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OLIVIER MESSIAEN Music and Color Conversations with Claude Samuel

Translated by E. Thomas Glasow

1il1ii1i~j~~~1iifi .~~ AMADEUS PRESS

Reinhard G. Pauly, General Editor Portland, Oregon ~ i ihu n ivcr, itci t k U trecht

LETTERE L ·~ BlBLIOTHEEK 1 =- - - - - -

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________ Contents ________ Frontispiece engraving of St. Francis receiving the stigmata, "Amor reciprocus Dei et D. Francisci [Mutual love of God and blessed Francis)" by J. Ch. Smiseck, Courtesy Museo Francescano, Rome.

Endpoper illustratio" by Carla Magazino Copyright e 1986 as Olivier MessiaeJ1: Musique et couleur by Editions Belfond, Paris. Translation copyright e 1994 by Amadeus Press (an imprint of Timber Press, Inc.) All rights reserved. ISBN 0-931340-67-5 Printed in Singapore AMADEUS PRESS The Haseltine Building 133 S.W. Second Ave. Suite 450 Portland, Oregon 97204-3527, U.SA. Unry fll C..- C.u'

I m-PubMcmdoa Data

Meaiml. OUvier, 1908-199'2 (~et c:ouJear, &Jallsbl Music 1D11 co1or : comena00m wtdl Olude Slllluel I OlMer '*-'- ; ll'lmlalllld by B. 1brxa11 O'->w. p. cm.

Dbwti1Jlb7· p. ISBN ~931340-67·' 1. Meaim1. OIJvier, 1908-199'2-lallerVieWI. 2. Composen-Fmioe-lalel riews. L Sllllud, Caadc. ll. Tide. M1A10~9'A3 1994 93-28281 780'92-«20 ClP

Preface by Claude Samuel 9 _Musical Expectations 13 _Landmarks 19 _From Technique to Emotion 39 _Of Sounds and Colors 61 _In Quest of Rhythm 67 _My Birds 85 _The Orient Experience 99 _Trajectory 109 _An American Paradise 155 _Passing the Torch 175 _Contradictions of the Century 191 __ Saint Francis of Assisi 207 _Circling the Globe 251 In Memoriam: Olivier Messiaen by Claude Samuel 261 Selected List of Works 263 Discography 269 Selected Bibliography 283 Index of Names 289 Index of Works 295

Photographs follow page 160

Scanned by CamScanner Dedicated to the memory of Olivier Messiaen 1908-1992

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Olivier Messiaen had just attended the two premieres-first private (at the Sainte-Chapelle), then official (at Chartres Cathedral, in the presence of General de Gaulle)-of Et exspecto resurrectionem mortuorum. He was immersed in the composition of the monumental La Transfiguration de Notre Seigneur Jesus-Christ, which the Gulbenkian Foundation had commissioned of him, making use of what little free time his teaching at the Paris Conservatory, rue de Madrid, left him. In Royan, he had recently chaired the jury of the first -piano competition to which he had lent his name, and whose renaissance young artists from around the world still await. It was at this time that Olivier Messiaen, at the invitation of Pierre Belfond, agreed to take part in a more abstract exercise: a game of question-and-answer before the microphone, with a view to publication. I knew Messiaen well enough to kno:w that he did nothing lightly, that his observations were always well founded, that he was more voluble about what he did know-which is to say, his creative work, the musical currents of our time, and the open-minded teaching that he still practiced-than about what he did not: namely, the superficial trends of our society. I discovered that his scrupulous professional conscience was a match for the gift of meticulous concentration he brought to the project. There was no adverb, no comma in that first book that he did not carefully weigh. Hence, its 236 pages-published in small format-were from then on accepted as gospel by those who wanted to know and repeat, write or comment upon Olivier Messiaen's truths. Eventually the book was translated into English and Japanese as well. After attending the premiere of his Transfiguration in Lisbon, Messiaen renewed his ties to the organ and piano with Meditations sur le mystere de la Sainte Trinite and Fauvette des jardins-the latter piece devoted entirely to one bird. He next orchestrated the magical colors of star-canopied Bryce Canyon and Zion Park for Des canyons aux etoiles, then plunged into the most unpredictable and demanding of

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ber 1983, the musical world discovered-not wunout astonishment in an opera house whose usual fare ranged from the trivial to th vul~ar: drama~ of murd~rs, .betray~ls, and tawdry _love affairs-tha~ divine grace might also find its way mto the repertoire. To say that th traditional opera public got the message would be going too far bu~ thousands of music lovers were initiated, which helped to assure'that the work would eventually reach dyed-in-the-wool bel canto audiences. Even in its television broadcast, Saint Fran~ois-a story that holds its tremendous appeal-triumphed, becoming a milestone in the career of a composer whom the public, naturally slower in forming an opinion than the international experts, had taken a rather long time to discover. During the eight years of its composition, Saint Fran~ois had been Olivier Messiaen's only concern, his every day's task, his every night's anguish-and the result had to be what is called a "testament"-so much so that his admirers, those who eagerly looked forward to his latest works, wondered what the post-Saint Fran~ois future might hold. They may be reassured. And all the better that Messiaen, far from hiding behind the honors heaped before him, agreed to add some chapters to this book, tracing eighteen years of nonstop work, talking about journeys and new reflections, a sign-if one be needed-of a vitality that is as private and discreet as it is unshakable. A bit of touching up allowed the composer of the Turangalflasymphonie to review his confidences, to clarify some details, and to reconsider judgments in the light of recent musical developments, inspired, after the gradual demise of the serial system in the late 1960s, by computer science. But the essence, the broad outline, is preserved almost verbatim. There are the musical resources of his ornithological quest; his mysterious resonances with the world of color-so dear to my interlocutor that he decided to incorporate it in the book's title; the implications of rediscovered rhythms (Greek, Hindu); but more important, the ultimate driving force behind his creations-his indomitable religious faith. His discourse on any and all of these topics remains a model of consistency, which (whatever may be said about the value of "revised thoughts") is the mark of a great mind. The new chapters-nearly half the book-do not contradict the major convictions and ideas embodied in other scores; his m~d~ of ex~~ession is refined without the slightest deviationartistic or spmtual-from the main path.

- M essiaen . . o 1v1er . n o ctoucn, vu• "" ...... "'"''-"" '1"'""' •a11"101e-u1 tainS the same stan d ard s, the same fervor, and occa . mam11 . . h" . s1ona y the same

m expressing is opinions of others. He mamtams . . the reluctance . d"ff fam _ 1 erence, too, toward celebrations of same m · . . e ack nowledg ments of appreciation given to those concerned with h h_· · · d · bi sue t mgswhich his att1tu e is una e .to mask. . Having proudl Y d"1v1·d ed and d and investigated time in all 1 atiently reconstructe . ·ts d.1mens1ons · d · P · Messiaen Olivier transcen s hme. He has ushered in sil t . . en revo1u-' ) tions (or revoIu t tons s11ent1y and takes them on without fear of consequence. Just as for inspiration Messiaen reaches far beyond thos _ · · d ms · t•tut. h ere musical · works and legacies are meas e sped ciabze i ions w •t · , ure by the compI exi y-or naivete-of pedantic edicts, I would like to head for ~he open sea, beyond t~e pollution of civilization, and give him the title (though he may obJect to my having borrowed it fro Schumann) of Bird Prophet. m Claude Samuel Paris

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_ _ _ _ Musical Expectations

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Claude Samuel: You frequently mention the influence of your mother

on the de~;lopment of your personality, notably, the prophetic nature of Lame en bourg~o.n [The Burgeoning Soul], the collection of poems your mother, Cecile Sauvage, wrote while she was carrying you. Olivier Messiaen: Yes, I have always believed and I believe more and

more in the determining role of that maternal collection. Salvador Dali, an eccentric by nature, often spoke of his "intrauterine memories:' Without going as far as that, I still believe a child exists from the moment of conception. That is why the Catholic Church is so violently opposed to abortion, which it considers a crime. Because from the very first moment of conception, the child is himself-the future artist or future murderer, the future factory worker or future president of the republic. C.S. Such determinism is frightening! 0.M. Consider the beehive, with some bees destined to be workers,

drones that exist to assure fertilization, and the queen, whose only activity is laying eggs. There, too, determinism is frightening! C.S. You11 permit me to give more credence to the free will of men

than to that of bees. 0.M. Granted, man has free will and is capable of modifying his per-

1 sonality. I've forgotten which saint said, ''There were two of ufft threw the other one out the window:' Nevertheless, the perso:a 1 Y of the child is formed in the womb. There is a permanent e.xc ange between mother and child and the latter can pick up exbtenohr emthoe' Âˇ 1Âˇd e the worn w en tions. You know, some children move 1ns 13

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C.S. It's a symbolic gesture. o.M. No, it's not a question of symbolism. The child really moved. It's a unique case, but he was truly baptized in his mother's womb. That's why Christ said, "Among those born of women, none is greater than John the Baptist." In other words, an exchange occurs between mother and child during pregnancy; and the mother, in turn, is transformed. The moment of birth is tragic-tragic for the child whose first mouthful of air is brutal, painful-but also tragic for the mother, who loses a part of herself after the longest and most intimate of human relationships. All these things, so difficult to express, were communicated by my mother in the book of verse entitled L'ame en bourgeon. She said them magnificently, with well-chosen imagery, a very keen sense of natural beauty, and, above all, exquisite modesty. Certainly, many women have written poems, but none has spoken of the mystery of giving birth. However, some of them-from Sappho to Anna de Noailles, from Louise Labe to Marceline DesbordesValmore-were wonderful writers, as were the novelists Madame de La Fayette, who evokes the pleasures of love, and Emily Bronte, who describes its torments. Then there is the one I consider the greatest, Madame d'Aulnoy, author of numerous fairy tales in which love and the fantastic are combined in a fr~nzy of invention that foreshadows surrealism. Certain poems of Eluard and films of Jean Cocteau wouldn't have existed without these stories by Madame d'Aulnoy,La chatte blanche, Le Prince Mouton, and La Princesse Carpillon. Though amazing for their time, they unfortunately have been forgotten. C.S. Do they interest you specifically because they foreshadow surrealism? 0 .M. Perhaps. I'm partial to the fantastic side of surrealism to the sort of science fiction that goes beyond reality and science its~lf. I was in

Israel recently and, at the end of a conversation with a great scientist, I timidly admitted my admiration for H. G. Wells's The Time Machine. He replied, ''Don't be afraid to say it, because that book is a masterpiece, and Wells anticipated discoveries that science is only now beginning to understand:'

c.s. But it's the poetic message of science fiction that touches you. Let's call it its poetic intuition. o.M.I like that expression: indeed, it is poetic intuition. While expecting me, my mother had poetic intuitions. That's why she said, without knowing I would become a composer, "Je souffre d'un lointain musical que (ignore [I suffer from an unknown, distant music) ." And also, "Voici tout l'Orient qui chante dans mon etre-avec ses oiseaux bleus, avec ses papillons [All the Orient is singing here within me-with its blue birds, with its butterflies]:' How could she know that I would be an ornithologist and that Japan would fascinate me? Finally, in an era when predicting a child's sex in utero was impossible, she always addressed me as a boy. This is quite an example of premonition. She died before I actually embarked on a musical career, but I'm convinced that I owe my career to that musical expectancy. It was my mother who pointed me, before I was born, toward nature and art. She did it in poetic terms; being a composer, I translated them later into music. I would like to read to you four lines by Cecile Sauvage that strikingly describe the envelopment of the child by the mother:

fe suis autour de toi comme l'amande verte Qui ferme son ecrin sur l'amandon laiteux, Comme la cosse molle aux replis cotonneux Dant la graine enfantine et sayeuse est couverte. I am around you like the green almond Which wraps its casing 'round the milky nut, Like the soft pod with cottony folds Covering the silky, infant seed. That poem, whose imagery is so appropriate, was published in 1909, one year after I was born. My mother wrote essentially two books, both published by Mercure de France. The first is entitled Tandis que la terre tourne [As the World Turns]-and L'ame en bourgeon is its last chapter. The second, Le vallon [The Valley], is more melancholy; it describes birds and flowers, but no longer the sun of Provence which my mother loved so much and never got over having left. Then a great misfortune occurred: between 1914 and 1918, my mother 15

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. ·t, s 10 music and react differently, depending on the · mot h. er I1s "n. ber ftJr example one of my wt'f e' s meces, w hose baby music. 1.rcmcm ' ' . h l' as born / kicked whenever its mot er 1stened to con.' f bcore 11 w · · ·1 h sic whereas Bach soothed 1t. A s1m1 ar p enomenon is tl'mpora ry mu ' d· f mentioned in the Bible, in fact: the extraor .1~aryE~o~enht o the Visitation. Mary, pregnant with Christ, pays a v1s1t to tza et , who is pregnant with John the Baptist. Now, at the moment. Mary ~reet~ her, Elizabeth's child shifts position and genuflect.s . 1:'fe !~ baphzed m his mother's womb. Then Elizabeth says to the V1rgm, Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb." That's the origin of one of the most well-known prayers.

c.s. Did your mother consider herself a femme de lettres?

c.s. Did you ever think of joining an order?

O.M. No, she didn't tell anyone about what s~e w_as _writing. She was modest and carried a sort of hidden despair within h~r-pe~haps because she was to die young, perhaps because she wasn ta believer. In fact, she was unhappy.

o.M. I've thought about it, but I know I would have made a very bad

c.s. Your parents weren't believers, yet you always insist that you were born a believer. Can you remember the moment when your religious faith was consciously revealed to you? O.M. It's true that my parents were not believ~rs. T?at d?es~'t mean they weren't worried about the beyond. On this subject, Id hke to tell you about Andre Malraux, whom I knew well: >:ou know that he co~ sidered himself an atheist or, to use the less radical term, an agnostic, but every time we met, he'd converse about death and w~t follows it, and he even commissioned a work from me on the subject of death, which became a work on the Resurrection: Et exspedo resurredionem mortuorum.

c.s. Do you mean that nonbelievers are worried? O.M. I will say that they're believers in their own way. They're "reverse believers."

c.s. But you haven't answered my question: how did you become aware of your own religious faith? O.M. I didn't have a sudden conversion, as did Blaise Pascal or Paul Claudel. You know, Claudel had a sudden flash of inspiration, one day in Paris's Notre Dame, and it was in the middle of the night that Blaise Pascal had his extraordinary revelation and wrote the word "fire" at the start of his Memorial. For me, there was nothing of the kind. I've always been a believer, pure and simple. tittle by little 1:v~ read books that have strengthened my faith, and I've stud1e theology, on my own, through my personal reading. I've read alm~st all the Summa Theologica of Saint Thomas Aquinas. I've also studied

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. t between earth and heaven, that presented charac wrote an ehp1cF, .set World War· the soldiers, but also the corpses Whil ters from t e irs · h b ' e f ddess Hemerocalle the title c aracter, o served the a :~~s ~t !~s a dr~a in verse, th~ee or four hundred pages long, but ~e ma~uscript disappeared following several moves from one house to another-

the Gospels, the Epistles of Saint Paul, the Apocalypse, and the Bible a whole. I've consulted modern theologians: the Belgian Dom ~ lumba Marmion; Romano Guardini, who, despite his name, was G~rman; Thomas Merton, an American of French origin; and the eatest contemporary theologian, who writes as well in German as French-Hans Urs von Balthasar.

monk. I wouldn't have endured the rules of monastic life-getting up in the middle of the night to pray. I would have been incapable of

interrupting my musical work when the bell rang for Offices. I think monastic life requires a special calling. Some are destined for it; others not. But one can become a saint under very different circumstances. A king or a president can be a saint. Take Saint Louis, for example!

c.s. Some who were called to religious vocations were troubled by periods of doubt. And you? o.M. No, I've never had doubts, but I recognize that Christians and even saints have known doubt.

c.s. What do you think of Pascal's "wager"? O.M. It's only a theory. The word "fire" written at the beginning of his Memorial overwhelms me much more. We're surrounded by innumerable unexplainable events that reveal an invisible power, greater than ours, to which we must bow. C.S. I suppose scientific explanations annoy you.

0 .M. Sometimes scientific explanations are magnificent, and they're always very useful, but above all they permit us to realize how ignorant we really are. The further science advances, the more it reveals the extent of what remains in darkness. Any scientist will agree with that. C.S. It was often thought, particularly in the nineteenth century, that religious faith and scientific progress were irreconcilable. 0 .M. Yes, and there is even a man who tried, unsuccessfully, to reconcile those two notions: Teilhard de Chardin. God gave us a brain so 17

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that we can use ii to increase our knowledge, to sharpen our thought but as long as we live on earth, we will never possess the tools for per~ feet knowledge.

c.s. Docs interplanetary travel interest you? o.M. Yes, It's phenomenal, but I believe 111 accomplish it naturally after my death, when distance and matter no longer hold sway over me.

Landmarks _______ c.s. Why do you compose? What does the act of creating mean to you?

o.M. I have often been asked that question, and I find it rather useless; it seems to me, really, that a composer writes music because he has to, because he has a gift for it. Certainly since childhood I've been irresistibly and powerfully drawn to a musical vocation, to which my parents were not at all opposed, being artists themselves. My father, Pierre Messiaen, was an English teacher: he left a critical translation of the complete works of Shakespeare. My mother, Cecile Sauvage, was the greatest poet of motherhood. Her book L'ame en bourgeon influenced my entire future. C.S. Was it your mother who induced you to study music? O.M. No, I taught myself to play the piano during the First World War, when I was in Grenoble; I then attempted to compose. I've preserved a piano piece from those days called La dame de Shalott, after Tennyson's poem. It's obviously a very childish piece; the undefined style and naive form make me laughC.S. Was the work published? O.M. No. It's just a little souvenirC.S. If you've been composing since then, it's obviously because an instinct drove you to do so0.M. Certainly, and that's what I cannot explain. That's why the question ''Why do you write music?" seems useless to me.

wnte mus~c write music today?

o You

O.M When 1 was a child, music was a distraction in the same t ys ~re for other children and, for me, an amusement like the p~ay as S~akespeare, all of which I recited before an audience of one~Sof brother-when I was between eight and ten years old. ll1y Todav I write as a professional, not only in my free time as b f J' d . . e ore I'm obliged to fiercely defe~ . my creative time, and for years l'v · devoted my summers to wntmg. e

c.s. That was true when you were wrapped up in teaching at the c on. · servatory, but not smce you have re t'ired . O.M. Still, I lose a great deal of time traveling, in order to atte d rehearsals and conc~rts of my orc~estral works in faraway place~ 1 also compose better m the mountams or the countryside because · in Paris J'm constantly distracted. C.S. Your departure from the conservatory nevertheless lightened

your schedule considerably. You must have felt somewhat liberated. O.M. No, I w~s not liberated, an~ I didn't have time to lament the loss of n:i~ class since I was preoccupied with an enormous task: the composition a~d orchestration of the opera Saint Fran~ois d'Assise, which t~ok me eight years! And I really worked on it year-round day and ~~ ' . I~ anYcase, as soon as one writes as a professional, one loses a certa~ innocence. Personally, I compose to champion express and define ' ' . some th'mg, an d each work obviously poses new problems whICh are · an age o f so many controversial . ' . all the more comp1ex m aeshthehcs. I try to be aware of them, yet remain completely outside eac and every one. CS What "ex · ,, d an·d· wh t . pres~ions 0 you want to champion by writing music, a impressions would you communicate · . to your listeners?

0 .M. The first idea I wa t d t0 existence of the t th ne express, the most important, is the be a Catholi'c I rubs of the Catholic faith. I have the good fortune to · was orna belie d h . . even as a child The . . ~er, an t e Scnptures rmpressed me Catholic faith is the fi ~llummation of the theological truths of the the most useful and rs aspect of my work, the noblest, and no doubt most valuable-perhaps the only one I won't

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p h . sit is useless if one takes it to mean "Why did you b

c.~. er ap ?"but 111 make my question more precise: Why degin to

ret at the hour of my death. But I am a human being, and like all r~~ers I'm susceptible to human love, which I wished to express in ~ree of my works that inco.rporate the greatest myth of human love, that of Tristan and Iseult. Finally, I have a profound love of nature. I think nature infinitely surpasses us, and I've always sought lessons from it. I love birds, so ny inclination has been to examine bird songs especially; I've studied ornit~ology. My music, the~, juxtaposes the Catholic faith, the myth of Tnstan and Iseult, and a highly developed use of bird songs. But it also employs Greek metrics; provincial rhythms, or "de~i-talas;' of ancient India; and several personal rhythmic techniques such as rhythmic characters, nonretrogradable rhythms, and symmetrical permutations. Finally, there is my research into sound-color-the most important characteristic of my musical language.

c.s. Let's speak first about the bonds between your creative work and your Catholic faith. Would you have been able to compose without this faith? Would your music have been vastly different?

o.M. An aesthetic language and the sentiment expressed relate to two different spheres. I see the best proof of this in the fact that some very well-known composers, Mozart for example, were able to use exactly the same musical language for works of a secular nature and for those of religious character-succeeding in both cases without altering their aesthetic canons very much. C.S. When you write a liturgical work and a secular work, do you use the same language? O.M. Nearly the same, which actually scandalized some people. To

me it seems ridiculous and detrimental to contradict one's style, to adopt different aesthetics under the pretext that the subject and the idea expressed have changed. C.S. But, it seems to me, two attitudes vis-a-vis a work of music exist for a Catholic composer: the first consists of writing pages really destined for the liturgy; the second consists of creating works of a religious character that are primarily concert works. Do these two tendencies coexist in your musical output? ~.M. A liturgical work perfectly suited to the requirements of the religious service-for example a traditional mass with Kyrie, Gloria, Sanctus, Agnus Dei-no, I've never written one! I've only composed some very long organ works, large cycles that can be performed in

c.s. You've told me that one can play a?ything on your new organ at

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tion in Washington, O.C., I arri~ed ten days ahead of ti~e to study the organ's layout and to find my timbres an~ note them m the score. At the end of the concert, which drew an audience of several thousand to the basilica some people told me they had never heard those limb ' . . ' d res and had been surprised by the instrument s un reamt-of possibilities, but it was just the result of long work.

CS And if they had offered you Notre Dame? Th , . : ~s after all! Âˇ at s quite prestigio

o.~. l would have refused! I'm totally devoted to the Tri . , , organ, my child, my son! I cannot leave it. mte. lt s my

s. On that organ at the Trinite, have you essentially 1 d w'ntten compositions or do you improvise? Paye your

the Trinite. Conversely, can your music be played on any organ?

o.M. No. It requires

l~rge instruments that pos.sess varied timbres

and mixtures and, particularly, those that have sixteen-foot stops on the manuals. Today, you know, it's fashionable to rebuild organs in the baroque style. The electric combinations are taken out on the pretext of authenticity, and one is deprived of an extremely useful asset; the sixteen-foot flue stops on the manuals are removed because they didn't exist in the baroque era, and the tonal palette is completely destroyed . The number of mixtures is increased and the powerful reed stops eliminated for a romantic sound. Thus, you cannot play anything on the new instruments but Frescobaldi or Nicolas de Grigny, which is a bit restrictive after all! I love those composersbut even so, I want to be able to play other things. Obviously, my own music cannot be played on such organs, but there are still some large instruments in existence, and my organ music is often played anyway. C.S. Even in Japan, where your work is well known?

O.M. Unfortunately, there are no organs in Japan, except in the big NHK radio auditorium. In the religious field, the Japanese mainly have Shinto or Buddhist temples, where organs aren't used. Most of the Catholic churches in Japan are so small that they don't have organs either, but there is a large organ in the modern Catholic cathedral in Tokyo: Marina Church. C.S. Let's go back to the Trinite, where you've been the organist for more than half a century. Have you ever been asked to be the organist in another church? Have people refrained from asking, knowing how attached you are to the Trinite?

O.M. That's it. They knew I was so attached to the Trinite that nothing would make me leave, so I've never received any other propositions. Two posts were vacant for a long time, at Saint-Sulpice and Notre Dame-

o.M. My se~vice~ were rather se~sibly divided up, on account of the different priests m charge. Fo.r High Mass on Sundays, I played only plainchant; fo.r the eleven o clock mass on Sundays, classical and romantic music; for the no.on mass, still on Sundays, I was permitted to play m)'. own ~orks; fmally, for the five o'clock vespers, I was obliged to improvise because the verses were too short to allow for the playing of pieces between the Psalms and during the Magnificat.

c.s. What characterizes your improvised music? Is it closer to your own written music or more classical in character?

o.M. When circumstances constrained me, it was sometimes very classical. For instance, I came up with pastiche voluntaries-faux Bach, faux Mozart, faux Schumann, and faux Debussy-in order to continue in the same key and in the same style as the piece just sung. Even so, I improvised in my own style, living off my old harmonic and rhythmic "fat:' Sometimes I was lucky and had flashes of inspirationThese improvisations went on for a rather long time, until the day I realized they were tiring me out, that I was emptying all my substance into them. So I wrote my Messe de la Pentecote, which is the summation of all my previous improvisations. Messe de la Pentecote was followed by Livre d'orgue, which is a more thought-out work. After that, as it were, I ceased to improvise. C.S. Weren't the different officiating priests at the Trinite a little horrified by the introduction into their church of music as daring as that of

Livre d'orgue? O.M. They weren't horrified because the truths I express, the trut~s of the Faith, are equally daring; they are fairy tales, in turn mysten~us,

harrowing, glorious, and sometimes terrifying, alw~ys rooted m a radiant, unchanging reality. Indeed, I'm necessanly a hun~~ed thousand degrees shy of each truth. No, the priests weren't homhed,

25 24

c.s. I won't ask you to explain the secret reasons_ for your religious faith, but isn't that faith also the echo of the attraction you feel for the marvelous, for mystery, and for poetry? O.M. Certainly, but I'm going back to the plays of Shakespeare that I recited as a child. You know, all these thin~s are contained in the plays of Shakespeare, not only the human pass10ns, but also the magic, the witches, the sprites, the sylphs, the phantoms, and apparitions of all kinds. Shakespeare is an author who powerfully develops the imagination of his reader. I was inclined toward fairy tales, and Shakespeare is sometimes a super-fairy tale; it was this aspect of Shakespeare that impressed me, much more than certain disillusioned comments on love or death, such as can be found in Hamlet comments that a child of eight obviously couldn't understand. I loved Macbeth most of all because of the witches and Banquo's ghost, also Puck and Ariel for the same reasons, and I felt very vividly the grandeur of the mad King Lear raging against the storm and lightning. As for the famous stage directions in the historical plays"alarums, skirmishes, the enemy enters the city"-for me, they have always symbolized the idea of striking out for something newIt is certain that in the truths of the Catholic faith, I found this attraction of the marvelous multiplied a hundredfold, a thousandfold, and it was no longer a matter of theatrical fiction but of something true. I chose what was true. It was the same for Saint Christopher, who, when he was still called Reprobus, served in succession the Queen of Pleasure, the King of Gold, and the Prince of Evil, and yet finally carried Christ (whence the name we know him by, Christophorus, "Christ-bearer").

ssible. ln other respects, I've always loved th inexpdre" but my first love is the spoken theater C e t~eater and still d to a;, Ig o 路1 courses on a II k'm d s of operatic genres 路andertainly a h . ave my puP1 s verdi to Pelleas and Wozzeck, by way of R est ehcs, from Monte k b t th ameau, Mozart ner, and Mussorgs y, u ose aesthetics are now be . , Wag ave rise to some total successes that cannot be hind u~. 1:ee~; to me that musical theater is always a kind ~el':t~~e:tnd it s 1would add that most of the arts are unsuited to the ex Y : 路 h . press1on of . ,路ous truths. On ly musIC, t e most immaterial of all corn I re11g f th . , es c ose to it. But 0 ~ the stage o a eat~r, one is plac~d so far below the chosen subJect that one runs the nsk of floundenng in the ridiculous, the improper, or the absurd.

c.s. May I remind ~ou that you made that declaration in 1967, at a

time when composing an .opera w~s the furthest thing from your mind? Then cam~ Y?ur Sam! Franr;o1s, ~hose premiere at the Palais Garnier was a maJor mternahonal event m the world of opera. Do you nevertheless stand by your former assertions?

o.M. Yes, I stand by everything I said, and that is the reason I chose Saint Francis as the subject of my opera. I didn't dare depict Christ on the stage but thought Saint Francis was the man who most resembled Christ, through his poverty, chastity, and humility, and because he bore the stigmata, that is to say the five wounds of Christ on the cross. He truly had the wounds of both hands, both feet, and the wound on the right side, just like Christ.

c.s. When you say that musical theater is "a kind of betrayal;' do you refer to the subjects treated in opera or to the musico-dramatic form of opera?

