Bernhard Living :: Technological Lessness

The Musical Journey & Biography ::

Benci/Igloo :: To start off, I wanted to ask a bit about your journey: how does one go from being a saxophonist in a rock band to creating minimalistic experimental electronic pieces? Has it been a natural artistic shift that happened? Has there been an event in your life that has pushed you towards this change? Have you met other artists that may have influenced how you think about music? Is it a combination of all of the above? How did that happen?

Bernhard Living :: The question ‘how does one go from being a saxophonist in a rock band to creating minimalistic experimental electronic pieces?’ — is actually the wrong way round. I went from being interested in, and involved with, avant-garde jazz and experimental music to temporarily playing saxophone in rock bands such as Manfred Mann Chapter Three. However, the process was not a linear one as my musical life was complex with lots of very different parallel activities and doing jobs with different types of bands and musical genres.

From early on in my life—see First Steps below—I have had a deep and committed passion for music, and so I left school at the age of fifteen with the intention of becoming a professional musician. Even at that young age I had no illusions about how difficult it would be and of the enormous challenges. But I had resolved. In order to earn money I did part-time non-music day jobs. And in the evenings I practiced to improve my musicianship and skills.

I achieved my goal at eighteen and played in different types of bands from jazz, blues, and rock—but made most of my income as a studio session musician: playing music for films, TV, documentaries, and adverts etc. I engaged in all of this parallel income-generating activity solely to support my interests in experimental music and avant-garde jazz—doing commercial work to support my work as an artist.

First Steps ::

I was taught to read music and basic keyboard skills at the age of four by my mother. And at the age of five I learnt to play the recorder (blockflöte) at infants school (which is the equivalent to kindergarten and first grade in America). Some of my earliest, and perhaps happiest experiences of music making, is of playing the recorder with my mother accompanying me on the piano. I owe my mother everything for the musical gift she gave to me.

I come from a traditional British working-class family. Money was tight, and so there was no question of me having private music lessons. I quickly realized that if I wanted to learn something then I had to teach myself. And so got used to spending time in the public library where I lived in Greenwich, borrowing books about music, and borrowing records. I began by listening to classical music including Bach, Beethoven, Schubert, and Brahms. When I started working as a teenager, I bought pocket scores of ground-breaking compositions such as Igor Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring, Arnold Schoenberg’s Pierrot Lunaire, and Anton Webern’s Six Pieces for Large Orchestra” Reading the scores for these compositions gave me important insight into orchestration and musical form.

Turning Points and Critical Moments ::

There has alway been a continual development and evolution within my life as a composer and musician and this continues up to today, and, hopefully, this will continue into the future. However, between the ages of ten and sixteen there were a number of important events and turning points that brought about significant changes to my musical life. These events did not send me into different divergent paths but, instead, inspired and helped me to focus myself in a sustained direction.

Turning Point 1 (1958) ::

I was alway curious and inquisitive about music and there was an important turning point at the age of ten when I borrowed a record of contemporary classical music from my local lending library in Greenwich. The album included Anton Webern’s composition “Symphony” Op. 21 (1928) which is a masterpiece of twelve-tone composition. I was completely transformed by the pointillistic tones of the music and of Webern’s concept of Klangfarbenmelodie (sound-colour melody). Delving further in the library’s collection of contemporary music I discovered the music of Arnold Schoenberg who was the inventor of the twelve-tone compositional technique and musical serialism, as well as Igor Stravinsky and his highly-charged rhythmical compositions such as “The Rite of Spring’” (1913).

After the discovery of the music of Schoenberg and Webern, I wanted to know more about twelve-tone composition and so I read Rene Leibowitz’s Schoenberg and His School (pub. 1948). Inspired by this book, and at the age of ten, I started composing my own twelve-tone experimental music compositions. They were either simple pieces for the piano which were easy for me to perform, or single line twelve-tone pieces that I played on the recorder, and later, on the tenor saxophone.

The idea of twelve-tone composition still interests me today, and perhaps more so than before, as the technique works well within my current compositional practice. Recent twelve-tone compositions include those from my All Together Through Time and Today Comes From Yesterday albums

Also in this early period I became interested in avant-garde jazz and listened to the music of John Coltrane and Eric Dolphy, who, later, were to become my musical heroes.

