Tag: notation

A Hypothetical Notational Alternative

With the future of Sibelius in question, I’ve been thinking about my issues with the notation software that’s currently available. While I know there are a variety of existing options out there, I’ve been having more fun imagining hypothetical alternatives.

One thing that most modern notation software has in common is what I might call a “maximalist” approach. That is, to accommodate the wide variety of styles and strategies for writing music, the program must have a variety of functions to deal with each. Roughly speaking, each musical feature has its own function, and any new feature has to either be mapped to an old category or made into a new category. An artifact of this approach is that as features accumulate, so does the proliferation of buttons, menus, tabs, submenus, plugins, and so on, with some functionality eventually hiding in obscure and counterintuitive places. For example, according to my intuition, page numbers and bar numbers should be related, but in Sibelius 6, changing one requires going to the “House Style” menu and selecting “Engraving Rules,” while changing the other requires going to the “Create” menu and selecting “Other.” (Guess which is which!)

This is not to single out Sibelius, because all of the notation software that I’ve ever used ends up twisting itself into these shapes at some point. (Disclaimer: I still haven’t tried Sibelius 7, but I’m not terribly optimistic about its Microsoft-Office-circa-2005 design paradigm.) This is because the software has taken on the role of thinking about music in order to do some things for you, in order to be a compositional aid. I’d like to propose an alternative role for notation software. I want the software to get out of the way of my musical imagination as much as possible. Let’s call this the “minimalist” approach for now.

To illustrate what I mean, let’s talk about the differences between a blank sheet of manuscript paper and a blank page in typical notation software. To be fair, the manuscript paper isn’t totally blank; it’s got some lines on it. But other than that and maybe some other base physical attributes like size and spacing, it carries no musical preconceptions. Meanwhile, the blank page on the computer screen already carries with it a bevy of assumptions, including instruments, clefs, time and key signatures, and so on. It’s not even remotely blank; it’s already a composition filled with bars of rests. (Insert 4’33” joke here.)

Personally I find the time signature to be the most offensive of these restrictions, and detest the contortions required to write a piece of music with shifting time signatures, or even a single bar of music with no time signature. When writing on manuscript paper, I simply put down a barline when I feel like it, when it’s needed. When I’m using notation software, barlines always seem to be in the way.

This is only the most egregious example I can think of, and I’m sure most composers have their own personal notational nemeses to shake their fists at. But I can at least imagine a piece of software that does away with most, if not all, of these preconceptions, in which musical objects could simply be placed consecutively, one in front of the other, regardless of musical function.[1] Of course it’s a little more complicated than I’m making it out to be; it would need to be very clever about sensible placement and interaction of those objects, for one thing. I also don’t think it would effectively replace traditional notation software—the benefits of easy part extraction alone would be hard to leave behind. But as an alternative, a tool existing alongside other tools, it could be extremely useful, not just for composers but for teachers as well. “Maximalist” notation software encourages a trial-and-error approach to composition, often deceiving the student with the temptation and ease of its playback function. “Minimalist” notation software would carry no such baggage, encouraging the student to sonically imagine the piece and thoroughly learn the role and conventions of each musical object.

If there’s any hidden benefit to Avid’s short-sighted decision to jettison the Sibelius development team, it’s that it is causing people to think about these kinds of alternatives for musical notation. If I’m being optimistic, I’d like to see a future where, instead of having one or two giants, we have a variety of smaller, leaner programs for musical notation, each designed for different purposes and preferences. In the end, this may be healthier for musical variety and creativity.

*

1. Han-Earl Park tells me that, back in the day, there used to be a Mac OS 9 program that worked this way called NoteWriter), but it hasn’t been maintained since 2007 and doesn’t run on newer Macs.

Games Played: ToneCraft

ToneCraft

Released for Google Chrome browser only: ToneCraft
Developer: DinahMoe

Human beings only come to grasp new concepts by relating them to something they already know; our predominant way of understanding the world—and expressing ourselves—is via metaphor. Our reliance on metaphor makes possible the absorption and mastery of many new things, but there is always a point at which the metaphor breaks down and the new idea must emerge in its own right.

ToneCraft—a musical toolkit that takes advantage of Web Audio API as a workspace for free composition—provides a fantastic metaphor for introducing unwitting normal people to the zany world of composing, albeit one that is far too limited for anything beyond some rudimentary dabbling. Professional musicians can expect very little from ToneCraft other than a few moments of amusement; but for people who have never tried composing and possibly cannot read traditional music notation, ToneCraft becomes more than an entertaining plaything: it set up one of the most effective metaphors for exploring various types of aural experiences through spatial and visual relationships.

Swedish developer DinahMoe created a three-dimensional grid environment ripped straight from an earlier Swedish game called MineCraft, with various elements corresponding to musical tones. Colors suggest different instruments or timbres; the X- and Y-axes represent pitch and duration, respectively; and the vertical Z-axis allows users to layer sounds to create rich contrapuntal textures. This is a lot of fun and a great way to get budding composers—especially kids—thinking about the actual parameters of sound rather than the frequently unhelpful stylistic dictates that too often serve as the entry point into music composition.

Beyond this fresh, sandbox-style approach to toying with sound, unfortunately, ToneCraft offers little to sustain attention; greenhorn composers who have gotten bit by the bug will likely move on to another type of technology—be it sequencer, microphone, or one of those endangered notation programs—for any real in-depth explorations. It’s fun to make random objects, then “play” them back to hear what they sound like—but it’s exactly here where the metaphor breaks down as the user progresses, because as the “compositions” get more sophisticated, the results become gray and jumbled, the software failing to produce distinct expressions of more complex visual input.

