) for choir and orchestra, and he was awarded the Prix Bizet
by the French Academy of Fine Arts in 2007. Since 2002 Lazkano has taught
Contemporary Music Review, 2019
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orchestration at the Higher Academy of Music of the Basque CountryMusikene in San
Sebastián.
At first sight, his trajectory seems partly to repeat a Spanish-French connection
arising around 1900, leaving behind the image (or rather, the cliché) of Spanish
Music as some kind of hinterland of French Impressionism. Ravel has been a central
figure in Lazkano’s intellectual development, and he is currently composing an
opera based on Jean Echenoz’ novel Ravel (2006); Marcel Proust is equally central
(Esparza 2009, 95). Lazkano’s titles call to mind the universe of Romantic poetry—
landscapes, nights, obscurity, solstices, skies, fragile materials—and when he chooses
a text from a contemporary poet such as Edmond Jabès, as in the recent Main
Surplombe (2013) and Ceux à qui (2014), he selects those fragments that evoke the
lyrical subject of 19th-century poetry, especially French Symbolism. Nevertheless,
Lazkano’s orientation toward France, once typical of Spanish artists and intellectuals,
is complicated, firstly, by a strong insistence on his Basque origins, linked to the pol-
itical oppression of the Basque country during Franco’s regime, which was not without
bearing on the history of his own family. Moreover, almost all the titles of his works are
in Basque; his Ravel is the ‘Basque’ one; and his cycle Igeltsoen Laborategia (Chalk
Laboratory) pays tribute to modernist Basque sculptor Jorge Oteiza (1908–2003).
Yet, this intense presence of the Basque language, or culture, does not extend to any
folkloristic quotations on a musical level.
Secondly, the influence of French music and culture has been deflected, or enriched,
by the influence of Helmut Lachenmann, who only gained international recognition
during Lazkano’s formative years. As he states:
I met him at a masterclass at the Conservatoire de Paris. Right from the beginning, I
felt a strong affinity to his music, though it has influenced me in a more subliminal
way. For fourteen years, I went my own way and was only slowly impregnated with
it. Anyway, you cannot use shortcuts; if you want to force things, you will stumble;
you have to follow your own trajectory. So, his thinking was there just beneath the
surface and progressively emerged in my work. (Lazkano 2016a, my translation)
If, as we shall see, nothing of the ‘negative’ energy of Lachenmann’s style, correspond-
ing to a specific political background of the early 1970s, remains in Lazkano’s it is
nevertheless the case that one of his (very rare) theoretical texts is dedicated to the
German composer (Lazkano 2004). One way to appropriate Lachenmann’s technical
inventions, it seems, is to consider him through Ravelian lenses:
Ravel says somewhere that orchestrating isn’t only to give a musical figure to a clar-
inet and a viola. As soon as you combine a clarinet sound with a pizzicato on the
viola, you have created a new object. Even within this still conventional frame,
this is already Lachenmann’s idea that we create new instruments […] by modifying
all that the musicians are used to when they play together, in order to produce a
[shock], or something unheard. We have to invent devices, though with the tra-
ditional ‘utensils’, as he says, and that is still the Ravelian idea of magic tricks,
which I am much attracted to. (Lazkano 2016a, translation mine)
Contemporary Music Review 133
Lazkano refrains from the use of any electronic (or electronically mediated) sounds, as
well as from any allusion to popular culture or political topics.1 His music comes after
the modernist deconstruction of tonal models, after the ‘openness’ of the 1960s (Toop
2004, 453), and after the postmodern ‘depthlessness’ that replaces deep structures by
an intertextual playing with multiple surfaces (Jameson 1993, 12) As I shall try to show,
it is typical of a new configuration of contemporary art music that crystallised in
Europe at the end of the 1980s, one centred around the notion of sound: what is essen-
tial, now, is the interaction between form and sound, composers extracting the former
from the latter.