Turning Point 2 (1961) ::

At the age of thirteen I experienced another turning point when I got hold of a copy of Free Jazz (A Collective Improvisation) (1961) by Ornette Coleman. It was my first exposure to free-form jazz. Even though the music was called free jazz, it was still tone-based, albeit in an atonal sense. The recording consists of two instrumental quartets with the sounds of the Ornette Coleman quartet coming out of the left channel/speaker and the sounds of the Eric Dolphy quartet coming from the right. It was a very successful effect and made the music come alive. Another important feature of the album was the cover. It was a twelve-inch double album which opened up into a double LP spread. The front of the cover had a cut-out rectangular hole which showed a fragment of an abstract painting. And on opening the cover, the full painting was revealed, which was White Light (1954) by Jackson Pollack. Sometimes there are moments in one’s life when everything seems to come together within a unifying point and one gets an insight into the true existence of things. And this was one of those moments, as I not only discovered free jazz, but also abstract art, which led me to other abstract artists including the abstract expressionist paintings of Mark Rothko and Barnett Newman: the early 20th painting by Kazimer Malevich, Piet Mondrian, and Josef Albers; and the minimal art of Donald Judd and Carl Andre. These artists and their work still inspire me in my quest for musical abstraction.

Turning Point 3 (1961) ::

At the same time I discovered the connections between art and music. My father won a little bit of money from the football pools (which is a soccer-based lottery) and the first thing he did was to take me to London and buy my first saxophone which was a tenor. And, so now I was a saxophone player and I could take my interests in avant-garde jazz much more seriously. I practiced every evening after school and four to six hours a day on the weekends. I used to put on a record such as John Coltrane’s Giant Steps (1960) or Eric Dolphy’s Eric Dolphy at the Five Spot (1961), and play along with the music. It was good discipline to improve my intonation and time-keeping.

Turning Point 4 (1964) — Robert Rauschenberg and John Cage ::

Because of my interest in avant-garde painting I spent a lot of time reading about art, including reviews of exhibitions in newspapers, and subscribed to art magazines—feeling that it was important for me to keep in touch with both the contemporary art and music scenes. At the age of sixteen I read about the American artist Robert Rauschenberg, and that he had a major retrospective exhibition at the Whitechapel Gallery in east London (4th February – 8th March 1964). It was the largest exhibition of his work in the UK and the exhibition made a very big impression on me. There was a wide range of art in different media, that included sculptural combines, silkscreen paintings, and prints. I found it all very interesting and exciting and was immediately drawn into the ideas that were being presented. These included the combined Monogram (1959), which consisted of a stuffed yak with a car tire around its middle, and Bed (1955) that was made up of a mattress and sheets that were daubed with oil paint. It was all very impressive.

I bought the exhibition catalogue and a number of postcards of the artworks, and while going through the catalogue on my way home, I read about the New York art scene that was centered around the artists Robert Rauschenberg, Jasper Johns, and the composers Morton Feldman and John Cage. I found it very exciting to read that this avant-garde scene consisted of both artists and musicians, and how these artists were pushing at the boundaries of their different disciplines.

It was through the Rauschenberg exhibition catalogue that I discovered the composer John Cage, and at that point everything changed for me and my work became much more experimental. However, I did maintain an interest in jazz to compose my Sextet; In Memoriam Eric Dolphy (see later entry) and performed with Barry Guy London Jazz Composers Orchestra, and appeared on some of the orchestra’s albums. But the scene was now set for further involvement with experimental music, and which, over time, became my central focus as a composer.

At the time, in 1964, there were was very few recording available of Cage’s work, but I was able to get hold of the following albums which completely widened by perception of music, and of the many possibilities available to the contemporary composer: Sonatas and Interlude (1948) performed by Maro Ajemian; Indeterminacy: New Aspect of Form in Instrumental and Electronic Music (1959); Variations IV (1963); Fontana Mix (1958) [Tape Version]; Cartridge Music (1960).

The last three albums were my first exposure to electronic music, and obviously sowed seeds in my mind which later came to fruition in my digitally produced work that came after 2010.

I remember that there were no available recordings of music by Morton Feldman, and so if I wanted to hear his music, or if I wanted to hear more of John Cage, then I had to play it myself. Both Cage and Feldman had the same New York music publisher, which was Peters Edition, and luckily for me, Peters Edition had a store in Warder Street in the centre of London.

As I’m not a very competent pianist I could only play the easiest pieces for piano, and I played the following by Morton Feldman: Piano Piece (1952): and with a pianist friend we played: Piano (Three Hands) (1957), and Piano (Four Hands) (1958). These three compositions by Feldman have had a profound influence on my work, especially in how the compositions are structured, with the sounds suspended in empty space, and the slow glacial movement through time.

The Cage compositions that I played included: TV Köln (1958) for piano, and the flute parts for Concert for Pano and Orchestra (1958) and Atlas Eclipticalis (1962).

The importance of silence ::

Also available at the time was Cage’s book Silence, which was a collection of essays about chance, avant-garde art and music, and, of course, the importance of silence. The book had a deep and profound impact on me at the time and even though I have grown away from, and reject, many of Cage’s attitudes toward art and politics, there are still some musical ideas that are still important to me.