ToneCraft

Still, ToneCraft is a remarkable experiment (or “lab” as the developer’s site indicates), not intended for long-term use but created to provoke an immediate spark: here are the most basic elements of sound design, made as intelligible and accessible as a set of childhood building blocks. For this achievement alone, ToneCraft is one of the very few musical games with any appeal for those folk who are intimidated by the idea of music’s conceptual side—and unlike the mainstream console games Guitar Hero and Rock Band, this one is largely user-directed: a very small sandbox that for a few brief hours makes the very hyped and mystified process of composing seem like child’s play.

Fonts, Glorious Fonts!

Black Bend example

Click on image to enlarge

Musical scores contain all kinds of information, most of it explicit: I want this played softly; I want the duration of the note exactly this long; I want the music to slow down beginning four measures prior to the fermata. But notated scores also convey plenty of implicit meaning: rehearsal letters suggest formal divisions (whether they are intended to or not); and the fonts used for each written instruction convey a great deal of information as well.

The tradition of using italicized text for expressive directions, and plain or bold text for technical instructions such as pizzicato or fingering guides helps associate each category—expressive and technical—with a particular visual style, thus making it that much easier to interpret the instruction while sight reading. Composers who create handwritten scores would do well to consider analogous ways to differentiate between these categories of markings. Likewise, the practice of using plain or bold text for section tempo markings and italics for progressive tempo changes subtly aids in codifying the interplay of motion and stability, traveling and arriving, that the above distinctions make possible.

In vocal music, the International Phonetic Alphabet (or IPA) provides a universal language for writing down most any vocal sound, be it English, Russian, or some stream of nonsense concluded by a croaking vocal fry. The alphabet contains new and unique characters and while time-consuming to absorb, it’s an indispensable tool for composers who wish to explore the timbral potential of the human voice. In a recent composition for choir, I struggled for days with an idea that moved from nonsense to an intelligible text; the solution turned out to be using very different fonts for the English text and IPA syllables. It’s amazing how a seemingly subtle visual cue can often turn a hopeless situation completely around.

It’s pretty geeky to write, think, or read about fonts. But if you’re composing notated music, trust me, paying attention to fonts won’t make you any more of a geek than you already are—and you’ll likely reap some great benefits as a result. Many composers have taken to making their own fonts for harmonic analysis, tablature, or aesthetic enrichment; they’re true “font-huggers” and a real boon to the rest of us when they share their creations. We might not all have the savvy to make our own fonts, but understanding how to use one’s available fonts in order to reinforce concepts and structural details in the music can go a long way to ensure that these items are successfully communicated.

Sharpen Your Quills!

In Jesse Ann Owen’s seminal book Composers at Work: The Craft of Musical Composition 1450-1600, she describes the physical equipment that composers from that period used as they sketched and made initial drafts of their music:

The main instrument for writing during this time period was the quill pen, the point of which had to be cut according to the kind of letters or shapes desired. The graphite pencil that is the ancestor of the pencil in use today was developed during the second half of the sixteenth century, following the discovery of a source of graphite in England, and it came in to common use only after 1600. Other kinds of pencils, made from lead or other metal, left quite fine and faint lines, not appropriate for musical composition. All of the extant manuscripts used for composing were written with pen and ink.

The use of ink meant that erasure was difficult. There were only four ways to correct a mistake: write over it, cross it out, smudge it before the ink dried, or scrape the ink from the surface with a small knife…The choice of method was determined by the stage of work and the requirements for neatness.

When the creation of music is discussed or analyzed, it is rare (other than in Owen’s book, albeit briefly) for the physical tools with which the artist transfers their ideas from mind to page to enter the conversation. Similarly, as commonplace as corporate mergers, acquisitions, and divestitures have become within our modern economic landscape, one would not expect such issues to have a direct and potentially negative impact on the output of creative artists such as composers.

Yet these two seemingly unrelated topics were suddenly brought sharply into focus this week with the news that AVID, the parent company of the popular Sibelius notation software, would be closing down Sibelius’s main British-based development office as part of a major streamlining move to cut costs. First widely publicized by Norman Lebrecht on his Slipped Disc blog and augmented by NewMusicBox’s own investigative team, this move and the possibility of AVID discontinuing the Sibelius product altogether has had a chilling effect throughout a portion of the new music community.

For the uninitiated, the ability to create affordable, publisher-quality engraved music notation on a personal computer came into existence with the advent of Finale in 1989 in the United States and the emergence of Sibelius in the UK in 1993. Ever since Sibelius became available on the Windows and Macintosh platforms in 1998, the healthy rivalry between Finale and Sibelius has forced each to continually hone their functionality and ultimately improved both software applications.

The practical result of these improvements has been the raised expectations on composers to produce professional-level engraved scores and parts; conductors, instrumentalists, and singers today will usually turn a piece down altogether if it is hand-written by anyone but the best calligraphers. In addition to the performer’s expectations, these software applications have given composers various tools with which they can hear their music through playback, quickly extract parts from a full score, and allow for an immense amount of control over the presentation of their music.

As notation software has become as ubiquitous within the composer community as Photoshop has become with professional photographers, it will come as no surprise that the threat of one of these major applications being discontinued is of great concern to many professional composers. To this end, I sent out a brief list of three questions to about fifty well-respected composers in the US and UK to get a sense of how this topic might affect their creative output. Considering the fact that they were only given two days to respond, the fact that I was able to get twenty responses was great and the results are very much across the board.

To all of these composers, I asked the following questions:

1. Which do you use—Finale or Sibelius?
2. In what ways do you use the software before, during, or after the creative process?
3. What would the ramifications to your own current process be if, for some reason, your notation software become discontinued?

Attitudes on this topic ranged from indifference to horror; depending on how each composer used their software in their creative process, the effect of a discontinuance seemed to be anywhere from a minor annoyance to a DEFCON 1 level upheaval. Out of the twenty composers who responded to my questions, seven use Finale, twelve use Sibelius, and one uses both. Below are some of the responses I received.