C.S. It's very strange to reconcile the importance of the theater in your life, particularly during your childhood, and your waiting so long to compose for the theater. On the other hand, in your works you've made extensive use of the marvels of the Catholic faith.

O.M. I mean to say that sung drama is more conventional than spoken drama. The operatic form is another problem. Personally, and I've even been much criticized for it, I haven't composed a genuine opera, any more than I have a symphony. I wrote a "musical spectacle"-and I insist on that term. I wouldn't like Saint Fran(:ois to be performed in concert version because it's really a spectacle. I don't claim to ha.ve composed a classical opera, an opera of the Mozartean type w.1th recitatives alternating with arias and ensembles, nor a Wagne~1an opera with leitmotifs. My project was different. In the course of e1~ht tableaux, I wanted to trace the progress of grace in the soul of a samt.

O.M. I wished to express the marvelous aspects of the Faith. I'm ~ot saying that I've succeeded, for in the final analysis they re

C.S. We11 return to Saint Fran~ois momentarily. Let's stay with w~at you consider the "classics," from Monteverdi to Alban Berg, which

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but the parishioners were because they don't always know the textsAt any rate, the different priests at the Trinite worked things out very wisely, asking that I adapt a style to the needs of each audienc for the public attending the noon n:'ass is not the. same as the on~ attending High Mass, and the public for vespers is not that of the eleven o'clock mass.

.... What is true for the image is also true for the vocab 1 o.inÂˇ . h . u ary. 1nacer. sense music possesses a power t at is superior to th .

o.M. I don't think operas like the ones I mentioned can be Writt again, operas like those of Monteverdi or Rameau, Mozart or Wagn en As for Boris Godunav, Pelleas et Melisande, and Wozzeck-these are threr. exceptional works which even their composers weren't able to dup~~ cate, so something else must be found. C.S. Prior to this digression on musical theater, you told me th t "most of the arts are unsuited to the expression of religious truths." any case, artists hardly seem concerned about that, particularly thn innumerable painters who throughout history have depicted reli~ gious truths on canvas.

O.M. All religious painting is based on symbolic conventionsÂˇ the same goes for the stained glass of the Middle Ages. I myself h~d to conform to these symbolic conventions since I put an angel on the stage in my Saint Fra11fois d'Assise. Pure spirits, angels, are invisible b~! I adop~ed the .customary iconographic system: I imagined a mag~ mf1cent bemg, neither man nor woman, a winged being dressed in a long robe. That's a symbolic convention. C.S. Isn't this symbolic convention inevitable if one wants to convey religious truths to the greatest number of people? Isn't faith passed on through tangible communication?

O.M. Christ appeared in order to lead us from the visible to love of the invisible. Christ the man can be represented, not Christ the God. God ~snot representable. He is not even expressible. When we say, "God is eternal," do we think about the significance of these words? "God is eternal" signifies not only that he will never end, but that he never had any beginning. Here is where temporal notions of ''before" and "after" encumber us. To conceive of something without a beginning absolutely overwhelms us, we who have begun, first, in our mother's woi:nb, then in our earthly life. The same goes for other divine attributes. Perhaps the ancient Israelites were right when they forbade the name of Yahweh to be spokenC.S. Those are very theoretical considerations!

O.M. I'm not a theorist-only a believer a believer dazzled by the infinity of God! ' 28

I'll return to your initial affirmation: "The arts are

c.S. ssion of religious truths:' Our vocabulary al unsuited to the expre so' . . . t . l e image and the word because it is imma eria and appeals more to the intellect to thought than the other arts. It even verges on fa t and Id f d Wh , n asy and belongs to the wor o reams. at s more, music and color are closely linked. ta!Jl

c.s. In your opini~n, which composers wrote music most faithful to religious thought. o.M. There is probably only one truly religious music because it's detached from all external effect, and that's plainchant, also called Gregorian chant.

c.s. Do you feel Gregorian chant has managed to preserve its purity through the centuries? o.M. Alas, poor Gregorian chant! In the liturgy it has been replaced by canticles! And those who try to perpetuate the practice of Gregorian chant-they aren't all that rare-don't always sing the neumes as they should be sung. Gregorian chant is the work of very intelligent monks; it's an extremely refined art, melodically and rhythmically, an art which dates from a time when harmony didn't exist in Western music, when the notion of chords was unknown. Why must Gregorian chant today be accompanied by the organ and embellished with harmony that, even when skillfully done, totally destroys its spirit? C.S. But not at the Abbey of Solesmes!

?ÂˇM.Obviously in a place like Solesmes, Gregorian is respected. But m most churches, Gregorian is chanted with accompaniment, on the pretext of having to please the congregation. That's a big mistake. C.S. Isn't Gregorian chant the most religious music of all because it

was religious even before becoming music? 0.M. Gregorian chant was composed in an era of great fait~ by monks wh~ were so humble that they preserved their ~nony~ty. Maybe that s what gives it its purity. What's more, Gregorian was mt.ended to enhance a sacred text, a text in Latin. In the various countries of the

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constitute your personal operatic museum. In this regard you say th "those aesthetics are now behind us:' Do you feel t~at opera, in th~ traditional sense of the word, can no longer be written today?

c.s. For you, Gregorian melodies chanted to a French text would longer be Gregorian? no o.M. It robs the music of its majesty and dreamlike quality. The statue comes down from its pedestal!

c.s. Let's return to those three great lines of strength which ru through your entire output: the Catholic faith, the Tristans, an~ nature. You have described your attitude as a Catholic with regard to music; now let's talk about the Tristans. O.M. I've writte~ three T~stans, v~ry different in terms of scoring and length. The earhest one 1s Haraw1, an hour-long cycle for voice and piano; the second is the Turangalila-symphonie, for Ondes Martenot solo piano, and very large orchestra, which lasts approximately a~ hour and a half; and finally Cinq recl1ants, for a chorus of twelve voices a cappella, lasting about half an hour. C.S. The spirit of those works implies a direct reference to the Tristan legend. How do you understand this legend? O.M. One might say the legend is the symbol of all great loves and for all the great love poems in literature or in music, but to me, only the myth of Tristan seemed worthy of attention; in no way did I wish to rework Wagner's Tristan und Isolde or Debussy's Pelleas, to mention only the two greatest ''Tristans" in music. C.S. Your Tristans don't place characters on a stageO.M. No, that has nothing to do with the old Celtic legend, and even the essential idea of the love potion is set aside (except for a few allusions in Cinq rechants). I've preserved only the idea of a fatal and irresistible love, which, as a rule, leads to death and which, to some extent, invokes death, for it is a love that transcends the body, transcends even the limitations of the mind, and grows to a cosmic scale. C.S. Isn't this notion of human love in contradiction with your religious faith? O.M. Not at all, because a great love is a reflection-a pale reflection, 30

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Catholic world, ever since it became customary to chant and spe k.1 the vernacular, Latin has disappeared, and that neglect also dea 1 n very serious blow to plainchant. ata

. love. bUt nevertheless a reflection-of the only genuine love, d'ivine Do you think that in one and the same work the Tr'1sta 1.d n ea can

~~5~ssociated with the Catholic faith?

oJJ. Can one place a human symbol alongside an eternal reality' 'fhat would be scandalous arrogance! Im_mediately you have to thro~ out the ide~-your own and perhaps distorted idea-of the eternal theatrical triangle of th~ g~ntleman, t~e lady, and the lover; I never dreamt of that when thmking about Tnstan, and the idea of interdiction or punishment has no place here.

c.s. But Tristan is nevertheless precisely thato.M. Yes, because contradiction is what gives birth to great love and leads to death; but the essential idea is not the contradiction but the great love a?d ensuing death. T~erein is an initiation, through death and separation from the world, mto a greater and purer love, which perhaps the _me!'tioning of other myths wi_ll ma~e yo~ ~e~er understand: I'm thmkmg of the enchanted tower m which Vivian imprisons Merlin, of the descent of Orpheus into Hades-

c.s. So your Tristan represents the purity of love. Beyond this notion of purity, I'd like you to describe your own symbolic view of human love. O.M. For me, human love represents a kind of communication, but in

its carnal realization, this communication is transcended by that of motherhood. The union of mother and child, so discredited in our time, is doubtless the culmination of nobility and beauty on earth. That union itself, however, is transcended by the communion of the Catholic who receives the host in church. Because in that communion, just as every superior being assimilates the infer~or bein~, Christ is in us and we are in him. We are absorbed by Christ who is our superior, something which doesn't exist in human love, or even in the relationship between mother and child. C.S. In a word, you've established a hierarchy of love. O.M. Exactly. We start with the trivial love we mention~d, ?efore attaining the great human love that magnificent love which is fatal passion. Then we reach matern~l love, but divine love is at the top of the pyramid. 31

O.M. Yes, because a man and a woman can know each oth incompletely. Even if they share the same tastes, do the sam ~~?nly even if their desires correspond, there is always a bit of ;h mgs, sonality of one that escapes the other. e Per-

C.S. And from that, you ultimately imply the failure of all attem happiness. According to you, man would seem to be hindered t~~t inability to be happy. Y 1s O.M. It's not a question of the inability to be happy, but of the im sibility of total understanding. This lack of full understandint~s; only limits the power of love, it influences every element that we peoceive through our senses and to which we are enslaved. So, perso~ a~ly, I ~ften speak of color, but color exists only through our eyes. Likewise, composers speak of sound, but sound exists only through our ears.

C.S. This limited perception, this illusory communication would therefore seem to be our weakness, prohibiting us from any sort of earthly happiness. O.M. Admittedly, disorder rules our planet. Wars, violence, even ordinary assaults are striking proof of this. Why such disorder? Because man has been wounded, wounded since the original sin, wounded in his very nature. But Christ died on the cross precisely so that we might become again what we should never have ceased to be; we were created magnificent, and through our stupidity we spoiled ourselves, but we will become magnificent again at the resurrection. C.S. It seems to me that your lofty, demanding, and harrowing conception of human love, combined with the certainty o~ your Catholic faith, echoes in another aspect of your personality, m that love of nature which itself corresponds to your many transcendent thoughts of purity. O.M. Nature is indeed marvelously beautiful and pacifying: an_d, for me ornithological work was not only an element of consolation m my pu:Suits of musical aesthetics, but also a factor of health. It's perhapJ thanks to that work that I was able to withstand the misfortunes an complications of life.

c.s. At what period were you attracted to nature? .... As with music and faith, always. But my strongest f 1. O ·"'"' e those I rememb er qut·te v1v1 · "diy, date back to myee about admgs 1

natur ' f rt fift Th o escence to the age of ~u een or een. ere were pe~haps others befor~ that; they remain blurred for they date back to a time when 1was ve ng. When I was three or four years old, I lived in Ambert wh ry ~;father had his first p~st as an English teacher. There I ob~ou:;; revelation remain· d en.enced the revelation of nature, but that exp · memories of it. So my e unconscious, and I h aven't reta'med any prec~se emories go back to the age of fourteen or fifteen, mainly to a period mhen I used to stay in the Aube region with aunts who owned a ~ther quaint farm, with sculptures by one of my uncles, a flower garden, an orchard, and cows and hens. All this was quite novel, and, to "improve" my h~alth, my good aunts sent me to tend a tiny herd of cows. It was really tmy: only three cows; even so, I tended them very badly, and one day they fo_und a way to esca_Pe and wreak terrible havoc in a field of beets, which they devoured ma few hours, earning me the scorn of all the village people. The Aube countryside is very beautiful and very simple: the plain, the big meadows surrounded by trees, magnificent sunrises and sunsets, and a great number of birds. It was there that I first began jotting down bird songs. I was obviously a beginner, and I understood nothing about these notes and was not even able to identify the bird that sang.

c.s. We11 speak later of ornithology, but I wonder if you're not, ultimately, an urbanite in spite of yourself. O.M. Completely in spite of myself. I have an absolute horror of cities, a horror of the one I live in, despite all its beauties-I'm referring to the French capital-and a horror of all the bad taste man has accumulated around him whether for his needs or for various other reasons. You11 notice, as I do, that nature never displays anything in bad taste; you11 never find a mistake in lighting or coloration or, in bird songs, an error in rhythm, melody, or counterpoint.

C.S. It seems to me that we join up here with your Catholic f~ith. Do you think that the divine mystery of the creation is responsible for perfect harmony in nature? 0.M. Absolutely. Nature has retained a purity, an exuberance, a freshness we have lost.

c.s. So the word "purity;' which we used before in discussing your 33

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C.S. Could we stop for a moment at the second stage? Wh always place great human love alongside the notion of fataf do rou passion, with death as the only outcome? Is it really inevitable?

it is unsullied by man.

O.M. It's possible. I wouldn't have thought of saying it, but

C S And during your travels have you been struck b 1 d and m .scapes co·m·pletely different from those you knew in childhooJ an your

saying it, and that limitation is there.

You are

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Catholic faith and the Tristans, reappears in your love of natu .. this quest for purity the dominant feature of your human and~~ 1~n't personality? s1ca1

youth? In the course of the journeys that were the on·g· f 0 ·M. Certainly. · my C, atalogue d'oiseaux · mo the piec~s m,, ~n~tled "Le merle bleu;' "Le

C.S. Is your love of nature closely linked to your Catholic faith?

on:

O.M. Linked, yet simultaneously independent. I love nature fo 1·t Of course, like Saint Paul, I see in nature a manifestation of fs~lf. aspects of divinity, but certainly God's creations are not God hi~ e Moreover, all God's creations are enclosed in time, and time is 0 self. 0 God's strangest creatures since it is totally in conflict with his et:e nature, he who is without beginning, without en~ withrna succession. out

C.S. In conflict with eternity, this finite time in which you five makes you sufferO.M. No. I aspire toward eternity, but I'm not suffering,while living in time, all th~ less so since tim~ has always been at the center of my

preoccupations. As a rhythm1st, I've endeavored to divide this time up and to understand it better by dividing it. Without musicians, time would be much less understood. Philosophers are less advanced in this fi~ld. But as composers, we have the great power to chop up and alter time. C.S. Which aspect of nature do you prefer: mountain, sea, or countryside?

traquet neur, and ~ t~aquet. stapazm, I became acquainted with the region of the ~yre~ees-Onentales, and it was love at first sight. From the very first instant, I was absolutely thrilled by that extraordinary place, which combines the blue of the sea overhanging cliffs, terraced vineyards, forests of cork oak, and even perpetual snow.

c.s. Do you regard nature as an object, a living manifestation, or as a vehicle for feelings? Do you side with the view of the romantics, who perceived a consoling force in nature? o.M. I see none of that. Nature is primarily a great force in which to

lose oneself, a sort of nirvana, but above all it's a marvelous teacher ' and this last aspect has been very useful to my work. C.S. For you, then, nature's primary contribution has to do with sounds? O.M. Absolutely.

C.S. Not limited only to birdsO.M. Not limited only to birds! I've listened passionately to the waves

O.M. I love all nature, and I love all landscapes, but I have a predilection for mountains because I spent my childhood in Grenoble and saw, from an early age, the mountains of the DauphineC.S. Like BerliozO.M. Like Berlioz-and the particularly wild places which are the most beautiful in France, like the Meije Glacier, less famous than Mont Blanc, but certainly more awesome, purer, more isolatedC.S. You love nature in its wildest manifestations0.M. In its most secret and most grandiose aspects and, let's say, when

of the sea, to mountain streams and waterfalls, and to all the sounds made by water and wind. And 111 even go so far as to say that I make no distinction between noise and sound: for me, all this always represents music. C.S. When cornposing, do you try to reproduce the sounds of nature? 0.M. I've tried, and I turned to bird songs because they, ultimately, are the most musical, the closest to us, and the easiest to reproduce. The sounds of wind and water are extraordinarily complex. Besides, t~ey were listened to at great length and captured by composers hke Berlioz, Wagner, and, above all, Debussy, who was the great lover of wind and water. But I must say that none of them completely 35

C.S. But the modem composer is perhaps better equipped for th· ~-

O.M. Yes, because if need be he can use a tape recorder and, With th help of electronic apparatus, dissect what he has recorded. e

C.S. Have you tried this experiment?

o.M. 111 answer you. in all honesty. I do my transcribin~ of bird songs in nature, in the spnng, the season of love, and at the right moments, which is to say at sunrise and sunset. I use music paper, a sketchboard for support, some pencils and erasers-as though I were taking musical dictation, but it's a special dictation that requires ten times the normal attention and speed. A bird sings very quickly indeed. When I take down the first strophe, it's already singing the second, and while I write the second, it's on the third. My wife accompanies me on all these ornithological journeys and, as I am a modem man, I ask her to bring along a tape recorder. So my wife records what I transcribe, and when we return home, I compare the recording with my own notation. The recorder is much less selective than my ear: it records all external noises. My ear retains only the bird song. On the other hand, the tape machine records that same song with much greater precision than my ear, so the recorder allows me to make a second notation. Those are the two sources of my material: the notation transcribed from an exact recording and the notation done directly from nature, much more artistic, with all the variants and modifications that each individual creature of each species might contribute. C.S. What do you think of Claude Debussy's phrase: "To see the sunrise is more useful than listening to Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony''?

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succeeded in penetrating the details of these complex soun complexes of sounds. And, personally, I feel totally incapable d~ a~<l terribly difficult. of lt; it's

. ed. Without suffering fro~ physio\og1ca\ 'fheY are _hnk friend Blanc-Gatti, the pamter, who had a 0 ·~· thes1·a (as did. myd aura1nervesthat al\owed him actually to seed syf\es r of the optic an e heard music), when l hear a scor~ or rea disorde nd shapes w~en h .sualize corresponding co\ors which t~m, colors ~ 'tin my mind, I V1 h ds turn shift, and combme, 't hearing i ..,..bine, just as t e soun , 11. and COu• shift, usly. ultaneo f 1 ? s1ro 'd d your love o co ors. that has provi e 't nature c,S. Is l . lass I saw as a child. When my d also the stained g . . visiting monuments, o.r.t. Nature~:~her in Paris, I ~ook ~r~at;~~i~tre Dame, the Saintefather was a d churches. My first vt1tsf Chartres and Bourges, cermuseums, and later to the cathedra s o I've remained forever Chapelle, anrt d an influence on my hcaree~ieval rose windows and · ly exe e colors of t e me tam d by the marve1ous . d . those churches. dazzle . lass anels admll'e m other sta1ned-g p human creation that epresents a . l d l stained gl ass r d ·ficial creations. s c.s. In fact, ~athe ra ou who detest cities an arti t' on to equal the n't disavow, y fficiently noble crea l you do window a su stained-glass th e f tu e? ., marvels o na r . manifestation: its · 't most extraordinary f fu ctional l rify the most noble o n B tit is nature itself, m 1 s o.M. u b man in order to g o . light captured Y . ded for worship. . ·1d·ngs mten C tholic faith, lust as spaces, b u1 i . f nature, we return to y~ur t~e iristans. All this c.s. So in speaki~~~d nature when descnbi~~ese three notions, difwe returned to t l1'ty is centered on urpersona h confirms t at yo r dose. e idea: divine ferent in character yet ve y one and the sam O.M. And they all finally boil down to lovet

O.M. It's a whimsical remark of no great consequence, but it indicates that he placed nature above everything. What's more, Debussy was a composer who understood the sound-color relationship that I myself feel so intensely, and he understood it by contemplating nature. C.S. Then for you, a composer, the presence of color in nature is as essential as that of sound?

____ From Technique ·t o Emotion

----

c.s. You wrote a book entitled Technique demon langage musical which represents the sum of your musical language. What is the 'significance of that work?

o.M. The book is now out of date; much of it is still valid, but more than forty years have passed since I wrote it. Back then, everything concerning rhythm was very new. So were the modes of limited transpositions that are, in the area of sound, what nonretrogradable rhythms are to the temporal domain. Today my language has changed. I'm preparing a n~w treatise, much more complete than the first, which will be mainly devoted to rhythm, but also to bird songs and color; it will include as well a comprehensive study of the relationship between sound and color. C.S. It's been a very long time since you first undertook this work and

announced its publication. Does it remam unfinished because you've been too absorbed by your musical compositions? O.M. Absolutely. Most of the ·chapters in this <Second treatise are

already written, and I used a number of the.m 1 mmy class at the conservatory. But I always had new w-0rks to write, commissions·to fulfill, and each time I abandoned the task. In taking it up again, I found it outdated and wanted to start all over. Thus I've rewritten this treatise some ten times, and to this day, it doesn't satisfy me. C.S. Is it more important for a «~omposer to write music or treatises?

O.M. I think it's more impo·rtant, .after .all, to write music.

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O.M. In my case, I wrote the first treatise, then a second, becaus 1 a teacher. I was surrounded by many questioning students ~hwas treatises are the answers to their questions and to others people ese eventually ask me. may

C.S. Aren't they also a kind of musical reflection on a given era f your own use? or 1

O.M. I'll say that they serve as an inventory of what has been done and

of what has been neglected. C.S. You just mentioned that your new treatise will also concern th role played by color in your musical approach. That says somethine about this element's importance, and it requires some explanatio; 0.M..For a compo~er, the~e a_re different ways of conceiving color. The first and most interesting 1s the one we mentioned earlier which is to say, the sound:<olor relations~ip perc.eived physiologically. I told you about my friend Blanc-Gatti, the Swiss painter who suffered from physiological synesthesia. I own five of his paintings, all, unfortunately, ~nly hastily executed. He set down on canvas a very brief, very fleeting moment of colors perceived in this manner, and the colors tum, shift, and interact exactly like sounds. These paintings clearly reveal a certain aspect of the link between color and sound. It's extraordinary that, not having the blessed malady of my painter friend, I am all the same affected by a sort of synesthesia, more in my mind than in my body, that allows me, when I hear music and also when I read it, to see inwardly, in my mind's eye, colors that move with the music; and I vividly sense these color5, and sometimes I've precisely indicated their correspondence in my scores. Obviously one should be able to prove this relationship scientifically, but I cannot.

C.S. Do you see these colors or do you imagine them? O.M. I see them inwardly; this is not imagination, nor is it a physical phenomenon. It's an inward reality. C.S. So, when a door creaks, you see a color? O.M. No, the correspondence relates only to genuine music, with melodies, chords, rhythms, complexes of sounds, and durations.

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C.S. So why write treatises, too?

And you've always been subject to this rath . C.S· ? er exceptional phenomenon.

o.M. I think so.

c.s. But you try to translate colors in your music? trai:i~late co~ors into music; for me, certain ound complexes and sononties are lmked to complexes of color and ~ use them with full knowledge of this. '

o.M. I do indeed try to

c.s. Have you ever drawn inspiration for a work from the colors of a painting?

o.M. No, never. I repeat that, for me, certain sonorities are linked to certain complexes of colors, and I use them like colors, juxtaposing them and putting them in relief one against the other, as a painter enhances one color with its complement.

c.s. Have you never wanted to paint? o.M. In my childhood, when I was reading Shakespeare, I did devise some stage sets in a way that relates to my love for stained glass. For the backdrop, I used cellophane which I found in -:andy boxes or pastry wrappers, and I'd paint the cellophane with colored ink or watercolors; then I'd place my decors in front of a windowpane, and the sun passing through the colored cellophane would produce luminous and colorful projections on the floor of my little stage as well as on the dramatis personae. Thus I managed to transform my set, just as an electrician controls a spotlight in a theater. C.S. Other composers have tried to establis~ relation~hi~s between color, or colored light, and music: I'm thinking of Scnabm, or ~ven more of Schoenberg, who, in his opera Die g!Uckliche Hand, prescn?ed the exact colored projections which should accompany the staging. Does this show the same approach? 0.M. Certainly, and you11 notice in regard to musical theater that, for ' a 1ong time composers had little concern for th e l'ighting that was supposed to' accompany the unfolding of th eir · music· It's with. Mozart h that we begin· to see a premeditated relationship. Certainly t e . D G·ovanni produces a entrance of the Commendatore's statue m on 1 . 0 I ~ot ~!t complete change in tone, absolutely brilliant for t~e penodifyin, because the character is frightening and the sub1ect terr g, 41

'ght falls over the scene, enhanced b because at th~t ~o~e;;l t~s is conveyed by the orchestration an~ supematural hghttn~rin . In this statue scene th.ere's a certain inveralso by th~ c~o_~<~ v!th and diminished fifth chords with an sion of d~tnt~. \ !~uld be taken up by Chopin as color and used altered third, wdic the name of "whole-tone scale." Later, Wagner by Debussy und errtain chords and certam · biac k sonon'ties m · scenes 1 fre~ly em!P oyte . c~t with dark characters like Alberich the Nibelung taking pace a mg ' . h l'ti d h and his son Hagen, and, in contrast, bng t tona 1 es a~ c ords With Ii hter, sharper instrumenta~on ~or eve~ts unfold.mg on mounta~tops or in water, like Siegfried d1SCove~g the ~un~ of the happy mountains before discovering lo.ve with Brunnhilde, or the Rhinemaidens swimming in the Rhme.

c.s. Then, this notion of color is implicitly linked to music in the work of many great classical composers. o.M. Yes, and those who haven't taken it into account have committed a grave error. 111 tell you a little anecdote to prove to you how sensitive I've always been to the sound-color relationship, almost unconsciously at first. Once I attended the ballet in the theater of a small town the name of which I've forgotten. It was a ballet set to music by Beethoven, a quite indifferent arrangement, and, rather arbitrarily, the scenario comprised a kind of romantic legend in the style of Musset, with a charming set showing a moonlit garden with violet lighting and a fountain. Now, Beethoven's music was in G major.- I don't know if you realize that the color violet and the key of G ma1or produce an absolutely appalling dissonance! I'm not just refe~g to the mistake of setting a romantic-legend-with-fountain to music ?f Beethoven (~hich is idiotic), but to the juxtaposition of the col or violet and G-maJor chords: it clashed terribly and made me sick to my stomach. C.S. What key goes best with violel? OM. Truthfully, one cannot talk of an exact correspondence between a key and a color; that would be a rather naive way of expressing oneself because, as I've said, colors are complex and are linked to equally ~~:~~~ords and s~n~rities. In my early works, I often used what modes of lirruted transpositions"· for me the two principal modes are linked to · .' ' . tion. Mode very precise col orations. In its first transpoSl2 1 purple, while ~::ev~ :~u~ certain vi?~ets, blues, and violetorange with red and ~ t transp06ltiOn, corresponds to an green pigments, to specks of gold,.and also to a

rnill'Y white with iridescent, opaline reflections. this correspondence between sound and cola b d C s. Is · th It f II r ase on scientific fact, or is it e resu o a tota y subjective notion?