Silent Skies
Ortzi Isilak (2005) was commissioned by the Spanish National Orchestra to be per-
formed in a programme also comprising works by Jean-Philippe Rameau and
Richard Strauss related to Zoroaster. As Lazkano highlights:I decided to take two quotations from Nietzsche, reflecting upon, and expressing,
the sonic environment from which the musical idea slowly emerges. The two quota-
tions of ‘OMensch’ (‘Was spricht die tiefe Mitternacht’) appear in the musical render-
ing of this poem by Mahler (Third Symphony) and Lachenmann (Zwei Gefühle), and
emerge in the fourth section of Ortzi Isilak’. (preface to the score)
The work is written for ‘principal clarinet and orchestra’, their relation recalling ‘a
play with their mutual shadows’. (programme notes for the first rehearsal of Ortzi
Isilak, my translation)
Moreover, the two clarinets of the orchestra constantly dialogue with the soloist, whose
task may be described as an ‘attempt to sing’, eventually achieving this in the fourth
section. These sections, or moments, are chained one to another by overlapping ges-
tures: at the end of every section, the typical gesture of the following is anticipated.
The first section could be entitled ‘The Impeded Song’. It begins with a Klangfarben-
melodie on G-sharp. The soloist plays microtonal variations of this pitch via tremoli,
the breath being more audible than the exact pitch. This part is echoed by pizzicati,
by horns and trumpets playing with ‘whisper’ mutes, soft sounds in the percussion,
muted strings in the piano, short glissandi and fragments of scales in the strings,
mostly flautato, etc. The G-sharp remains like a horizon throughout the whole
section, though the soloist tries to escape from it with brief figures and arpeggios in
demisemiquavers. A climax is reached (bb. 72–82) when the entire orchestra plays
‘around’ the G-sharp (descending chromatic scales in the woodwinds, clusters in
the strings, etc.), though the dynamics (pppp) contradict at the same time this
maximum of textural density.
Section II could be described as a ‘SongExiled on it’s Summits’. In stark contrast to the
nervous and vibrating quality of the opening section, the clarinet plays long figures, as
though breathing deeply; and though trying to sing, it does so in the highest register
where the exact pitches are less recognisable. The predominant interval is the ascending
134 M. Kaltenecker
third, and other ascending figures abound, in contrast to the melodic line of section I,
which was characterised by falling gestures. Ornamental figures appear, embracing
the entire register (Figure 1), ampler and suppler than the brief ‘escaping’ figures in
section I. The orchestra (strings and percussions first, followed by the woodwinds,
b. 114 ff., and by the brass, b. 127 ff.) adds glissandi and scales—two different ways to
‘scan’ a linear and continuous movement—as well as regular double sforzati in the
piano and percussion. While the climax of section I was situated in the third quarter
of the movement, this section shows a more steady progression. At the very end, the
main motif of section III, a tremolo on a minor third, is anticipated in the solo clarinet.
This third section might be entitled ‘Murmured Song’. The tremolo on the minor
third, an interval that plays an important motivic role in the fourth movement of
Mahler’s Symphony No. 3 (1895–1896)—to be quoted in the following section of
Ortzi Isilak—as well as in the melodic lines of section II, is now relegated to the
lowest register of the instrument, with breathing sounds that evoke a person muttering,
or speaking to herself. The agitated parlando is whipped by brief trills or grace notes,
going from triple sforzati to triple piano in the first half of the section, and the other
way around in the second half (b. 173 ff.). The melodic line, always echoed (or
blurred) by pitches situated at the distance of a second, major or minor, in the orches-
tra, finally focuses on D (b. 180 ff.)—the exact opposite, tonally speaking, of the initial
G-sharp of Ortzi Isilak. The hoarse sound of the clarinet, due to the use of multipho-
nics (b. 185 ff.) functions as an equivalent to the climaxes in sections I and II, always
placed in the second art of the section.
Section IV finally offers the listener a ‘Song realised’. The clarinet, Lazkano writes,
‘only becomes “cantabile” with the resurgence of Mahler, at 10 min (the whole piece
Figure 1 Ortzi Isilak (bb. 137–39, Soloist and Strings). © Éditions Le Chant du Monde.
Used with permission.