***
Chen Yi (Finale)

I use Finale to copy finished scores or to work directly on computer when I arrange my own works for different instrumentation…It will be terribly inconvenient if I can’t open the existing files to make corrections later. I still remember how much time I had to spend in making corrections on my older works in the past.

Clint Needham (Sibelius)

I use the program at all stages of the creative process…ideas usually arise from the piano or from the aether and are quickly plugged into the computer and manipulated.  There is also a fair amount of keyboard time, but because my piano chops are limited, the program really allows me to explore a variety of pitch and rhythmic manipulations to my ideas.  I think this is the case for a number of non-pianist composers.

The beauty of any notation program is the command the composer has on the creation of their own score and parts that are performance ready.  This works for composers at any stage—student to professional.   This also allows us to make changes quickly to the score and parts.  The main ramification for me would be the time and exhausting experience of learning a new notation program.

Jennifer Higdon (Finale)

I do a combination for composing…I do pencil on paper and computer.  Ultimately, it all ends up on the computer in Finale.  And because I run my own publishing house, it means everything is in Finale, and we just print directly from the files (daily orders means everyday use of the program).

This is too scary to think about.  I currently have PDF backups of every work (all the scores and parts…it amounts to thousands of pages), but this would mean that I couldn’t make any changes in the pieces themselves, even when I find mistakes (just last week a performer alerted me to a missing accidental in a string quartet that’s almost ten years old).  The ramifications would be huge.

Steven Stucky (Sibelius)

Only for engraving, usually not as part of the compositional process. For all but the smallest chamber or choral pieces, I write a pencil score that goes to a copyist for input. He uses Finale.

Little or no effect on my composing, since I don’t use the software as part of my compositional process. The occasional exceptions are brief passages of dense textures built up by canonic imitation, in which cut-and-paste in Sibelius can be a more effective way to model the result than simply working it out on paper.

Jason Eckardt (Finale)

The software gives me a degree of control in the production of the final score and parts that I cannot achieve in any other satisfactory way. Since music notation is an inexact translation of abstract imaginary events into a set of instructions, I want to be able to articulate those instructions in the most precise and personal way possible.

While composing, I sketch out a very rough first draft of ideas on paper and then refine them in Finale, adding dynamics, articulations, performance instructions, refining rhythms and pitch formations, and so on. This gives me another filter for my raw ideas and allows me to further objectify my creative impulses so that I may analyze them more effectively. When I am finished with the piece, all of the input is in the file, and the final production is then a question of editing, yet another filter for self-critique.

I find software playback to be annoying at best, but it is useful for getting a sense of the large-scale design and pacing in a way that, for me, is more difficult when reading through the score. I suspect that this is because I am able to further remove myself from the viewpoint of the composer (aware of all of the processes, techniques, designs, and possible inadequacies that exist within the composition) and engage with the piece purely as a listener.

I suppose I would have to learn the new software that would replace what I am currently using. I wouldn’t look forward to that, considering I’ve more or less figured out how to manipulate Finale exactly as I desire.

Paola Prestini (Sibelius)

I use Sibelius after my first draft of writing in order to refine ideas and add elements such as backing tracks or electronics. Sibelius interfaces smoothly with my self-made and preexisting sound banks in Logic and because the electronic angle of my composition is still based on intuitive discovery, this part of my process is crucial for my electroacoustic works.

I’d be majorly slowed down if this aspect of my process was thwarted by change. I’d of course learn the next tool, but it would be an unwanted choice.

Ken Ueno (Finale)

I often work in chunks.  I compose a section, then notate it.  This way, I don’t end up doing the thing I most detest (copying) all together in the end, I get some relief from the concentration of composing by doing some mindless busy work (whilst listening to tunes), and I get to edit the recently composed section.

It would be a real pain, but maybe it will foster some grassroots projects for a platform more natively supportive of new music and its graphical challenges.

Carson Cooman (Sibelius, engraver uses SCORE)

[I use Sibelius] after [the creative process]…Sibelius 7 was such a horrific update, that I intended to keep using Sibelius 6 as long as I can still get it to run. So, in that sense I already had felt they’d lost their way, and I was going to stick with the older/better version. There is still a community of professional copyists who use SCORE (which, as a DOS program, must be run in emulation on any modern systems), so it may someday become an analogous situation for continuing to run old versions of Sibelius.

Alexandra Gardner (Finale)

I use it extensively during (writing directly to computer and for playback) and after (extracting parts, editing, revising, etc.)…

[Ramifications?] DEVASTATION. I hope no one has to deal with an issue like that. Ever.

David T. Little (Sibelius)

I compose almost entirely in the computer these days, using the traditional pencil and paper only to sketch beforehand, work out details during, or analyze afterward. For many of my acoustic works, the creative process lives largely within this particular software environment.

Well, in a way I’m already behind the times, since I haven’t upgraded to Sibelius 7. (Nor do I plan to.) Sibelius 6 feels very comfortable to me, and I plan to keep using it until I just can’t anymore.  I guess at that point, I will have to figure out something new.

Annie Gosfield (Finale)

I use notation software after the creative process. It’s just a matter of inputting data after a piece is finished, or after a piece is revised.

I’ve used Finale for so long it’s become automatic and intuitive. It would be terrible to have to start at zero with a new application. Over the years I have considered changing to Sibelius, but I’ve always found Finale to be more flexible, so the last thing I wanted was to add the chore of learning a new notation application.

Gabriel Kahane (Sibelius)

Depending on the scale of the piece, I will integrate Sibelius at various stages. For non-orchestral works, my strong preference is to input into Sibelius after having a full draft, though it seems that becomes less and less the way things actually work out. I’d be loathe to say that Sibelius is part of my “creative” process, but I certainly depend on it for ease of part-making, etc….

