Iannis Xenakis (1922–2001)
Nomos gamma (1968)
for 98 musicians distributed among the
audience
first performance
at the Proms
‘One does not go to Xenakis expecting
to have one’s ears soothed,’ a music critic once
remarked with wry understatement. Xenakis himself strongly
denied any intention to shock, yet he was also ready to admit
that his formative experiences as a member of the Greek wartime
and post-war resistance had their effect on his music.
Those experiences were both aural –
the sound of mass anti-Nazi demonstrations, with competing
slogans being shouted in and out of rhythmic unison – and
brutally physical: his resistance career ended just after the
war with his near-death from a British tank shell, which
shattered one side of his face and destroyed an eye. The
enforced isolation of this catastrophe drove him away from
politics towards his first loves – music and
architecture. He achieved rapid and innovative distinction in
both.
Xenakis’s music is built from
textures. The mass sounds of resistance demonstrations, or of
natural events such as hailstorms, find their parallels in his
love for swirling orchestral eruptions in which each member of Nomos gamma’s
98-person orchestra has their own individual part to play. A
fascination with space – doubtless a product of his
architectural work – led him in Nomos gamma to
‘tear down the barrier between audience and
orchestra’ by placing orchestral players around and among
the listeners. This is a rough ride, to be sure – Xenakis
loved danger in both life and art – but the shaping
of the music through the work’s 15 or so minutes is
compelling and endlessly surprising. Xenakis is the classic
case of an artist who, in Jean Cocteau’s phrase,
‘knows just how too far to go’.
Nomos gamma opens with wailing and sliding melodies on oboes and
clarinets (sounding like a deranged imaginary folk music)
punctuated by loud interjections from a group of drummers
– the only percussionists in this work. The strings join
in with typical Xenakis gliding sound-masses, and finally the
brass, dominated by strong middle range trumpets and very low
trombones. The persistently low trombone writing in this piece
is one of its most distinct features, and sounds curiously akin
to the ritual long trumpets (dungchen) of Tibetan monks (which
Xenakis only heard after completing this work). Xenakis’s
own programme note comments that the music involves a complete
range of playing techniques, from traditional to novel sounds.
One familiar technique is conspicuously excluded, however:
‘ABSOLUTELY NO VIBRATO’ his preface warns, thus
outlawing the lush playing style commonly employed by symphony
orchestras since at least the 1920s. The range of new playing
styles Xenakis uses includes microtones (intervals smaller than
the semitone tuning in Western music), bowing string
instruments with extreme pressure (causing a kind of irregular
grating), extremely fast irregular staccatos on brass and wind,
and the detuning of the drums so that when played en masse they
give the effect of thunderclaps or torrents of wild water. In
her biography of Xenakis, Nouritza Matossian aptly reminds
readers that the composer was fond of kayaking in rough
conditions off the Corsican coast. Nomos gamma is not a
picturesque description of such grandiose natural phenomena;
instead it simply thrusts the audience right into the middle of
them, without apology or preparation. For all the patient
calculation that went into Xenakis’s music, the final
impression of Nomos gamma is of spontaneity – direct,
uninhibited communication of an intensity that is remarkably
exhilarating.
Progamme note © Julian
Anderson
Julian Anderson was Professor of
Composition at Harvard University (2004–7) and is
currently Senior Professor of Composition at the Guildhall
School of Music & Drama. His second BBC Proms commission, ‘Heaven
is Shy of Earth’, was performed at the Proms in 2006.