Contemporary Music Review 135
[lasting] 15 min)’ (programme note for the première). Here the clarinet mostly plays
right in the centre of its register and uses traditional sounds. It quotes, at the beginning,
Mahler’s melodic line on ‘die Welt ist tief’ [‘the universe is profound’], i.e. a simple
oscillation between F-sharp and F-natural, accompanied by the fifth D–A in cellos
and basses, also quoted. Progressively, the fifth (bb. 195–198), and thereafter the
melodic line of the clarinet until the end, is altered by quarter-tones. In b. 203 ff.,
the composer pays a tribute to Lachenmann’s quotation of Nietzsche’s text in ‘ …
Zwei Gefühle… ’ (1991–92) for two speakers and ensemble. Lachenmann omits the
pathetic ‘O’ and gives the truncated exhortation, ‘Mensch gib a[cht], was… ’ [‘Man,
listen to what… ’] to the first percussionist (bb. 133–138), followed by ‘… spricht
die tiefe Nacht’ [‘ … speaks the profound night!’] entrusted successively to the guitarist
and the pianist (bb. 142–152). While Lachenmann does not quote Mahler’s music,
Lazkano’s quotes Lachenmann along with Mahler. The verse (‘Mensch gib acht, was
spricht die tie–… ’, eventually omitting the final ‘Nacht’) is pronounced by the
second bassoonist (who plays on the lowest of the woodwinds), and extracts from
Lachenmann’s score (bb. 134–35, 140, 146) are transcribed (in bb. 203, 207 and
213). The characteristic articulation chosen by the German composer (who separates
the phonemes, thus making the immediate understanding of the words more difficult)
is also taken over by Lazkano, who, at the end of the passage, gives us the impression of
the solo clarinet completing the sentence (‘ … –fe Nacht’) with a descending two-note
figure (bb. 214–15, see Figure 2).
The final section might be called a ‘Dance’. It is written in 6/8 time and based on a
‘Sicilian rhythm’, combined with a variant (quaver/dotted quaver/semiquaver) and an
accelerated augmentation (quaver/dotted quaver/semiquaver/quaver, within the
context of 4:3). The clarinet plays the pitches, mostly descending scales, with the left
hand, while the right hand simultaneously plays a trill on different keys. It seems to
invent the rhythmic patterns that are taken over by the orchestra, the piano hammer-
ing away (bb. 238–42) the ‘Sicilian rhythm’ in the highest register in minor seconds.
This dance, nevertheless, is not a wild one, but performed with the feet together, as it
were; from b. 250 onward, however, the clarinet part grows more and more agitated –
the breathing sounds recur, along with the grace notes on a sfff from section II and the
arpeggios from section I, combined with whimpering figures (bb. 285 ff., 301–03), as
though the preceding sections were remembered in a confused dream. Progressively,
the G-sharp is accentuated by sforzati (bb. 271, 275, 276, 280, 283) or tongue slaps
(b. 304 ff.), and the piece ends on G-sharps in the clarinet and the piano (blurred
by an A-sharp in the basses). However, the listener is left with the impression of a
sudden interruption, of a curtain falling, rather than a sense of achievement or com-
pletion. Thus, every section has a different shape.
The Configuration of the Nineties
Ortzi Isilak may be considered as typical of a general configuration that crystallised in
the last quarter of the twentieth century. As I have tried to show elsewhere (Kaltenecker
136 M. Kaltenecker
2016), contemporary art music may be described from then on as the combination of
some essential features that are at the same time ‘topics’ of a new dominant discourse.
Centred on the notion of Sound, they have created, or promoted, new playing tech-
niques, compositional styles, and specific listening spaces or attitudes.The most
important of these motives are (1) a desire to create continuity; (2) a desire to
merge and meld musical elements (we may think of spectralism, of the use of live elec-
tronics as a mirror of instrumental sound, of the second phase of minimalism); (3) an
alliance with images; (4) an interest for space considered as a place, i.e. pervaded by
echoes of narratives (Kaltenecker 2014); (5) a trend toward enhancing the gesture
Figure 2 Ortzi Isilak (bb. 213–16, Bassoons, Brass, Percussion, Piano, and Soloist). © Édi-
tions Le Chant du Monde. Used with permission.