Over the course of time I have become less interested in Cage’s anarchistic noise and sound work, preferring the more tone-based and ordered compositions of Morton Feldman. However, Cage gave composers permission to make extensive use of silence, which I have made good use of in my work, although the reasons why I use silence are very different from those of Cage.

Turning Point 5 :: Stanley Glasser — Sextet: In Memoriam Eric Dolphy ::

1964 was a very exciting year for me, and I made many new discoveries within both the arts and music. Many the things that I experienced that year became important turning points for me, and at the age of sixteen I attended a night-school class i composition that we being run at Goldsmiths college in South East London, and was lead by the composer Stanly Glasser. What was inspiring by attending Stanly Glasser’s class was that Stanly was interested in the fusion of contemporary classical music with jazz, which was then called Third-Stream music. (Gunther Schuller).

As part of the class the students were required to compose a work that would be performed at the end of the academic year in the main hall of Goldsmiths college.

In the summer 1964, or to be more precise, on June 29, 1964, the musician Eric Dolphy died from a diabetic coma. I was both moved and saddened by his death as he had been an important influence on my saxophone technique, and it was his playing that inspired me to eventually take up the alto saxophone. It seemed obvious to me, for my composition class, that I should compose a homage in his memory and to include elements of his work within my new composition. Dolphy’s album Out to Lunch had been released earlier that year, and I had been listening to it almost continually. I was intrigued by Dolphy’s use of unusual time signatures, such as 9/4 and 11/4. Another important feature for me was that one of the compositions was dedicated to the virtuoso flutist Severino Gazzelloni. Gazzelloni was a leading performer of contemporary flute music and a number of avant-garde composers of the period, including Luciano Berio, Pierre Boulez, and Bruno Maderna, had composed music especially for him. Also, I was very excited to discover that Dolphy had been a student of his.

My new composition for the class was entitled Sextet: In Memoriam Eric Dolphy,and was scored for alto saxophone, flute, bass clarinet (which were the three instruments that Dolphy played). And also violin, trombone, and double bass. And in reference to Dolphy’s Out to Lunch album, I also used different time signatures within the work, including 4/4, 5/4, and 6/4.

For inspiration in composing my Sextet: In Memoriam Eric Dolphy, I spent a lot of time studying Edgard Varèse’s Octandre (1923). It proved to be a useful model and source of inspiration. It had a similar number of instruments, eight in the case of Octandre, and there were multiple time signatures, including 3/4, 4/4, 5/4, and 7/4. One of the important aspects of Octandre was the use of continually repeating tones from the wind and brass instruments Varèse’s composition, even though composed in 1923, has been an important influence on my own work.

Turning Points, Conclusion ::

These five crucial events and turning points did not set me off on different divergent directions, but helped to confirm and reinforce the path that I was on, that of being a performer and composer of avant-garde music, and of a continual interest in, and an involvement with, contemporary art.

As far as influences are concerned, I’ve mentioned the composers Anton Webern and Arnold Schoenberg, and their use of the twelve-tone composition technique: Edgard Varèse and his composition Octandre; the jazz musicians Ornette Colman and Eric Dolphy; the experimental music composers John Cage and Morton; and the many artists and painters who also made a deep impression on me. At the time it was difficult to see where all of this was heading, but has time progressed, and as my work developed and evolved, I can see how all these, sometimes different ideas, have come together in my own work.

Igloo :: Do you have any remarks or interesting unknown stories from earlier in your career, when you were in Manfred Mann Chapter Three? Any event that has shaped you as a musician during that time, or that ultimately lead you to get away from rock music?

Experiences of the Rock World, Touring ::

BL :: As I stated earlier, I became fully professional as a musician, playing the flute and alto saxophone, at the age of eighteen, and continued as a musician for a further twenty-five years. Most of my income was derived from working as a studio session musician, and playing music for films, documentaries, and adverts etc. I also played with different rock bands on one-off gigs. The only long-term engagement with a rock band was when I played with Manfred Mann for two years, from 1969 to 1971. I recorded two albums with the Manfred Man group, I also toured with them in the UK, and a six-week tour of America. After the breakup of the band I did a few short stints with other rock bands, but I left the rock scene by 1972.

The one thing that I enjoyed most while playing for Manfred Mann, and this certainly shaped me more as a composer than as a musician, was the six week tour of America that the band did in 1971. What was so good about this American tour, was that instead of doing an endless number of one-night-stands, we did week-long residencies in clubs, such as the Whiskey a Go Go, Filmore West, and Filmore East. This made the tour much less stressful, and it gave me the opportunity to explore different American cities.

The first city of the tour was Los Angeles, more than any other city on the tour, left the greatest impression on me. On the first morning after we arrived in L.A., I woke up early, and when I opened the blinds to the hotel room I was immediately struck by the quality of the light. It was so pure, with an incredible blue sky. And what a shock it was after the grey cloud-filled rainy skies of London. Then I looked down to the car park, with the big American cars, with the beautiful l color, and the sounds of the huge V8 engines. It was incredible! The cars looked like perfectly formed metal sculptures, and I was amazed by it all. I spent the rest of the day going to bookshops, art galleries, and museums.