It would be a major bummer if Sibelius were discontinued, though I imagine I’d just use my outdated software forever…

Jason Robert Brown (Finale)

I really just use it as a transcription and copying tool—sometimes I’ll use it to proof piano parts by doing playback, but not much…If it got discontinued, I presume I’d finally learn how to use Sibelius, reluctantly.

Tarik O’Regan (Sibelius)

In one way, I use it in a similar fashion to the way I use Microsoft Word, that is silently! But—different to the way one might use a word processor—I tend not to compose “at the computer.” Rather, I use Sibelius as a transcription tool for ideas that have already been largely worked-out elsewhere. Also, as I work with a publisher, my Sibelius files are never in final form when they leave my computer.

To the creative process, strangely, not too much, I think. However, I imagine the ramification for the print production process would be quite significant. Most importantly, I might be able to start listening to Sibelius symphonies again without thinking AVID is trying to sell me something…

Kristin Kuster (Sibelius)

I use notation software at the end of my writing process. I write by hand first, then notate in Sibelius. Every now and again, if a deadline is fast approaching, I input large completed sections into Sibelius as I go; yet I prefer to get the whole piece down by hand before hitting the computer.

I used for Finale for 16 years. After finishing large pieces in Finale, I had a reverb of aching “mousearm” because getting the whole piece down took so long—too much menu drop-downing and mouse dragging. My brain and body don’t want to go back to cumbersome Finale, it’s simply not as smooth as Sibelius.

It is worth noting that a discontinuation of Sibelius would have a broad-reaching, massive impact on music education programs across the country. I estimate nearly ninety percent of our student composers at the University of Michigan use Sibelius as their primary notation software, and many faculty across the UM School of Music, Theatre, and Dance use Sibelius as a teaching tool for a wide variety of purposes.

Kurt Rohde (Sibelius)

It is a very helpful tool for teaching good notation skills, and for quick playback realizations. I have done projects with students whereby we have a single Sibelius file of a piece that everyone is working one simultaneously. We pass the file around and make changes/additions and save multiple versions, allowing us to go back and look at the process that lead us to the final composition.

As far as it being helpful for my own process, I am more a sit down and play and write on paper and listen composer. I will rarely use the playback or plugins. That said, it has been helpful for providing MIDI files for pieces that involve dance, movement, theater, so that preliminary workshops and rehearsals can help with the assembly of a piece that otherwise would require the availability of (at the very least) a piano and pianist at the whim of my collaborators. This format makes it possible to do collaborative projects that involve other peoples’ schedules and separation by large distances.

What is very funny about this announcement is that I just got a new MacBook Pro, and realized I needed to get updated Sibelius software. I contacted them asking if I could upgrade to Sibelius 6 (I have not been impressed with version 7), and got a note back the day the announcement came out that I could not do that; I could only go directly to Sibelius 7 (“but this one goes to 11…”).

Oscar Bettison (Sibelius)

I used to write on paper, then transfer everything over to Sibelius, but now it’s more complicated. In the last few years I’ve found myself with a new writing process that involves me going between paper and Sibelius, especially when working with notes. I try to produce as much material as possible, much more than I’ll ever need, and that’s faster to do in the program than on paper.

[Discontinuation?] In a word, disastrous. I write very slowly, and some of that is ameliorated by the software. I can do the bookends of the process (the sketching stage and the parts stage) so much faster with it. Plus the fact that, when working with performers, I can write something, make a .pdf and a midi file, email them both and find out in a matter of hours if what I’ve done works for them or not. If Sibelius was discontinued, it would be like stepping back into the Dark Ages for me.

Alex Shapiro (Sibelius)

I’ve used Sibelius since about 2000, when I was dubbed one of their “ambassadors,” turning others on to the ease and quality of the program. I went straight from hand-copying to Sibelius, without having previously used any other notation software. Thus, were Sibelius to head six feet under to meet its namesake, I’d no doubt have to learn Finale since publishing my works is a significant part of my business.

My creative process—as well as that of my business—is greatly expanded by the use of a notation program. The manner by which I compose a particular piece is dictated by the needs of that project.

If I’m composing an acoustic piece for which it would be helpful to give the performing ensemble a very listenable mock-up to assist their rehearsal process, then I compose in Digital Performer manipulating high-end samples, record a performance version, then quantize the heck out of a copy and save it as a Standard MIDI File, and export it into Sibelius where I then make it look like real music on the page. This is a very streamlined process that accomplishes several tasks at once between the two programs.

If I’m composing an electroacoustic work, the process is the same as above, and since I create the accompanying audio tracks in Digital Performer, the added bonus is that I export not only the MIDI file but the mixed audio file into Sibelius, which syncs them both and allows me to notate a solid road map of the non-instrumental sounds in the score.

If I’m composing a work like my flute quartet, Bioplasm, employing a lot of unusual instrumental techniques that would be nearly impossible to demo, then I input the music directly into Sibelius using only a typing keyboard, since I’m only concerned with the score and parts and how they will communicate my musical intentions.

In all cases, since I’m publishing my music and not only selling it directly, but getting it to distributors around the world, a notation program is the only way to accomplish this. It’s a piece of software that is directly responsible for a notable amount of my income long after the music has been composed.

Kevin Puts (Sibelius)

Once my basic ideas are generated by improvising on the keyboard, I use the program during the entire process of composing. I use paper to scrawl down ideas much of the time, but spend no time whatsoever making those ideas legible or coherent on paper. I use Sibelius’s playback feature often as a means of getting a general sense of pacing and “feel,” though I do not rely on this feature to “check orchestration” or any other aspect of composition.

