There is an obvious issue in Morton Feldman's compositional technique that I have never seen anyone write about - though I can't be the only one to notice it, and perhaps some discussion of it has escaped my reading.

Through some passages of Feldman's late works, it is remarkable - too remarkable for mere coincidence - how often his textures change at the end of a page. It doesn't seem true at the beginnings of pieces, which will often be seamless. But at some point in a work, he will begin to settle into a rhythm. A texture or pitch set will be consistent for a page, and then the next page will have a different texture and pitch set, and the next page a different one still, and so on. It is almost as though he treated the page visually, as a whole, and every time he turned to a new page, thought, "Now for something new." For instance: in Crippled Symmetry there are no particular texture changes at page turns until page 5. The flute spends most of pages 5 and 6 on a motive in sevenths, Eb - Db - C - D, which ends when page 7 begins. Then:

- On page 9 the flutist plays only long, low notes on E, F, and Gb, and the percussionist plays only slow chords on the vibraphone alternating with single notes on the glockenspiel.

- On page 10, the flutist switches to angular motives on the regular flute, and the percussionist to the Eb - Db - C - D motive.

- On page 11, the flutist plays only reiterated Bbs above the treble clef, while the vibraphone is limited to a motive G - F# - B - A.

- On page 12, the flute takes up a different four-note motive, and the percussion is now limited to a reiterated Bb.

And so on, with changes of texture, pitch set, notation, and even number of staves occurring regularly with the turn of each new page. This is all the more peculiar in Crippled Symmetry, of course, because the three parts (flute, piano, percussion) aren't synchronized. Presumably, Feldman doesn't want such changes in texture and motive happening simultaneously, and thus waits until several pages into the piece before implementing them.

For Samuel Beckett for orchestra demonstrates an analogous relation to the page in a synchronized score. On pages 6, 8, 12, and 13, the last four or five measures are encapsulated in repeat signs. On pages 14, 15, and 16, each entire individual page is repeated. On pages 17, 18, and 19, the page is broken into two passages, each in repeat signs. Later we have a long passage in which, on each new page, repeat signs encompass every measure except the first and last. Neither here nor in Crippled Symmetry does any passage within repeat signs cross from one page to another. (Not every late piece is structured this way. I find no such changes in For Christian Wolff, and only a few, more inconclusively, in Clarinet and String Quartet.)

It is difficult to escape the impression that sometimes Feldman planned out each page individually, as an artist would. Sometimes in For Samuel Beckett the page is planned out symmetrically, making a contained and visible palindrome. Luckily, the Universal editions of these scores are copies of Feldman's manuscript, because if you engraved them, the pagination would likely change and obscure the relationship (as may have happened in the engraved piano works, like Triadic Memories and Piano). Evidence suggests that he composed the music on these pages - or, at least, when recopying, took care to maintain the same pagination.

It's an odd thought because, of course, a page is not a unit of musical time. We don't hear a page go by, or, usually, know from listening when one ends. But Feldman's music is often devoid of striking temporal landmarks, and the sense of experienced time becomes vague and immeasurable. For him, I suppose any long unit of time was as good as another. He loved exploring notation's psychological effect on the performer, and apparently he gave free rein to its psychological effect on himself too. A page became just the right length for a section of music, and, sitting in his study, each time he turned the page, it was time for something new.

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COMMENTS:

Art Jarvinen says: Kyle
I performed and recorded Why Patterns?, Crippled Symmetry, and For Philip Guston with the California E.A.R. Unit. Why Patterns? was particularly problematic because the three parts become synchronous at page 14, but we were never close to being together, and it was usually almost impossible to track each other to tell if we were even on the same page, let alone the same system.
So, in an effort to find a solution I sat down and added up all the rhythms in each part. They don't match, not even close. I don't remember which part is which, but between the part with the most material and that with the least, there is about a five minute discrepancy if everyone plays at the indicated tempo. So the only way to get to page 14 together is for one player to play a little faster than 63, and the player with less material to play slower. I did the math, but I don't have my notes handy. But anyway, it worked.
Feldman fixed that problem in the other pieces by giving all three players the same group of time signatures for each system, just shuffled around. So even though there is no way to use the barlines as guides - between any two barlines each player is actually in a different meter! - at least you know you all have the same number of total beats, and it's actually pretty easy to follow the rest of the group.

Art Jarvinen says: Another observation. It's fun to listen to "Guston" on fast forward (scan on your CD player). I dumped the whole thing onto CD that way. You can actually hear structural stuff that is only perceived subliminally at normal speed.
Some of your readers might not like the short attention span implied by this comment, but the first time I performed "Guston" Feldman was sitting ten feet from me - asleep.

Christopher Adler says: > It's an odd thought because, of course, a page is not a unit of musical time.
Feldman's Coptic Light, for orchestra, is a clear example of the page being the basis for formal design, but not musical time per se. Each page, in effect, frames a textile-inspired pattern that cuts across many of the instruments, created by measures containing notes or rests. The non-empty measures of one page, for example, might appear to make a large "X".
As I recall (it's been a while since I've see the score), the number of measures on each page is the same, but there are repeats irregularly positioned throughout. As a result, the visual patterns which are based on the page don't correspond to actual musical time.

Copyright 2007 by Kyle Gann

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