OM· 1 think it r~sts on scientific fact, modified by the personality of

whoever is subJ.ect .to the dphefnl~tmenon'.nflto which is also added a degree . of imagination an o 1 erary 1 uence very difficult to deternune.

c.s. What are your preferences among the immense range of colors? OM· Since birth, I've been devoted to violet; this seems to be a natural phenomenon, for I was born under the sign of Sagittarius.

c.s. Are there colors to which you are allergic? oM. Yes, I don't like yellow very much.

c.s. You're referring to a straightforward color, but I know that you prefer subtle and very complex colors.

OM. I was speaking of violet; now, violet is a complex color because it combines blue, an extremely cold color, and red, an extremely warm color. But violet can take on a great number of nuances: for example, there's a predominantly red violet called purple and, in contrast, a violet containing more blue than red, called hyacinth. C.S. How do you see yourself in relation to painters? O.M. I prefer one painter over all others, not only because he's the precursor of abstract painting, and consequently very close to what I see when I hear music, but mainly because he established connections between complementary colors in a very subtle yet very violent manner, especially through the principle of "simultaneous contrast" (that is to say, of complementary colors evoked by the eye of the observer): that painter is Robert Delaunay.

C.S. You've often mentioned that Robert Delaunay is your ideal Painter. Going back in time, could we complete your imaginary art gallery?

O.M. To begin, there's Mathias Grunewald, creator of the ~mo~ multiwinged Isenheim Altarpiece. What I like above all m this 43

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C.S. Let's speak of Italian painters, whose works you saw a great deal of during the composition of Saint Franfois.

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altarpiece are its colltrasts in c?lor; I'd call them brutal. It's a simple naive technique, but ~he result 1s tremendous. To be more specific, 11i mention three especially remarkable aspects not always taken in t first viewing. One of course notices the contorted, cadaveroua ghastly, almost leprous Christ on the cross, but at one end of ths, altarpiece the entomb~ent is also represented .. It's placed in : sinister, dark-colored, wmter landscape, truly amazing for the period. In another section, Grunewald painted freakish monsters, for example, a severed foot, a foot with eyes and wings. The images are even more outrageous than those of Hieronymus Bosch. Finally, in the Isenheim Altarpiece I find a scene that has played an important role in my music: the Resurrection of Christ. As in all Resurrection scenes, one sees soldiers collapsing, half-fainting, and Christ emerging from the tomb. But what impresses me is that Christ comes out all at once, just as the event probably occurred in reality. Christ didn't rise up; he wasn't raised up; suddenly he was alive again. And to express this total change, Grunewald used light: a sort of rainbow forms between Christ and the trailing shroud. It's a springing-forth of colors emanating from Christ's face, flooding the shroud and the entire upper portion of the painting. The effect is stunning. I've often tried, in vain, to reproduce this in my music. Closer to our time, I love a painter like Monet. For me, his Water Lilies represents the pictorial equivalent of Debussy's music. Is it impressionism? I don't know if the result is an "impression:' but what mainly sticks in my mind is the painting's extremely shimmering coloration. Ever since my childhood, colorful representations have been a part of my universe, thanks especially to stained glass-the stained glass of the Sainte-Chapelle, always one of my favorites, and of Chartres Cathedral, which I have known since I was twelve years old. More recently, I've discovered the stained-glass windows of the cathedral in Bourges, which to me seem the most beautiful of all, the most beautiful in the world. When one looks at them on a sunny day, around eleven o'clock in the morning, they glitter like precious stones!

t San Francesco Basilica in Assisi, I studied the f th~ gre~evoted to the life of Saint Francis. And when rescoes that G1ottof ncis premiered at the Paris Opera I asked Jo~yVopera on Saint ra 1 1 1 , se an Dam ng the title roe so marve ous y, to reproduce as fa'thfull ' 1 whO .sable the gestures and attitudes which Giotto had criven t Y.as 5 ~.

franc1s.

c.s. Shall we conclude with modem painting? M Avant-garde painters are more foreign to me. Robert Delaunay Âˇ ~aled to me because he worked more with color than with line rlfere are no people, as it wer.e , .in h~s paintings. When he paint~ 5 int-Severin, one can barely d1stmgmsh the columns and arches of ;e church; in his Homage to Bleriot, ~ne divines the airplanes, but all else remains vague, submerged behmd colored circles, with the permanence of simultaneous contrast in the eye of the beholder.

c.s. In 1967, when we recorded the first version of these conversations, I asked how you felt about the rapports and correspondences between painters and composers. ~t that time you replied, "The rapport between sound and color exists, but composers and painters belong to two very different categories, and the fact that some serve sound and the others color does not imply an obligatory fraternization:' Must I tell you that today your response leaves me dissatisfied? I'd like to know what you think of the "pairs" that certain commentators have created: Debussy-Cezanne, Picasso-Stravinsky, Klee-Webern, Kandinsky-SchoenbergO.M. These correspondences exist: the era is responsible for it. The era is what influences composers, painters, poets, and even scholarsC.S. But this influence is sometimes so specific that it affects even the

technical apparatus of artists. I'm thinking of painters' collages and, similarly, of the "collage" a Stravinsky makes when he inserts the famous "Elle avait une jambe de bois (She Had a Wooden Leg]" into his Petrushka.

O.M. That's not a collage. Stravinsky simply does as all Ru~sian com-

O.M. I deeply love Fra Angelico, his illumined faith, his smooth coloring. It was from Fra Angelico that I borrowed the costume and wings for the Angel in Saint Franfois d'Assise. That marvelous costume and the extraordinary five-colored wings are found in an Annunciation by Fra Angelico, in the monastery of San Marco in Florence. In

p~s~rs do: he borrows a folk song. That _Particular one .1s a rat~~~

tri~ French street song, easily recogruzable, but which app Pnately invokes a carnival showman, a hurdy-gurdy, and three d~lls ~one of which is a ballerina). The passage combines three musica~ ideas: those of the 'Wooden Leg:' of the Barbary hurdy-gurdy, and 0

oiselles d'Avignon represents a hideous distor-

dem oM. Indeed, Les if they are unpressive, · · . even if lion ot real'ty 1 . They're horrible' even

,,. terested:' Nothing "interests" me. I only want to 1 ove and to

to be lJ'ld d that's completely different. ove 'an be l

When you set "interesting" works against those whi h 0 wonder if some readers might think that you take exc~ ! uch you, I that strive too hard to convey a message. pbon to workS Not at all. I mysel~ have composed some combinative works 1 ~:;esearch, always domg my best not to damage the sound qualit}..

c.S.

c.s. You mean that a work can be interesting, but, by itself, this quality isn't enough.

one cannot forget them.

O.M· Indeed, a ~iece of music must. be interesting, it must be beauti-

c.s. In any case, an explosion of modernism. occurred ii:' the first fifteen years of the twentieth century, and dunng. that pen?d,. some rather privileged ties were formed between music and painting.

ftll to hear, and 1t must touch the listener. These are three different

OM. It was a brutal era, worldwide, as much in the arts as in science, but certain manifestations of brutality can have a deeply human context. I'm thinking of Picasso's Guernica. It's a masterpiece, and its brutality is justified because it happens to represent people who were tortured and murdered. The lock of hair armed with a hand holding a lamp is necessary to throw light on these horrors. As for the comparisons that you mentioned a moment ago, I'm not completely in agreement. For me, there exists a Monet-Debussy relationship, but not a Cezanne-Debussy. In Cezanne there is a geometric aspect that doesn't exist in Debussy. Debussy is more fluid, more undulating, less precise. I grant you the Klee-Webem rapport-short works, very refined-but not the Kandinsky-Schoenberg pairing. Kandinsky's color can be violent, whereas the music of Schoenberg is insidiously gray.

C.S. The .Kandinsky-Schoenberg association can apply on another level,. that of artistic development. In the 1910s, Schoenberg and Kandmsky espoused a very new and very strong creativity. Ten years later, when S?toenberg defined the serialist technique, consciously ~d sys~emahcally carried out in his works, I<andinsky expressed himself m_~ore austere canvases, or at least in ones of more controlled lynclSm. OM. There was a time wh · hil h . en painters, composers, poets, and Pt . ostop ers said to themselves: only intellectual values are worthy o m erest. I am totally opposed to that kind of reasoning. I don't need

qualities.

c.s. As for ~~ur own works,. numer~ms .admirers think that they're "interesting, and even very interesting m the formal research they reveal. oM. This is true. I was very annoyed over the absolutely excessive importance given to a short work of mine, only three pages long, ''Mode de valeurs et d'intensites;' because it supposedly gave rise to the serial explosion in the area of attacks, durations, intensities, timbres-in short, of all its musical parameters. Perhaps this piece was prophetic and historically important, but musically it's next to nothingC.S. Works get away from their composers. What would Wagner think of the pedestal on which his famous Tristan chord has been placed?

OM. Surely he would be very surprised. C.S. There's a long distance between the Tristan chord and your harmonic language. It's time to discuss it.

OM. Then let's begin at the beginning! First of all, I must speak to you ~bout a phenomenon that, if I may say so, has dominated my whol~

lit~ as a composer and that in my first treatise I called, perhaps a. bit n:ively, "the charm of impossibilities." I always t?o~ght a technical ~ ~ess had all the more power when it came up, m its v~ry essence, gamst an insuperable obstacle. This is exactly the case m my three

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. ky later wrote The Soldier's Tale With th · t, a cornet e, · 1·m, a cIanne Stravinsky h"1mself. Stravms t trombone, a vio 0 simultaneous presence ; eadful to me, but it's what he wanted~ pistons, and snare drufs. r ress· perhaps that reflects the spirit of the ugliness for the sake o ug in , time. . . . ·on corresponds to sound distortion. Picasso's c.s. P1ctonal di~torti he intended them to be ugly, but by distorting women- I wont say . them, he made them more expressive.

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. use" of these modes; indeed some

. . . t'ons· modes of limited transpositions, nonretropnnopa1 mnova 1 • • gradable rhythms, and symmetrical permutations.

c.s. Could you explain these technicalities t~ music lovers who don't have a very specialized knowledge of music? O.M. For the modes of limited transpositions, perhaps it'~ possible by explaining to them very simply that our tempere~ must~ comprises twelve semitones and that the number twelve is. obtamed by the following multiplications: three times four, four times three, twice six and six times two. The modes of limited transpositions are di~ded into symmetrical groups, the la~t note of each group being "common" to the first note of the followmg group. These groups are organized into six groups of two notes, four groups of three notes, three groups of four notes, and two gro.ups in which the num~~r of notes varies. It follows that, after a certain number of transpositions, these modes return to the same notes, and, consequently, it's impossible to continue transposing. In the area of rhythm, modes of limited transpositions correspond to another innovation, that of nonretrogradable rhythms. Modes of limited transpositions cannot be transposed because they contain tiny transpositions within themselves, and nonretrogradable rhythms cannot be played backward because they contain a tiny retrograde within themselves. Finally, in different works, notably in Chronochromie, I used another innovation: symmetrical permutations. This is the same phenomenon: the unfolding of permutations in a certain reading order, which is always the same, results in a limited number of permutations, and instead of obtaining absolutely astronomical figures, one is stopped because one arrives again at the chromatic sequence of note-values and the first permutation. This is the charm of impossibilities-they possess an occult power, a calculated ascendancy, in time and sound. It's been said that some of my works had a spellbinding power over the public. There's no~g of the magician in me, and this spellbinding power isn't achieved crudely through repetition, as has been claimed, but perhaps results from those impossibilities enclosed within such and such a formula.

C.S. Have you always consciously used modes of limited transpositions?

O~. At first it was an unconscious approach; later, I became aware of therr power and capability, and I tried to explain this capability to myself and to others. Some have spoken, with just cause, of the 48

,~J1!' 0~~c ladders, scales goi.ng up and dow~eoJ~e think of the "'odes don't use my modes ma melodic fashion 111 ually down1 wtiereas use them as colors. They aren't harm · . S? further and t}\at 1 b · onies in th saY f the term. They o vtous1y aren't tonal harmo . e c1assic 0 sense ized chords. They are colors, and the· nies, and.not even re~~ the impossibility of transpositions a:l~we~spnngs ~irtlY . ked to this impossibility. The two ph a so om the otor 1ll enomena are c. ultaneous.

s1J1l

c.s.

What is your position in relation to classical tonality? some of my works contain tonal passages, but the

~.M1· blended with those modes that color them and ulti~taerlye hpreose Y f ks . ave ·ttte importance: 5 ome o my wor compnse tone-rows, but the Ii .ect nothing like the sound one expects from serial writing, n dy pro) . . .t,, Th . or o they have the "seria1 spm . ey remain co1ored because, driven by Jl'\Y love of color, I treat them as colors.

c.s. But, harmonically speaking, are you more of a modal composer? o.M. Yes, but I happen to use the twelve notes in bundles and they sound absolutely unlike a series or a partial series; they sound like colors. Sometimes I've used successions of chords in which the twelve tones are heard simultaneously a great number of times, and nobody notices it. Perfect chords are heard, and it is their arrangement that places one note or another in the spotlight and changes the color.

c.s. Do you think that a composer today can still use the tonal language as it has been used for nearly three centuries? O.M. I'm going to startle you: I feel that the terms "tonal:' "modal:' "serial:' and other words of this ilk are misleading and that their use constitutes an illusion; these are phenomena that have probably never existed. They've been exploited in books because lovely theories could be established, with pretty synoptic tables-but t~ese are unimportant things that composers have ultimately taken h~le no~ce .of. If the only quality of Mozart's Symphony No. 40 was its being m G minor, do you think it would still be around?

c.s. True, but it is based on a tonal languageO.M. It is written in G minor, but the important thing is its thematic 49

C.S. Even so, tonal language is not a myth, nor is its pro

. disintegration, not to imply its total disappearance. Is this !essive ong? O.M. It's not entirely wrong. let's say that it's an historical phe enon spoken of complacently, for it's a convenient way of presen~rn things, but we have to go back further and say that all the mull_ ing . · was based on a mo da I Ianguage. Anhqmty · · goes back sic an tiqmty I of time-whereas classical tonal language has lasted three centua. ong most; as for the serial language, it didn't last more than thirty y;ies ~t played an important role in music history, but today it's comp~rrl t dead. Nevertheless it gave rise to some masterpieces that were me Y successful wh~n comi:osers knew how to a':oid the dry rigor of tC::: system. I don t consider Schoenberg's stnct serial works totall successful. The most successful pieces in the serial field are Weber '! because, in spite of the dogmatism of the writing, he managed ·t o co~~ pose very pretty, even ravishing, music. Let's be honest: this is not the case with Schoenberg.

C.S. And Alban Berg? O.M. For Alban Berg, I'd first single out Lyric Suite, which is an undisp.uted, unanimous!y· a~~owledged mas~erpiece. It has just been discovered that Lyne Suite 1s a programmatic work, based on the true story of a desperately hopeless love, so the beauty of the score touches me even more. But' one must speak of Berg's two operas: Wozzeck, which is also an admirable masterpiece, composed in an overall atonal, but not serial, language, and Lulu, where Berg applies serial principles. The subject of Lulu is repugnant and should have been treated as an example of madness. But its realization is academic and as a result, a failure. In the theater, there is a long tradition of madness. Let's go back to the Greeks, to whom Wagner and, more recently, Xenakis turned; they treated some horrifying subjects. Orestes is a monstrous personage, but Orestes is half-crazed, and that explains everything. Euripides's Bacchants is also a very interesting example. From the start, the old soothsayer Tiresias, a serious and solemn man, is seized by a strange desire to dance, and the whole play isa sort of anathema launched against those who disrupt joy.Joy is Dionysian frenzy. Bacchus enters disguised, resolved to punish Pentheus, the son of Queen Agave, for Pentheus is averse to joy. The women of the town, incited by the queen, go into the forest in the middle of the night uttering shrill cries and behaving madly. This

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and harmonic material, its rhythms and accents: That it's in G . minor matters little!

bance, provoked by Dionysian joy, reflects the vengeful .11 0 f

d15tu~us The next night, as they continue to frolic in the 7i t 13acchus. advises Pentheus to go to them in order to que~r~hs'

13acc . . d as a woman, p enth eus climbs to the top of ea disturbance. Disguise. o observe the gomgs-on, but the women, led by the queen dis· tree tr him and in th etr · d e l'in·um, tear h'1m to pieces. Then Bacchus' and ~~::sias disappear. Only the queen a~d her handmaidens remain. he queen holds. the head of her son m her hands. It's horrible, but T here, too, we're m an atmosphere of madness.

c.s. A Greek leitmotif, and a Shakespearean leitmotifo.M. Indeed, there are madmen among Shakespeare's characters, too. Take King Lear, for examI?le: the king himself is completely mad; the jester is mad by profession; and Edgar, the h~lf-brother of the bastard son Edmund, passes himself off as mad m order to avoid being killed. The three madmen are brought together: mad by pretence, mad by profession, and mad for real; the result is extraordinary! Even Hamlet, though very intelligent, is not far from madness-

c.s. All this relates to Bergo.M. Indeed, in Berg there is Wozzeck, and Wozzeck is the story of madness in an extraordinarily vehement and passionate climate. This is not the case in Lulu, whose strict serial score suffers from its academic character. The dramatis personae seem untrue, and the music is boring.

c.s. And what do you make of the serial generation of the 1950s? O.M. 111 say that it was dominated by the personality of Pierre Boulez. The case of Pierre Boulez is extremely striking: he was and he remains a confirmed serialist. His works are truly tied to serialism, but he was able to transcend the dogma and, in a way, treat it with the same instinctive abandon that Mozart applied to tonality. For Boulez, the serial language is only a theoretical point of departure, which he expanded upon with all his genius. C.S. Schoenberg intended to construct a system for eternity, and his series have vanished into thin air in less than half a century. In the end the tonal system has prevailed. 0.M. What endured and what still endures is natural resonance. The tonic triad, the dominant, the ninth chord are not theories, but

spontaneously around us t manifest themselves 1 ha and . . Phenomena thadeny Resonance wdl exist as ong as we ve ears t0 t that Âˇ Âˇ I syste . we canno hat surrounds us. On th e other hand' the sena hsten tofrw h man brain./ that's why its best servants have be rn sprang om a u en those who transgressed it, like Boulez. C.S. Like Mozart for the tonal system0 M Absolutely. Let's take the example of Mozart again: he is said to

b~ t~nal? Marvelous passages like th~ And~nte of the Concerto in Efl t K 482 the statue scene in Don Giovanni, the defeat of all the nocU:~ai cha~acters (the Queen of the .Night and he.r coh~rts) in The Magic Flute are not tonal, but chromatic. Montever~1, who is p~ced at the beginning of tonality-is he tonal? Neve~! H~ s chromatic. ~nd Wagner, who is said to have corrupted tonahty, is also chromatic.

c.s. But chromaticism is a way to use tonality. o.M. Yes, but the series is also chromaticism, and a mode is a choice within chromaticism.

c.s. Aren't you picking holes in the terminology? O.M. Of course, because I find that these terms offer an improper,

though perhaps convenient, means of separating phenomena that are basically linked. C.S. Though all this is hardly a diversion, let's return to your lan-

guage. We spoke of the relationship between colors and your harmonic vocabulary, but another color-sound transposition exists in your creative work. I'm thinking of your orchestration. O.M. It's true that we have not yet spoken of the choice of timbres, the

various colors at the composer's disposal. Classical composers used similar or c?ntrasting timbres. Schoenberg then advocated the melody of timbres, used by composers like Webem and, more r~cently, Bo~lez and Stockhausen. But the concept of a melody of timbres. was lt~elf overtaken by the study of isolated sound. A composer. like Tnstan Murai!, a representative of the new school, investigates what happens inside sounds. Not long ago, Pierre ~chaeffer, another precursor, was roundly denigrated. He was the first to use the technology of tape recording to tum sounds backward, to separate the attack, nucleus, and decay of a sound. This was a means of analyzing the content of the sound and of discovering

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changing and unsuspected resonances within it.

~.S. And that's how a bridge. was established between traditional

mstrumental sound and the field of electroacoustics.

o.M. Indeed, electroacoust~cs represents a new stage, an inevitable

stage of ~ontem~oraryhmus1c.al research. In their method of thinking, composing, an ore estrahng, all composers today have been influenced by electroacoustics.

c.s. And

you, like the classical composers, have used timbres in similar and contrasting groups, and you've also produced melodies of timbres. O.M. My method of orchestrating is rather peculiar. Let us say that, by

availing myself of a timbre or group of timbres, I transform them as timbres by the sounds used and by the sound complexes used. A common chord written for a group of wind instruments doesn't sound like a more complex chord, and the timbre of wind instruments can be completely transformed by a more complex chord, for it must not be forgotten that the timbre is the result of a choice of harmonics. If you add or subtract harmonics, it is obvious that the timbres will be very different. C.S. When composing a work, you immediately think of the timbres

you'll choose; I mean to say, you're not content to write a work at the piano and to orchestrate it the second time around. O.M. That way of writing music, in two separate stages, was perhaps

possible in Rossini's era, but it's absolutely unthinkable today when orchestration is closely tied to composition. C.S. Isn't one of the main innovations of present-day music, then, the

mastery of different timbres that enrich the orchestration? O.M. Yes, we began to be aware of the field of timbre with Berlioz, the

father of modern orchestration. Berlioz was the first to understand the role of timbre and specific timbre, for previously-I'm thinking of Johann Sebastian Bach and his contemporaries-timbres were interchangeable, and one didn't hesitate to entrust a violin solo to an oboe, transcribe an organ chorale for chorus, or have a soprano sing a melody initially given to a flute, and so forth. Then there was a certain disregard for timbre.

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. U ractical' Composers would write for

C.S. Wasn't the reathson bhas~caatytheir disposal and eventually added

the instruments ey a . modifications to the orchestral sconng-

The history of music is, all the same, an ordered o ·M · I don't fthink so. .. · · 1 t In Western civ1hzahon, 1n any case, me ody

sequence ? even \1annon followed by a concern for timbre, and appeared first, then y, f h. h I'm somewhat responsible • d b . · later the concern for rhythm or w IC y traits only Finall , Oriental music has long been charactenze · the West· concern for nuance and tempo, and recenty.ly known in · d oppositions and combinations of nuance an tempo.

c.s. So you feel that through its evolution music is enrichedO.M. Certainly!

c.s. Don't you

think that it gains in one respect what it loses in

another?

o.M. Perhaps it loses simplicity, but it gains diversity and richness.

c.s. But fourteenth-century polyphonic music was very rich and very complex. O.M. At the time of Machaut and particularly with his successors,

some extraordinary efforts were indeed made in combining rhythms; proportional notation, which was just coming into being, filled composers with joy, and they floundered mathematically in the novelty of it. Then that frenzy subsided, and music was purified to become the harmonic music that we know in the classics. In the twentieth century, we've gone back to Machaut's successors, and some are behaving a bit in the same manner: they're blissfully floundering in "gimmicks" which they don't understand very well. ~.S. To return to orchestration, today's concern seems to be with

timbre, over all other aspects of music.

~·M: ~he impoi:tance .of timbre and its specific qualities are extremely s.1gnifica~t considerations that, as I said, go back to Berlioz. He was the first to discover that a solo for English horn was a solo for English horn and not for any other instrument. C.S. Can you give us some examples in the works of Berlioz?

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o.M: Certainly! His music is full of abs~lutely irreplaceable timbres. I'll cite you a wonderful example: the tdlling ·of the bell at the end of the Symphonie fantaai1ue. No other instrument could produce the effect of terror :and ·solitude.better than a bell. Berlioz's use of silence is also extraordinary. In a ·sense, this is also part of orchestration-

c.s. And rhythmo.M. In any case, before Berlioz this \field was rather .. infrequently explored. Debussy took it up, and Boulez added the brilliant stamp of his · personality to it. Finally, beyond the ~ specific timbres used in orchestration, the way of treating sections has evolved, setting one against another, assigning the parts, taking 'into account the instruments that are strong and those that are weak, the.solo and secondary registers of each instrument, possible effects of masking one instru·mentwithanother-all notions tha:t classical composers weren't at all concerned wifh ·and fhat :Berlioz discovered. C.S. Beyond these evolutionary phenomena, there is ~!so. individual

sensibility: certain composers favor the orchestral domain. You ,,bel0ng to that family of "composer-orchestrators" alongside.Berlioz, Richard Strauss, ;and Igor.Stravinsky. O.M. Doubtless-but be careful of the .term "orchestrator"! Some

composers, whom I won't name, are orchestrators by trade, but their orchestra. has no color and doesn't "sound"; I ·hope that mine is colorful.

·c.s. I ·mean to say thatrcertain·composers' orchestrations bear their signature; Berlioz and Strauss are recognized by their manner of orchestrating, and you are just as recognizable by your manner of orchestrating as by harmonic disposition or rhythmic pattern. ·.O~M. I hope soC.S. So orchestration is at the ·very .core of your creative act, and

throughout your works, a .splitting..~p :of the .classical orchestra is apparent. How do ·you explain . fhis:phenomenon? O.M. There are several causes. Foremost, and this might seem

strange, is my love for the piano. The piano, which a priori seems like .a n instrument devoid ·of tt:imbre~, i~, precisely because of its lack of personality,·an instrument condudve ·:to the~pursuit of timbres, for

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written for strings alone, all one of my most fre quentl y "n â&#x20AC;˘ t. and zÂˇ above . k d Playe wor s: 1.rois ,pe ites. iturgies de la Presence Divine, which uses a chorus of women s voices, an Ondes Martenot, solo piano, . . vibraph ~n~, ceIest a, metaII1c percussion, and a string orchestra. The most striking passage of my Chronochromie for large orchestra is written for eighteen string soloists. Finally, my three most important works since Turangalila in terms of length and volume of sound-La Transfiguration de Notre Seigneur Jesus-Christ, Des canyons aux etoiles and the opera Saint Franfois d'Assise-use strings extensively, requiring great virtuosity and a quantity of new or uncommon effects from the violins, violas, cellos, and even the double basses.

c.s. Indeed, but in the

contemporary repertoire and especially in your output, the strings have lost the supremacy they maintained for two and a half centuries. On the other hand, like your contemporaries, you've made wide use of percussion. O.M. This is an area which is rather indicative of our time. You've noticed the vogue for vibraphones, bells, gongs, and any instruments with prolonged resonance, explainable by the need we feel, perhaps under the influence of musique concrete and electronic music, to use new timbres and, especially, timbres whose resonance adds a certain mystery. These instruments offer us power, poetry, and an unreal quality: the vibraphones with their quivering resonance, the gongs, tarn-tarns, bells, with their halo of harmonics and false fundamentals, and other very complex sound phenomena that actually bring us close to some of the enormous and strange noises in nature like waterfalls and mountain streams. C.S. Don't you believe that the mysterious sensation produced by those instruments derives from their novelty? If they're used for a long time, they risk losing that mystery. O.M. It's possible. Inevitably some sort of familiarization will occur, but the strangeness of their resonance will live on. They still are and always have been amazing instruments; musicians in Asia and Africa considered them magical, and I think they were right. 1

c.s. What do

you have to say about electric instruments like the Ondes Martenot? O.M. I have a very great affection for the Ondes Martenot, which makes the creation of new timbres and accents possible, almost at will. Arthur Honegger, in Semiramis and in Joan of Arc at the Stake, was 57

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h Ondes· subsequently, Andre Jolivet the first compose.r to u~l !orks, D~nse incantatoire for two Ondes used it in one of his yout d then wrote a celebrated concerto for Martenot and orchestra,~ ha e used the Ondes Martenot a lot, Ondes Mart~not. I mys: eti~s liturgies and i~ my Turangalflaparticularlyan~ m there my Tro symphonie: are ree Ondes Martenot in my opera, Saint

Franfois d ~ssise.

c.s. How would you d efin e the sound of the Ondes Martenot? . . ht word' because the hOndes OM "Sound" ISn't th e rig . b hasdmany b

.· · ific timbre of the instrument is t e tim re on e, ut timbres. The spech e of them often employed because it con' h f 1· I there are many ot ers. 0 n · · talr c resonance thanks to t e presence o a 1tt e tams ~ mthystefi~lltOUS .mtehe t~mbre metallise or metaJlique, which produces · full I gong m e er, 1s effects that are absolutely terrifying, even harrowing,:: vo ume and, conversely, are ethereally haloed when used so y.

c.s. I

have the impression that composers are hardly using this instrument anymore, and its sonority seems rather dated to me. O.M. I'm going to try to respond to both your comments. First, I don't

think the Ondes Martenot has been abandoned at all. One.of our most modern young composers, Tristan Murail, p!ays it hims~lf and co.ntinues to use it. It is true that he treats the instrument m a speaal manner, in combination with synthesizers. This is a way of

modernizing it: as though one were combining a piano and a harpsichord. I'll add that I once wrote a work, not a very successful one in fact, for six Ondes Martenot, entitled Fete des belles eaux. It was on that occasion that my sister-in-law, Jeanne Loriod, created a group of six Ondes for which she gave a number of commissions to young composers, one being a work by Roger Tessier entitled Hexade, a very advanced work, one of the best written for the Ondes.

