Be a derivative composer!

In sufficiently quiet, and properly sized, performance areas one can hear many sounds that are not part of the music proper—and also not originating in oneself or one's fellows in the audience: keys clacking; breathing; instruments being placed in holders (happened last night with a soprano sax); sometimes pedals being depressed or lifted, and, though obviously care is taken to prevent this (as the previous items mentioned) from happening, sometimes even sheet music being turned or moved.* Conclusion: a piece in which sheet music is the only instrument. The only notation: rests. The only instruction to the players (they would be, for this purpose if not usually, percussionists, I suppose): turn the pages variously crisply, or susurratively, or inducing crinkles, or the like. For extra credit, give it the far more paradoxical than it seems title music with the sound of its own performance, so capitalized.

If one really restricted the materials thus, so that the only sound made (aside from the accidents noted above) came from turning the pages forward, I can imagine it sounding vaguely like Clapping Music or vaguely like Poème Symphonique. (Or simply chaotic, or more complexly organized, but those are harder to imagine, of course.) If you allowed in backwards turnings, page crumplings, rippings, rifflings, and so on—things generally not met with in performances—the possibilities expand, but it also becomes less interesting conceptually.

* Yes, turned or moved.

Comments

[Anonymous]

You may enjoy this CD.

[ben wolfson]

By god, I think I would.

[Tim]

You may also enjoy the ending of Gérard Grisey's Partiels, in which pretty much exactly this happens (plus sound of instruments being packed away, etc.).

[ben wolfson]

This is just like the time I had a great idea for the organization of a book, and it turned out that Cortázar had done it first.