The publisher Abrahams had recently published a monograph of the artist Robert Rauschenberg. I found this in a bookshop near the hotel where I was staying, and also bought a copy of Ed Rusha’s now famous All the Buildings on Sunset Strip. This was a ‘concept artists’ book, and what was exciting for me was that I was able to walk down part of the Strip, seeing the buildings that were in the book, and also found the venue, Whiskey a Go Go, where I would be playing later that evening.

The feeling of being in Los Angeles was extraordinary and exhilarating, and looking at a map, I was fascinated by the grid structure of the city, it looked like some kind of monumental art project, totally modern and urban, almost futuristic. Later that year, and after I got back to London, I read Reyner Bonham’s seminal book Los Angeles: The Architecture of Four Ecologies. In the book, Banham spends quite a bit of time describing the grid structure of the city, and while reading this, and remembering my experiences of the city, seeds were being sown in my mind that later became manifest in my interests in the grid as a formal structure for my compositions. (See more about the grid below).

Minimal Art came to prominence during the 1960’s, and while in Los Angeles, and in other cities of the tour, I got to see the work of minimal artists such as Donald Judd, Carl Andre, and Dan Flavin, which I saw in the museums and galleries. Also while I was in L.A. I visited Frank Gehry’s first architectural project, The Danziger Studio (1965), which is on 7001 Melrose Ave. The clean minimalist lines of the building was very inspiring, and, again, sowed the seeds for my later work.

“Music is liquid architecture and Architecture is frozen music.” ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

As a composer I’ve always been interested in the idea of form in music, and these ideas still persist, with my use of the grid, in my current practice as a composer. The 18th-century poet, philosopher and novelist Johann Wolfgang von Goethe stated “Music is liquid architecture and Architecture is frozen music,” and that there is a close relationship between the structures of music, and the forms of architecture. And this was driven home to me when I saw the Frank Gehry building on Melrose Ave, and how, later on, these ideas could fit in with my own minimalist compositions.

Igloo :: You’ve mentioned musicians such as Eric Dolphy as a great inspiration to your playing. Were you inspired to pick up both alto and flute specifically because of Dolphy?

BL :: I’ve always been interested in the flute and flute music, especially the flute sonatas of J.S. Bach, and my very first experience of music was in playing the recorder (blockflöte), of which contemporary flute is a descendent, and so it was obvious that I would start to play the flute at some point in my life. However, it’s a very different story with my interest in the alto saxophone, and yes, I was inspired to play the alto because of Eric Dolphy. Dolphy’s saxophone technique was extraordinary, with his great leaps from low to high registers, the cascades of tones, and the guttural, almost animal-like sounds he created with the instrument. With his angular way of playing with wide intervals, almost like the skyline of a mountain range. This is reminiscent of the angular melodic lines composed by Anton Webern, and it would be interesting to know if Webern had any influence on Dolphy’s performing style.

Igloo :: You also mentioned Albert Ayler as one of the musicians you look up to the most. Given that they’re still mentioned today for their unique approaches, were both Dolphy and Ayler particularly interesting to you because of the uniqueness of their ideas, or more so because of their playing? And what exactly did you pick up in their styles that may have lit up a light bulb in your head?

Uniqueness and Originality ::

BL :: Both Eric Dolphy and Albert Ayler pushed at the boundaries of saxophone playing, creating new performance techniques for their respective instruments. They were also thinking out of the box intellectually, which made them both leaders of the avant-garde in music. As a musician, I didn’t copy them, and tried to create my own sound, but I was certainly inspired to push myself forward in music, and to break boundaries and extend the limits of music.

I read two things as a teenager, learning two important lessons, which left a deep impression on me, and helped me to discover my own way of playing as a musician and my work as a composer. The first was in an interview with Miles Davis and he talked about the dangers of ‘cliches’ in jazz. It was a new word for me, and once I had got to understand what it meant, then I was hearing ‘cliches’ everywhere. Not in the greats, such as Coltrane and Dolphy, but in other musicians who were happy to copy the greats and rely on ‘cliches’ and never worked hard to create their individual own voices. The second lesson that I learnt was from John Cage, who said “If there are two people making the same kind of music, then that’s one person too many.” I’ve done my very best as a composer of experimental music not to be that one person too many.

Igloo :: Are there some underdog jazz musicians from that time that have really impressed you and shaped you as a player and that you think should be talked about more?

