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The composer/performer became especially prominent in twentieth-century music due to new technical developments (both instrumental and interpretive) as well as the worsening state of economic difficulties and unsympathetic performers. Diverse musicians such as Partch, Cage, Stockhausen, the Minimalists and the Sonic Arts Union all took matters into their own hands on some level, from instrument building (including circuit design), formation of ensembles, to conducting and performance. It seemed therefore quite natural that I began my studies in composition and woodwind instruments almost simultaneously, when I became interested in new music while completing my degree in electrical engineering (the early Mothers of Invention albums had led me to Varèse).

The role of the composer/performer, however, becomes more complex when the music involves open elements. Anthony Braxton’s solo alto saxophone music is an instance where specific sets of material and parameters are grouped and manipulated during performance: one cannot completely isolate the composed and improvised components in analysis, although there is clearly an interrelated process at work. In order to clarify the different aspects of openness and fixed-forms in my own works for solo woodwinds, it is helpful to approach them from different structural levels (macro to micro):

I. Form: a composition’s proportions and the relation between parts. Form determines the overall identity of a work—whether a work will “sound the same” from one performance to the next, or if a piece is based on a set of principles which produce different results each time (e.g. Earle Brown’s December 1952). All of my solo works are in closed-form; even in pieces where the details vary greatly, the general characteristics remain stable and recognizable. For example, two realizations of for alto saxophone (11.97) may be quite different if one compared the first three seconds, but very much consistent overall.

II. Structure: how the material is organized. This may entail partitioning available resources into multiple strata using dynamics and registration, the employment of additive/reductive schemes in phrasing or pitch collections, as well as various open processes. This aspect varies widely among my compositions, including the indeterminate organization of a small set through the roving eye (Little Piece (12.97)), the execution of strict but unpredictable processes (for soprano saxophone (11.97)), and through-notated repetitions (for bass clarinet (8.97)).

III. Material: pitch and rhythmic sets, intervallic content, patterns of articulation, and timbre. The static nature of my compositions not only means that the pools of material are often limited, but their selection also largely determines the identity of a work (e.g. the very few soft pitches of for alto saxophone (6.98) and the two multiphonics of for bass clarinet (8.97)).


On the Individual Pieces:

for soprano saxophone (9.97) and for alto saxophone (11.97) share the approach of juxtaposing independent processes; both also utilize circular breathing to create isolated sounds in a continuum rather than un-broken melodies. These works ask the performer to isolate tone production, fingering, and—in the case of for alto saxophone (11.97)—articulation, similar to the separation of sound production, pickup, and modulation in Stockhausen’s Microphonie I (although the latter synchronizes its three layers while mine relies on the juxtaposed coincidences).

The disembodied sounds found in for soprano saxophone (9.97) result from a pinched embouchure, where the vibrations of the reed become intermittent, resulting in unpredictable timbre, registration, and dynamics. This sound source is superimposed on a fixed set of fingerings which are often out of sync with the attacks, creating a non-developmental pointillism. for alto saxophone (11.97) takes a similar approach, but randomness here is the job of the performer, who articulates without regard to the keywork. The piece is also in binary form, the second section consisting solely of crescendos interjected with accented noises. Like my other compositions which utilize this form, the two parts have little to do with each other, with the second being completely synchronized and intervallic.

for bass clarinet (11.97) begins with a group of oscillating 12th’s between the first and third harmonics (the clarinet family can only produce odd harmonics). By maintaining one’s embouchure rather than emphasizing a particular partial during register shifts, a host of “by-products” can result: chords, squeaks, and high harmonics. The piece closes with a drone of the lowest note on the instrument, with the addition of buzzing noises resulting from a loose embouchure.

for alto saxophone (4.98) is a melodic piece beginning with fragmented phrases of elastic durations which eventually develop into a continuous state (through circular breathing). The harmonic centers suggested by the pitch material are masked to varying degrees with chromatic alterations, as well as the incorporation of noise and unstable intonation, although they are never completely obscured.

for soprano saxophone (4.96) is my earliest solo composition, more or less tailored to my limited abilities when I was still learning the instrument. The piece consists of five accumulating elements: 1. A wavering line. 2. Hiccups in the line obtained by opening trill keys intermittently. 3. A multiphonic on F5 (the central pitch of the line). 4. Low honks. 5. Squeals and a harsh multiphonic. The components are organized in two layers: those that are mid-range and continuous [1,3], and those of short attacks in more extreme registers [2,4,5].

for bass clarinet (8.97) is a short work in two parts focusing on a particular aspect of multiphonics. The first consists of an E5 held while the lower voice oscillates between F#3 and G3, and the second part simply a repeated chord. The E5 played by itself separates the two parts: an homage to Stravinsky’s chord of harmonics in Sacre’s Adoration of the Earth, which suspends the rhythmic propulsion before and after it, appearing as if out of nowhere.


for bass saxophone (7.98) is concerned with the stasis of irregular sound bursts. For the first eight minutes, there is no development, only a continuum of consistently varied noises which take advantage of the instrument’s harmonic complexity. The limited materials employed prevent one’s memory from registering pitch relationships or other formal elements, creating a sense of suspended time. The duration series is taken from my for orchestra (3.98).

Little Piece (12.97), for any instrument and (optional) glockenspiel, is “something for the children.” While the melody of the first section is intervallic and constantly permutated, the second section (with a three to one tempo modulation) uses only slow repeated triplets, a tribute to both Feldman’s Three Voices and to Cage’s comments on that piece:

“Three Voices, which I didn't like... Triplets. Ta ta ta, ta ta ta. It's enough to drive you crazy. Finally, if you pay attention to it, it's irritating, triplets.”

The first section of the work employs two reconfigurable modules—melodic fragments to be played forwards, backwards, or in partial, giving it a static, cut-and-paste quality. There is also the addition of a refrain, always presented in unaltered form and repeated two to five times at each occurrence, breaking the continuous permutation of the other modules. Like Stockhausen’s Klavierstücke XI, the roving eye determines the exact shape of the assemblage, though my interest is not in stringing together a sequence of distinct fragments but the quasi-random permutation of limited material—the indeterminate factor lies in structure rather than form.

for alto saxophone (6.98) examines the spectrum of dynamics when scaled from fff-ppp to mp-ppppppp. By attempting to play as quietly as possible, the resultant tones indeterminately fall in as many discrete levels (pppppp, pppppp, ppppp...) as the one we are accustomed to (ppp, pp, p...)—it is impossible to actually control these dynamics. Like going into a shaded room on a bright day, some time is needed to adjust to the softness upon first hearing. The boundary of music’s “frame” is here blurred: the first tone the listener becomes aware of may take place well after the work has begun. Like the first part of Little Piece (12.97), this work also has a refrain—a descending pattern repeated three times—which breaks the stasis of sparse points found in the rest of the composition.


Dedicated to AB.