As for the timbre of the instrument, which you criticize as being dated, I don't agree. First, because apart from the timbre onde, which resembles at once the human voice, the saxophone, and the hunting ho~, it h~s no ~pecific timbre. The beauty of the Ondes Martenot is ~rec1sely 1~s ability to create thousands of timbres. By manipulating little electnc controls on the left side of the instrument the timbre is ~ged; new ones, ar~ invented. For Saint Frani;ois,' I invented a timbre I named the 'Po1tou oboe timbre" because its extraordinary ca1'.'emous ~ound brings to mind the medieval oboe of the French Po1tou region .. In fact, it's a combination of the timbres c creux (hollow), N nas1llard (nasal), G gambe (stringlike), and the diffuseur D 3 58

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rnetallique aV. That's one example out of thousands! At .the t o ther . time of the f hcreation of the Ondes Marteno' eiectronUic ~stdrur;1etnts _o t e ~am e tyhpe began appearing in Germany and the n1te a es, in parhcu ar t ose thought up even befor th 1920s by Lev Te~men, or JOrg Mager'~ "Sphiirophon;' but t~es: instruments _don t _seem to have resisted the development of electroacousttc music. C.5 .

o.M. Th~n I'm going to .criticiz.e electroac~ustic music, which I prefer to call simply electronic music. Electronic music brought us some absolutely marvelous timbres; we can go down on our knees before the timbres it offers us. But where are the compositions? Certainly a few successes have emerged, and as far as the French are concerned, I salute the work of a trailblazer like Pierre Schaeffer; Pierre Henry's Voyage, after the Tibetan Book of the Dead; the attempts of Guy Reibel, Frarn;ois Bayle, and Luc Ferrari, all composers of great quality. But, frankly, I find nothing in the entire electronic literature that will endure in musical history like Mozart's G-minor symphony or Wagner's Tristan und Isolde.

c.s. Have you had occasion to venture into electronic music? O.M. Yes, but I don't have a gift for it. And today I'm too old. Anyway, the Ondes Martenot is very practical: it's electronic music produced by an instrument. I mean to say that it's predictable and that it preserves the power of the instrumentalist. I can note it in a score, hear it in my head, and control its blend with the rest of the orches~ra. What's more, it offers me limitless possibilities of attacks, dynamics, and, above all, new timbres. In spite of the almost constant use of three Ondes Martenot in Saint Fran~ois d'Assise, I'm far from having exhausted all the possibilities offered me.

C.S. And you have no desire to work in a studio, alongside an engmeerO.M. I'd try perhaps if I were eighteen, but it's too late. 111 leave the

field open to my pupils.

Âˇ

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Of Sounds and Colors - - - - - c.s. You often1speak about complementary colors. Please clarify thÂˇ f lS . h .

term and exp a1n w y its o such interest to a composer. I

o.M. Painters use complementary colors, but our eye manufactured

complements bef~re paint~rs discovered them. If you stare at a red area placed alongside a white area, you notice after a few seconds that at the intersection of the two areas the red starts to glow. When it reaches its maximum state of illumination, you see green flashing intermittently on the white zone next to the red-a rather pale, but extraordinarily beautiful green. This phenomenon occurs with all colors. It's called "simultaneous contrast:' The flashing color is the complement of the real color. Each color's complement, its opposite, is naturally evoked in our eye. Green is the complementary color of red, and red is the complement of green. Violet is the complementary color of yellow, yellow the complement of violet. Orange is the complementary color of blue, blue the complement of orange. All colors and combinations of color have their complements. The phenomenon of natural resonance is analogous, but it acts upon the ear instead of the eye. If you strike the second low C on the piano very hard and hold it, pressing hard on the pedal for full resonance, almost immediately after hitting the key you hear successively (not as a chord!) and in decreasing intensity the octave C-in the second octave of the note struck; th'e fifth G-in the third octave of the note struck; the third E; the seventh B-flat-in the fourth octave of the note struck; the ninth D; and the augmented fourth F-sharp. Afterward, thousands of notes that the ear can no longer distinguish are produced. The note that you've hit is the fundamental sound; the sounds heard afterward are the harmonics. All chromatic notes engender these same harmonic sounds, transposed. ~hey are al:vays higher (there are no lower harmonics) and successive (not simultaneous!), following each other relatively slowly in a moderate 61

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. th e I0 w register and adlittle in the d apart in fourcloser th is · weaker tempo-space . . .t (the augmente high-with decreasing mtens1 y than the fifth)· f tural resonance is analogous to that of The phenomenon ? t~a sense that one acts on our ear, the other complementary colors m e . 1see in my mind complexes of colors When I hear music, d d on our eyes. of sounds so it's un erstan able that corresponding to comp1exes ' color interests me as well as sound. h d d a honists have criticized in tonal music is its

C.S. Wnat of t soun e odecDp hierarchy s. oes this also exist in natural resonance? O.M. There is no hierarchy at all in natural resonance.

c.s. I n sum, wouId Your personal theory then be that of total freedom?

word "freedom" is foreign to me. "Hierarchy;' too. ffier:U.ch; of what? Freedom from what? The classic had.a t · The ancient modes had a final. My modes have ne1t er a toruc on1c. d h · d nor a final· they are colors. The classical chor s ave attractions an resolution~. My chords are colors. They engender intellectual colors, which evolve along with them.

to~lhities

c.s. Can your notion of sound-color be applied to the music of other composers? Let's take the case of a composer dear to your heart: Is Debussy's music colorful? O.M. Marvelously colorful!

Prelude

al'apres-midi d'un faune, Nuages,

Sirenes for women's chorus and orchestra, Chansons de Bilitis, the two books of Images for piano, the whole of Pelleas et Melisande-they're all colored, reflecting an extraordinary love of chord colorations. Music history knows very few color-oriented composers. C.S. Is Wagner colorful?

~-M.

The love d_uet in Tristan und Isolde and Brangiine's offstage ~ghtwatch c~ntam some subtle chord colors. In WagneI one also fin~s d~rk, violent, savage colors. I'm thinking in particular of the begi~1111ng of the second act of GOtterdiimmerung, the orchestral introduction to th~ scene between Alberich and Hagen: these are blackish green, dar~ ~olet ll:olors- Mussorgsky and Stravinsky are colored. Monteverdi 1s colored. Chopin is very colored: the etudes, the preludes, the ballades, the Scherzo of the Sonata in B-flat Minor, and

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the finale of the Sonata in B Minor contain extraordinary color changes.

c.s. And Mozart"? o.M. Mozart, too. That's exactly what makes him different fro m the . 1 M. other c a.ss1ca .c omposers. ozart is not always tonal. He's often l chr0·matic. He is always colored.

c.s~

Do you distinguish between "tonal" and "colored" composers?

o.M. There aren't ~ny modal ~omposers, tonal composers, or serial composers. There is only music that is colored and music that isn't.

c.s. When you listen to the music of Debussy, what color do you see? o.M. Thousands of colors, for the music changes constantly. Debussy

was asked what his favorite color was. He replied, '~iolet:' Now, violet· is my favorite color, too. I adore medieval stained glass because, between the lead trefoils, circles, and diamond patterns surrounding the colored figures, there is generally a small area of red crosses against a blue background ·or ·of blue crosses against a red background,, which combine ito give the wbo1e stained-glass window a violet transparency. From a distance, the eye distinguishes neither the figures nor the crosses; it sees nothing but an immense violet. C.S. This violet-you see it in the music of Debussy.

O.M. I think the first scenic designers of Pelleas et Melisande committed a grave mistake by applying decors in the style of dead leaves. I also remember the Pelleas et Melisande that Boulez conducted in London: Pelleas wore a red costume-what a mistake! A designer should listen to--the .music. Mozart knew brilliantly how to combine harmonic and orchestral colors in order to characterize a given dramatic situation. In Don Giovanni, for example, the harmonic and orchestral color totally changes when the statue of the Co.mmendatore enters.

c~s. Roland ·P etit once choreographed the Turangalila-symphonie on

the stage ofthe PalaiS Garnier; I'm not'ci>n~nced that the colors of the spectacle agreed·· with, those -in your music. O.M. Some of Max Ernst's·youthful canvases served as the backdrop. It was ori the whole attractive and the dan~ers were excellent, but the

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d"d 't always correspond to what I see costumes and the lightin1 I unachievable. internally. Perhaps my co ors

::.e

c.s. Too complex?

:t ~ree ~Ide

f the colors of my modes. Mode 2 is possibilities of coloration. For thrice transposable, 5? ~t hasf 2 is defined like this: "blue-violet me, the first tran~pos.ibon °a cubes, cobalt blue, deep Prussian blue, rocks speckled with. htt~e ~ l~t-purple, gold, red, ruby, and stars of highlighted by a bit ? -violet is dominant:' The same mode in mauve, black, and "'.~te. is ~:tally different: "gold and silver spirals its second transpositionf b wn and ruby-red vertical stripes. Gold 0 against a backgrou~d t,, ~nd here's the third transposition: '1ight and brown are ~?mman · foliage with specks of blue, silver, and gree~ and prarr1De-gre.en nt is g;een." Mode 3 isd four times transredd1sh orange. omma I th · k th osable but its best transposition is the seconl . evend tnF . e P second 'transpos1·ti·on of Mode 3 is the. best of al la my dmo ·es. . or fr its yere 'th stripes. om colors, I' ve noted the following: ''honzontally d h't d bottom totop,darkgray,mauve,lightgray,an w 1 ewi mauve an ale yellow highlights-with flaming gold letters, of an u~known !::ript, and a quantity oflittle red or blue arcs that very thin, very fine, hardly visible. Dominant are gray and mauve. 1

o.M. 111 give you a few ~xamp

v;f

ar~

c.s. To what does the numbering of the modes correspond? O.M. To their number of transpositions. Mode 2 has three transpos.i-

tions, Mode 3 has four transpositions, Modes 4 and 6 have six transpositions. .. My harmonic language doesn't include only modes. In addition, and above all, I use chords: the chords of contracted resonance, the revolving chords, chords of total chromaticism, chords of transposed inversions on the same bass note, and thousands of chords invented to reproduce the timbres of bird songs. Whereas the modes have overall colors corresponding to their various transpositions (three colors for Mode 2, four colors for Mode 3, six colors for Modes 4 and 6), the chords all have twelve colors corresponding to the twelve possible transpositions. However, when I move the same chord from midr~ge up ~ne. octave, the same color is reproduced, shaded toward white-which 1s to say, lighter. When I move the same chord from midrange down one octave, the same color is reproduced, toned down by black-which is to say, darker. As an example, 111 give you the colors of a chord of transposed 64 Scanned by CamScanner

. ersions on the same bass note. If my bass is C-sharp th fu d ~~ntal will be on C-sharp, but the first, second, and third in~ers~o~~ will also be on C-sharp (or D-flat, enharmonically). With the fund~~ental on C-sharp, the upper range is the color of ck crystal and citnne; the lower range, of copper with gold highfi~hts. In the fir~t invers~on on C-sharp: wi~e expanse of sapphire blue, rimm~d with le~s inten~e blue (fluonne. blue, light Chartres blue) and with outer nms of violet. The second inversion on D-flat is orange, with stripes of pale yellow, red, and gold. The third inversion on D-flat, from high to low, moves through pale green, amethyst, and black.

c s. Your descriptions are of an amazing precision, as though your observations of color were less subjective than scientific.

o.M. I limit myself to saying what I feel.

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_ _ _ _ _ In Quest of Rhythm _ _ _ __ C.S. One day, when I said you were a composer, you added: "I'm an ornithologist and a rhythmician:' In what sense should the second of these titles be understood?

O.M. I feel that rhythm is the primordial and perhaps essential part of

music; I think it most likely existed before melody and harmony, and in fact I have a secret preference for this element. I cherish this preference all the more because I feel it distinguished my entry into contemporary music. C.S. Before studying the details of your research and rhythmic lan-

guage, we could do with a little terminology in order to dispel misunderstandings. What is rhythm? How can it be defined in a simple manner? O.M. Rhythm is the one musical notion that cannot be defined simply.

Innumerable definitions have been proposed, both good and bad according to the perspective from which they're viewed. One of '"hem-by Dom Mocquereau-is very famous and sums up the ideas of Plato and the ancient Greeks on the subject: "Rhythm is the ordering of movement:' This definition has the advantage of being applicable to dance, to words, and to music, but it's incomplete. C.S. If you don't mind, let's have some concrete examples. What is

rhythmic music? 0.M. Schematically, rhythmic music is music that scorns repetition,

squareness, and equal divisions, and that is inspired by the movements of nature, movements of free and unequal durations.

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C.S. What was the attitude of the great classical composers in regard

to rhythm? O.M. The classicists, in the Western sense of the t~rm, were had

rhythmicians, or rather, composers wh~ knew nothmg of rh~thm. The music of Bach incorporates harmonic colors ~n~ extraordinary contrapuntal craftsmanship; it's marvelous and brilliant, but there's no rhythm.

c.s. This example will help us to avoid ambiguities: actually, forcertain music lovers, a Bach allegro or a Prokofiev concerto constitutes the apogee of "rhythmic music:' whereas a Mozart symphony isn't rhythmic at all. Why?

o.M. On the contrary, Mozart is an extraordinary rhythmician. As for the works of Bach or Prokofiev, they seem rhythmic precisely because they have no rhythm. The explanation is as follows: in these works we hear an uninterrupted succession of equal durations that puts the listener in a state of beatific satisfaction; nothing interferes with his pulse, breathing, or heartbeat. So he is very calm, receives no shock, and all this seems perfectly "rhythmic" to himC.S. Let's take another example: traditional jazz is said to be

"rhythmic music"O.M. It's exactly the same process. Jazz is based on a foundation of

equal note-values. Through the use of syncopation, it also contains rhythm, but these syncopations exist only because they're placed over equal note-values, which they contradict. In spite of the rhythm produced by this contradiction, the listener once again settles down to the equal note-values that bring great tranquility. 111 take another very striking example of nonrhythmic music that is considered rhythmic: military marches. The march with its caden~al gait, with its uninterrupted succession of absolutely equal notevalues, is anti-natural. Genuine marching is accompanied by an extremely irregular sway; it's a series of falls, more or less avoided, occurring between beats. C.S. So military music is the negation of rhythm?

O.M. Absolutely. C.S. Ca1:1 you give us, on the other hand, some examples of strongly

rhythmic music?

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o.M. Different aspects of rhythm must be conside d p· ber th e d efi n1·ti·on o f r h yth m I gave a moment re · irst' remem. f t" th· . 1 ago, namely "the ord enng o movemen ; is invo ves the alternat1·0 n of nses · and falls 1 apt y called arses and theses Now all · that ·the G ree· k s so h. · , we11-wntten music· contains alternation. Plainchant, to c·t · t is constant d . i e on1y one case, is a~ un1nterrupte succession of arses and theses, elevations and drops, nses and falls, as was perfectly delineated by the g t t · · o f p 1a1nc · h rea es theoretician ant, Dom Mocquereau.

c.s. Can you also give us some examples of rhythmically interesting music in Western classical repertoire?

o.M. The greatest rhythmician in classical music is certainly Mozart. Moz~rtean

rhythm has.a .kinematic quality, but it mainly belongs to the field of accent, denv1ng from the spoken and written word. In Mozart, one distinguishes masculine and feminine groups. The first comprises a single burst and a dead stop, exactly like the male body and character; The feminine groups (more supple, like the female character and body) are the more important and more characteristic. They include a preparatory period, the anacrusis; a relatively intense apex that is the accent; and a relatively weak falling-back, the mute or inflectional ending, formed of one or several notes, of one or several beats. Mozart used these rhythmic groups constantly; they figure so greatly in his work that if the exact placement of the accents is not observed, Mozartean music is completely destroyed. That's the reason one hears so many bad interpretations of Mozart, for most musicians are not sufficiently educated in rhythm to discern the true placement of accents. C.S. The principal difficulty in playing Mozart's works, then, is this

rhythmic richness? O.M. Absolutely, and above all in the placing of the accents t~at .are not always explicitly indicated by th~ composer; the melodic h~e, harmonic devices or a lot of variable signs too numerous to mention should guide the performer in placing accents. If he makes a n::1'istake, he commits a crime against Mozart by completely destroying the rhythmic movement of the work. C.S. Did Mozart consciously embark on this rhythmic pursuit?

O.M. Certainly. It's too consistent in his work not to have been premeditated.

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c.s. And Beethoven? O.M. With Beethoven, the rhythms and. them~s .have a masculine

pace, a single burst and no special accentt~g; this is pro~a~ly due to his strong-willed personality. Clearly there s ~ess rhy~hm1c investigation in Beethoven than in Mozart-the focus is on a different planebut we'll note an interesting element all the same: development by elimination, which is a blueprint for the rhythmic characters in The Rite of Spring. We'll speak of this again later.

c.s. Let's

continue our survey of "rhythmic" composers with an obligatory stop at Debussy. O.M. We talked about Claude Debussy's orchestration and his love of

nature-wind and water. This love led him directly to the irregularity in note-lengths I've mentioned, which is characteristic of rhythm and permitted him to avoid repetitions, at least repetitions ''by return" (because there are immediate repetitions in Debussy). By dint of monitoring nature, Debussy understood its mobile aspect and its perpetual undulation, which he conveyed in his music. Thanks to this, he was one of the greatest rhythmicians of all time. C.S. Doesn't this freedom of rhythm imply a renewal of form? Isn't

there a connection between the form of a work and this rhythmic treatment? O.M. I don't think so; those are two distinct fields. C.S. Then let's leave Debussy to take up the case of Stravinsky, whom

you've analyzed at length. What is the rhythmic contribution of The Rite of Spring? O.M. I d~n't ~ow if Stravin~~y himself realized the great innovation

of.the Rite, which I ~e called rhythmic characters:' I'm very proud of thIS term because it seems truly explicit to me. 1

C.S. It is explicit, but it nevertheless demands some explanation. O.M. Very well. I spoke a moment ago of Beethoven as the inventor of

development by elimination. This development consists of taking a thematic fragment and gradually withdrawing notes from it until it becoi_nes a very concentrated, brief statement. Now this elimination and its opposite, amplification, cause a theme to die or to be resurrected by the removal or addition of a certain number of note70

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values, as though it were a living being; the two types of develo ent constitute the charm of rhythmic characters but B th pJll ' ee oven . Âˇ t'ion. nly employed e l1m1na 0 In the system of rhythmic have/ as a rule, severa1 , . . characters you . L characters present. et. s 1mag1ne a scene in a play in which we place three characters: the first one acts, behaving in a brutal manner b striking the second; the sece>nd character is acted upon, his actio:S dominated by those of the first; finally, the third character is simply present .at the c~nflict and remains ~active. If we transport this parable into the field of rhythm, we obtain three rhythmic groups: the first, whose note-values are ever increasing, is the character who attacks; the second, whose note-values decrease, is the character who is attacked; and the third, whose note-values never change, is the character who doesn't move.

c.s. You defined these rhythmic characters in reference to their use in The Rite of Spring, then you used them yourself. Is there a cause-andeffect relationship? O.M. That's very difficult to explain. When analyzing the Rite I

thought a great deal about the rhythmic importance of such passages as ''The Glorification of the Chosen One" and ''The Sacrificial Dance." In the end I understood that what endowed these two pieces with all their magical force was their rhythmic characters. I then realized that this procedure had been foreshadowed by .Beethoven, but I am probably the first to have used these characters consciously. C.S. At what period in your life did you analyze The Rite of Spring? O.M. A very long time ago. When I began to analyze the Rite for

m){self alone, I must have been twenty-two. Later, after the Second World War, I divulged this analysis to my pupils, to my harmony class at the conservatory and above all to the private composition classes I held at Guy Bernard-Delapierre's. Those classes included my first and my most illustrious pupils: Pierre Boulez, Yvonne Loriod, Yvette Grimaud, Jean-Louis Martinet, Franc;oise Aubut (who later taught organ, counterpoint, and fugue in Quebec), Maurice Le Roux, and Claude Prior (who has long been with a Swiss publishing house and is also a composer). It was a very extraordinary group, and its members even chose a name for themselves: they were not "pupils of Messiaen" but "The Arrows:' C.S. That's a very nice name-

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shooting arrows at the o.M . vies, 1't's very nice., we imagined we were . Âˇ 't

future. When I learned that I was a Sagittarius, shock!

gave me quite a

c.s. We11 come back to your pupils la~er; f~r the m<;>ment, l~t's continue to discuss the rhythmic innovations 1n Th.e Rite of Spring. You first outlined these innovations more than th1~y years after the work's premiere. How is it possible that so essential an aspect of the Rite could have escaped notice for so long?

o.M. At the time of its premiere, the Rite caused a terrible scandal

because of the strangeness of its choreography, whic~ was very revolutionary to its Parisian audience. Equally provocative was the work's polytonal structure, or rather its dissonant aspect, reinforced by the enormous orchestral blocks Stravinsky used. But its rhythm was less of a concern, which is rather curious, for it was the most brilliant element in Stravinsky's score. Yet even his immediate contemporaries, the great composers of the time, weren't interested in it. C.S. It was said then that the Rite was a "rhythmic" work, but using the

word "rhythmic" in an inexact sense. O.M. Yes, because in the Rite, parallel to the rhythmic characters, there

also exists a concession to equal note-values; in the silent moments of these characters, one perceives, I dare say, hushed counterpoints made by the percussion; the superimposing of rhythmic characters on these hushed counterpoints results in equal sixteenth-notes, and therein we revert to the procedure of an identical note-value repeated interminably. C.S. So the Rite must represent the extremely rare case of a work that

is "rhythmic" in both senses of the term? O.M. Let's say that it's polyvalent, but ultimately it is its magic power

that gives it cohesion. C.S. As a rhythmician, you place yourself in the line of Mozart-

Debussy-Stra:!nsky, but in order to understand your rhythmic language better, ~t s ?lso necess?ry to study two other sources which you have dealt with in your wntings and lectures: Hindu rhythms and Greek meters. 0 .M . I, discovered Greek meters thanks to two of my teachers: Marcel

Dupre, my organ professor, who made me improvise on Greek 72

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ms and spoke of them in his Traite d'im

h rhytmanuel, · h 1story · my music professor whoprovisatzon., and· M aurice

£~tered around Greek meters that

i had ~~vet Y~ar-long course

ceurse, I only obtained fragmentary infor e t.uc to attend. Of

coourses were l'im1te . d. . ma ion becaus b h m time, and that led me to stud G e ot own. I encountered many difficulties first bee Y re~k meter on

;,y

t G k ' a use neither sp k ree and second because th ea nor read anc1en fe ere are very treatises on G reek meter. I h ad to poke around in l'b . h w . h 1 I ranes, ere and h there gleaning t e e ements of these meters but I b 1. · f h · , e 1eve t at my d understan . , 1ng o t dem is now quite in focus.' in fact, for my second treatise I ve prepare an enormous chapter on Greek meters th t ·u be one of the most substantial parts of the book. a WI jJ•

•

c.s. I'm not going to ask you

to summarize that chapter in a few words, but could you nevertheless give us a general idea of the characteristics of Greek meters? O.M. Greek meters rely on a simple and essential principle: they're comp?sed of shorts an~ lo~gs, with the shorts all equal and one long equ~l!ng two short~. This might sound like a self-evident truth to you,

but its extremely important because many researchers, influenced by the customs of Western music, believed they found in ancient Greek rhythms either bars of equal time or irrational values that did not exist. In fact, they've destroyed certain relationships between short and long beats that resulted in odd numbers (like the number five for the paeons or the number seven for the epitrites), further resulting in unexpected combinations like the dochmiac rhythm, grouping an iamb with a Cretic, which is to say a rhythm in triple time and a rhythm in quintuple time, which gives a total of eight short beats. Greek meters were based on a second principle, from which the word "metric" is derived: poetry, music, and dance, which were closely connected, relied on meter. Meter is quite simply the grouping of several feet, the foot being a rhythm composed of a certain number of short and long beats, each with its own name. In a succession of identical feet, "substitutes" could be used. For instance, in an iambic verse, with its inevitable string of short-long, short-long, short-long, one would be allowed substitutions, which is to say that a short-long rhythm may be replaced by the tribach (three short beats); or one may further substitute for these groups of three a rhythm that gives groups of four-for example, a dactyl (one long-two shorts). Very frequently the last foot of a verse, usually ternary, is a quaternary, made up of a spondee that groups two longs (equaling .four shorts). This play of substitutions might, by adding up all the time73 Scanned by CamScanner

. ex ected numbers, and especially prime values of a verse, result m .u~t ~btain the number eleven in the numbers. ~hus you( ~~a spondee substituted for the last foot)Aristophan1an verse WI • minor Sapphic verse (with a spondee mber seventeen in b or th e nu h d foot) These primary num ers are totally ·. substituted for t e secon unused in Western classical music.

c.s. So it's a greater refinement. O M Yes, but, outside this very important process of substituti~n, we

h~v~ meters and feet based exclusively on odd numb~rs and p.nmary ms based on the number five, we find the numb ers. Amo ng the rhyth . · h h h whole series of paeons and the extraordinary Crehc r yt m t at t~e G k borrowed from the Cretans. We11 speak further about this c::~c s rhythm (long-short-long), ~hich is n~nretrogradable. Permutations of the Cretic rhythm give the bacchius. (sho~t-long long) and the anti-bacchius (long-long-short~, always 1~ ~uintuple time. Then there are the rhythms in septuple bme, the. ep1tntes, consisting of three longs and a short, their placement variable. Another peculiarity of Greek meter is logoaedic verses. These vers~s combine threes and fours, which is to say they don't present a standard foot, but one encounters fours (like the dactyl) as well as threes (like the trochee), mixed together. The poets Alcaeus of Mytilene, Asclepius of Athens, and the poetess Sappho particularly used these patterns and grouped them in famous verse forms, the Alcaic, the Asclepiadean, and the Sapphic. Beyond these principal elements of Greek meter, a few innovative details may be singled out. I discovered one of them by analyzing Claude Le Jeune's Le Printemps, one of the most beautiful monuments to rhythm in the history of music, composed on a wonderful poem by Antoine de Bau. Le Jeune and Bau tried to revive Greek meters; the choruses in Le Printemps use Greek rhythms almost exclusively, especially the minor Ionic, which is to say a rhythm in six (two shorts and two longs). Now, the interesting thing about this meter is the presence of the anaclasis: the anaclasis (remember Penderecki's work entitledAnaklasis) consists of permutations of shorts and longs in a rhythm, not during the course of it but at the intersection of two ~hythms. For exa~ple~ let's imagine a "minor Ionic trimeter" (which is to say three Ionic minors): the end of the second Ionic minor and the _beg~nning of the third are interchanged, so you 11 hear the true Ion~c m~nor only at the beginning of the verse-and the result will be: Ionic minor, paeon III, epitrite II, meaning two shorts and two longs; then two shorts, a _long, and a short; finally, a long, a short, and two longs. The anaclaszs creates a disturbance in the sequence of dura74

