It has been a long time since I’ve written an update on the collaborative project Beavan Flanagan and I set out on about five months ago. Since the last update No sweeter sound than my own name has undergone several changes. The score has been finished, we’ve repurposed a storage stool into a speaker cabinet, experimented with a makeshift bone-conduction swimming cap, and performed the piece across England. Performances have taken place in Coventry, Birmingham, London, and last night in Huddersfield at the inaugural HCMOFF – an unaffiliated fringe event to the Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival (HCMF//). Continue reading
“Do the languages of the adult retain anything of the infinitely varied babble from which they emerged? If they did, then it would be only an echo, since where there are languages, the infant’s prattle has long ago vanished, at least in the form it once had in the mouth of the child who could not yet speak. It would be only an echo, of another speech and of something other than speech: an echolalia, which guarded the memory of the indistinct and immemorial babble that, in being lost, allowed all languages to be.”
Daniel Heller-Roazen. Echolalias: On the Forgetting of Language. New York: Zone Books, 2005. 11-12.
In late November of 2014 during the Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival, I had the pleasure of hosting friend, fellow composer/collaborator, and all around good guy Louis d’Heudieres. Louis arrived in Huddersfield well before the concert we planned to attend that evening and after a quick lunch we decided to engage in some attentive listening – a practice that I had been developing every other morning the previous three months with my flatmate, David Pocknee. In search for that elusive piece of music that is truly striking, captivating, and nearly paralyzing, I decided to play for Louis a recording of the very first piece of music I played for David when I moved in a few months prior – Shift, by the utterly mind-boggling (in the best sense possible!) composer/cellist, Franklin Cox. 
After the 14-minute tidal wave of multi-tracked cellos, the silence became pregnant with possibility…