I would be very disappointed if Sibelius became discontinued. Simply on a visual level, I think music notation extremely beautiful. I love the look of beautifully engraved scores, and without boring you with details, I will say I have very idiosyncratic preferences when it comes to the look of a score. Even before I began using Sibelius in 1999, I was writing my scores meticulously by hand, using templates, stencils, sheets of transfer letters which were rubbed onto the page to create professional-looking text, sometimes typing out blocks of texts and cutting and pasting them onto the page, rulers, pens of different thicknesses, etc. I wanted to emulate the look of hand-written scores by Joseph Schwantner and Christopher Rouse (my teachers at Eastman), George Crumb (an almost unreachable standard). I had made a feeble attempt several years before this to use the program Score, which, to my eye, produces the most elegant scores of any program, but the learning curve was simply too steep for me, and it seemed to me Score really amounted to an engraving program rather than a user-friendly composing tool.

Many colleagues of mine at Eastman and then my first students (at UT Austin) were often using Finale, but—with the very rare exception where the composer was an absolute expert/computer genius with the program and could adjust the defaults to his/her liking—to me the results were completely unsatisfying and looked exactly like that which they were: student works. So it wasn’t until Joe Schwantner brought in Sibelius at Eastman in 1998 or 1999 and gave a demo to the composers that I was sold. Everything looked immediately beautiful and “right” to me: the shape of the noteheads, the slurs (much like those in Score), the ties (ditto), the spacing, the articulations, even the default text settings. I loved the way you could, with the mouse, manipulate the page as if it were sitting on a desk in front of you. I loved that parts could be generated almost effortlessly, and today this feature is improved to the point it seems ludicrous to pay someone thousands of dollars to extract a set of orchestral parts when it can be done in two or three afternoons while watching AMC and Comedy Central.

In short, I LOVE Sibelius and I absolutely and positively rely on it. I am fortunate to work with Bill Holab, who is my publishing agent. Bill works with the Sibelius writers to refine the program each time a new version comes out, so he always knows the answer when I get stuck or something goes wrong, which is almost never.

Avid Keeps Sibelius, Employee Confirms UK Office Closure

Avid Technology, the company behind the high-end video editing suite Avid and the owners of Sibelius software, announced Monday that it had agreed to sell its consumer audio and video product lines.

Gary Greenfield, CEO of Avid, noted that “by streamlining and simplifying operations, we expect to deliver improved financial performance and partner more closely with our enterprise and professional customers,” but no updates specific to the future of the Sibelius line were addressed in the release.

Avid PR contact Ian Bruce, responding to a direct request for comment, stated, “Specifically on Sibelius, this was not part of the sales we announced this week. Sibelius stays with Avid, and is an important brand and product for us going forward.”

Bruce did not respond to follow-up questions regarding unconfirmed reports that Avid is closing the UK Sibelius office and that the work will be moved to a team in the Ukraine to cut costs. He also did not address Avid’s plans for product support during this transition time nor comment on the next development release of the software.

Avid bought Sibelius in 2006 from its founders Ben and Jonathan Finn. On Twitter, Sibelius Senior Product Manager Daniel Spreadbury confirmed the closure of the UK office and that development is moving elsewhere. It is still unknown what this means for Sibelius’s UK staff.

When asked how Sibelius connects to Avid’s stated focus on enterprise and professional customers, Bruce said, “Sibelius is widely used by our Media Enterprise customers (broadcast, film and others), educational customers, and Post/Pro, and is regarded as the de facto professional platform for writing, playing, printing and sharing music.”

On Tuesday Avid conducted a conference call with slides to announce the sales, and subsequently posted the slide deck. The slides outline Avid’s focus on professional post-production customers and a more streamlined set of products. The slides make no mention of Sibelius.

Composers took to social media to share their concerns and request information from the company.

Twitter Discussion of Sibelius

Sibelius Senior Product Manager Daniel Spreadbury, Avid representative Marianna Montague, and composer Melissa Dunphy comment on this week’s Avid news.

Storified by · Thu, Jul 05 2012 10:43:07

When the news broke, composer Melissa Dunphy took to twitter and was contacted by Avid representative Marianna Montague:
.@avidmarianna Why are we hearing that the UK office has been shut down? These are the people who made Sibelius as wonderful as it is.Melissa Dunphy
@mormolyke Sibelius is not part of the sale Avid announced. Sibelius stays w/ Avid and is an important brand & product moving forward.Marianna Montague
@mormolyke we have restructured ops including closing some facilities but this shouldn’t be confused w/ our commit 2 products like Sibelius.Marianna Montague
@avidmarianna Sibelius users are extremely concerned about this, especially since the UK office was the driving force behind Sibelius.Melissa Dunphy
@avidmarianna For many of us, UK developers are our point of contact – people whom we trust & talk to about improvements to the software.Melissa Dunphy
@avidmarianna Are you planning on issuing a statement re: what will happen to Sibelius development now that the main office has been closed?Melissa Dunphy
A little later in the day, and after an outpouring of supportive tweets from many composers, Sibelius’ Senior Product Manager, Daniel Spreadbury, took to Twitter himself, confirming part of the story.
Thanks to everybody who has expressed concern for me and my colleagues today. It means a lot!dspreadbury
@dspreadbury Did Avid divest Sibelius? Their own website and investor call replay doesn’t directly mention it one way or the other.Matt Erion
@Stonewing No divestment, but it is closing our office and moving development elsewhere. Future of everybody in our office is unclear.dspreadbury
@dspreadbury FWIW, your customer service and all-round awesomeness was a big reason I always raved about Sibelius. Thank you.Melissa Dunphy

(reporting contributed by Molly Sheridan and Kevin Clark)
Correction: An earlier version of this article misidentified Daniel Spreadbury as David Spreadbury. Thanks to commenter Hilton Cubbitt for pointing out the mistake. We apologize for the error.

An Audience of Performers, Part 1

Following up on some loose threads from last week’s post, I’d like to delve a little further into the many-layered and non-transparent relationship between composers, performers, and listeners in music.