Contemporary Music Review 137
and the body of the performer; (6) a technophilia (itself resulting from the growing
importance of digital technology); and (7) the importance of listening considered as
the completion of a work. One might say, in an allegorical way, that the modernist
‘persona’ of music, ever in conflict with the world, has been substituted by a
‘persona’ walking through a soundscape, on the lookout for sounds, echoes, and
traces, and reacting to them. Not all of these aspects, or topics, are always present
or actualised, and the whole configuration may be articulated differently, depending
on the composer’s style, or specific project. In Lazkano’s music, for instance, the
link between gesture and sound is less essential than in Lachenmann’smusique concrète
instrumentale, and the images he relies on are internal and not real, added by such
devices as the projection of photographs, films, or videos.
Continuity (or, more generally speaking, the issue of how to overcome ruptures)
seems to be an important topic for Lazkano (Esparza 2009, 95). Musically speaking,
this feature is common to musique spectrale, late minimalism, and a great amount of
postmodern or ‘quotational’ music since the 1980s. In Lazkano’s music, a more
relaxed attitude towards the use of tonal objects, no longer taboo, appears with allu-
sions to ‘something like a tonal trajectory’ or an admitted predilection for the interval
of the third (Lazkano 2016a). There is also a striking difference between the use of quo-
tations in Lachenmann and the way Lazkano uses them. In Accanto (1975–76) a
recording of Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto is played silently throughout, but time and
again reaches the foreground, at certain strongly dramatised moments, as when the
soloist shouts into his instrument ‘And now the quotation!’ (b. 193). In Ortzi Isilak,
by contrast, the quotations of Mahler and Lachenmann, subtly interwoven, emerge
like sunken objects slowly coming to the surface, or like a new landscape faded over
the preceding one.
In the same way, continuity determines the linear aspects of Lazkano’s music, as it
has generally characterised most melodic writing since the 1980s. The use of scales
(chromatic or alternating semitones and tones and/or thirds, which, melodically
speaking, are still conjunct steps) (Toch 1923, 14),2 or of glissandi (which are now,
contrary to the glissando as a ‘modernist’ gesture, e.g. in Iannis Xenakis’ music, a
new equivalent of melodic phrases) (Kaltenecker 2014, 10), or the ‘re-vocalisation’
of linear writing (a distinctive feature of the music of Jonathan Harvey, Gérard
Grisey, or Fausto Romitelli)—all of these techniques appear in every page of Ortzi
Isilak.
Typical of Lazkano is a very elegant manner of merging classical orchestration3 with
sounds and noises produced by new playing techniques, or by objects (sandpaper,
springs of a car, pebbles, etc.). These sounds are not meant to establish new categories
or ‘families’ (Lachenmann 1996); rather, they are considered by Lazkano as extensions
of the orchestral writing that prevailed at the beginning of the twentieth century. He
describes the overall sound of Ortzi Isilak as follows:
The score has been conceived in such a manner that it constantly maintains itself at
the threshold of silence, though with some remnants at the horizon. […] On the
138 M. Kaltenecker
whole, the sound appears as eroded and disrupted, not to say perverted, as to the
ideal of ‘beautiful sound’. The orchestral texture tends to be raw and sculpted
into grey and colourless volumes, and the trajectories, always with soft transitions,
are slow. There are no intermediate dynamics; extremes necessarily belong to sup-
posedly vehement and uncompromising aesthetics. […] Ortzi Isilak, from the
Basque, means ‘Silent Skies’. (preface to the score)
The presence of spatial metaphors—‘horizons’, ‘trajectories’, ‘skies’—and, conversely,
the absence of any bodily gestures coming to the foreground, or any use of electronic
techniques (though both aspects emerge, as we will see, on another level)—links his
music, and especially Ortzi Isilak, to Impressionism. I should point out that this
notion does not exclusively designate a historical style but rather indicates an aesthetic
pole, illustrated by such 20th-century works as György Ligeti’s Lontano (1967), Henri
Dutilleux’s Timbres, espace, mouvement (1976–78), Pierre Boulez’s Mémoriale (1985/
93), and quite a number of Salvatore Sciarrino’s works. Moreover,Ortzi Isilak is indica-
tive of a ‘spatial’ turn in recent music, and brings to mind a host of orchestral works
that conceive musical form as a journey through a soundscape; as a succession of
‘stations’, or listening situations.4
Thus, the ideal model of a musical form is no longer the ‘sublime’ or deconstructed
or complex narration—itself linked to the ‘master narrative’ of Western music, such as
described by Richard Taruskin (2010)—but now the exploration of materials or
sounds. For Lazkano, the compositional process consists of being attentive to what
may happen during this journey:
The work, as it comes into being, forces itself on us; the ‘text’ obliges us to write
certain things, a thread appears that we have to pull. But it is not exactly I who
pulls it, the musical fabric obliges me to do so. […] The form is discovered. It is
like a labyrinth of permanent choices. […] I often say that a kind of horizon must
appear. There is always this moment during the making of a work that makes us
believe that there is an end where, in fact, everything continues. (Lazkano 2016a)
Thus, the final composition still bears the trace of the compositional manufacturing,
with all its hesitations, indecisions, and a multiplicity of possible orientations. As in
most contemporary art, the ancient model of hylomorphism—an active agent giving
form to passive matter—is substituted by the ideal of the creator as a kind of obstetri-
cian who does not exert active pressure in order to bend matter to abstract or ideal
forms, but instead brings forth its inner energies.