BL :: Living in London, my only access to news about the avant-garde jazz scene in America was through magazines such as Downbeat and British publications such as the New Music Express and Melody Maker. Or word-of-mouth from other musicians. These publications only covered well known artists such as Coltrane, Dolphy, Ayler etc, although they were very often critical of their music. I didn’t get to hear about any other musicians who were in the American avant-garde scene of that time. I think I would have had to be in New York, and to have been part of the scene, in order to know more.

Igloo :: Still talking about inspirations, you told me you took part in some of Stockhausen’s works. First of all, how did you get in contact and how did you get a part in those works?

BL :: I took part in a number of performances of Karlheinz Stockhausen’s music, which included Zeitmasse (1956), and Aus den Sieben Tagen (1968). I had organized a concert of contemporary music for small ensembles, and this included a performance of Zeitmasse, which was scored for five wind instruments. I played the flute part, and the whole piece was very difficult to perform for all of the musicians. We practiced our individual parts on our own, and did extensive rehearsals. It was hard going, but we managed to pull off a fairly accurate performance.

The Aus den Sieben Tagen compositions were completely different. Where Zeitmasse was composed using conventional musical notation, the score Aus den Sieben Tagen consists of a collection of ‘instruction’ which were more like poetic texts. The performance in which I took part in was under the direction of Stockhausen himself, which was a big thrill for me, and certainly one of the highlights of my life. This was in 1968, and I was twenty-years old.

I was invited to take part in this event by the experimental music composer Hugh Davies, who I knew from Goldsmiths College, and where he had set up an electronic music studio, one of the first in the UK. He had also worked with Stockhausen in Cologne as his personal assistant, which was how the contact was made for the Aus den Sieben Tagen performance.

While the ‘Aus den Sieben Tagen’ composition was not technically difficult to perform, it was taxing in a metaphysical sense, and to perform the music correctly, one had to buy into Stockhausen’s philosophy and mode of thinking. And one had to be sincere. Stockhausen described the composition as ‘intuitive music,’ a form of improvisation in which one plays close attention to what the other musicians are doing. It is also a very meditative and thoughtful way of playing. The performance of Aus den Sieben Tagen had to be restrained, and not leap into frantic high-intensity solos. The ‘part’ that I played was entitled Verbindung (Connection). Here is the text; “play a vibration in the rhythm of your body; play a vibration in the rhythm of your heart; play a vibration in the rhythm of your breathing; play a vibration in the rhythm of your thinking; play a vibration in the rhythm of your intuition; play a vibration in the rhythm of your enlightenment; play a vibration in the rhythm of the universe; mix these vibrations freely; leave enough silence between them.”

The concert in which Aus den Sieben Tagen was featured, also included other Stockhuasen instrument-based, live electronics and tape compositions; Mixtur (1964), Solo (1966), and Telemusik (1969).

As one might expect from Stockhuasen, the set-up of the auditorium was unconventional. The musicians were seated among the audience, with the chairs for the audience arranged in circles around each of the musicians. Each musician played into a microphone, and Stockhausen and his assistant Hugh Davies were at the rear of the auditorium, seated in front front of a. large multi-channel mixing desk, and were mixing the input from the musicians in real-time. If I remember correctly, the four compositions of the concert were performed simultaneously. This did not create a mis-mash or confusion of sounds, but were mixed so that there was quite a bit of space between the different sound events.

Igloo :: Has the impact of those performances left a mark on you, that can maybe still be seen today in the way you approach your recent experimental projects?

BL :: This ideas and thoughts that I experienced while performing Stockhausen’s Aus den Sieben Tagen are still with me today, and have certainly influenced my compositional practice from 2010. I should also had that the ‘number compositions’ by John Cage, and quite a bit of Morton Feldman’s work, especially his Piano (Three Hands)(1957) and Piano (Four Hands) (1958) have had an equally positive impact.

To successfully perform the Stockhuasen composition I had to put myself into a meditative frame of mind, and create a sense of thoughtful quietude. And later in my life, and once I had overcome the complexities of digital music production, once I had mastered my digital tools, then I was able to enter this state of quietude while composing, and perhaps, at least some of the time, this state is passed onto the listener.

Igloo :: Going a bit into more recent times, the—great, may I add—hook from One Way Glass, still from Manfred Mann Chapter Three, has been sampled by none other than The Prodigy, in 2009, for the closing track of Invaders Must Die. Was that sample a reason for you to check out other forms of electronic music? Has it stimulated you in some kind of way, or does it stand as just an odd connection with not much significance?

BL :: That’s a good question. Well, I was listening to electronic music, from composers such as John Cage, Edgard Varèse, and Karlheinz Stockhuasen etc way before I’d ever heard of The Prodigy. However, I had listening to quite a bit of techno, between 2007, 2010, which was a transitory stage between composing for traditional instruments, and then transitioning to composing experimental music digitally. I’ve never been interested in working with analog synthesis, far too many wires, and I found that analog technology was far too cumbersome. I stopped composing for a while, basically waiting until the right tools came along. I found my way first to producing with Logic, then Ableton, and always with a Mac.