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tions that upsets th e 11stener. . It's tru1y a very ,,mo d ern,, structure that an· f . . Th In ernal machine imposed on peaceful rhythms. osek are the most striking characteristics of Greek meters I came . the verse ·of h to no w th em, I repeat, not only by studying Sop ~des and Aeschylus, the odes of Pindar, and the poems of Sapp o, but ~ls? by analyzing Claude Le Jeune's Le Printemps-in spi~e of the difficulties of this ongoing analysis, which I've begun agam and again. S mack sof

C.S. How do you explain the fact that Western composers have neglected G~e~~ meters, whereas Greek culture forms an integral

part of our c1v1hzation?

o.M. Indeed, it is rather surprising. As the preface to Claude Le Jeune's Le Printemps explains so well, Greek meters were lost for a long time. Actually, the flexibility of the neumes of plainchant, the use of arses and theses, and the combining of twos and threes in plainchant correspond in a certain sense to a survival of Greek meters, but it required the spirit of the Renaissance and a new interest in Antiquity to create interest in these rhythms again. And poor Baff and poor Le Jeune, despite their genius, were criticized by their contemporaries, and above all by their successors.

c.s. Then all this was completely forgotten. o.M. Yes; Le Jeune's Le Printemps was considered ai: anat~ema, though it is, I assure you, one of the greatest masterpieces m the entire history of music.

c.s. Let's leave Le Printemps and its Greek echoes an~ tum to another chapter: that of the Hindu sources of your rhythmic language. O.M. The rhythms of India bear the .name ,,.dec;:i-talas:'.. fr..om tala

is to say that ~ec;:i-tahlashare (rhythm) and dep (regional), which know these ancient r yt ms rhythms from different regions. e ,- . a corn ila~om a thirteenth-c~ntury tre~tise writte~:~~i~~:~:v~sappe!ed. tion of several earlier c~~e~tions, so:°1~h S Ii. itaratnakara, a work 1 The de<;i-talas. cited. by Sarn~ade~~ ~an ~f ~!sic;' are discussed in with a pretentiou.s title m~a_rung .~h talas. They number 120-a the chapter dealing specifically W1 . small in relation to the number that might seem enormous, but~ ver~een lost because their amount of ancient Indian rhyth~s :~e:c:etoday we possess books transmission relied on oral traditio · h but these names are es of rhyt ms, containing long lists o f th e nam

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only symbols for something no longer known.

c.s. Have Indian dec;i-talas fallen into d.isuse.? O.M. I believe they're still used by some Brahmins an~ in so~e cast~s, but the Hindu music that can be hear~ today-despit.e the vrrtuos1ty .t s the beauty of its symbols, its modes, and its rhythms-is of i s raga , dÂˇ d " "I still rather far removed from the 120 extraor inary ep-ta as that I Âˇ t ke of, deri-talas which doubtless represent the summit of JUS spo y â&#x20AC;˘ 1 Hindu and human rhythmic creation. " " I have studied at great le~gth the 120 dep-talas that were assembled in some disorder by Saritgadeva, so mu~h so that I ended up discovering the different rhyt~mic rules that. denve from them, as well as the religious, philosophical, and cosmic symbols they contain. It would take too long to explain all these symbols, which I've collected in a book, but I can give you the general rules engendered by the rhythms. These are the principle of the addition of a dot, the principle of the increase and d~crease of one val~e out ~f ~wo, the principle of inexact augmentation, and that of disassociation and coagulation. The primordial element is the existence of special rhythms that I've named "nonretrogradable:' A nonretrogradable rhythm is quite simply a group of durations that read identically from left to right or from right to left, that present exactly the same sequential order of values in either direction. This is true for the nonretrogradable rhythms of three values, the outer durations being identical and the central duration free. All rhythms divisible into two groups in retrograde to each other, with a common central value, are equally nonretrogradable. It's as if, while traversing a landscape from two opposite points, you encounter the same objects at the same moments, in the same position and numerical order. It's extraordinary to think that the Hindus were the first to point out and use, rhythmically and musically, this principle of nonretrogradation that is so frequently encountered around us. It's a principle long applied to architecture; thus, in ancient art, Gothic and Romanesque cathedrals, and even modern art, the decorative figures that ~dom. the ped~ments of portals are almost always two symmet~ically inverse figures framing a neutral central motif. Ancient magic spells contained words which seemed to have had an occult power: it was imp~ssible to r~ad these words from left to right, then from right to left, without reencountering exactly the same sound and same order of ~etters. If we turn to nature, we have an exquisite e~a~ple: the wings of butterflies. When butterflies are enclosed in t eu cocoon, their wings are folded and stuck against each other; the 76

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ttern on one is thus produced in the opposite direction on the P~er. Later, when the ~ings unfold, the pattern of colors on the right ~g mirrors the left wing, and the body of t~e caterpillar, the thorax and the antennae placed between ~h~ two wings, constitutes the cen.tral value. These are marvelous, h~1ng nonretrogradable rhythms. Finally, we carry these rhythms in ourselves: our face with its two symmetrical eyes, .two sy~metrical ears, and nose in the middle; our opposi~e hands. with their opposed thumbs; our two arms, and the thorax in the m1~dle; the tree of our nervous system with all its symmetrical br~nch1ngs. Thes~ are ~onre~rogradable rhythms. A final syrnbol-:th1s moment wh.1ch I hve, this thought which crosses my mind, this movement which I accomplish, this time which I beat before and after lies eternity: it's a nonretrogradable rhythm. '

c.s. What gave you the idea to explore, for your own use, the universe of Hindu rhythms?

o.M. It was a stroke of luck. I accidentally came across Sarngadeva's treatise and the famous list of 120 de~i-talas; that list was a revelation. I immediately sensed that this was an extraordinary find; I studied it, copied it, contemplated and reapproached it from every possible angle, for years, in order to grasp its hidden meaning. C.S. Were these texts published in French?

O.M. No, and at the time I didn't understand the Sanskrit words. By a

new stroke of luck, a Hindu friend translated the words for me, which allowed me to discern, beyond the rhythmic rules, the cosmic and religious symbols contained in each de~i-tala. For instance, most of the rhythms based on the numbers five or fifteen (three times five) are dedicated to Shiva; they're also dedicated to Parvati: wife, shakti, and power of Shiva's manifestation. C.S. Is it also possible to discern symbols in your own rhythms? O.M. No, I've used Hindu rhythms and rhythmic principles a great

deal, but when I used them, I still didn't know the meaning of the Sanskrit words, so I was unaware of the symbols. However, I've often come close to them unconsciously. There's a rhythm called Gajalila, the rhythm of the elephant's step, composed of three quarter-notes and a dotted fourth quarter-note, which lends a certain heaviness and a limp which go well with the sy~bol of the elephant's ~tep, ~symbol dear to the Hindus. For us, the idea of an elephant 1ump1ng rope would be rather ridiculous, but that isn't necessarily the case for the 77

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Hindus, who represent the ~orld as four elephants standing atop f tortoises floating on air. The number of the elephant-god ~:~esha, is also the number four. Gajalila has four note-values, anct the fourth, which is dotted, perhaps represents ~ental enlightenment. I don't want to give you any other expl~nahons,. for there's a Âˇ theology of illusion as opposed to reality and vice versa but genume h" G . l"I h h ' it's worth noting that I've always used t is a1a i_a r yt ?1 in this sense; so this assemblage of note-values must contain a magic spellC.S. Magic again- Isn't the interest you tak~ in Hindu rhythms due in

part to the attraction of mystery and magic?

o.M. If you wish, in the best sense of the term, in

~h~. sense

of the secret ritual and of the signs revealed only to the 1n1hated. I don't believe that this is forbidden by the Church and by religion. It's a wonderful thing, which has no connection with black magic and deviltry. C.S. Does India have other attractions for you? O.M. No, I was primarily interested in the rhythms. To understand

the rhythms and symbols better, I've obviously read works on religions, philosophies, and Hindu religious theory, which are actually quite remarkable; but I haven't been converted to Buddhism, Hinduism, or Shivaism. C.S. Do you know of any other Western composers who have had knowledge of Hindu rhythms? O.M. No, I'm absolutely the only one. But I remember the work in

France of Alain Danielou, who lived for a long time in India and wrote several books on India, specifically on the divisions of the octave and the shruti in the Hindu modes and on Indian philosophies and religions and Hindu polytheism. C.S. Did you teach these Hindu rhythms to your pupils? O.M. I often s~oke of them, ~nd I even gave special courses on Greek

meters and Hindu rhythm in Darmstadt, Tanglewood, Saarbriicken, and Budapest, and in Buenos Aires for students who came from South and Central American countries. C.S. But now that, thanks to you, these 120 Indian de-;i-talas have

been revealed, do you think that composers are going to use them? 78

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o.M. It has already happened! But they don't think of I d. . h · f ormuIas 1n · my music and thereforen ia, dt ey · rh yth m1c ,. take .. certain

without knowing it.

use e<;i-talas

c.s.

Would your rhythms have been very different if you h d 't a n become acquainted with dec;i-talas? o.M. I cannot answer that. In any case, I was directed toward this

research, toward asymmetric divisions, and toward an element encountered in Greek meters and Indian rhythms: prime numbers. When I was a child, I already loved prime numbers, those numbers that, by the simple fact of not being divisible into equal fractions, represent an occult force (for you know that divinity is indivisible).

c.s. Another mysteryO.M. Yes, another mystery, and so great a mystery that the most

informed mathematicians have never been able to explain the placement of prime numbers in the infinite unfolding of whole numbers. C.S. And as for your own rhythmic languageO.M. My rhythmic language is precisely a combination of all these

elements: note-values distributed in irregular numbers, the absence of equal times, the love of prime numbers, the presence of nonretrogradable rhythms, and the action of rhythmic characters. All are brought into play in my rhythmic language; all become part of it, are blended and superimposed. C.S. Does using this language imply a conscious approach or a spontaneous reflex? O.M. Both.

c.s. Which of your works are most representative of your rhythmic concerns? O.M. Just about all of them, with particular emphasis on my Quatre etudes de rythme for piano, the Turangalila-s~mphonie, Liv~e d'orgue, and Chronochromie (distinctive in that it contains symmetncal permutations always inverted in the same reading order).

c.s. Has your rhythmic language been modified throughout your own evolution?

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o.M. Yes, for I've become riche~. I've used .new ~lements without abandoning the old ones. My first rhythmically important work 8 were composed before or during the Second Worl? War: these are L nativite du Seigneur for organ, then Quatuor pour la fin du !emps. There~ used a rhythmic system based on added note-value, pnme numbers diminutions followed by their augmentation, inexact diminution~ and augmentations, and a number of procedur.es that I borrowed from Indian antiquity. Later, I moved on to new fields, and here I am obliged to speak again of the 'Mode de valeurs et d'intensites;' the fame of which is totally unjustified. In it I used a sort of super-series in which pitches of the same name passed through different regions, changing octave, attack, intensity, and duration. I think it was an interesting discovery-but no one noticed it. Everyone talked only of the super-serial aspect! C.S. You were keeping historically up-to-date. O.M. Yes, people had the feeling I was carrying on the teachings of

Darmstadt- I prefer to emphasize one of my other contributions which is surely more important: the use of symmetrical permutations that are found in my Chronochromie. It's a procedure that corresponds exactly to what I call, in the field of modes, modes of limited transpositions, and in the field of rhythm, nonretrogradable rhythms. It's a procedure based on an impossibility. Symmetrical permutations are note-values that follow each other in a certain order and that are always reread from the starting point. For example, let's take a chromatic scale of thirty-two values: they are inverted in a chosen order. The result is numbered from one to thirty-two; then this result is reread in the first order, and so forth, until the starting chromatic scale of thirty-two values is reencountered. This system produces some interesting and very strange rhythms, but above all it presents the advantage of avoiding an absolutely astronomical number of permutations. Do you know that with the number twelve, so cherished by the serialists, the number of permutations is 479,001,600? One would need years to write them. Whereas with my procedure, one can, with the most important numbers-thirty-two or sixty-four-achieve the best permutations, eliminate the secondary permutations that only end in repetitions, and work on a reasonable number of permutations not very far from the starting number. C.S. You choose the permutations that interest you. O.M. I'm not the one who chooses, it's the procedure.

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c.s. But you control the procedure. o.M. E~actly. Somewhat like Xen~kis. This procedure seemed so

interesting to m~ that I ~e11:1rned to it while composing Saint Fran~ois, in the scene of 'T~e Kissing of the Leper," in order to have some extraordinary clashing of rhythms.

c.s. What about irrational values? ~.M. For a time I used the~, without liking them very much, and I finally gave them up, pre~1sely because they are irrational. I prefer

rhythms that are extraordinary, but straightforward. C.S. Your Livre d'orgue reveals a wide use of irrational note-values. O.M. Not in the best passages. However, it's a useful procedure to the

extent that it allows a superimposing of tempos, but I myself have also used superimposed tempos. C.S. With birds? O.M. In the great concert of birds in ''The Sermon to the Birds" in Saint

Franfois d'Assise, the conductor has to maintain a very precise beat for one part of the orchestra: the woodwinds, strings, bells, xylophone, xylorimba, marimba; whereas the other instruments-three Ondes Martenot, little trumpet in D, horn trio, rattles, glockenspiel, vibraphone-wander, dare I say, in nature, at their own individual tempo. The conductor is limited to signaling when they should start and stop playing, but at the same time he has to beat times of unequal duration for the other musicians, and it's an awesome task. That's how I achieve an organized chaos with the superimposing of very different tempos. C.S. It's a polyrhythmic phenomenon.

O.M. We11 say "polytempos," which exist in nature, but which are very difficult to realize in the orchestra. The classical composers didn't risk it, except for Mozart, in the ballroom scene in the first-act finale of Don Giovanni, when three little onstage orchestras play in different meters. But the result is less obvious since all the musicians are playing in G major. Unf?rtunately the ton~I .effe~t absorbs the rhythmic combinations. Still, Mozart had a bnlliant idea.

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C 5 I'm thinking of another composer, nearer to ~ur time, who w

al~~ interested in these combinations: the American, Charles Ive:~ 0 M Ives used superimposed music. Milhaud, too. In my case, it w

bi~d~ that led me toward the sup~rimpos"1,g ~f tempos. In the sprin~ when one witnesses the awakening of the birds around four o'clock in the morning, our great soloists are heard: .the s?n~ thrush, oriole, nightingale, and blackbird, a~d ea~h ~ne sings m its o~ tempo. Other birds accompany them m therr disparate tempos. ~ifty voices might be superimposed in differ~~t tempos. The result 1~ an absolutely impenetrable chaos, a prodigious entanglement, which nevertheless remains harmonious. That's what I wanted to recreate in my music.

c.s. You often say that these birds, which constitute one of your great sources of inspiration, have hardly been appreciated by your pupils. Yet your pupils have adopted and developed your rhythmic ideas. O.M. Pierre Boulez is the one most influenced by my rhythmic

research; even so, his approach is different from mine and, above all, he had the intelligence to associate it with the serial procedures of Webern and the system of irrational note-values that, beginning with Chopin, were pursued by Debussy and found one of their best outlets in Varese and Jolivet. It's certain that Boulez collected, transformed, and digested all this, then added his own ingredients, but in the end he's still my heir. It should be recognized, however, that he has gone beyond all of us! I'll cite next the research into irrational values carried to its extreme by Karlheinz Stockhausen; in his Klavierstucke and his Zeitmasse, irrational values of extreme complexity have made rhythmic headway. Lately we've reached great expanses of long durations that extend beyond not only classical time-signatures but even Greek meter, Indian dec;i-talas, and irrational values. We're witnessing a change in the notion of time, and I believe that one of the composers most sensitive to this change is Jean-Claude Eloy. Beyond the refinement of timbre and the quality of heterophony, I discern in his music a conception of time quite at the forefront of the avant-garde. C.S. But what place do you .assign this rhythmic investigation in the musical evolution of our time?

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â&#x20AC;˘ .... It's probably the most important characteristic of tw ti. h 0 .1Y1 â&#x20AC;˘ h th t Âˇ11 en .et ce ntury. music, t e one a w1 set our era apart from previous centuries.

c.s. Don't these in~ovation~ lead to musical scores that are extremely

tricky to grasp at .fi~st reading and very difficult to perform with a minimum of prec1s1on?

o.M. That doesn't worry me. Remember the example of past centuries: in the nineteenth century, no one could perform the etudes of Chopin except for Liszt and Chopin himself; now all good pianists play them. Fifty years ago, Debussy's preludes were considered not only unplayable, but unreadable; everyone spoke of "distorted harmonies;' criticized the great number of accidentals- What accusations didn't they level against Debussy's music! Today, it seems so simple! Performers, as well as listeners, simply have become familiar with it. C.S. And how should listeners grasp this elaborate rhythm? Should they be responsive to it upon hearing it, or discern it by reading it? O.M. They11 be responsive to it the day their ears are accustomed to it.

It's not essential for listeners to be able to detect precisely all the rhythmic procedures of the music they hear, just as they don't need to figure out all the chords of classical music. That's reserved for harmony professors and professional composers- The moment that they receive a shock, realize that it's beautiful, that the music touches them, the goal is achieved!

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My Birds _ _ _ _ __ ~.S. Birds ru~ thro~g~out ~our wor~ just as the.y underscore your

Itfe. For you, investigating bird songs is a way of hving to the rhythm of nature.

o.M. Certainly._It's probable that in the artistic hierarchy, birds are the greatest musicians on our planet. The bird is indeed a marvelous creature from all points of view: flight is still a largely unexplored wonder, and migration yet another challenge to researchers. Even the great migration specialist M. _Jean Dorst recognizes that our knowledge is still incomplete. And the triple vision of most birdsmonocular vision on the right and left, binocular straight aheadallowing them to escape danger, explore the countryside, and hunt for prey simultaneously! But the greatest of all these marvels, the most precious for a composer of music, is obviously song. A bird's song is something extraordinary, and if you don't mind, I'd like to discuss its causes. Strange though it may seem, a bird's song first has a territorial aspect: the bird sings to defend its branch, its field of pasture, and to affirm its ownership of a female, a nest, a branch, or a region in which it feeds. This is so true that territorial possession is often regulated by song contests, and if an intruder wishes to occupy a spot that doesn't belong to it, the real owner sings and sings so well that the intruder leaves. C.S. This is the second act of Tannhiiuser! O.M. Yes, but there's also a reversal of the situation that Wagner didn't

foresee: if the intruder sings better than the proprietor, the proprietor yields his place. Many differences between human beings should be regulated in this charming mannerThe second cause of a bird's song is obviously the amorous 85

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im ulse, and this above all is why birds sing in th~ spring, the season of kve. Singing is-apart from a few rare exceptions-the preroga, tive of the male, who sings to attract the fe~ale. Other amorous manifestations-nuptial parades, plumage displays, or feats of flight-are also intended to dazzle the fe~ale. The love songs are among the most beautiful. But I place a third category of absolutely wonderful songs above all the others: these are the free ~ongs, without social function, generally provoked by the beauties of dawning or dying light. Thus, I've noticed in the Jura an especially gifted song thrush, whose s.ong was .~bsolutely brilli~nt w~en .the sunset was very beautiful with magnificent red and violet hghhng. When the color was less beautiful or the sunset was shorter, this thrush didn't sing, or sang less interesting themes. Finally, we must speak of the musical sounds emitted by birds that professional ornithologists categorize not as "songs;' but "calls." These calls constitute a veritable musical language, and this brings up the touching efforts of Wagner, who really tried to express ideas in a musical code by means of the leitmotif. Indeed, birds converse using calls with precise meanings rather easy to recognize, for example, the mating call, the feeding call, the cry of alarm. The cry of alarm is so important that whatever species emits it, all birds understand. So 111 summarize the different categories of vocal emissions by birds: on the one hand, the means of communication with society, which is to say the calls; on the other hand, the actual songs, which may be territorial, seductive, or, most beautiful of all, the free song which salutes the dawning or dying light. C.S. But there is also a very great diversity in bird songs according to

the species, the regions-

?ÂˇMÂˇ lndee~, the difference is considerable according to the species; first, acc?rdmg to the species of the same country, then according to ~he species of the same habitat, and, finally, on a larger scale, accordmg to the same species throughout the world. C.S. How many species of birds are there? O.M. Around twelve thousand, and each h as its . own specific . . sung.

c.s. How many species have you studied? O.M. To tell the truth I don't kn b I d without hesitation th~ son .ow, ut. c~n recognize by ear an other species living in F gs of fifty species in France. For some 550 ranee and Europe, I need a moment to reflect,

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~etimes to consult a manual or watch with bino 1 soa.a• . cu ars, or even t 0 . f 1 ve supp ementary in ormahon on the behavior h b.ta ha kn , a I t, and so · · 'orth. Among the fore1gn species, 1 ow well some No th A . l' I II th fS h . r mencan birds, but ess we ose o . out America because places like Brazil and the Amazon forest are httle known-there you find birds which are not yet cataloged! I als~ know the birds of Japan, which I've listened to during differen~ trips, and more re~ently, when_I was composing Saint Fram;ois d'Ass~e, I went on a long JO~rney, which we'll speak of later, to study the birds of New Caledonia. In ''The Sermon to the Birds" Saint Francis ~alls on bird~ from distant islands to verify the word~ of the psalm- 'That the isles may applaud"-so I decided on New Caledonia. I told you t~at each spe~ie~ has_ its own specific song. Here again, several categones may be d1shngu1shed: first, birds having an innate song, which is to say that they're born with a certain style and aesthetic; as soon as one hears them, one immediately says, ''That's a blackbird! That's a thrush! That's a nightingale!" just as upon hearing classical music you say, ''That's Mozart! That's Debussy! That's Berlioz!" On the other hand, certain birds don't have an innate song but are obliged to learn it from their parents with some difficulty. The finch, an otherwise very common and very virtuosic bird, does not have an innate song; young finches work under the supervision of their father and generally have great difficulty reaching the end of their musical roulade. Admittedly it's a difficult song to sing, containing repeated notes, then a roll, slow at first, then accelerating greatly and getting louder and louder; this accelerando ends in a victorious codetta, either descending or ascending, following the regional and dialect~ . endings. It's extremely difficult to get right, and young finches °' stumble over the final notes without being able to bring off this famous codetta. Resemblances between one species and another should also be noted: for instance the willow warbler also sings an accelerando on a rolled note but instead of having the finch's victorious codetta, it has one that di~s away, slow and sad, and above all it doesn't learn just one codetta, but ceaselessly invents new codettas.

c.s. And to think that we naively believe each bird has a short and always identical song! O.M. That's not true! The song depends on the species and also on the character of the individual, for within the same species there are always variants among individuals. I'll give you a few examples: first, 87

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. d everyone knows, the blackbird, the famous'dblack a bir b bird With a ellow beak, encountered not.only in the cou~trys1 e ut, today, also ":f our c1'ty.parks · Characteristic of the blackbird are 1n d formulae k· · always risin to a high pitch. Its song, at once solemn an moc 1ng,.1s basect, if nof on a hypermajor mode, at least on the use of the maJ?r third, perfect f ourth, maJ· or sixth' and augmented fourth. h t ·Every t t · spring each blackbird invents a certain number of themes t a 1 r.e ams and adds to previous themes; the older it gets, th~ more vast ~ts repertoi~e of melodic motifs becomes, and these motifs are peculiar to each individual bird.

c.s. Is it true that the nightingale sings better than other birds? O.M. No, that's not true. The nightingale is a great tenor with a very

powerful voice, the virtuosity. of whi~h is ~emarkable. If we may digress, birds have extraordinary vrrtuos1ty that no tenor or coloratura soprano could ever equal, for they possess a peculiar vocal organ, the syrinx, which allows them to execute rolls and very small intervals and to sing extremely fast. This virtuosity reminds me of a little anecdote: Some years ago, Manuel Rosenthal's wife, who is a singer and vocal teacher, had bought a superb Indian shama (a marvelous singing "cage-bird"). The shama sang all day long, and during lessons, excited by the music in the adjoining room, it redoubled its efforts, singing so well that the pupils were ashamed of their own voices. Ultimately, lessons couldn't be given because the time was spent listening to the bird and going into raptures over the brilliance of its talentsTo return to the nightingale: it has wonderful virtuosity and a very powerful voice, but it's more of an actor than a singer. Nightingales have stereotyped formulae, the same for each individual bird, two of which are very well known: one is a fluttering of two disjunct sounds which can be transcribed as "tiko tiko tiko tiko" or "couti couti co~ti couti"; the other is a lunar sound, very distant and very slow, which sounds as if it were emitted by another bird, five hundred meters off, that gradually draws nearer; then this sound is b~squely fol~ow~d by two or three very loud notes reverting to high pitch. Most nightingales alternate five or six themes common to all, with changes in intensity and feeling. The nightingale performs a volte-face from sadness to joyC.S. What we call "sadness"-

o ..M. Yes,. you11 excuse my use of human terms; it's an old fault of mine: being anthropomorphic despite myself. Let's say that the

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nightingale seems · ·to be passing brusque!Yfrom sadness t · anger to renunciation, from rancor to forgi o Joy, from tion to victory; and it really goes from a sl~~ntss, or ~om supplica{rom a pianissimo nuance to fortissimo with bempo into a fast one, contrasts. ' rusque and obvious This brings me to birds that . . seem much greater a rt•1sts to me In France, I see two t h at are brilliantly gifted, the song thrush and the is a very common bird that 1·1ves 1n · meadowlark. · d ·The meadowlark · . 1ike Champagne grain-pro regions and Beauce, w h ere 1t · ·t ucing t h b . makes i s nes on t e are ground in a depression sheltered b t ft of grass or a clod.eh of earth. It's a bird of the open air' though it sleye ps a uon · the ground, w h i is extraordinary! To know the song of the meadowlark, one has to have heard thousands of meadowlarks for hours, days, months, and years; so, you se_e, a phonogr~ph record is an incomplete tool inasmuch as it only gives us a p_orhon. of ~ ~ong, just as a photograph conveys the snapshot. of a sin~le mdividual. The meadowlark, this typically ~ren:h ~rrd (s? typi~al that th~ Gauls adopted it as an emblem), sings m midair while flying. Its flight pattern includes a quasi-vertical ascent, wings flapping (flapping flight); short stops in midair (gliding flight); and a nosedive with wings closed, the bird recovering itself at some distance from the ground in order to land gently. Its song, divided between a high note and a low note, follows these stages. It constantly hammers out that high note, which serves as a ceiling, with fast motifs always returning to the high note, like the climacus resupinus in plainchant, and in the brief moments of gliding flight, the song descends to the lower register with long notes. So the song of the meadowlark hovers between these two extremes, the long notes . of the floor and the high points of the ceiling, the rest being garland and arabesque. The song on the whole is rapid, extremely jubilant and alleluia-like. Only a composer could manage to understand it and capture it on paper; in fact, most ornithologists refrain from describing it and merely say, "Extraordinary song, impossible to describe." Finally, the song thrush is one o~ the m~st bril~iant birds, an~ although each individual thru.sh has its own invention,. the song 1s still quite recognizable. It's an incantatory sort of song with strophes generally repeated three tim~s. _But! These strophes are. never identical, which is to say, the brrd mvents a strophe, repeats it three times then invents another, also repeated three times, and the next day i~'ll invent another dozen of them, all r~peated thrice, but after the three repetitions, it's over; the thrush invents a new strophe, repeated in its turn. Moreover, wi~hin these strophes, the rhythms ~re excessively pronounced and varied, and they accompany melodies