The model above, proposed by Kendall and Carterette[i], is not the most exciting thing in the world, but it at least gives you a basic idea of how some people think musical intention/expression is transmitted. The composer sets down ideas in the form of notation, which is transmitted to the performer, who interprets that notation and transforms it into sound, which is then perceived/received by the listener. Obviously, not all music works like this, but for the 200-300 years of the common practice period, it seemed to function pretty well. In the mid-20th century, however, the cracks begin to show and this model begins to break down.

It’s impossible to discuss this situation without John Cage, in part because many people blame Cage for it. But the fact is that this disconnect between composers, performers and audience was around long before Cage showed up.[ii] Cage makes it out to be a universal problem, but in retrospect it feels very much like a mid-20th century thing. So what caused this disconnect in the first place? Most obviously, the disintegration of common practice led to a fragmentation of musical languages. While there were still a lot of musically fluent people, they couldn’t speak coherently to each other anymore. There are a lot of ideas in Cage’s music that stem from this crisis—indeterminacy, chance procedures, Zen, removing ego/intentionality, silence—but I want to focus on one specific way he reconfigured the composer-performer-audience relationship.

Cage's Concert for Piano and Orchestra

Cage’s Concert for Piano and Orchestra – Copyright © 1960 by Henmar Press Inc. (ASCAP) All rights reserved. Used by permission of C.F. Peters Corporation.

BT is one of the most unusual notations in the score of Cage’s Concert for Piano and Orchestra (also called Solo for Piano when unaccompanied), written for his friend, the virtuoso pianist David Tudor. Cage’s instructions state that “notes give place of performance with respect to the piano,” but the drawing shows the outline of two grand pianos and a collection of points that, for the most part, do not intersect either piano. Cage presents a kind of impossible puzzle for the performer that has no optimal solution; Tudor’s answer is nonetheless ingenious and comprehensive. Tudor interprets those points which intersect the curve of the first piano as effects on the strings or body of the piano, points which come close to the keyboard of the second piano as effects on the keys, and points away from both as auxiliary sounds, non-pianistic in origin. The vertical axis determines their placement in time; the horizontal axis determines their pitch.

In a very real sense, the performer is the audience of Concert for Piano and Orchestra. Cage circumvents the problem of communicating to an unknown audience by communicating to an audience of one: his friend and collaborator David Tudor.

Cage certainly wasn’t the only one to re-direct his energies in this way; Earle Brown’s December 1952 (from FOLIO) is another example of graphic notation used to re-invent the role of performer.

Brown's December 1952 - Copyright © 1952 by AMP/G.Schirmer. Used with permission.

December 1952 By Earle Brown
Copyright © 1961 (Renewed) by Associated Music Publishers, Inc. (BMI)
International Copyright Secured. All Rights Reserved.
Used by Permission.

Like Cage, Brown provides cryptic instructions to the performer, who “must set this all in motion (time), which is to say, realize that it is in motion and step into it…” (One interpretation suggested to me involves moving into the score, as if it were a 3-dimensional star field.) In some sense, this piece does not even have to be sounded to be performed. Its resemblance to visual art suggests that the viewer of the score can simply activate it with the eyes and the brain.

Cornelius Cardew’s Treatise is in many ways the culmination of this idea, a 193-page graphic score with no explicit verbal instructions whatsoever. Cardew imagined it as an attempt to escape from the rigidity of serial music, and encourage improvisation amongst avant-garde musicians.

Cardew's Treatise

Cardew’s Treatise – Copyright © 1967 Gallery Upstairs Press, USA. Copyright © 1970 assigned to Hinrichsen Edition. All rights reserved. Used by permission of C.F. Peters Corporation.

At the same time, Treatise also expresses most succinctly what is problematic about the performer-as-audience, and Cardew renounced the piece later in life. His repudiation of Treatise is clothed in Maoist political ideas, but the performer-audience relationship is at the heart of the problem: “In performance, the score of Treatise is in fact an obstacle between the musicians and the audience.”[iii] In other words, the fact that improvising musicians had to relate to an audience through a particular artifact, rather than directly through their own musical intentions, felt utterly counterproductive to Cardew.

It’s difficult to imagine where to go from Treatise. It seems like a pinnacle, a dead end. In fact it’s not quite, and I’ll talk about why next week. (Some of you may already have guessed from some of the hints I’ve dropped.)

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i. R. Kendall and E. Carterette: “The Communication of Musical Expression,” Music Perception, pp. 129-163, Vol. 8, No. 2 (Winter, 1990).


ii. I’ve quoted this before, but why not repeat it: “Music doesn’t really communicate to people. Or if it does, it does it in very, very different ways from one person to the next… No one was understanding anybody else. It was clearly pointless to continue that way.” John Cage, in Kostelanetz, Richard, 1988, ed. Conversing with Cage. New York: Limelight.


iii. Stockhausen Serves Imperialism, http://www.ubu.com/historical/cardew/cardew_stockhausen.pdf

Excuse the Geek Out, Part 2

Last week in this space, I began this current geek out on musical notation, partially in response to Alexandra Gardner’s question from two weeks prior: “How much information does a composer working today attempt to convey to musicians through a written score?” The trick appears to be in avoiding over- and under-specificity while notating our ideas in order to convey our main compositional goals. I believe that there is a direct correlation between the amount of abstraction and originality in the form of a new piece and the amount of information performers need in order to understand the composer’s intent.

Of course, if you ask ten different composers to tell you what musical parameters contain their main compositional ideas, you’ll likely be treated to ten different answers. For some, music making begins with the manipulation of pitches within the 12-tone equal temperament system and its performance equivalents. For these composers, the traditional notation system works quite well, as they can name the desired note and allow the performing musician to bring their musicality to bear in order to subtly re-tune, illuminating the underlying structure. Others eschew any consideration of specific notes in order to focus on timbral issues, while a third group pushes beyond the typical 12-note limitations to compose microtonal music in tunings that don’t map onto the typical grand staff. Issues of rhythm, instrumentation, performance techniques, form, and all other musical choices will find composers displaying a similar range of unique interests. For some, the traditional notation system will suffice perfectly well, while others will need to invent unique methods to convey their ideas.