Sculpting Sound
The metaphor of ‘sculpting sound’, which we also encounter in the discourse of such
composers as Tristan Murail (2004, 82) or Wolfgang Rihm (1997, 94), is used by
Lazkano à propos his cycle Chalk Laboratory, inspired by a huge collection of small
sculptures by Oteiza, mainly created from chalk, but also of other fragile materials
such as wire, wood, paperboard, or cork. To quote the composer:
Contemporary Music Review 139
I do not relate to music in a narrative way. Sculpture rather comes to my mind. Not
from the point of view of shape, but from that of matter. I am not only interested in
what matter already suggests, but also in the kind of gestures connected to sculpture.
There is a conventional way of considering sculpture. For example, chiselling and
emptying out so as to impose a way of being onto matter and, therefore, finding
the appropriate surface for the idea we want to create. There also are other ways
of conceiving sculpture: the idea can be shaped through the very absence of
matter, as Gargallo5 did. A sound too, like a marble block, can be carved, scratched,
scraped, hammered, burst out, until a suitable surface (a chord) is found. A form can
also be like a portion of time into which we pour some melted matter, a continuous
or amorphous sound. Or still, we might see a music through emptiness, absence,
and silence, a screened musiconly perceptible through its marks. (Esparza 2009, 97)
In Egan 3 (Impromptu) (2007), the gestural quality of the compositional process
itself becomes audible, as if the listener were confronted with the composer’s hand-
kneaded sound. The piece is written for bass clarinet, accordion, percussion (including
a guitar, an anvil, sandpaper, a spring, etc.), piano, violin, viola, cello, and double bass.
The composer describes it as ‘the ever impromptu succession of sonic situations seeking
to intertwine, the fleeting vision of forms that some ideal might shape, an ephemeral
moment prolonged in time, a sound surface consisting of aerial volumes’ (Lazkano
2016b). Here again, the music speaks under its breath, the predominant dynamic
mark being ppp, though time and again, sforzati or sudden ejaculations emerge that
are like scratches on a crumbly texture. The clarinet produces breathing sounds; the
strings display a large spectrum of concrète sounds (e.g. playing simultaneously with
the horsehair and col legno); the sounds of the percussion are subtle, soft, and reedy.
The overall form consists of a series of ‘situations’ in the lower register, subsequently
moving to the highest register in the last quarter of the piece (bb. 119–69) and des-
cending again during a brief coda (bb. 170–86). There is no full stop, no complete
silence. The general impression is one of extreme versatility and unforeseeable
events, sometimes recalling the entrances of a ballet, especially as far as the percussion
instruments are concerned (entrance of the woodblock, bb. 11–18; tambourine,
bb. 92–102; sandpaper, bb. 114–20). Though the rhythmic texture is interwoven,
sometimes recalling a hocket (see Figure 3), there are never more than three rhythmic
layers alternating with regular passages in common time (bb. 21–28; bb. 35–42).
As inOrtzi Isilak, chromatic scales, including some major seconds and thirds, are the
basic material. The chords comprise percussive clusters, reminiscent of the blow of a
small hammer (piano, bb. 97–99, here in sync with the accents of the tambourine;
accordion, b. 114), as well as chords comprising wider intervals, not infrequently in
a ‘tonal’ or ‘spectral’ disposition with the widest intervals in the lowest register.