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of timbres. At the heart of one rhythm, you often ~ind two or three timbres. Furthermore, repe~itions alternate with .some quite extraordinary flights of virtuosity. I~ these wate~-drop ghss~ndos one can hear a succession of very delicate, pearlhke t?nes, hke beads dropping off a broken string or ~at~r d~oplets. falling ~ery rapidly into a fountain basin. One also distinguishes httle grating sounds staccato sounds, and light pulsations. It's all extremely varied anct complex, but of great power thanks to the rhythms and three repetitions.

c.s. Can a map of the major bird families be drawn? In other words, is it possible to determine differences between the songs of like species living in very distant countries? O.M. Certain species have a specific song with the same aesthetic on

one continent, but with dialectal variants. Thus, the orphan warbler of the Pyrenees-Orientales heard in the cork oaks ab0-ve Banyuls doesn't sing like the orphan warbler of Greece; the song of the Greek orphan warbler is much more brilliant and varied. On the other hand, there's no possible comparison between the different European warblers and the multitude of birds in the United States which Americans call "warblers;' but which aren't warblers. I can also tell you that most of the birds I studied in Japan have no equivalents in France, even when they bear a similar name. Thus the bush warbler of Japan, called an uguisu by the Japanese (pronounced "oo-GWEEsoo"), has a French counterpart, the Cetti's warbler, which is generally found in thick bramble by the water's edge in the Camargue, Briere, and Charente regions. The song of the French warbler is a very typical melodic and rhythmic formula: three separate notes, the second of which is lower and shorter (the neume porrectus, a Cretic rhythm), followed by a roll and a conclusion, all very loud and brusque, seeming to express a certain irritability. The song of the Japanese warbler is quite different. It's unique and will be recognizable in a thousand individual instances: it's a very long note, pianissimo-crescendo, with an extremely gradual swelling, ending on a victorious torculus fortissimo. I've used this song, and you11 recognize it very easily because it's played at least twenty times by a trumpet and a tutti of wind instruments in "Les oiseaux de Karuizawa" in my Sept hai'kai'. C.S. Are there combinations of bird songs? Can birds be influenced by the song of another species? O.M. Certain birds are specialists in counterfeit songs, but it's an abso-

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Jutely extraordi.nary type of m~micry t~at is actually a recasting. For example, I'll cite two exceptional buds: the melodious warbler [hypol~i's pol~glotte] of the southwest -and the south of France (also found in Spain and Italy), and the icterine warbler [hypolai's icterine] of northeast France (also found in Belgium and Switzerland). These b~rds, commonlr cal!ed "counterfeiters;' reproduce the song of other b~rds; ~hey d~ !t ~th mixtures, volte-faces, and such astonishing virtuosity that its virtually impossible to analyze. Only on a recorded disc played at slow speed can the imitations be discerned. I cannot explain it to you, but it sounds a little like Debussy rewritten by Stockhausen. C.S. And don't migratory birds have songs that are modified accord-

ing to wherever their travels take them? O.M. No, migration has no influence on a bird's song. In France, we

have birds that are essentially migratory, like the golden oriole which comes directly from Africa. Its song is a strange, slurred whistling, filled with a vibrant joy, rich in harmonics and sunny resonance. It arrives in France in the spring, singing, but when it returns to Africa, by way of Greece and Egypt, to reach its winter quarters in Kenya and Uganda, it doesn't sing anymore, and consequently there's no change from one continent to another. C.S. How did you become an ornithologist? O.M. Quite simply because I loved bird songs and have ev~r since I

was a child; I've transcribed a great number of them, at first very badly, without being able to determine the name of the bird that was singing. I was deeply mortified by. my igno~ance and aske~ some professional ornithologists fo~ advice. !he first person to give me information was an ornithologist and writer of great talent, now dead, named Jacques Delamain; it was on his estate-la ~randeraie ~e Garde-Epee, in the Charente district-that I h~d my fust lessons in 'th 1 gy Then I worked in the Camargue with Jacques Penot, on orni o o . h, d' f h · lie d'Ouessant with Robert-Daniel Etc ecopar, uector ~ t e migration research department of the Museum of Natural History'd

t emeritus of the Ornithological Society of France!

C.S. A n d presi en

· th

cky hills of Herault and the area around Pezenas

O:M. - th en .1nH ..e ro(who died in an accident a few years ago); lastly

wtth Fran<;ois ue t n some supervise · d outmgs · · h H enn· L. omont wtt 1 1 ?nd abov~ al f whenp orenees-Orientales, notably around Banyuls and in the region o t e Y I

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Port-Vendres. For the rest, both in France an~ abr?ad, I've worked on cite the songs I've transcribed in the Dauphine in my own, and I Can d th vâ&#x20AC;˘ . the Jura the Causses, in Provence, an e 1varais, in flat Savoy, m ' d Chartres Âˇ I'm _Par t'icularly country like the areas around Bourges an roud of the inventories I made of the songs .of pond buds; I spent ~any hours in the Camargue and abov~ all in the So~ogne region transcribing the reed warbler, sedge warbler, water rad, great reed warbler and all the birds of the reeds, ponds, and wetlands. To them I've dedicated "La rousserolle effarvatte" in. m:>: Catalogue d'oiseaux, a piece I long considered my greatest success in bird songs,. bu~ which I now think has twice been surpassed, by La fauvette ties Jardzns (The Garden Warbler] for piano and ''The Sermo~ t.o the Birds" from ~aint Franfois d'Assise. "La rousserolle effarvatte is an enormous piece lasting about half an hour, the form of which is based .entirely on songs of reed and pond birds as th~ hours. of the day a~d night unfold. In fact, the piece begins at three o clock in the morning and ends at three o'clock in the morning, including all the intervening hours, obviously compressed, and including the intervals of silence, also compressed. I

c.s. Your latest ornithological journey was to Israel. O.M. Indeed, I recently returned to Israel to attend some concerts of

my works, but I stayed on and was able to visit some historic, even holy, sites, and at the same time to go bird-watching. I was therein assisted by two Israeli specialists, Yoshi Leshem and Menahem Adar, as well as by a thick book on ornithology by Fran~ois Hue and RobertDaniel Etchecopar concerning birds of the Near and Middle East. I must say I was taken to some sublime spots, first to the Mount of Temptation, where Christ fasted for forty days before embarking on his pub~ic life. It's an enormous yellow mountain covered with big bulbous rocks. It's very beautiful, completely barren, terrifying! In that utter silence, bird songs acquire greater meaning. I heard two marvelous birds there: the desert lark [Ammomanes deserti] and the mourning stonechat. I then went down to cheerier places, such as the Valley of Jericho and the kibbutz of Ein Gedi at the foot of Massada, ~d there, amid the flowe~s and freshwater springs, I heard other buds: the garden bulbul, tnstram starling, and speckled turtledove. I returned to Paris with a supply of bird songs that 111 use in new works if God grants me the time. C.S. From America to Japan by way of Israel and New Caledonia,

you've established a formidable ornithological storehouse!

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~.M. It see~s l~e a lot, but it's minimal compared to the number of different birds in the world. I'm acquainted with other birds' son s throug~ phono~raph, records, notably those of New Zealand a;d Australia-but smce I ve never gone to those countries I cannot say ' that I have a genuine knowledge of them. C.S. How do you go about collecting bird songs? O.M. The best time is spring, the season of love-the months of April,

May, an~ Jun_e .. The best times of day correspond to the sun's rising and _setting, ns1ng around six o'clock in the morning in the month of Apnl o~ betw~en four and five o'clock in June; and setting around s~ven ~ clo~k m the evening in April, around nine o'clock and even nme-th1rty in June. C.S. In the middle of the day, there's no chance of hearing any birds0.M. Yes, there is! Certain birds like the blackcap sing in the morning

and afternoon; but there is one hour when you hear absolutely nothing: that's between noon and one o'clock. C.S. That's the siestaO.M. Yes, it's a moment of heat and drowsiness; everyone is silent. To

this must be added the role of the seasons: summer is a time of silence because the birds are parenting and occupied with feeding their young. This is an awful task; the males are exhausted by the search for prey, which must be constantly carried to the ever-open little beaks, always begging, always hungry. They don't have time to sing, material concerns prevail over artFinally winter comes: for some it means the acceptance of very bitter cold, sometimes death; for others, it means migration with substantial traveling, amazing and unexplainable journeys of thousands of kilo meters: no more singing. That leaves autumn, when a few birds start singing again; they're rather rare. In ?ur p~ovinces, the~e's a bird that sometimes sings in autumn: the robin, quite common in France and well known in England.

c.s.

To be a composer-ornithologist, I .suppose two qualities are indispensable: patience and a highly tramed ear0.M. Yes, you must have an extremely exper~enced ~ar and ?e

capable of very quickly writing down somethmg retained while

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. . t something else that will also be retained; so it's doubI . . e l1stenmg o work for the brain, rather tiring. C.S. How do you proceed from the collecting stage to that of

composition? O.M. I've used bird songs in two diffe~ent w~ys: either by trying to

tline the most exact musical portrait possible, or by treating the ~~d song as malleable material (t~ink of ~he elec.tronic manipulations o-ur present-day resea~c_hers indul~e in)Âˇ. To 11l.ustr~te th~ first case, 111 cite my Catalogued oiseaux for ~1ano, in which I ve tned to render precisely the typical song of a ~eg!on, sur~ounded by those of neighboring habitats, as well.as the s1ng1ng. at different h~urs of the day and night, accompanied in the harmonic ?nd .rhythi:n1c material by the perfumes and colors of the countryside in which the bird dwells. Personally, I'm very proud of the exactitude of my work; perhaps I'm wrong, because even people who really know the birds might not recognize them in my music, yet I assure you that everything is real; but, obviously, I'm the one who hears, and involuntarily I inject my reproductions of the songs with something of my manner and method of listening. All the same, I have to arrive at certain combinations. 111 explain: it happens that one hears a soloist and, behind it (usually at sunrise), quantities of other birds living nearby. The ensemble might constitute a counterpoint of thirty to forty simultaneous parts! Well then, the epode of my Chronochromie for large orchestra contains counterpoint in eighteen simultaneous parts, all of different qualities, rhythms, and modes; obviously I didn't note down those eighteen voices all at once. I transcribed, for example, a blackbird, but I know that a chaffinch, a whitethroat, and a nightingale were singing at the same time; I indicate this on pÂˇa per and note very precisely the song of this blackbird. Then the next day I come back to the same place to transcribe the chaffinch and the whitethroat only; the day after that I transcribe the nightingale, and so forth. Finally, after the event, I combine these five, ten, or twenty songs. So you see, the combination is realistic even if it isn't exact. C.S. But isn't the principal difficulty of your approach reproducing

the timbre of the bird songs? O.M. Indeed, it is the major difficulty. But it's also one source of color

in my orchestration, for in order to translate these timbres harmonic combinations are absolut:ly necess~ry. Even in very fast move~ents, when I re.produce bird songs either in the orchestra or on the piano, each note is provided with a chord, not a traditional chord but 94

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a complex ofÂˇ soundsd destined to give the timbre of that no te. Th ere 1nvente are . das many Âˇ . . chords as there are notes, which is to say, for a b ir piece compns1ng one or two thousand notes, there are one or . th d ~o . o~san invented chords. It's an enormous task for the 1mag1nahon. C.S. So yo~ try less to "photograph" a "landscape" of birds than to transpose 1t. O.M. I also should have pointed out other modifications. A bird, being much smaller than we are, with a heart that beats faster and nervous reactions that are much quicker, sings in extremely swift tempos, absolutely impossible for our instruments. I'm therefore . obliged to transcribe the song into a slower tempo. Moreover, this rapidity is combined with an extreme shrillness, for birds are able to sing in extremely high registers that cannot be reproduced on our instruments; so I write one, two, or three octaves lower. And that's not the only adjustment: for the same reasons I'm obliged to eliminate any tiny intervals that our instruments cannot execute. I replace those intervals, which are on the order of one or two commas, by semitones, but I respect the scale of values between the different intervals, which is to say that if a few commas correspond to a semitone, a whole tone or a third will correspond to the real semitone; all are enlarged, but the proportions remain identical, and as a result, what I restore is nevertheless exact. It's a transposition of what I heard, but on a more human scale.

c.s. Your concern for precision astonishes me; I find it to be more the

preoccupation of a man of science than the. concern of a con:ipos~r who might consider bird songs as raw material placed at the disposition of his imagination.

o.M. I've adopted both attitudes; I've written "exact" and "probable"

pieces whose form resp~cts .the succession, of songs and. silences during the daylight and nig~thme ~ours. But I ve also used bud s~ngs as material for some of my pieces; in them, a song undergoes all kinds of manipulation in the manner of electronic music and musique concrete. It's a less honest approach vis-a-vis 1.1ature but perhaps more reasonable for the work of a composer. I think both approaches are valid. ou choose the course of exactitude, do you want the . d . I ? listener to identify your bird Ian scapes precise y. C .S . Wh en Y

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I want to depict rnu 0 .M • Kn owing the bird and the landscape . h d. St impart particular pleasure for the hste~er w o re 1sco~ers these ele-

ments as one rediscovers frien~s, ch.I ldhood memones, or certain things lost in the back of the mind; in any cas~, that s my feeling. Nevertheless, the musical result is there, and the .listener who doesn't recognize the bird songs may t~ke. pleasure in t~e music ~lone. Moreover if the work succeeds, life is revealed on its own without identification being necessary. So many beautiful portraits of past centuries are of characters we don't know, yet they seem to us to be crying out with life and truth! We think we recognize people we've never seen because the paintings are successful. 1

C.S. Yes, but when viewing such portraits, we know that they involve

a man whom the painter used as a model, whereas in the case of a listener who hears ''La rousserolle effarvatte;' do you believe that the presence of birds will compel recognition, particularly if the listener is· a city dweller who sees pigeons in the streets but doesn't know what bird songs are? O.M. That's his fault! He should go into the countryside; it would be

very beneficial to his moral and physical health. C.S. But if he doesn't take that good advice, do you think that the

"bird" idea will necessarily come to mind? O.M. If he knows birds in general, it must make an impact. If he

doesn't know them, he11 take pleasure in the music purely for itself, and-well-perhaps that won't be so bad. C.S. But the idea that listeners take pleasure in the music purely for

itself without thinking of birds annoys you0.M. It's obviously a pity, but the identification is not absolutely necessary.

C.S. And, at any rate, the richness of the material remains.

?·~· Certainly! I spo~e. to you a moment ago of the song thrush with its incantatory repetitions; each strophe is constructed on very extraordinary rhythms, even richer than our Greek and Hindu rhythms. C.S. In short, nature does things better than civilization?

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O.~. I dare not answer-My response would be that civilization has spoiled us, has taken away our freshness of observation.

C.S. In short, your task as a composer is to rediscover an element deeply embedded in nature. You've hardly had any predecessors in this field. Vivaldi, with his "Goldfinch" Concerto, comes to mindO.M. Or, too, the Rossignol en amour of Couperin, the quotation of the

cuckoo by Daquin and in Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony-all of these bear very little resemblance to real-life bird songs, except for the cuckoo because it's so easy to imitate! I even think that Couperin, given what he wrote, never heard a nightingale, but this takes away nothing from the charm of the piece. It's sad perhaps, but I believe I'm the first composer to have taken an interest in bird songs. I'm not the first to have been interested in nature; before me, after all, were Berlioz and Wagner, who loved mountains; and Debussy, who was interested in wind, water, clouds, mists, and all the most beautiful and poetic natural phenomena. But apparently composers forgot the birds. All the same, I'm the first to have made truly scientific and, I hope, accurate notations of bird songs.

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The Orient Experience _____ C.S. The Orient has been a dream for generations of Europeans but

few have g~ne to see it for themselves. You who have often un'dertaken long Journeys to the Orient, did you dream about it first? O.M. Curiously, a~l my life I have wanted to go to the Indies, and I never m~de the trip. I contented myself with studying the de~i-talas.

Perhaps it was better that way: I was acquainted with ancient India in its most profound manifestations, and by going there, I would have risked being disappointed. But there is an Oriental country that I know well, which totally fascinated and captivated me the first time I went, and that's Japan. C.S. When did you make your first trip to Japan? O.M. More than twenty years ago. Yvonne and I had just married, and

in a way it was our honeymoon. I must say, we were immediately won over: after that, we thought only of sleeping on a tatami and eating sukiyaki and tempura; and Yvonne still prepares Japanese cuisine, which we eat conscientiously with chopsticks. C.S. Don't tell me the cuisine was the determining factor in your

Japanese conversion? O.M. No, for I have all sorts of reasons for loving that marvelous

country. Above all, it's a country where everything is noble: in the streets in Japan, one sees no drunks, no beggars. One passes people whose attitude radiates nobility and a taste for work. The Japanese work so hard that not everyone finds his place in the sun easily, but their enthusiasm is admirable. Also admirable are the Japanese musical traditions, and the No drama and Gagaku immediately

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. d consider No the most powerful theatrical expres carne me away. 1 d fr h · . . ·stence and Gagaku which must ate om t e eighth cen s10n m ex1 , ' h. k· G k · tur ' remains incredibly modern. Just t in . aga u, estabhshect hy, Europe was still unaware of the rules of harmony, comprises of prepared, if I may say prefabricated, ~hords played on a and these chords, which often contradict mouth organ ea lied a Sho, the melodic line, give this music a str~ngely modern character. The . 1. ·s entrusted to the ryutekt, a sort of transverse flute, and me1o d ic me I · h · · to the hichiriki, a primitive piccolo-oboe wit a searing timbre: it remains terribly expressive. Added ~o t~ese chords. and t~ this melodic line are the koto, a large, flat-lying c1th~ra; the btwa, a kind of lute· and three percussion instruments: the latko, a large drum; the shoko, a little gong; and above all the kakko, a horizonta~ drum beaten with two sticks by the conductor. He beats slowly at first,. accelerating the rhythm to a quick roll. Then he starts ov~r: agau~, ~lo~I~, accelerando quick roll-and so forth, a great many times. This is difficult for the European ear to tolerate, but it's completely characteristic. Finally, the last of Gagaku's extraordinary elements, extraordinary for us, disciples of accompanied melody: the harmony is not placed under the melody; because, for the Japanese as for the Chinese, the harmony is above the melody as the sky is above the earth. But it wasn't only music that struck me in Japan. It was also the beauty of the men and women-their marvelous black hair, which remains black as ebony to the ends of their lives-the extraordinary landscapes, the Shinto and Buddhist temples. Buddhist temples are veritable towns: they comprise, separated by parks, a series of buildings that allow a gradual progression to the holiest of holies: the sacred place where the statue of Buddha stands. Nara, for example, has several temples a~d, in the parks surrounding them, immense, thousand-year-old trees-the cryptomerias-th~t remind one of the American sequoias. In these parks, does, stags, and fawns roam freely and approach visitors with no apprehension. In Nara one also finds stone streetlamps: immense lamps of hollowed-out stone that line the !oads. They aren't lit all the time; t~ey'~e votive lamps, families' symbols of gratitude toward some. d1v1n1t~. Th~re are thousands of these stone streetlamps; it's a very 1~press1ve ~ig~~· But, for me, .the most beautiful landscape in Japan 1s that ofMiya-1ima. Im referring to a little island and its nearby ~orii risi.ng £J:om the sea. ~II at once, one can see the landscape of the island, its hill covered with dark green Japanese pines (matsu) and re~-leaf maples; then, at the foot of the hill stands a red and white Shinto temple, and finally, in a marvelously blue sea, the torii. The torii

:rie:s

100

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is a very simpl~ wood portico, all red, an immense rectangle crowned by two horns, in the style of the.pagodas. The bases of the torii plunge into the water; the red of the torn contrasts sharply with the blue of the sea. But the most extraordinary thing is that the torii opens onto the true temple, the one not seen: the invisible temple.

c.s. A symbol! o.M. It is, in fact, a very beautiful symbol. And, after returning from Japan, it was whi~~ t~~nkin~ of all these marvelous things that I composed my Sept hazkai, in which one hears echoes of Gagaku, in which the park of Nara and the landscape of Miya-jima are described. Finally, since I'm an ornithologist, I listened to Japanese bird songs, particularly in Karuizawa, some hundred miles from Tokyo, where the birds are most plentiful. These birds don't exist in Europe. I listened to the uguisu (the Japanese bush warbler), a bird which emits a long, swelling note, ending in a triumphant torculus. I'll also mention the kibitaki (narcissus flycatcher), a little yellow-orange and black bird that gives out repeated strophes with great virtuosity and a very melodious timbre. There are many others-I've collected them all in a piece from Hai'kai' entitled '~es oiseaux de Karuizawa:' I consider this piece my most beautiful homage to Japan, to its birds, its landscapes, and its traditions-not to its traditions in the literal sense, but to the Japanese soul as I felt it. C.S. I have the feeling that your vision of Japan is idyllic. Your Japan is

one of landscapes, birds, and traditions, but there exists another Japan, one with an intruding modernism, sprawling, polluted cities, and shaken traditions. Japan is also the land of contradictions. O.M. It is, indeed, a contradictory land where the Middle Ages and

the twentieth century perpetually touch. One has to get used to that. And within every Japane~e person the Middle Ages and the most advanced modernism coexist. I recall a visit to an important silk merchant who-first contradiction-sold nylon. His daughter came for the traditional tea ceremony; she was dressed in Japanese fashion, with her kimono and her obi (a large belt tied at the back in a wide knot). Their hospitality was exquisitely courteous, and the daughter left when a female dancer came to perform a traditional dance for us. An hour later, another young girl arrived, in Western dress; if her father hadn't told us, we wouldn't have recognized her-it was the same daughter! This double identity is a drama for composers. All the Japanese

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c_omposers w~o ca?1e to my class were tom between Japanese tradi?ons a?d their desire to practice Western music. I always told the . 'Remain Japanese!" m. C.S. Your response was nevertheless ambiguous. What does it me to . Japanese "?. Does it mean improvising on a koto or being an . ,,r.emain inspired by Japan while writing for symphony orchestra? O.M. It means using your modern knowledge, but remaining within

the boundaries of Japanese traditions! C.S. That's equivocal. O.M. I know. The coexistence of aesthetics is difficult. Certain com-

posers, however, like Takemitsu, have achieved it. C.S. As for Japan's extraordinary embrace of Western musicO.M. That's a surprising paradox. Japan is an extremely enclosed

country. Its written language has remained extremely complicated, and, shut up inside his palace, the emperor remains invisible. Symbolically, the Japanese are still living in the ~ighth century, but these days they are the leaders of technical progress and are becoming the leading producers in the world market. You buy a bicycle, it's Japanese; you buy a computer, it's Japanese; you buy a grand piano, it was manufactured in Japan. Because they work hard, the Japanese have become incredibly skilled and incredibly efficient. C.S. I speak to you of music, and you answer in technology. O.M. Music follows the same path. Japanese composers are at once

very modern and very old.

c.s. Today, Western music is played regularly in the concert halls of Tokyo. How does a Japanese person experience a Beethoven symphony?

o.M. 111 answer you with an anecdote. My pupil, Gerald Levinson, who lived in Bali to learn the technique of the gamelan, one day played two European pieces for his Balinese teacher: an excerpt from Mozart's Symphony No. 40 in G ~inor and a fr_agment o~ ~y Transfiguration. Now, it was my music that the Balinese ~usician appreciated more readily, doubtless because he recognized t~e sound of tarn-tarns and gongs, which reminded him of his

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metallophones. The music of Mozart left him Âˇ1 d Âˇff . Japanese sometimes find reminders of their ~~ ~~n!. I.think t~e Western works, but Beethoven naturally is ver f sic in certain Y ar removed from their sensibility.

c.s. In . any case, the Japanese have proven that they u n d ersta n d your music. o.M. In Japan my works have been enthusiastically received d1 want to salute the Japanese conductor who has served th ' an . Âˇ f h' h h em up in stunning as ion t roug out the world: Seiji Ozawa. I met him in Japan ~ore than t~enty yea~s ag?, when he was conducting the Turan~alila.-symphome for the fust time. It was grandiose, extraordinary, inspired. H~ co~du~ted not only with his baton, but with his hands, his eyes, his hau, his feet, his back. His body was an orchestra Seiji Ozawa is the greatest conductor I have known and we hav~ great affection for each other. He has an international'career but has remained Japanese, 100 percent Japanese, ardent and passionate, for-another paradox-one must realize that the Japanese, who at fi~st sight ar~ exquisit~ly polite and whose faces don't betray the slightest feeling, experience tremendous emotion. They stay in love until death, and their hatred is also mortal, but we don't see it. C.S. But isn't it only we Westerners who cannot decipher their faces? O.M. Possibly. In any case, the opposite is true: I remember one of my

Japanese pupils who, on arriving in Paris, was totally lost. ''The worst thing;' he told me, "is that all French people look alike!" C.S. What's true for faces can also be true for music. How many times

have we heard people here say, "Oriental music (or African music, or Arab music) is boring, it constantly repeats itself!" Yet collectively we assert that music is a universal languageO.M. That's a hasty judgment, at the ve~y lea~t. Spoken languages .are

obviously not universal, whereas music, w?1ch reaches a dreamlike, subconscious domain, might seem to be universal to a greater ext~n.t. To Western ears so-called exotic music is monotonous. Arab music is perhaps monot~nous, but certainly not. Japanese ~usic, which is moving and very captivating. I'll take this opportunity ~o plead my own case: Japanese music is static, and I ~yself am a static co~pos~r because I believe in the invisible and in the beyon~; I believe m eternity. Now, Orientals are on mu~ ~loser .terms with. the ~eyond than we are, and that's why their music is static. The music written by 103

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me, a believer, is equally static. This no doubt explains my attraction to Japan. C.S. Has this static quality also helped the Japanese to better enter

into your musical universe? O.M. I believe that the Japanese have understood the role of color in

my music, but also-although they aren't Christian-the sense of ritual, for they have developed this sense within them through their practice of ancestor worship. Seiji Ozawa himself, a very modern and very cheerful man, lights a candle every night in front of a photograph of his late father; it's a very lovely gesture. But you always notice the same paradox: the Japanese live a hectic, even reckless, reality, yet at the same time they cultivate the sphere of the sacred, the invisible, the static. When you're in Nikko, you pass by multicolored temples; you go through noisy, motley crowds; then, imperceptibly, the rumblings quiet down: you see the emperor's very bare tomb, without the least bit of color or decoration, in a silence broken only by the chirping of the cicadas. C.S. But is this strange equilibrium viable? Doesn't the joint pressure

of progress and the Western world threaten the existence of traditions? Today, in Tokyo, it's not the young generation who attend the Kabuki and No theater. O.M. A distinction must be made between Kabuki and No. The

Kabuki is a popular spectacle filled with ghosts and crimes. It's a mixture of music hall and drama, whereas the No is a great, extremely stylized form whose every gesture is studied for years by each actor. The leading actor (the shite) walks onstage, raising his foot and taking whole minutes befor.e lowering it again. He speaks slowly; the chorus whines slowly; it's long, long, terribly long-Then the action picks up and takes off at full speed. You've been waiting anxiously for something to happen, poised on the edge of your seat for so long that you burst into tears. It's an inevitable reaction. Whether or not the Japanese of today are moving away from the No is not so clear. But when attending a No performance, one must prepare for it. I myself, not understanding Japanese, read the texts before the performances so I could follow all the religious or mythological allusions, all the puns. Around me I saw common people who were also enthusiastic. It should be said that all this is a part of their life, just as mythology once imbued the daily life of the Greeks. The Japanese. know the characters of the No theater, just as the Greeks knew Oedipus, Orestes, or Jocasta.