I produced some techno music for a while, mainly so that I could get a hands-on working understanding of the technology, and there is a certain aspect of techno, such as the use of the grid in Ableton, and the extensive use of repetition, that have been very influential in how I a compose now. In some ways, my compositions could be considered as an evolved non-dance form of techno, but one that exists within a different cultural context and along a different time continuum. A good example of this ‘post-techno’ music is my Composition 2011.03 (Ich Tanze Nicht) Ich tanze nicht is German for ‘I don’t dance’.

My interest in using computer-based digital technology for composing comes from the ideas and philosophy of the American architect and philosopher Buckminster Fuller, who developed the concept of “Post-industrial Ephemeralisation”. This is the ability of technological advancement to do “more and more with less and less”. This concept has also inspired my minimal reductionist approach to my work.

For the use of the Manfred Mann sample used in Prodigy in Invaders Must Die. I didn’t know about this until one of my students told me about this in around 2011-13. He said ‘I didn’t know you were famous’. I wasn’t sure what he meant, and he told me about the sample. Well, I hope Manfred Mann got royalties for this, but I didn’t see a penny.

Igloo :: Now into your recent works, I couldn’t help but notice that every single album of this series of releases has recurring themes. One of those regards numbers: every record has 3 tracks, and the tracks are all 25:36 in length, making each album of the same length too. Why is that?

Rules, Order, and The Grid ::

BL :: Most of my albums consist of three compositions. The earlier compositions were often produced separately, and then later gathered together to create a coherent whole, with the compositions sharing the same kind of sound aesthetic, or harmonic elements, such as leitmotifs or tone-cells. Three seems to be an optimal number, and which I think makes an interesting length time-wise. The number three is also in reference to symphonic and sonatas, which often consist of three movements. And three is a prime number.

For more recent albums, then the compositions have been produced with a deliberate sense of structural unity, and with a specific album in mind. The ideas of unity and coherence are important to me. To fully explain what I mean, I need to outline my musical development since 2010.

The year 2010 was an important turning point, a watershed moment for me, when all of my experiences of music, influences about music, and many diverse strands, were pulled together to form a coherent unified whole. These ideas and influences, both direct and indirect, included the abstract art of Piet Mondrian, Joseph Albers, Kazimir Malevich, the minimal paintings and sculpture of Agnes Martin, Bridget Riley, Donald Judd, Carl Andre, Dan Flavin, minimal architecture, modular architecture, Buckminster Fuller’s “Post-industrial Ephemeralisation,” and the music of Franz Schubert, Charles Ives, Edgard Varèse, Eric Dolphy, John Coltrane, John Cage, and Morton Feldman.

I have taken all of the experience and knowledge gained from these artists, composers, philosophies, all these inspirations, insights, influences, both direct and indirect, and, processed, filtered and synthesized them, often at an unconscious level, with the end result emerging as my compositional output.

The watershed moment of 2010 did not come in a flash of inspiration, but was a slow development and evolvement over a long period of time. Not a sudden insight, but a slow gradual awareness. It was only after I had composed Composition 2010.01 (Untitled) and 2010.02 (Untitled), that I had finally found my own voice as a composer, that I had crossed the threshold of Cage’s ‘one person too many’ to finally become an original identity as a composer. Part of this identity and signature sound comes from my use of the structural grid that is fundamental to all my work.

All of my compositions since 2010 have been produced using a formal grid system. I find that working within a rules-based order, and one with clearly defined barriers and boundaries, gives me more creative freedom than working with an anarchistic ‘anything goes’ approach.

An important source of inspiration for me was from using the Ableton Live digital music production software application to produce my compositions. The timeline of the arrange window is set out as a grid, and when using it, and once I saw the different elements of a composition laid out on the timeline, I realised the obvious visual connections with the different grids found in many abstract paintings and sculptures, for example Donal Judd, Agnes Martin, and Carl Andre. Once this connection was made it sparked many other different ideas within my thought processes, and which helped to establish my compositional methodology, with the grid becoming a self-imposed compositional limit, a form of restraint that structured my thinking in a very coherent way. With all of my compositions being based on a fixed unchanging grid system, then the grid becomes a form of structural DNA, and, as such, each composition is partially pre-made and exists before the process of composition takes place. This signature structure already exists, and is waiting for the content to be produced and inserted into the form of the grid.

Each composition consists of 768 bars, which is then sub-divided into three sections of 256 bars, which in turn are subdivided into two sets of 128 bars, or four sets of sixty-four bars, or eight sets of 32 bars, etc. The content of the composition consists of elements that are 1, 2, 4, 8, 16, 32, 64, 128, 256 or 768 bars long. The compositions are also of the same tempo, which is one-hundred-and twenty beats-per-minute, and so consequently all of the compositions are of the same duration, which is twenty-five and thirty-sex seconds.