Minor or major seconds often blur the ‘tonal’ impression of one or more fifths (bb.
51–69, the attacks being clouded by dissonant pitches; bb. 92–100; accordion, bb.
117), occasionally superimposing two perfect chords (e.g. bb. 8, 9, 12, 15, etc.). Some-
times, one pitch (G-sharp, bb. 42–51) or one interval (descending third E–C-sharp, bb.
88–95; ascending third G–B-flat, bb. 104–09, emerging from a microtonal version,
140 M. Kaltenecker
b. 104) is focussed on, serving as a landmark for the listener and, in the case of the
minor third, as a kind of compressed melody, again turning on the spot.
Such landmarks are even more frequent in Errobi 2 (2009) for bass flute, bass clar-
inet, and piano. A central D is combined and extended with a C, C-sharp, E, and E-flat
(bb. 1–68). Other landmarks are the oscillation E/D-sharp (bb. 69–74, in the piano), a
central G-sharp (bb. 83–125), a return (in the piano) of the trill C-sharp/D, eventually
moving to G/F-sharp (bb. 164–70) and D/F (again blurred, as in bb. 220, by C-sharp/E
in the piano). Thus, the piece may be described as being written in a kind of ‘thickened
D minor’. It is more agitated and nervous than Egan 3, recalling a volcano on the verge
of erupting, an unstable or boiling matter. The ‘amorphous sound’ characteristic of the
‘chalk pieces’ is linked to a ‘mobile surface with unpredictable trajectories’ (Lazkano
2016b), from which scales, erratic arpeggios, and brief melodic gestures (bass clarinet,
bb. 153–58) emerge like flames or bubbles.
Granular Synthesis
In the same way as Lazkano refrains from using any technical images or sounds, stand-
ing back from the predominant media of our contemporary world, the musician’s
Figure 3 Egan 3 (bb. 10–12) © Éditions Le Chant du Monde. Used with permission.
Contemporary Music Review 141
gestures are not emphasised in his work. Nevertheless, just as his music constantly
evokes visual impressions, giving it a particular hermeneutic quality, the indirect pres-
ence of gestures—as shown by the ‘sculptural’ approach within the ‘chalk pieces’—is as
important in his music as what one might call a zoom on sounds and noises. Twomajor
contexts for the exploration of sounds and noises are, on the one hand, a technical
evolution—i.e. computer analysis of sounds—and, on the other hand, the musique
concrète instrumentale which aimed precisely at deducing new categories from new ges-
tures. Both evolutions, coming of age in the late 1970s, have brought forth a ‘granular
ear’ or ‘molecular ear’, as it were, typical of the universe of contemporary music since
the 1990s, ever more sensitive to the smallest differences within every parameter of
sound.
This approach is especially evident in Lazkano’s second string quartet Lurralde
(‘Territory’, in Basque) (2012). As the composer explains:
From the start, I had imagined a flat cartography, a motionless time, and fluid, stag-
nant trajectories, combined with an eroded, fragile, and unstable sound, as well as
sporadic encounters with harmonic and rhythmic situations involuntarily evoking
old references […]. The work progresses slowly and almost stammeringly. The ergo-
nomics of the instruments are explored by means of elliptic harmonic writing using
micro-intervals. (preface to the score)
Such ‘harmonic stations’ include a chord, centred around a major sixth and a minor
third, altered by micro-intervals (b. 1 E–/C#/G#). Returns to this unstable harmonic
object (after section 1, see the description hereafter) occur at bb. 222, 318 (launching
section 8), 337 (beginning of section 10), 343, and 365 (beginning of the last part of the
coda) Figure 4.
The different ‘situations’ of Lurralde are summarised in Table 1. This very broad
outline, compared to the subtlety and detailed richness of Lurralde, may give the
impression of a controlled ‘form’ immediately apparent to the listener. In fact, the
Figure 4 Lurralde (bb. 145–46). © Éditions Le Chant du Monde. Used with permission.
142 M. Kaltenecker
Table 1 The expressions in inverted commas (right column) are those employed by the composer during a conversation with the author on Lurralde, held in
Paris, December 2016. The titles given to the different sections are mine, and therefore in brackets.