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c.s. Japan is your Oriental paradise B t comed you-I'm thinking particular!· o~Ir~ther countries have welother. y n, where we ran into each o.M. For me, Iran is above all Perse r parades of warriors bearing their off ~o is, the bas-reliefs depicting which cuneiform inscriptions are e enngs t~ the king, the stones on and Elamite. It's also the surround~grav~d in Old Persian, Median foothills, and the amazing royaltombmg pink mountains, the rolling scarvedinthe k f f. meters b eneath t h e ground. I loved this 1 . ~oc : orty or ifty ness that I observe the upheavals 1 P. ace, and its with great sadp aguing Iran today.

~~~ti~~!s~ upheavals are primarily the result of religious . . . . O.M. isb diametrically opposed t 0 a11 re1igious · tFanaticism h ll ideas Reh-

gton eac es us a ove a to ~ove our neighbor: ''You shall lo~e the Lord your God and your ne1ghbor as yourself!" C.S. Even the neighbor who doesn't share your religious conviction? O.M. Especially the neighbor who doesn't share your convictions! Love your enemy! F~n~ti~isn:i is contrary to all religious doctrines in

general, and to Chnstlan1ty in particular. C.S. True religion has tolerance? O.M. Absolutely! C.S. Tolerance isn't soft-heartedness? '·

O.M. Certainly not! It is respect for another's personality. It's respect

for a stranger, or even an enemy one is trying to understand. C.S. Let's leave Iran and talk about Israel, where a musical invitation

recently led you. O.M. The existence of Israel is an extraordinary phenomenon

because it's primarily the fulfillment of a prophecy. What I'm going to say is horrible, but by sentencing Christ to death, ~he Jews co~ mitted deicide. Undoubtedly they weren't aware of it. It was a de~ cide willed by God because Christ had to die in order to save us. Ultimately, they even uttered this terrible phrase: ''May his blood be on us, and on our children!"

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Then, as you know, a large number of Jews were exterminated by the Ron1an general Titus, and the survivors were scattered throughout the world. But, all the same, these were the chosen people and re1nain the chosen people. Now, prophecy holds that the Jews would return to their homeland at the end of time. Well, they have returned. And that's why the affectionate concern of the Blessed Virgin in her apparitions at La Salette, Lourdes, and Fatima impresses meC.S. Do you mean we're nearing the end of time? O.M. I'm only saying what the prophecy announced. The end is perhaps not imminent, but we are approaching it. The future of the world depends on the chosen people. Having said that, on arriving in Israel, I was stunned to see Catholics, Protestants, Orthodox Christians, Muslims, and Jews, side by side. I was also stunned to hear Jews speaking Hebrew, the Hebrew of the Bible, a very pure and very refined tongue. Finally, for a Catholic like me, this trip was overwhelming, for I visited the sit~s where Moses, David, and the great figures of the Old Testament lived; I saw the places Christ passed through. I was in Gethsemane, the garden whose three-thousand-year-old olive trees witnessed the agony of Christ. I saw the cenacle where Christ instituted the Eucharist and where, having risen from the dead, he twice appeared before the apostles, the first time without Thomas who didn't believe, and the second time with Thomas who, after placing his hands on the wounds, exclaimed, ''My Lord and my God!" For a Catholic, visiting these sacred, almost divine, historic sites is an extraordinary experience. Added to this is the marvelous beauty of the landscape, its contrasts, the extreme aridity of the yellow-rock mountains, the extraordinary silence of the Judean desert, a silence hardly broken by the solitary song of a marvelous bird, the desert lark; and in the Valley of Jericho, the rich plant life with oranges, bananas, palm trees, and an abundance of springs where the water flows to profusion. You go from one landscape to the next with no transition. It's fascinating. C.S. But your trip to Israel was also musical? O.M. Yes. The Jerusalem Symphony Orchestra, which is an excellent ensemble, played my works under the direction of a young, very gifted California conductor named David Robertson; and the soprano Gilah Yaron, who has the voice of a Briinnhilde, sang my Poemes pour Mi very well. As for Yvonne Loriod, she played Vingt regards sur l'enfant Jesus as only she can do, with all her technical skill and all her genius. Her success as a pianist was tremendous! The

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Israelis. applauded both the work and the pianist with the same enthusiasm.

c.s. If you please, w~11 leave Israel and take the plane one more time

As disenchanted with modern life as you are, you must not lik~ planes very much.

o.M. I'm ~frai? when ~hey take off, I'm afraid when they land, but when we re high up, I m very happy. I love to look, as Baudelaire would say, "at the wonderful clouds:' En route from Paris to Tel Aviv I ' saw the whole chain of Alps. It was marvelous! _,

c.s. We'll return, then, to Paris. With any regrets? What other country would you have liked to visit?

o.M. I would have liked to know India. And today India suggests another thought to me. I'm a composer of music, I have written numerous works, I have known failure and also success, but I consider all that nothing in comparison to the mission fulfilled by Mother Teresa in Calcutta. You know that in India people die of starvation. Mother Teresa goes to their aid; she cares for the sick, consoles the dying, and restores hope to prostitutes. These are admirable acts. I myself, who am not gifted that way, couldn't be a nurse or a doctor, and I am not a saint, but I would have given up all my musical works to be Mother Teresa.

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- - - - - - - Trajectory------c.s. A musical style finds its definitive shape slow!y, b ut I•t may bear a

one listens t o your ear1iest . Persona1 stamp from t h e outset. .When . works, you~ o~n personal stamp ts immediately recognizable. What, in your op1n1on, are the early influences that contributed t0 th forging of your personality? e

?·M· The greatest

influence I ~eceived was from my mother, an influence all th.e more extraordmary in that, as I've already said, it preceded my birth because my mother, the poetess Cecile Sauvage, wrote while expecting me a magnificent book of "prematemal" verse called L'ame en bourgeon. This lyrical expectancy was followed by a fairy-tale education, mainly during the First World War, when my father and uncle were mobilized and I found myself alone in Grenoble with my mother and grandmother. In that period, my mother brought me up in an atmosphere of poetry and fairy tales that, independent of my musical vocation, was the origin of all that I did later. Indeed, such an atmosphere enormously develops a child's imagination and guides it toward intangible expressions that find their true end in music, the most intangible of all the arts. C.S. Which composers and works enabled you to penetrate the uni-

verse of music? 0.M. When I was a little boy in Grenoble, between the ages of seven

and nine, I taught myself to play the piano, and I even began t? compose. Each year, like all children, I looked forward to Chnstm~s, which brought me presents, but the presents that headed my .hst weren't toys nor even pictures to color or books: they were ~usica~ scores. I ask~d for and successively received Mozart's Don Gw~anni and Magic Flute, Gluck's Alceste and Orphee, Berlioz's Dam~ation of Faust, Wagner's Walkure and Siegfried. There were also a few gifts from

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frie~ds of my family, such as piano pieces by Debussy and Ravel, in particular the Estampes and Gaspard de la nuit. C.S. The number of operas surprises me0.~.

I've ~lways loved the theater, spoken and sung. During my childhood m Grenoble, I recited all Shakespeare's plays (in French translation). And all the operas we've just mentioned, I would sight read them at the piano while singing all the roles. C.S. Can one discern, in your earliest compositions, the influence of the composers you just mentioned? O.M. Certainly. I've always loved these composers and this love has

not failed to this day. I remember one afternoon when, instead of playing with the other children, I went to sit on a stone bench in the big municipal park in Grenoble, which is near the church of SaintAndre, the court house, and the town hall. Someone had just given me excerpts from Gluck's Orphee, and I was looking at Orpheus's ~eat F-major aria in the first act, probably the most beautiful phrase Gluck ever wrote, when I realized I was "hearing" it. So, I was already able to ''hear" scores in my mind-and I'd only been making music for a few months. C.S. In your childhood, did you discover any composers who were

then considered modern? You mentioned DebussyO.M. I mentioned Debussy's Estampes and Ravel's Gaspard de la

nuit; I

was totally ready for impressionist music, which didn't even seem modern to me. Then I left for Nantes, where my father, after the war, was named professor of English. During a stay of only six months in that city, I met several teachers who took a liking to me and gave me free lessons: Miies Veron and Gontran Arcouet for piano and Jehan de Gibon for harmony. This last teacher, a very great artist who was very poor, never forgot me; he wrote to me regularly all his life, and I even had the joy of seeing him again a few months before his death, in the little town of Redon where he had gone to spend his last days. He made me work from the Reber and Dubois textbook [Traite d'harmonie], as he should have, but, when I was ten, he also gave me a score of Pelleas et Melisande. That was something quite unlike the Estampes! A provincial teacher had placed a veritable bomb in the hands of a mere child. For me, that score was a revelation, love at first sight; I sang it, played it, and sang it again and again. That was probably the most

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decisive influence I've received-and it's also an opera, isn't it?

c.s. Then you composed and published your first work. o.M. Yes, Preludes pour piano, written in 1929-

c.s.

-which preludes, as the title suggests, have a Debussy-like flavorO.M. So they say, but it isn't absolutely true. I recognize that the sub-

titles are quite like Debussy-"Les sons impalpables du reve;' 'Vn reflet dans le vent"-but the music differs from that of Debussy through the u~e ~f ~y modes of limited transpositions, which are already very distinctive and even combined. There are some polymodal passages, rather "spicy" for the time, and a certain amount of concern with form; thus, these preludes contain what we do not find in Debussy: a sonata form, a form with a middle section in which all the phrases are ternary, and a prelude constructed like those of Bach's fugues. Because of the modes used, and perhaps by reason of my being the pupil of Paul Dukas (the composer of Ariane et Barbe-Bleue and its jewel scene, in which each wave of precious stones possesses a color linked to one tonality), my preludes present a sound-color relationship. In any case, I was rhythmically very far from Debussy's divine freedom. C.S. How do you presently regard this work, composed in your

twentieth year? O.M. With affection and even tenderness. I don't disown certain of its pretty harmonies-and I've always liked the fifth and sixth preludes: ''Les sons impalpables du reve" and "Cloches d'angoisse et larmes d'adieu."

c.s. You mentioned Paul Dukas; which other teachers served as role models for you?

o.M. I can name in order all the. teachers I had at the Paris

Conservatory. I first studied piano with Georges ~alkenberg; t~en I tud" d h rmony with Jean Gallon and counterpoint and practically !ll ~~sic:i theory in private lessons with Noel Gallon for som~ ten years. 1 won my fugue prize ~nder bGeoErges Caudssade, my pia.no Âˇment prize under Cesar A e1 sty1e, an my organ pnze ~~~:~~:eel Dupre, who introduced me to pl~incha~t, registration, and improvisation, and taught me organ technique. Finally, I worked 111

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on the timpani and percussion with Baggers (the only percussion teacher at the time), music history and Greek metrics with Maurice Emmanuel, and composition and orchestration with Paul Dukas, who was my main professor. C.S. During your apprenticeship at the conservatory, did you know

such modem composers as Bart6k or the Viennese? O.M. When I. was taking composition classes, those you call the

"Viennese" were totally unknown in France, except Schoenberg. But it's true that I was curious about them: I was the only student at the conservatory who had acquired Schoenberg's Pierrot lunaire and Stravinsky's Rite of Spring; what's more, I knew and liked several other works of Stravinsky-but I was closer to Debussy. I remained loyal to my childhood loves: Debussy, Mozart, Berlioz, Wagner. C.S. And you discovered Webern only !!}UCh later? O.M. Yes, for the name Webem had never been uttered in those days.

Bart6k was very well known, and the great works of Stravinsky, but in the emerging field of dodecaphony, there was absolutely nothing but Pierrot lunaire. Berg had never been played in France, and all that was known about Webem was, I believe, an article on serial procedures that he had written in the Revue Musicale. C.S. Do you recall when you first heard a work by Webern? O.M. Much later, after the Second World War. C.S. That is to say, after Webem's death? O.M. Yes, nor did I know Berg's Wozzeck until then. On the other hand,

I was acquainted with the Lyric Suite by my thirtieth year. I even had a score of it in my satchel during my captivity. C.S. And when you finished your studies, around 1930, where did

you stand in relation to the French composers of the previous generation-I'm thinking in particular of "Les Six"? O.M. I admired Honegger and Milhaud (and I still admire such

masterpieces as Honegger's Antigone and Milhaud's L'homme et son desir and La creation du monde), but I didn't approve at all of the movement led by Cocteau-l'm not speaking of Cocteau the poet. or film director, but of the Cocteau of Coq et l'arlequin, the torchbearer of a 112

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certain musical renewal, supposedly a simplification that took Gounod as its starting point and stumbled in the "return to Bach:' Arthur Honegger was, in his day, one of the most frequently pla~ed con:iposers. Joan ?f Arc at the Stake is still played today. But King David, Judith, and Antigone should be performed more. Darius Milhaud was also performed a lot during his lifetime. He was a composer of genius. Les choephores and Les eumenides are grandiose works th?t sh~uld d~finitely be revived! People have forgotten that Milhaud s music provoked some terrible scandals in its time. I remember attending the premiere of Protee at the Concerts Colonne (I was twelve): the audience booed so loudly, you couldn't hear one note. At the end, Gabriel Pierne, who had conducted the work, turned around and said: ''The piece was listed on the program; it was performed. And it shall be a second time:' The booing started up again. Milhaud the man was very engaging. Although paralyzed, he was always cheerful. He had the support of an admirable wife, Madeleine Milhaud, who placed a bouquet of roses by his wheelchair each morning and never left him. C.S. So we've established, with regard to Preludes pour piano, your ear-

liest sources of inspiration. When did you really undertake the renewal of the pianistic vocabulary? O.M. You know I've written a great deal for the piano, and not only for

solo piano-the piano is present in the majority of my works. But there is obviously an enormous distance between 1929's Preludes and Visions de l'amen or Vingt regards sur l'enfant Jesus, which date from 1943 and 1944. And Catalogu.e d'oiseaux, which I composed from 1956 to 1958, marks another giant step beyond the works of 1944. C.S. You are yourself a pianist. o.M.: Yes, I'm a pianist, but I never studied the piano very assiduously, nor did I win a piano prize at the conservatory; I ~or~ed at the piano partly on my own, and because of that, by a co~bmatlon

· mstances I entered the organ class, where I won a prize. I was 1. h d. . above all a good organist before turning top ainc ant an rmprovisahave the transcendent ti.on. A s a pianist' on the other hand,·I'll never Y h · ihy of dvon.n e virtuosity and the absolutely amazing tee nicad1 £ac.iTt Loriod. But I'm a decent pianist all the same, an 1 ~ig t rea easi1y. I play the piano as though I Wha t ch ara Cterizes me is, perhaps, that . b · h · were conducting an orchestra, which is to s~y y turning t e piano into a mock orchestra with a large palette of timbres and accents. For 0 f CirCU

•

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me, this is a natural reaction, doubtless because I played a lot of orchestral transcriptions when I was a child, notably the famous operas of which we were just speaking and which certainly influenced my way of playing the piano. C.S. A moment ago, you brought up the "amazing facility" of Yvonne

Loriod. To what extent were you thinking of her exceptional knowledge of music and of her stunning digital facility when writing works that she, indeed, premiered? O.M. It's obvious that while writing Vingt regards or Catalogue d'oiseaux,

I knew they would be played by Yvonne Loriod; I was therefore able to allow myself the greatest eccentricities because to her, anything is possible. I knew I could invent very difficult, very extraordinary, and very new things: they would be played, and played well. C.S. I return to my question: what are the elements that have contributed to the formation of your pianistic language? O.M. Perhaps I first ought to tell you what sort of piano music I like. I

like Rameau and his harpsichord pieces very much, for the harpsichord is the ancestor of the piano. I also like Domenico Scarlatti for the same reason. I adore Chopin, the ballades as well as the preludes and etudes, the scherzos as well as the Barcarolle, the Berceuse, and the ''Funeral March" Sonata; I love all Chopin, who is the greatest composer for the piano. He discovered the most extraordinary passagework, fingerings, and combinations. C.S. Is this a pianist's or a composer's- !ov~? O.M. I love Chopin as a composer-pianist and also as a colorist, for in

my view, he;s a very great colorist. Just because he only wrote for the piano, why should he be put in a little box? Obviously, I love Debussy; I've always loved him. I also love certain pages of Ravel (I'm thinking of Gaspard de la nuit, which is certainly a masterpiece). Finally, 111 mention a work that has played a great role in my knowledge of the piano: Albeniz's Iberia, which I discovered around the age of nineteen! I've often played and replayed the twelve pieces contained in its four books-especially "Almeira:' ''El Polo:' and "Lavapies"-without attaining perfection, for they're so terribly difficult: 111 never be able to play them like Yvonne LoriodC.S. -who has recorded them. So those are the great piano cycles

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that have left their mark on you.

o.M. After them, I see no "good" piano musÂˇ .

some very beautiful pages, but they h ic, the~e are perhaps importance. ave no particular pianistic C.S. You're thinking of Bart6k and Prokofiev?

O.M. Yes. Of course, some inspired strok

f . three interesting innovations in Bart6k's 0 ~s foD detail occur, two or slanted thumb in some of Prokof , u 0 oars, or the use of the . iev s passagework. I'm afraid how' ever, t h at aft er Chopin we had to wait for B 1 5 k and Âˇ ou ez, toe hausen ki t Xena s o witness a transformation of th Âˇ ' b I "th . e piano. Boulez uses ~~que eaps WI pawmgs and underhand attacks in his iano W?ting, ~h1ch are of an absolutely extraordinary electrical ~ amISm. This totally transforms the sonority of the piano in a wa ~at had never been done before. y C.S. As for your own writing0.M. It's characterized first by the use of chords in clusters, deriving

perhaps fr~m the empl~yment of organ,mixtures. Mixtures are stops that c.ompnse sever~l pipes per note and that give each note not only the pitch played but its harmonics: the octave, the fifth, the third. The drawback of these artificial harmonics, which cascade after a note is played, is their symmetry since, inevitably, one always obtains the same resonances, the same octaves, the same fifths, the same thirds. In my piano writing, chord clusters would normally produce the same result, but the chords are all different; so there is no symmetry, and I've avoided an uninterrupted succession of fifths and thirds that would have produced ridiculous parallelisms of "fourths and sixths" or of perfect chords. These chord clusters give my writing an aspect of precious stones, a shimmering, stained-glass texture that is rather characteristic. Second, I'll mention innovations of passagework and fingering. Thus in my Vingt regards, I used passages in contrary motion, both hand~ violently playing arpeggios against each othe! ~th tiny clashes. This is a very rare procedure, used by harpists in loud passages, but even more powerfu! on the piano. . Another effect consists of laying the hand flat when attacking with the four fingers, with the thumb bedded as pivot. The hand is turned around the thumb, and the four fingers are now to the right, now to the left of the thumb; this gives a "rebounding" technique which can be very brilliant. You'll find an example of this fingering 115

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toward the end of ''Regard de !'esprit de joie:' I believe I was one of the first to make simultaneous use of the extreme treble and extreme bass registers of the keyboard, not only for gentle effects but for loud, contrasting effects. In my Vingt regards, I even combined accelerando and rallentando; it's an extremely rare effect that hardly exists except in Bali: it's found in ''Regard de l'onction terrible." Finally, in my Catalogue d'oiseaux, a larger number of innovations may be noted, because reproducing the timbre of bird songs forced me constantly to invent new chords, sonorities, combinations of sounds, and sound complexes that result in a piano that doesn't sound "harmonically" like other pianos. One of a thousand examples-the timbre of the blue rock thrush is rendered by triple means: a) the song is played in double notes and in the pentatonic mode by the right hand; b) above the song, the left-hand crossover gives a chromatic and slightly quieter version of the same text; c) to render the echo from the rocks where the bird sings (on the cliffs overlooking the blue sea at Cap l'Abeille and Cap Rederis, near Banyuls), complexes of sounds in double arpeggios create a sonorous halo beneath the song, like the resonance of a bell. These three procedures in combination give a radiant, iridescent timbre, haloed in blue. Âˇ C.S. You've generally used the piano alone, though you also wrote

Visions de l'amen for two pianos, and you even associated the piano with violin, clarinet, and cello in your Quatuor pour la fin du temps. In fact, the piano often plays an essential role in your orchestral works, although you've never composed a classical piano concerto. O.M. Indeed, I've written no concertos; in my Trois petites liturgies, for

example, the "piano material" is as important as the chorus, vibraphone, Ondes, or strings. C.S. Not more important?

O.M. It's treated as an important soloist, but accorded the role of

studding the texture with diamonds, not one corresponding to the classical concerto style. C.S. Why haven't you composed a "real" piano concerto?

O.M. Because I don't believe in the "concerto form"; most of the time

it's supremely boring, and, personally, as far as masterpieces are concerned, I know only the twenty-two [twenty-one plus the brief Rondo

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in D Major, K. 382) concertos of Moz rt failures, except for two or three ver a b: All. others seem to me Schumann Concerto and a few mo Y t ~autiful passages in the Variations or the Prokofiev concertomen s in the Franck Symphonic s. C.S. Isn't this attack on the piano con rt . formal classical molds? For you have ~t ~ ~.tually directed against for the traditional sonata or sympho~y ee~t~e~~ed any great affection O.M. Like all my contemporaries. C.S. Let's say a number of your contemporaries. What's the reason? O.M. â&#x20AC;˘t I feel M these forms are "finished" . . Âˇ Just a s one can now no 1onger wr~ ea. ozartean opera with arias and recitatives, it's impossible to write~ hke Beethoven, the first movement of a symphony with an

opening theme t~at says, "I am the theme;' and that returns after the development affirming, ''Here I am again, I'm the theme do you recognize me?" ' C.S. Inasmuch as you've made a clean sweep of classical forms on

which formal frameworks do you rely?

O.M. I haven't abandoned the eternal principle of development

because that would be inconceivable, nor that of variation which is also timeless. I've used forms that, if not classical in the eighteenthcentury sense, were nevertheless so in a distant past, like the Greek triad: strophe, antistrophe, epode. For example, ''Le chocard des Alpes;' at the beginning of my Catalogue d'oiseaux, includes strophe, antistrophe, and epode with two couplets, one inserted between strophe and antistrophe, the other between antistrophe and epode; so this is a blend of the couplet-refrain form with the triad form. My Chronochromie also has two strophes, two antistrophes, and one epode, which are framed by an introdu.ctio.n and a co~a. ~ut it's in my Catalogue d'oiseaux and in La f~uvette des 1ardms t~atyou 11 find ~y great formal innovation. There, instead of referring to an antique or classical mold, or even to some mold I might have invented, I sought to reproduce in condensed form the vivid course of the hours of day and night.

c.s. That's true of "La rousserolle effarvatte"O.M. -and of La Fauvette des jardins, and of the majority of the pieces

in Catalogue d'o.iseaux. 117

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C.S. As gre~t as the distance is between your first and your latest works for piano, the evolution of your language for the organ is still more spectacular.

O.M. ~ertainly, because I held myself back in my early organ works, kno~ng that they would be played in church. When I began as organist at the Trinite, I was the object of hatred and protest from the parishioners, especially the old ladies who heard the devil in the organ pipes. C.S. In that period, what did you play for your elderly parishioners? 0 .M. My first published organ work: Diptyque, the beginning of which

sounds like Marcel Dupre; then Le banquet celeste-a very charming, tender, sweet and springlike piece, which has nothing objectionable about it! Then comes Apparition de l'eglise eternelle, an enormous crescendo and decrescendo unleashing all the power of the organ. It's quite a successful piece, although very simple in its monolithic effect and crushing use of the tutti. My fourth organ work doesn't deserve this title because it's actually a transcription of a work for orchestra: L'Ascension. Only the third piece from L'Ascension for organ, ''Transports de joie;' was originally written for the instrument, the third piece of the orchestral version not lending itself to transcription. Thus far, one cannot speak of a renewal of organ writing. This renewal began with La nativite du Seigneur, a work that has had great success in France and abroad. The Nativite, with its Hindu rhythms, modes of limited transpositions, and unusual timbres, constituted a great change in organ music at a time when Franck represented the summit of modernism. It has remained one of my best organ works and, no doubt, the one most often played. Then came Les corps glorieux of 1939, the Messe de la Pentecote of 1950, and Livre d'orgue of 1951. I think I've already told you that the Messe de la Pentecote is the result of twenty year~ of improvisations; moreover, after writing this work, for several years I didn't improvise anymore. As for my Livre d'orgue, it's important for its rhythmic sophistication and conception of durations. In the last piece of Livre d'orgue, "Soixante-quatre dun~es;' I've tried to make the listener grasp some extremely long note-values whose differences are exceedingly minute. This is very difficult for a human being to appreciate. We are average-sized creatures of medium height and, alas! of average thinking capacity, and our time is apportioned in an average manner; we're halfway between the microcosm and the macrocosm. So we perceive very long durations with difficulty, and the very tiny durations, which can contrast the long durations, with still greater difficulty. For example, take a dura118

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tion of sixty-three 32nd notes and a duration of sixty-four 32nd notes: both. are very long, and th.e difference be.tween them is almost imperceptible. It was a very perilous undertaking to put durations and contrasts of that nature in the same piece. It 'Was even more perilous to treat these durations in series with some regular rearrangementgoing from the outer extremes to the center, then combining them in retrograde canon and making their divisions audible with little counterpoints of shorter values. I don't know if I succeeded but in any case it was a little tour de force. I

C.S. Do you think that, after the fashion of The Art of Fugue, your Livre

d'orgue has primarily theoretical significance? O.M. Yes, in a certain sense, but in it are also violent colors and new

effects. For instance, "Les mains de l'abime" was written while contemplating the meandering of the Romanche River through the terrifying mountain pass of the gorges of the Infernet. It's a truly impressive chasm; I wanted at the same time to pay homage to the sensation of vertigo it imparts and, symbolically, to the two gulfs of human misery and divine pity. A verse by the prophet Habakkuk served as a motto: ''The abyss uttered its cry! The deep lifted up both hands:' It has to do with the depth of our misery, and this is referred to in another text of the Psalms: ''Deep calleth unto deep," which is to say that the deep of mankind calls to the deep of God. According to Hello's admirable commentary, '1t is necessary that the very lowest abyss show, below man, death, so the abyss above may exhibit, higher than him, life:' To translate this vertiginous feeling into music, I juxtaposed the extremes of the organ, taking advantage of the wide range of this instrument's registers. I wrote, therefore, a very low voice that represents the bottom of the abyss of human misery, with a deep and terrifying sonority, a bit like the cavernous trumpetings and chants of Tibetan priests, and at the same time, above, the voice of God in reply-but it isn't a terrifying voice of thunder and ligh~ning; it's a mysterious, distant, high-pitched, almost .tender voice, barely audible. One voice is so low and the other so high, one has absolutely no idea what one is hearing, and the timbres are so strange that it's impossible to make out the ~otes. To me, this seems ~o convey marvelously the ideas of penitence, reverence, and vertigo before holiness.

c.s. So one of your works in w~ich the experimen~a~ and didactic

aspect is most obvious also contains a human a~d ~ehgious messa~e. Isn't this double attraction one of the charactenshcs of your music?

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O.M. Precisely. C.S. Do you feel that your organ music, at least in your early works, belongs to the romantic tradition? 0.M. I've been criticized for it, but I'm not ashamed of being a