Igloo :: Another common theme is in the covers, which are all grey; why is this also a common theme in each release?

BL :: All of the artwork for my albums is based on the monochrome scale that is part of the HTML internet color hex codes, and are a combination of letters or numbers. For example: black is #000000, dark grey is #7A7A7A, and light grey is #C6C6C6.

I do not like to use photographic imagery as album art because the images might create unwanted connections with the music, and might suggest ideas to the listener, to make associations, that were never my intention. The abstract quality of a monochrome square is a reminder that there is no reference in the music to anything outside of the composition, that there is no analogy, metaphor, or symbolism. I was inspired to use the monochrome shades because of my interest in extreme forms of abstract minimalism in the visual arts, notably The Black Square, painted by Kazimer Malevich in 1915, and the work of the British artist Alan Charlton, whole only produces grey monochrome paintings.

Igloo :: Another common point regards the ideas behind each LP. Each record has a lot of thoughts behind it, and they don’t just present a fancy concept, rather they draw from philosophical ideas. That led me to ask myself: why are the tracks all untitled then? Do you feel like the description of each record already expresses the ideas fully, or is there a particular reason?

**Why Untitled? Philosophical Ideas ::**

BL :: In some ways, the number system of my compositions acts like opus numbers, and is a way to categorize and order my work. The year is given, and the order of the composition in the year. For example: Composition 2010.01 (Untitled), Composition 2015.03.(Untitled), etc.

By using “untitled,” I am emphasizing the sonic or conceptual elements of the work without the distraction of a title. The absence of a title encourages listeners to engage with the piece directly on its own terms, interpreting it without preconceived notions that a title, or an image, might impose. This aligns with my minimalist philosophy, where the work’s essence is in its musical or sonic presence rather than in narrative or symbolic content.

I must confess that It is often confusing and difficult for me to remember which composition is which, or to remember what each individual composition sounds like. And so I often refer to my catalogue of compositions which has the description of all my work. It would be equally difficult to title the albums in this way. For example, titling an album Album 2010.01 (Untitled) would be very difficult to promote, and reviewers and audience alike, and even myself, would quickly become very confused, and so titling the albums such as “The Nature of Things”, “Object World”, or “Memento Mori” is a practical solution to a practical problem.

The titles of the albums do not have a direct correspondence or connection with the compositions that are collected in the album. The title is there as an “identifier,” to identify and separate the albums from each other. The titles that I use reflect my philosophical interests and themes which underlie my work as a whole. Ideas and concepts from both classical Greek and contemporary philosophy are always at the back of my mind, they are ‘there’ simmering away in my unconscious mind, and they slowly rise to the surface in my compositions, even if in a disguised form. In some ways I like to think of my work as some kind of “non-linguistic philosophy,” but it then becomes difficult in trying to talk about the ideas without using language.

Igloo :: And still regarding the ideas behind each album, does this series of experimental records have a goal? Is there a line that’s being traced with the specific notes and chords each new record explores, and if so, will it reach a point that you may want to call the end? Or would you say that each record stands as completely independent?

BL :: This is a really good question, and in some ways the most difficult to answer. I have answered some of it in Answer 11 above. But to answer the question about aims, I would say that the only aim or goal of a composition is to actually make the work, then promote it so other people have access to the music. I have no intention to try to affect people emotionally or psychology. I hope that the music induces a sense of quietude, of thoughtful contemplation, and that it inspires interesting thoughts. However, I certainly do not want the music to be a balm against the complexities or harshness of life. I hope that people enjoy listening to my compositions, although I can understand that some people might become irritated or annoyed with so much repetition, and not enough variation, and for that I am sorry.

Endings, Leitmotifs, Chords ::

BL :: Became of the use of a compositional grid, each composition has a fixed end point, which is 756 bars long at 120 beats-per-minute, with the duration being 25 minutes and 36 seconds. There are a couple of occasions when the timing has gone a little over so that a repeating loop pattern can fully play itself out.

As outlined earlier, most of my early compositions were composed individually, and then collected together for any album. For example, the compositions of the Empty Rooms album all have medium to long periods of silence in between the different tones and sounds.

However, more recently, many of the compositions have been produced with the intention of being part of an album of compositions with shared musical concepts and ideas. For example, the compositions for Today Comes from Yesterday are based on twelve-tone rows from the work of three of the leading composers of the twentieth century: Anton Webern, Arnold Schoenberg, and Igor Stravinsky. The compositions of Unanswered Questions are based on thematic and harmonic material from the composition of Charles Ives. And as you’ve noticed in the review of From Here to There, Composition 2023.09 (Untitled) is based on the chord sequence from John Coltrane’s 1960’s composition Giant Steps.