Section Bars Tempo indications Description
1. [Harmony 1] 1–89 Crotchet = 52 4/4 A. The chord and its first derivatives: the ‘stable state’ [‘état défini’] consequently is
deformed by micro-intervals. Note that in Lazkano’s music, contrary to that of
such composers as Georg Friedrich Haas or Enno Poppe, micro-intervals do not
establish a new system but are rather used as complementary to the chromatic
reservoir (Besada 2017). The chord slides twice toward the bottom, a C-sharp in
the cello (bb. 4 and 14). It is ‘filtered out’ and ‘disappears’ in the lower register (b.
16).
B. A long and suspended section, with a Sciarrino-like colour, recalling the chirping
of birds, is characterised by playing flautando sul ponticello. Ascending figures and
predominant chromatic lines (bb. 27–37). B. 40, a first occurrence of the ‘quasi-
tambura’ pizzicato (with the right hand on all four strings) stirs up the music,
henceforth animated by brief glissandi.
C. B. 56 ff.: first occurrence of the motive of the fifth (violin 2 and viola, A/D),
described by the composer as a ‘recognisable motive’, recalling musicians tuning
up before starting to play a piece. B. 71 first pizzicato, forte (viola, cello). Last fifths
(A/D), bb. 73–74.
D. B. 75–89: quarter-tones dim the ‘tonal’ structure implied by the perfect fifths; ‘the
lower register is reconquered’. The playing goes from ‘with the fingers’ to ‘arco’ (b.
86 ff.). Section 1 is the longest one, akin to what the composer calls a ‘process’.
2. [Rhythm 1] 90–144 A. Focus on“Gernikaren itzalpean: propaganda, appropriation, and depo-
liticisation of Basque art music.” Cirtcuit. Musiques contemporaines 28 (3): 25–38.
Blumröder, Ch. v. 1996. “Thematische Arbeit, motivische Arbeit.” In Terminologie der Musik im 20.
Jahrhundert, edited by H. H. Eggebrecht, 303–318. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner.
Boulez, P. 1963. Penser la musique aujourd’hui. Paris: Gonthier.
Boulez, P. 1975. Par volonté et par hasard. Paris: Seuil.
Esparza, L. 2009. “Lazkano and the Music of the Inseparable [Interview].” In Ramon Lazkano, La
ligne de craie, 85–98. Champigny: À la ligne, collection 2e2 m.
Guattari, F., and G. Deleuze. 1980. Mille Plateaux. Paris: Éditions de Minuit.
Jameson, F. 1993. Postmodernism. Or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism. London/NewYork:
Verso.
Kaltenecker, M. 2014. “Fausto Romitelli en son temps.” Circuit: Musiques Contemporaines 24: 9–20.
Kaltenecker, M. 2015. “À propos de l’écriture mélodique dans En Trance de Fausto Romitelli.” In
Anamorphoses. Etudes sur l’œuvre de Fausto Romitelli, edited by A. Arbo, 127–150. Paris:
Hermann.
Kaltenecker, M. 2016. “The Discourse of Sound.” Tempo 70: 5–15.
Lachenmann, H. 1996. “Zum Problem des Strukturalismus.” In Musik als existentielle Erfahrung,
Schriften 1966–1995, edited by H. Lachenmann, 83–96. Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel.
Lazkano, R. 2004. “’Two Feelings’ with Lachenmann.” Contemporary Music Review 23: 39–41.
Lazkano, R. 2016a. Laboratoire de formes. Entretien. Accents, webmag de l’Ensemble
Intercontemporain. http://www.ensembleinter.com/accents-online/?p=9408
Lazkano, R. 2016b. “Programme Notes for a Concert with Egan 3 and Errobi 2, Paris, Festival
d’Automne.” November 15 (2016).
Murail, T. 2004. Modèles et Artifices. Edited by Pierre Michel. Strasbourg: Presses universitaires de
Strasbourg.
Rihm, W. 1997. ausgesprochen. Schriften und Gespräche (vol. 1, Ulrich Mosch, Ed.). Zürich: Amadeus.