Over the past few years, I’ve been changing my approach to musical notation. I began my compositional studies writing conventional scores by hand, but quickly moved into computer engraving. Even as I started to conceive of different ways that I might be able to convey my musical ideas more concisely, I allowed the limitations of the notation software (and in 1994, notation software was significantly more limited than it is today) to direct me down certain notational paths. As I have become more certain about my musical ideas, I’ve begun pushing against the constraints of the software, goading it along a path towards creating scores that convey these ideas as clearly as possible.

For years, I’ve been writing a great deal of slow music representing sonic landscapes with some recognizable natural elements and others that are distorted in order to convey a sense of alienation. I’ve wanted a free sense of rubato in which some events begin simultaneously while others are displaced against each other, and in which these occurrences might have different internal rates of speed or emotional character. In order to communicate these thoughts in traditional notation, my rhythms became more and more complex and difficult to count, but in rehearsal I often found myself exhorting the players to ignore the specificity of the rhythm in order to feel the natural ebb and flow that I so carefully notated. In the following two-measure example from a piece for two pianos and percussion, for example, I needed seven different subdivisions of the quarter-note pulse in order to notate the various proportions, while my main concerns were in the way that the start of gestures aligned and in their ability to represent individual sound sources juxtaposed by their proximity. In order to accurately perform this passage, most ensembles need to conduct as they play, thereby gaining accuracy in their entrances but losing any ability to truly conceive of their individual parts as independent of the surrounding texture.

Smooke Score: Example One

Example One (click image to enlarge)

Looking back to many pieces in time-line notation and also to works of Crumb in which instruments are notated in their own graphic space with arrows indicating points of congruence, I began to work towards a notational system that would allow the musicians freedom within their parts while maintaining the ability to synchronize where desired.

In a non-opera for three singers (each personifying a character) and string quartet from 2011, I began to codify this system. The following performance indication (Example Two) at the bottom of the first page of the score gave the players a sense of the relative length of each note. This new system allowed for a freely proportional rhythmic notation appropriate for the misremembered lullaby and landscape painting of the music itself. In Example Three (below), you can see how it came together to allow for synchronization and independently flowing lines. The performers were able to get at the musicality of the passage in a way that I found completely satisfying, creating a sense of unpredictable flow at independent speeds without needing to count obtuse rhythmic figures. They were able to spend more time listening and less time counting.

Smooke Score: Example Two

Example Two

Smooke Score: Example Three

Example Three (click image to enlarge)

The problem with the notation illustrated above was that I didn’t leave room for any gradation between slow notes lasting one second and notes performed as fast as possible. As I’ve continued to develop this system, I’ve worked towards the following chart:

Smooke Score: Example Four

Example Four (click image to enlarge)

I’ve been surprised at how well this new notational system has worked for chamber ensembles of various sizes. In the following passage (engraved by an incredibly talented student composer, Viet Cuong, who is graduating from Peabody with his M.M. this year and beginning his studies at Princeton in the fall) for guitar quartet, in which the middle two guitars are slightly de-tuned, I was able to ask the outer players to listen to each other as they repeat their harmonics gesture in order to avoid synchronization. They quickly were able to create an echoing effect. Meanwhile, the faster runs in the middle two guitars sound like a cadenza against this background, and they can be performed at various rates of speed depending on the skill level of the performing musicians. When I’ve tried to utilize traditional notation to exactly represent passages with similar approaches to time, the performers have found them to be prohibitively difficult to learn, and they have often necessitated a conductor.

Smooke Score: Example Five

Example Five (click image to enlarge)

With this new system, when I’d like passages to be exactly synchronized, I can simply give the players a tempo and invoke traditional rhythmic notation. As you can see in the excerpt below, the advantage of this system for me is that, even in those instances, an additional part can explode freely beyond the bar lines in complex proportional relationships with the prevailing pulse as created by the performer in the moment.

Smooke Score: Example Six

Example Six

For me, the final test of this notational system was whether it could be applied to a large ensemble with a conductor. Quite recently, I was able to create a score for a concerto for toy piano and 15 other instruments, with the assistance of the crack engraving skills of Viet. Instead of parts, we produced a specific score tailored for each of the players, highlighting their individual part and accommodating their page turns. In order to allow for variations of the form of the piece in performance, the middle section of the concerto creates what the conductor has called a “choose your own adventure” scenario. In this area, the toy pianist can opt for any of nine musical phrases, playing each in any order at least once and no more than three times. At the end of each phrase, the ensemble performs one of six responses. Example Seven shows the toy piano cadenza, and Example Eight depicts the orchestral responses.

Smooke Score: Example Seven

Example Seven

Smooke Score: Example Eight

Example Eight

This new notation allows me to focus on my main compositional ideas and to simplify those elements that are less important for me. While a first glance might lead a musician to find these scores frighteningly obtuse, I’ve found that this system has helped to speed up rehearsals and to lead towards performances that more accurately convey my compositional intent.

*
If you’re interested in hearing what this notation sounds like in action, the Atlantic Guitar Quartet and the Great Noise Ensemble will be premiering the latter two pieces discussed above this Friday, in Baltimore and Washington, D.C., respectively, and I’ll post examples to my website this summer.

Excuse the Geek Out, Part 1

notesA couple of weeks ago in these august pixels, Alexandra Gardner asked “How much information does a composer working today attempt to convey to musicians through a written score?” Over the past few years, I’ve been giving a great deal of thought to this question.

