Prologue

It’s interesting how living in the countryside, far away from the constant distractions of the big city, has opened windows for me to do stuff I never found the time for – like, watch more movies and upgrade my knowledge on film history.

Inspired by a chapter in Rick Rubin’s book, I’m currently trying to immerse myself in »the canon«. I figured a good starting point might be the British Film Institute’s The Greatest Films of All Time.

The BFI list, which is updated every year, had been topped by an Alfred Hitchcock or Orson Welles movie for decades. In 2022, Belgian feminist director Chantal Akerman took over the #1 spot, a decision discussed controversially among film fans and critics. I for one can’t say if »Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles« is a better movie than »Vertigo« or »Citizen Kane«, and after all, what does that even mean?

One thing is clear: With these canonical lists, questions of visibility and inclusion will arise even more, and I believe that’s long overdue.

Talking to the composer Carlos Cipa last year, we discussed the so-called »classical canon«, which mostly consists of the works of white men. In recent years, works by female, queer and Black composers have been re-discovered and performed, but that change has been happening slowly, and it’s been met with resistance. Apparently there’s still people out there who truly believe Julius Eastman’s or Éliane Radigue’s compositions aren’t worthy of their beloved concert hall stages.

Carlos Cipa is very aware of his privilege as a white male composer. This shows in his involvement with »Feet Become Ears«, a contemporary chamber music series in Munich and Leipzig that’s trying to challenge the conservative canon, specifically the narrative of the (white male) genius. For example, they’re highlighting the works of the late Ann Southam – a feminist composer of minimalist piano, chamber and electronic music who didn’t get her shine when Riley, Reich and Glass were all the rage.

The concert series’ name actually stems from a »Sonic Meditation« score by Pauline Oliveros that goes:

»Take a walk at night. Walk so silently that the bottoms of your feet become ears.«

It was one of the first performances scores I read when I started my own practice in Deep Listening last year. »Walk so silently« is also a song title on Carlos’ new album. An album that I’ve had the privilege of listening to for some months now, and that I can’t have a neutral stance about. Last week, it’s finally been released to the world. Here’s my (biased) take on it.

Carlos Cipa – »Ourselves, as we are«

(Parlophone, 2023)

Carlos Cipa’s music has followed me for some years. I first discovered it by randomly streaming »The Place Where They Go« from his 2017 EP »Sculptures«. Its beautiful melody has been haunting me ever since.

When Carlos approached me last summer with the idea to write a press biography for his next album, I didn’t have to think for long. He sent me the master, and pressing play on the first song »Took«, he cast another spell on me. It was a solo piano record, yes, but the piano here sounded almost like a plucked instrument. The hammers were not exactly hitting, more like gently picking the strings. Loads of ambient noise readily obscured the heart-wrenching melody.

What had happened? Carlos told me over coffee. Improvising on an upright without a clear concept in mind, he started playing maximally quiet: A »fivefold pianissimo«, he smirked. During the recording, he said, the music was barely even audible in the room. He usually doesn’t wear headphones in the studio, mostly to maintain a certain live feel, but in this case he had to depart from his standard tactics.

Due to his extremely silent playing, this second layer of ambient noise emerged. In the spirit of John Cage, that physical sound became a part of the work itself, not as a novelty effect to underline the live character of the recordings, but as a true compositional element.

It’s been ten years since the Munich composer and pianist released his debut album »The Monarch And The Viceroy«, a record based around his main instrument. On his next few albums, he experimented with electronics and loads of guest musicians, only to return to the piano on »Correlations« – not one piano, to be exact, but 11 different ones that he played on the album.

Starting to practice classical piano at age six, he went through a strict school of discipline and technique. At 16, he joined a hardcore punk band on drums. The band didn’t stay around for long, but punk’s DIY philosophy inspired him deeply. In 2012, when he was 22, he released his first album – a modest success that allowed him to tour internationally and widen his musical view. He started studying classical composition in Munich, but soon learned he’d need to find his own way beyond the traditional education system.

Over the last years, Carlos has clearly found this way. His new album is testament to those years of self-reflection, zooming in closely on the subject of examination, in this case himself. Songs like the outstanding opener »Took« mainly follow from an experiment, trying to create a pure and honest artistic statement.

»Simplicity is not a problem to me«, Carlos said firmly. »In today’s landscape, it might actually be more radical to write a quiet piano album than a super complex and fiddly record.«

The album is a raw, vulnerable piece of music of disarming immediacy. »Between Two Strangers« abides in a state of uncertainty – an effect of a combination of ideas on an uneven time, like two voices having a conversation, without ever reaching harmonic dissolution. The simple melody on album ender »Forgotten Me« acts like a piece of paper in the wind – before being caught, it has already been blown somewhere else.

In an age of generative music and soulless mood playlist fodder, this might be the last gateway to creating radical art: Really showing ourselves, as we are – brave and undisguised.

One more thing

I discovered the music of Brussels-based electro-acoustic composer Christina Vantzou when she released her album »No. 5« last fall. As the album title indicates, there’s been four records before that one, all released on American label kranky over a period of ten years, so it came in quite handy that Andy Beta just published a brief album guide for Bandcamp Daily. It includes contextual commentary by the artist on some of her »unsettled« compositions. Also, she’s referencing both Laurie Spiegel and DJ Screw on the same record. Good stuff.

© 2023 words: Stephan Kunze | design: Maximilian Schachtner