Stockhausen, K. 1963. “Gruppenkomposition: Klavierstück I.” In Texte zur elektronischen und instru-
mentalen Musik (vol. 1), edited by K. Stockhausen, 63–74. Cologne: Dumont Schauberg.
Taruskin, R. 2010. Music in the Late Twentieth Century. New York: Oxford University Press.
Toch, E. 1923. Melodielehre. Berlin: Max Hesse.
Toop, R. 2004. “Expanding Horizons: The International Avant-Garde, 1962–75.” In The Cambridge
History of Twentieh-Century Music, edited by N. Cook, and A. Poole, 453–477. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Contemporary Music Review 147
http://www.ensembleinter.com/accents-online/?=9408
	Abstract
	Being Basque
	Silent Skies
	The Configuration of the Nineties
	Sculpting Sound
	Granular Synthesis
	Disclosure Statement
	Notes on Contributor
	Notes
	References“Gernikaren itzalpean: propaganda, appropriation, and depo-
liticisation of Basque art music.” Cirtcuit. Musiques contemporaines 28 (3): 25–38.
Blumröder, Ch. v. 1996. “Thematische Arbeit, motivische Arbeit.” In Terminologie der Musik im 20.
Jahrhundert, edited by H. H. Eggebrecht, 303–318. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner.
Boulez, P. 1963. Penser la musique aujourd’hui. Paris: Gonthier.
Boulez, P. 1975. Par volonté et par hasard. Paris: Seuil.
Esparza, L. 2009. “Lazkano and the Music of the Inseparable [Interview].” In Ramon Lazkano, La
ligne de craie, 85–98. Champigny: À la ligne, collection 2e2 m.
Guattari, F., and G. Deleuze. 1980. Mille Plateaux. Paris: Éditions de Minuit.
Jameson, F. 1993. Postmodernism. Or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism. London/NewYork:
Verso.
Kaltenecker, M. 2014. “Fausto Romitelli en son temps.” Circuit: Musiques Contemporaines 24: 9–20.
Kaltenecker, M. 2015. “À propos de l’écriture mélodique dans En Trance de Fausto Romitelli.” In
Anamorphoses. Etudes sur l’œuvre de Fausto Romitelli, edited by A. Arbo, 127–150. Paris:
Hermann.
Kaltenecker, M. 2016. “The Discourse of Sound.” Tempo 70: 5–15.
Lachenmann, H. 1996. “Zum Problem des Strukturalismus.” In Musik als existentielle Erfahrung,
Schriften 1966–1995, edited by H. Lachenmann, 83–96. Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel.
Lazkano, R. 2004. “’Two Feelings’ with Lachenmann.” Contemporary Music Review 23: 39–41.
Lazkano, R. 2016a. Laboratoire de formes. Entretien. Accents, webmag de l’Ensemble
Intercontemporain. http://www.ensembleinter.com/accents-online/?p=9408
Lazkano, R. 2016b. “Programme Notes for a Concert with Egan 3 and Errobi 2, Paris, Festival
d’Automne.” November 15 (2016).
Murail, T. 2004. Modèles et Artifices. Edited by Pierre Michel. Strasbourg: Presses universitaires de
Strasbourg.
Rihm, W. 1997. ausgesprochen. Schriften und Gespräche (vol. 1, Ulrich Mosch, Ed.). Zürich: Amadeus.
Stockhausen, K. 1963. “Gruppenkomposition: Klavierstück I.” In Texte zur elektronischen und instru-
mentalen Musik (vol. 1), edited by K. Stockhausen, 63–74. Cologne: Dumont Schauberg.
Taruskin, R. 2010. Music in the Late Twentieth Century. New York: Oxford University Press.
Toch, E. 1923. Melodielehre. Berlin: Max Hesse.
Toop, R. 2004. “Expanding Horizons: The International Avant-Garde, 1962–75.” In The Cambridge
History of Twentieh-Century Music, edited by N. Cook, and A. Poole, 453–477. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Contemporary Music Review 147
http://www.ensembleinter.com/accents-online/?=9408
	Abstract
	Being Basque
	Silent Skies
	The Configuration of the Nineties
	Sculpting Sound
	Granular Synthesis
	Disclosure Statement
	Notes on Contributor
	Notes
	References