In discussing this issue with my composition students, I sometimes begin by asking why they want to notate their music in the first place. In this day and age, we have many different methods by which we may convey information about our music, and printed scores can be relatively inefficient and can be devoid of the sorts of details that are important to the piece itself. Electronic pieces may exist solely as recorded sound, without any accompanying visuals whatsoever. Many rock musicians and other performers from aural traditions prefer to learn songs through collaborative performance and memorization, obviating the need for a score when creating music for these small traveling ensembles. Those of us working in similar genres may choose to eschew written representations of our ideas.

The main reason to create a musical score is to convey our compositional ideas to other performing musicians. Of course, this postulation leads to the next question: What do we consider our compositional ideas? Composers such as John Luther Adams and Arvo Pärt often pen entire pieces without giving the performer even a single dynamic marking. While on the surface these sparsely notated scores might appear to prioritize the pitches and rhythms, in practice these composers create a situation whereby the performer’s articulation, phrasing, and dynamic choices become part of the spiritual nature of bringing the music to life, as these pieces maintain their identity throughout a wide range of varied performances. Other composers attempt to convey their explicit wishes at every moment in the score, utilizing copious attention to detail in order to display the dramatic impetus for their works. I generally find that the more abstract the form of the piece, the more score detail that is necessary in order for the performers to understand their roles within the whole.

In my own music, I generally attempt to create scores that contain enough detail so that I may email PDFs to new performers and they can then perform the composition in a way that will convey my vision for the music. When I feel strongly about how a sound should be articulated, I try to be specific enough so that someone reading the score can hear the intended result. Conversely, when I believe that there are multiple ways of performing a motive that all could work within the context, or when I want a specific type of sound but am not certain as to the best way to achieve that sound (e.g.: I’ve generally found that percussionists have creative solutions for mallet selection that work better in my pieces than my initial thoughts), I try to give the performer the freedom to choose their own preferred solution. In general, when a musician presents multiple ways to play a line while respecting what I’ve put on the page, I ask them which they prefer and we go from there. If it is not in the score, I try to remain open to different ideas as to how something can be performed. If it is in the score, it is generally there because I feel strongly about that particular moment.

There are two situations that I try to convince my students to avoid. First, I attempt to prevent them from over-notating. If a line appears fussy and unmusical, I might ask them to perform it for me. We’ll then spend a little time discussing whether or not they’ve conveyed all the information on the page in an attempt to work towards the essential aspects of that moment. Second, I ask them to put the information that they believe is important into the score itself. When they bring large swaths of music without any dynamics or articulation, I might posit extreme interpretations that performers could bring to bear, in hopes that the student will remain open to all the possibilities conveyed by their score.

Thinking about these issues has led me towards some changes in my own notational style and system. Next week, I’d like to continue this geek out in order to present some of my personal solutions to these questions.

Notation Creation

Sample from Scroll by Will Redman

Sample from Scroll by Will Redman

“How much information does a composer working today attempt to convey to musicians through a written score?”

This is a really great question, asked by some students (non-musicians) in a course covering the history of music notation. A neighbor who teaches the class stopped over to ask me my opinion on the matter last night (being the only composer on the block can be fun!), and I’ve been tossing the question about in my head ever since.

Although my answer, which was basically “it depends on the composer,” was completely not helpful (because apparently her students, mostly engineering majors, wanted actual numbers), I’ve been pulling together some writings and examples of different notation styles for her to share with the students to help illustrate such an open-ended response. There are tons of options, but some favorites of mine include scores of George Crumb, Witold Lutosławski, Eleanor Hovda, Brian Ferneyhough (for a shot of jaw-dropping disbelief mixed with anxious butterflies), as well as Baltimore local, Will Redman.

I think that the majority of composers are simply aiming for clear and accurate communication through musical notation that will result in a performance that sounds similar to the music they hear in their imaginations. Obviously what that unrealized imaginary music is like, including how much detail it holds, also varies from individual to individual. Some strive for 100% accuracy, maybe others are comfortable with 60%, and some, as in the case of improvisation-heavy works, might have relatively few preconceptions about the sonic outcome. Kyle Gann has some opinions on notation issues, which are important reading for every composer (and a great read in general) whether or not you agree with the ideas presented.

My professor friend is also doing some fantastic exercises with the students, in which they pair up and one has to figure out how to communicate a sound—using any sort of “notation” they can come up with—for the other student to produce, like the sound of a train whistle, or waves crashing on rocks. It’s like musical Pictionary! I want to sit in on this class.

Sometimes, even the clearest and most detailed score doesn’t relay absolutely everything, and that’s when the phone comes in handy:

“Hey! So, this fast section at the end of your piece? We’re not totally sure how you want it to be played. Can you give us some more info?”

“Ummm…. like a drunken gypsy wedding band run amok.”

Ooooh. That’s it! We get it!”

Being able to talk with the composer (again, depending on the composer) can be a blessing and/or a curse of new music!

Mafia of Dots and Lines

Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in—noteheads and stems, that is. No sooner, it seems, do I proclaim my intent to vacation away from standard staff-and-measure notation than I start a new piece making use of that very notation.

What draws us to the dots and lines, people? They tell performers what notes to play when, a task that would direly encumber a verbal instruction, of course—that’s obvious. They enable us to visualize particular conceptions of time and pitch-space. They situate us in a historical context. But for us, in the moment of composition, they have an extra feature: They let us eff around with notes.

Effing around with notes is what cut short my peregrination to the world of verbal scores. It’s a game, naturally, that years of music theory and composition training will equip you well to play. I won’t speak for all composers ever, but effing around with notes is something that I do for reasons that are only tangentially related to art. Arranging pitches and durations in the most satisfying way is an endlessly gratifying diversion that we can engage in while composing, while negotiating the time for which we’re nominally responsible, but effing around with notes is not a musical activity. It’s a fetish. It’s fantasy baseball. It masquerades as composition. Nevertheless, it seems I don’t have the willpower to divest myself of it just yet.