At this point I need to say that about a third of my compositions are based on thematic or harmonic material from the work of other composers. These are not sound samples, but actual musical elements, such as tones and chords, that have been re-contextualized, actuated, and realized by digital synthesis. A larger proportion of my works is based on original elements of my own, such tone-cells, leitmotifs, harmonic sequences that are evolved and developed over course of a composition or of an album. Many of these compositions are first worked out on music manuscript paper, actually “composed” before being committed to MIDI, then sound AIF files in the Ableton music production software. Actually very little is left to chance, with most of the compositions taking shape as part of a logical and rational process.

A project that has gone in an interesting direction for me is First Contact, which is a large-scale project consisting of two compositions that explore the theme of human communication with extraterrestrial intelligence. The source for these ideas come from two important novels of the science fiction genre, Arthur C. Clarke’s 2001: A Space Odyssey and Contact by Carl Sagan. Also, the title of First Contact has been used for a Star Trek film.

The first composition of the album is based on the proportions of the monolith in Arthur C. Clarke’s novel 2001: A Space Odyssey. The monolith, both in the novel and the film, has a ratio of 1:4:9, corresponding to the squares of 1, 2, and 3 respectively. And the second composition is based on the twenty-six prime numbers between 2 and 101. Prime numbers are natural numbers greater than 1 that are divisible only by 1 and themselves. And prime numbers are. an important feature in Contact by Carl Sagan, in which a ‘signal’ containing prime numbers is received by a radio telescope on Earth, thus suggesting a message from an alien intelligence.

I found that working with the above mathematical formulae to be very inspiring, and has prompted me to think more about the close symbiotic relationship between music and mathematics. I hope I will explore this relationship in future projects.

Igloo :: Another thing I wanted to ask about regards the albums’ descriptions. You often cite philosophers and texts, and each record seems to be directly based on the works you quote. Has that always been part of your approach to writing and playing music or have the two aspects got closer only in recent years? How does what you’ve read inspire you to then write pieces?

BL :: Between 1983 and 1986 I studied for a degree in philosophy as a mature student, and was during a period when I was not involved in music. Consider it a barren period musically. And It wasn’t until the breakthrough moment in 2010 that I started to seriously think about the relationship between philosophy and music. Initially my ideas concerned the relationship between silence, emptiness, and the void, and many of my compositions after 2010 contain long periods of silence. The compositions in themselves do not have a direct connection to a specific philosophical idea, as I try to avoid any reference to analogy, metaphor or symbolism. But they have been composed within an overall philosophical framework. The titles of the album, such as From Here to There, Object World, Empty Rooms, Eternal Return, The Nature of Things, and may others, are suggestive of a general philosophical view, the titles giving an indication of the range of interests, concerns, and philosophical themes that underlie the work has a whole. Again, Buckminster Fuller’s concept of “Post-industrial Ephemeralisation,” and my own ideas about “Technological Lessness,” are important threads that run through all of my work and compositions.

Igloo :: And finally, to ask about both worlds, have you thought about blowing the dust off of your sax and flute to incorporate live instrumentation into your recent experimental projects? Or, vice-versa, have you thought about doing an experimental project solely with acoustic instruments, like a one-note drone?

BL :: From the moment of first hearing Anton Webern’s “Symphony” Op. 21 at the age of ten, there has been a driving force at the back of my mind to be a composer of experimental music, and even though I enjoyed playing different instruments, really loved playing the alto saxophone and flute, it was the desire of being a composer that has been the main driving force in my life. The second, and more recent, driving force is my interest and involvement with digital technology, and how I have integrated this within my composition of experimental music.

With regards to the technology, I was greatly influenced by Nicholas Negroponte’s book Being Digital, published 1995, and which sets the stage for the digital revolution, emphasizing the transition from atoms to bits. His foresight into digital trends has made this book a seminal work in understanding the digital age. Coupled with Buckminster Fuller’s idea of “Post-industrial Ephemeralisation,” or what I call “Technological Lessness”—then the direction of my work is always going to be toward increased digitalization, and increased “lessness.” How far I can push this, is up to what digital technology is available at the moment, and how it will be developed in the future.

Hopefully I will be able to keep track of any new trends, and use them within my work. For example, I make extensive use of Grok, which is the artificial intelligence component of Elon Musk’s X social media platform, and have used it in my work to create random number tables used to sequence the sounds and tones of my compositions. I also use Grok to help brainstorm ideas, and to develop, and expand upon, my interests in philosophy. I am excited by all new developments, and feel that when working with digital technology, then the world is one’s oyster, and is full of limitless possibilities.

Visit Bernhard Living at bernhardliving.bandcamp.com.
A Continuity of Form is available on Bandcamp