romantic. The romantics were magnificent craftsmen who have too often been viewed as coach drivers who beat their breasts crying, "I am the accursed one!" The romantics were aware of the beauties of nature, they were aware of the glory of divinity; they were grandiose, and many of our contemporaries would be better off if they "romanticized" themselves. So I'm not ashamed to be a romantic; but, when it was said that my organ writing was romantic, it was meant as criticism-at least in the mouths of other organists. Indeed, you know the current tendency of organists rediscovering the seventeenth-century organ: this is demonstrated by the manufacturing of instruments of a clearer and brighter character, but also more delicate and less powerful, with a great abundance of mixture stops. Present-day builders are right to give back to the organ its great individuality, but they're taking away more and more of the powerful reed stops and also the somewhat rounded flue stops. This gives us, I repeat, some very clear and very bright instruments, perfect for contrapuntal music, for the works of Bach, of Nicolas de Grigny and his contemporaries, but on which certain powerful works cannot be played, which after all is a drawback. I'm not hostile to that concept, but an instrument should be able to play anything, and my love for the powerful, overwhelming organ (Berlioz called it "the pope of instruments") prevents me from preferring those kinds of instruments. I'll also add that it's difficult to. be powerful. Power doesn't come through wishing; it's more difficult to paint a large canvas than a miniature. C.S. In your opinion, who are the most outstanding personalities of

the French organ school of the twentieth century? O.M. For one, the excellent composer Jehan Alain, who unfor-

tunately died before his time, during the Second World War. I met him only once. Without really knowing each other, we followed just about the same paths, and it's possible that, had he lived longer, he would have gone in the same direction as I. C.S. And if we go back further in this French school-

O.M. Well, in the school that preceded me, two names dominate all

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organ literatu,re: Marcel Dupre and Charles Toumemire. My teacher Marcel Dupre was the .greatest of all organ virtuosos, perhaps even the greatest of all th~ virtuosos who ever existedÂˇ he was the Liszt of the organ. His mus.ic.reflects this extraordinary ~irtuosity. He wrote pages of extrem~ ~~ficulty and of great brilliance in the toccata style, and ~e was the initiator .o~ the ultra-staccato style, which obviously wasn t used by the classicists. As for Charles Tournemire, he was a brilliant m~n who is unfortunately too little known; for a long time he was organist at the church of Sainte-Clotilde, like Cesar Franck, and he left a 1!1onument called L'orgue mystique, which comprises a complete Office for all Sundays and feast days in the year, with Introit, Offertory, Elevation, Communion, and final paraphrase. C.S. All the composers you mention are deceased. Does this mean

that today's composers are no longer interested in the organ? O.M. They might be interested in it in a sporadic way. I'm thinking of

Xenakis, who composed Gmeeoorh; properly speaking, this isn't an organ work, but it's a sensational piece. I should also mention Xavier Darasse, a composer who was also an organist before the terrible accident that befell him. C.S. But young composers and the organ? O.M. Some of them have tried to write for the organ from a very

unusual point of departure: they've written for ancient, mechanical instruments because the mechanical process allowed them to pull stops in midstream and thus to achieve some. bizarre sonorities that resemble electronic music; but one can do this sort of work only on mechanical instruments, not on instruments with preset combinations, like mine. I must admit that I don't like that system: to hear those stops pulled halfway out makes me seasick.

c.s. You speak of a few isolated attempts made by a few young c~m1

allv I cannot see any chance of the organ s survival posers, b u t, perSon J, through new compositions-other than your own. Thi h menon is not new. Between Cabez6n, Frescobaldi, Bs phenod the modern era whom can you cite? Only Cesar ngny, ac , an ' Franck.

O.~.

C.S. Liszt. O.M. Yes, one can say

that Liszt wrote for the organ-pianistic works.

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But nothing, or practically nothing, from the great classicists. Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, and Saint-Saens, who wrote for the organ, are specifically "neoclassical:' As for the impressionists, they totally neglected the organ: nothing from Debussy, Ravel, DukasC.S. Paul Dukas was your teacher. Did you have the opportunity to

speak with him about the organ? O.M. Yes, but he wasn't really interested, doubtless because he was

primarily an orchestrator. He considered the organ a cold instrument with definite parameters, lacking the shimmer, the unlimited variety of the orchestra. C.S. He apparently didn't sway you, who at the very first discovered

the resources of a little-explored world of sound. O.M. Indeed, 111 remind you that the organ possesses an

extraordinary family of sonorities, namely the mixtures, which don't produce the real sounds played by the instrumentalist, but their harmonics, octaves, fifths, and thirds. The ancients used these artificial harmonics to illuminate timbres. For me, the temptation was strong to use these artificial harmonics without the real sounds. Thus I obtained new, quite strange material that already foreshadowed the sonorities of electronic music. C.S. Yet after 1951, the year you composed Livre d'orgue, you stopped

writing for the organ. O.M. Because I heard the tempting call of the orchestra and the piano in me, but also for a basely material reason: the restoration ordered by

the Parisian municipal authorities deprived me of my instrument for a few years. Still, in 1960 I composed a little piece that had been commissioned for the organ competition at the conservatory Verset pour la fete de la dedicace; but I didn't really come back to the organ until 1969, with Meditations sur le mystere de la Sainte Trinite.

c.s. Meditations deserves to be discussed at some length. This is not a simple organ piece, but a genuine cycle, like La nativite du Seigneur was, for example. Eighteen years separate your Livre d'orgue from Meditations. A new leaf has been turned, and you're entering a new domain. Is this only a listener's impression? O.M. For me, it really is a new domain. Some Germans, advocates of the Darmstadt serialist school, declared that it was a step backward. I

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rather feel it's a step forward, a step toward color and musical charm but als~ a step towar.d a new combinatoire thanks to one particula~ inno~ation, the creation of. a .commun~cable musical language. 111 explain. You know that music 1s suggestive, that it appeals to dreams or to the unconscious but doesn't possess the power of the word of syntactic language. It doesn't signify. So I embarked on the fasci~at ing p~~suit of constructing a signifying musical language. I began by imagining a complete alphabet based on musical notes. Everyone knows that a correspondence already exists between the letters A, B, C, D, E, F, G and the notes A, B-flat, C, D, E,F,G. The Germans add H, which represents B-natural. I extended this correspondence according to my own su~cession. I cl~ssi?ed my letters by types of phonetic production: the eight already indicated, then the five vowels (A, E, I, 0, U); the palatals (I, J, Y); the sibilants (S, Z); the dentals (D, T); the hard C, phonetically ''k" (C, Q, K); the labials (B, P, F, V, M); and the linguals (L, N). By adding the three remaining letters (R, W, X), I achieved a complete series of sounds to which I assigned registers and note-values. All this seemed interesting, but a bit elementary, so I thought I should exclude all the little words cluttering the French language-articles, pronouns, adverbs, prepositions-and replace them by using the declensions that exist in Latin and a few modem languages. I therefore invented a little tl}_eme to represent the genitive, the ablative, or the locative case and another little theme for the accusative or the dative case. Then I noticed it was necessary, in whatever language, to express a sense of negation, so I used another little theme to indicate the privative. Finally, the French render two extremely important notions with auxiliary verbs: the notions of being and having, which is to say, life and posse~sion. I i~dicated being with a descending motion because. everything th~t IS ~o~es from God, the Supreme Being. As for having, I characterized It WI!h an ascending motion because we can always have more when we lift . ourselves up toward God and heaven. A final refinement-I thought of Champolhon., the f~mou~ Egyptologist whom I greatly admire, who succeeded 1n deciphenng the . 1 h'cs by examining the cartouches, the figures that h ierog yp 1 d h · · · · · 'b d the royal names. I remembere too t e 1nscnptions in cucumscn e · fp l' · · Old Persian that we saw together in the ruins o ~rsepo Is, 1nscnp· 'de a cartouche, the names of Danus or Xerxes are ti.ons w h ere, 1ns1 .h h th d' · · S I 1 surrounded a name wit a cartouc e, e 1vine wntten. o. tha so of God this leitmoh . 'f, 1s · presente d , e1'ther p 1ayed Th h 1s dl eme ·n retrograde ' · h 'd f h t eme · h.tforwar y or 1 ' in order to give t e i ea o t e straig infinite. . ') d on your music. is superimpose Xt t f C.S. So a sort o e

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O.~. Indeed, but I'm not posing any problem at all for future decipherers because I marked the letters above the notes myself.

C.S. You're not waiting for your Champollion! O.M. No, I was completely honest and frank, and my approach has

nothing esoteric about it. But I achieved some absolutely unbelievable, extravagant themes that I then had to set in counterpoint and harmonize. It was a fascinating task for me, analogous to what Johann Sebastian Bach did on Protestant chorales. To those chorales, which are simple and often insipid melodies, he added extraordinary variations, ornamenting them with ostinato countersubjects or treating them in fugue form. My burden was to transform letters into music. C.S. Have these notions been picked up by other composers? O.M. Absolutely not. After Meditations, even I didn't think about this

alphabet any longer, nor did I use it in Saint Fran~ois. It reappeared, however, in the piece from Des canyons aux etoiles entitled "Ce qui est ecrit sur les etoiles [What Is Written in the Stars];' where the Aramaic words "mene, tekel, peres" are stated in my communicable language; likewise for the Greek words, "Agios o Theos, Agios ischyros, Agios athanatos," from the fifth movement of Canyons, words which mean "Saint, oh God, Saint and powerful, Saint immortal:' In the latter example, the result is absolutely terrifying, especially since I scored it for orchestral tutti. If it hadn't been for the dictates of my alphabet, I never would have thought up that music. C.S. So your musical themes are the fruit of chance-

O.M. Yes, but I nevertheless exercise some control, and reserve the right to change the words when the result isn't interesting. But, be assured, I didn't want to invent a new Esperanto. I know that a language is not the fruit of one man but of a nation and that it evolves slowly. My method is only a game. A fruitful game that has forced me to discover new musical variations. C.S. I can understand that this game is an extraordinary stimulant. I

understand less how this language can become communicable. If the listener has the score and the words your alphabet spells out, he no longer needs any communicable language. If not, he will understand nothing unless you give him the necessary clues. O.M. In order for me to communicate, the listener must know the

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alphabet, naturally. We understand each other 路 F }<now French. m rench because we

c.s. I wonder, ultimately, whether you didn't .d 0

"t t

o p1ease yourself.

o.M. I took a toss of the dice, like Mallarme. C.S. You gave yourself a problem to solve, like Strav1ns 路 ky. O.M. When Bach used Protestant chorales he I "bi bi , a so gave h"1mseIf a tern ~ pro . em to sol_v~, for I assure you the chorales' themes weren t parhcu1arly exc1hng-

But let's not speak just 路 e zat'ions is . of communicable language; M'd't 11 b k a . ove d a a wor of music that contains a number of eIements, even ir songs. b C.~ ..~irst exJ?lai.n the title for us: Meditations sur le mystere de la Sainte Trmzte [Med1tahons on the Mystery of the Holy Trinity]. O.M. I've been the .o~ga~ist at the church of the Trinite for fifty-five

years. The Holy Tnn1ty is the greatest mystery in the Christian religion: it's hardly spoken of, even in my church. When the Trinite's organ was inaugurated after its great restoration, I invited Monseigneur Charles, the celebrated rector of the Sacre-Coeur de Montmartre, and I asked him to deliver a sermon on the Trinity. We agreed that his sermon would be divided into three parts, and that I would play an improvisation after each. It was from that sermon and those improvisations that the work we're speaking of was born; but out of an improvisation grew a work that is completely written out. And I myself meditated a great deal on the mystery of the Holy Trinity. The work comprises nine parts, each referring to one aspect of the mystery. I did not want each part to bear a title. C.S. The pieces are not titled, but they correspond to very specific ideas.

o.M. The first piece is dedicated to God the Father, and i~ comprises a

long passage in communicable lang~age t~at ,~nds with the ~ord "unbegotten:' As Saint Thomas A.qu1nas said, '.As the Father 1s. t~e beg路nning that has no origin, he 1s not of another: a charactenstic den~ted by the term 'unbegotten: "The second piece is de~icated to holiness because God is holy. Here I used a theme from pl~1nchant. I wasn't thinking only of Go~ the Father, but also of Christ,. of the human God who was the hohest and most perfect of all men since he

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~as able_ to say to his enemies, iiWho among you will convict me of sm?" I slipped some bird songs into this piece: one can recognize the garden warbler, to which I devoted an entire piano composition, and the blackcap, the famous capinera, whose song, being one of the themes of ~aint ~rancis, would play so important a role in my opera. ~he thud piece makes reference to a text by Saint Thomas Aquinas that I translated into communicable language. This text says that "the true relationship within God is really identical to the essence," which means there is only one single, unique nature in G~d: the divine nature, and that the three persons constituting the Tnn1ty are not three separate gods, but the same God; only their relationships allow them to be distinguished: the Father engenders the Son; the Son is engendered by the Father; both of them spiritually generate the Holy Spirit, and the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father and the Son. The four relationships-paternity, filiation, spiration, and procession-exist for all eternity in the one and only God and are identical to his essence. The fourth piece underscores the principal definition of God: He is. There is an awe-inspiring passage in the Bible: it's the moment in Exodus when Moses asks to see the Lord Yahweh, and Yahweh replies, ''You cannot see me, for it would kill you; but I shall pass before you and cry out my name:' Although Moses didn't see anything, something passed before him crying, ''I am, I am! (Yahweh, Yahweh!)" In order to give an impression of terror, I used some strange bird songs, including the cry of the black woodpecker. At the end of the piece, a fortissimo bursts forth abruptly from the organ, expressing the words "I am, I am"; then a great silence descends, and nothing more is heard except the Tengmalm's owl in the distance. Some listeners believe this to be an electronic effect. It's simply the passing from tutti to solo bourdon, from ffff to pppp to express our smallness, overwhelmed by the dazzling light of the holy. The fifth meditation is the most important piece in the cycle, for it concerns the principal divine attributes, which I characterized by musical themes. First there's infinity: God is infinite, present everywhere, even in places not yet in existence. The theme is given to the sixteen-foot bassoon stop in the extreme low register. Then comes eternity: God is eternal; he has neither beginning nor end nor succession. I treated this notion like a glittering flash of color. God is immutable, which is to say, no change can occur in him. Here, I used the sixteen-foot and eight-foot foundation stops and third mode of limited transpositions in order to creat~ extraordi~arily calm mu~ic showing this immutability. One passage 1s then dedicated to the third person of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit, whose name is linked in the Scriptures to the notions of wind and breath. Musically, I unleashed a

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tremendous toccata, a veritable tempest representing the Spirit. Then comes the Father, who is omnipotent, but also our Father: a double paternity-that .of the Father who engenders, but also of the Father as cre~tor an~ of his bene~olence to ~ll ~en. Finally, the last and greatest diVllle attnbute-God 1s love. This 1s what Christ's death says to us. ''There is no greater love than to give one's life for those one loves." In this fifth piece, I tried to comment on all these ideas. The themes are numerous, and the last measures are very sweet, for they express divine love, as far as that love can be expressed. In the end one hears the quite simple call of a little bird, the yellowhammer, ~ho sings a series of repeated, high-pitched notes. The sixth piece is dedicated to the Son, or the Word, the second person of the Holy Trinity. As with the verse '1n the Word was Life and Life was light;' it's luminous, a very colorful piece, built on plainchant themes. The seventh piece is dedicated to the Holy Spirit, and the words translated into communicable language are taken from the Summa Theologica of Saint Thomas Aquinas: "The Father and the Son love, through the Holy Spirit (the Love which proceeds), themselves and us:' The entire body of the piece is written en trio, to evoke the three persons of the Trinity. To render Saint Thomas's remark on the Holy Spirit in communicable language, I used the leitmotifs of the Father and the Son, incessantly repeated, as well as a theme for the verb "to love:' The bird song I heard in Persepolis figures in the introduction and coda. That was the time of year of the Festival of Shiraz. After attending an orchestra rehearsal, I remained with my wife in the ruins of Persepolis to examine the marvelous bas-reliefs representing Persian and Median warriors bearing their offerings to Darius. That's when I heard the song of a bird that must have been in the rocks in front of the Apadana of Darius. It kept repeating the same refrains. I transcribed the song, but I wasn't able to catch a glimpse of the bird. Back in France, I inquired about it at the Museum of Natural History, but no one was able to identify it; so, in desperation, I called it "bird of Persepolis:' . . . . . The eighth piece treats one last d1.v1ne attnbute:.G~d 1s simple. l~s conclusion, which combines the third mode of hm1ted transpositions and the major mode, vanishes very slowly toward heavenly peace. Âˇ from The ninth and last piece summanzes th e prece d'mg pieces: which it borrows certain musical elements. One hears again the garden warbler and the blackcap (as in the second meditation). The whole piece is an immense development that allows for toccatas, garlands, and alleluias: in or~er to magnify the "th~?,1e of God" an~ the name God gives himself 1n the Book of Exodus. I am that I am.

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The little yellowhammer naively concludes the work. C.S. This work, born of the improvisations from the church of the

Trinite, did not have its premiere thereO.M. It's one of the rare organ pieces for which I myself secured the premiere, but the event took place in the United States. On 20 March 1972, in the immense National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington, D.C., I performed Meditations on a magnificent organ: five keyboards and innumerable resources, including a trompette en chamade (with horizontal pipes turned toward the public). The church was filled to capacity; there must have been several thousand people there. I later recorded Meditations on the Trinite organ in Paris. Then the work was performed by other organists: Almut Rossler in Diisseldorf, Louis Thiry in Rouen, Jennifer Bate in London. I've also heard it done by Jon Gillock in New York, Michel Fischer in Paris, and Thomas Daniel Schlee in ViennaC.S. Your organ output alone would seem to ensure your glory. On

the other hand, your vocal cycles remain little known, though I know you're very attached to them. O.M. Indeed, I've composed three large song cycles: Poemes pour Mi, Chants de terre et de ciel, and Harawi. All are written for piano and voice;

only the first has been orchestrated. These three cycles are characterized by their call for a dramatic soprano voice, owing to my admiration for Marcelle Bunlet, a marvelous singer and wonderful musician who had a very flexible voice and extended tessitura and who sang Isolde, Kundry, and Briinnhilde effortlessly. I intended my song cycles for her. They are very long, very tiring for the breath, and require a very wide vocal range. For all these reasons, it is understandable that few singers have tackled them and that these pieces are less known than others. C.S. Since the time of Marcelle Bunlet, who was chosen by Toscanini

to sing Kundry in Bayreuth and who made a name for herself in Dukas's Ariane et Barbe-Bleue, other singers have nevertheless sung your worksO.M. Yes, I can cite a very good musician, Gabrielle Dumaine, who

has sung almost all my works, and also the excellent English singer Felicity Palmer, who interpreted my Poemes pour Mi in Los Angeles with Zubin Mehta and in London with Pierre Boulez. More recently, my Poemes pour Mi was sung magnificently in Israel by an Israeli 128

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singer of German origin: Gilah Yaron d . A · · ' an in Paris b . extraord inary mencan singer: Phyllis Bryn-Julson. Y an

c.s. How would you define your vocal writing? o·M. I think I write vocal music quite well b · ecause all the voc

I · a piec~s I've written I've sung myself. I obviously have a h . voice, but all the same I'm aware of wh t thorn?le compo~er s b Sh k a a eatncal scene isrem:r er a e6'earean beginnings- I'm also aware of the phro. em~o ichfobn, t e _Phonetic value of vowels and consonants h ' t e impo ance o reathmg, the right places t 0 t k b a e reat s, and the different registers of the vo·ice.

TJ· .

c.s. To continue on this sub1'. ect' you've also wri'tten for thevo1ce1nan · ·

a cappeIIa ch oral work, Cznq rechants.

Of·~· SI ~oi:ilsidlerl~inq rechants one of my best works, and I'm very fond o it. im1 ar. y, m much attached to Harawi because together these work~ constitute ~ second and third "Tristan" along with Turangalfla. What s more, Cznq rechants represents an indirect tribute to Le

P~intemps of Claude Le Jeune: indeed, each section is in strophic form ~th couplets called "chan~s" and refrains called "rechants;' exactly

hke Claude Le Jeune 1s Le Przntemps. In this work I've also made extensive use of Hindu rhythms (ancient Indian dec;i-talas) and of developed nonretrogradable rhythms. In the sixth of my Vingt regards I use a nonretrogradable rhythm that is developed by contractions to the right and left, and you'll understand that, because nonretrogradable rhythms are composed of two symmetrical retrograde groups-one to the right, the other to the left of a central value-it's necessary that there be symmetry between right and left for the added and retracted values. On the other hand, when I develop the central values, I have no right to modify the right and left-only the central values may be augmented or diminished: this is what I've done in the three couplets of the third of the Cinq rechants. Concerning Cinq rechants, I'll bring up still another peculiarity in a field ~here I was preceded by Berlioz (namely the chorus of demons m The Damnation of Faust): the us~ of an "in~ented language:'. I co~posed Cinq rechants on a poem wntte.n partly in !'rench, but ~a1nly in a new language soinetimes resembling Sansk~1t and sometimes Quechua, amounts to words the anc1·ent Peruvian language. It ultimately .· d h 1 1 invented by reason of their phonetic qua ihes, wor s w ose vowe. s and consonants are arbitrarily. chosen to correspond to certain rhythms And registers of the voice.

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C.S. Alongside Cinq rechants can be placed a work combining a

women's chorus and an instrumental ensemble-celesta, vibraphone, solo piano, solo Ondes Martenot, small and large tarn-tarns, and string orchestra-Trois petites liturgies de la Presence Divine, which, in many respects, seems to occupy a distinct place in your output. O.M. It's no doupt the most popular of my works, a popul~rity attributable, it seems to me, to its well-defined and very melodious themes. In any case, it's a work that immediately achieved the greatest success-

C.S. Even though its first performance provoked a scandalO.M. No, its success was instantaneous-at least with the public! It

only caused a scandal in the minds of certain colleagues and in the reviews of certain critics, some of whom carried on to their heart's content, heaping abuse upon me for ten years after the premiere. But it always "worked" for the public, and now the piece is well beyond its three-hundredth performance. C.S. At the time of the first performance of Liturgies in 1945, did the

reaction of the critics shake you up? O.M. More - than anything it profoundly surprised me. I was

astounded by the reaction, which to this day I cannot understand. The work was obviously very daring in its musical aesthetic and in its combination of timbres, but that didn't justify such an outburst of fury. I imagine it was a kind of native distrust by right-thinking people, comfortably settled in their armchairs and worn slippers, opposed to anything out of the ordinary, especially in the spiritual domain-for this work is primarily a very great act of faith, and the poem is replete with quotations from the Holy Scriptures: the Gospels, the Epistles, the Song of Songs, the Psalms and the Apocalypse, the most beautiful texts of Saint John and Saint Paul, and even passages from Saint Thomas and the Imitation of Christ. Of course, the people attacking me didn't know these texts; they didn't understand anything-but they were all the same roused from their complacency! C.S. You speak of the "popularity" of Petites liturgies, but what about the Turangalfla-symphonie? ~.M. That is indeed more popular, but not in the same sense. The sub-

1ect is more accessible because it's a ''Tristan and Isolde" story, and

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human love touches all men and women 路 Turangal"l . l a a 1so reaches b 路 h k crowd s t an s to a considerable volume of orch est ra1 sound. ig

c.S. In the . field of . instrumental writing' do you thi'nk the lUranga l"l1 a"n

symphonze constitutes the best summation of your aesth e t'ic.,

o.M. It's the work richest in discoveries; it's also the most melod路 th

. and the most colored. warmest, t h e most d ynamic, C.S. In relation to

路~

Turangalila, how do you consider your later

orchestral scores? O.M. A fundamental difference exists: the later works contain many

more bird songs, and this contributes strongly to the renewal of my aesthetic. C.S. One thinks of Reveil

des oiseaux and of Oiseaux exotiques.

O.M. Reveil des oiseaux and Oiseaux exotiques are two very special works

and, in a sense, unique in my output: they contain only bird songs! Actually, in Oiseaux exotiques, I've linked percussion with woodwinds, brass, xylophone, glockenspiel, and piano, and this percussion obviously plays no part in bird songs; it constitutes a strophic support based on rhythms, verses, and Greek metric feet, and also on Hindu rhythms, all juxtaposed-the strophic form (with diminutions effected on Karnatic rhythms and Indian de<;i-talas) evolves independently of the bird songs, whose freedom is much greater. So there's a blend of strictness and freedom, and, all the same, a certain element of composition in the ''bird-song material;' since I've randomly placed side by side the birds of China, India, Malaysia, and North and South America, which is to say, birds that never encounter each other. In Reveil des oiseaux, the presentation is much more accurate: there's really nothing but bird songs in it, without any added rhythm or counterpoint, and the birds singing are really found together in nature; it's a con:ipl~tely truth~! work. .It's about an awakening of birds at the beg~nnmg of a spring mo.rnmg; the .cycle goes from midnight to noon: night songs, an awa~ening at four m the morning, a big tutti of birds cut short by the sunrise, forenoon songs, and the great silence of noon. C.S. And Chronochromie?

O.M. Chronochromie is the type of polyvalent.or, at least, bivalent w~rk in which technical effort sometimes prevails over natural material,

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and natural material sometimes takes precedence over the technical. On a formal plane, Chronochromie is divided into seven compulsorily linked parts: introduction, strophe, antistrophe, a second strophe, a second antistrophe, an epode completely different from all the rest, then a coda. In sum, it's a Greek triad with a doubling of the strophe and antistrophe, the epode being separate, and the whole framed by the introduction and the coda. The introduction and coda use the same musical material arranged in a very different manner with other music. The two strophes and two antistrophes also have the same material, but this material is used very differently, with other music, other counterpoints, other rhythms, other chord-colors. Finally, the epode is a genre apart. C.S. A certain passage of Chronochromie, where the strings are

extremely divided, generally sends a frisson through the public0.M. That's the epode! Let's say frankly that this passage does cause scandal. It's written for eighteen solo strings-twelve violins, four violas, and two cellos-and it's made up of eighteen bird songs, all birds from France that sing together and who are, in order of entry, four blackbirds; a yellowhammer; the first goldfinch; a chiffchaff; a second goldfinch; a whitethroat; a lesser whitethroat; two chaffinches; a nightingale; a fifth and sixth blackbird; a greenfinch; two golden orioles, one of which echoes the other; and, a little later, a linnet and two garden warblers. These bird songs enter one after another, in something of a fugue, the entries proceeding on a descending scale; then all the voices go forward imperturbably, one on top of the other, achieving a counterpoint of eighteen parts totally independent of each other for at least ten minutes.

C.S. Ornithologist that you are, can eighteen bird songs producing

such music be heard simultaneously in nature? O.M. But absolutely! In nature, especially at the break of day, one can

frequently hear extremely complex counterpoints produced by birds of very different types, united by somewhat similar habitat. C.S. But why wouldn't a listener taken into a wood while these bird songs were going on be scandalized if he's shocked while listening to your musical transcription? O.M. If he was taken to the edge of a forest or into a park, he'd also

have the beauties of light, the perfume of dew on the leaves and on

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the grass, the perfumes of the flowers·' he'd have an entire . f am T 1 context o f and scaFe, scent, color' and thermal sensat"10n, w h1 ich _iar d h would ren · er t1 e aura1 phenomenon very natural for h"im-wh ereas . I have o b v10 us y separated this extraordinary counterpoint from its context: that s wh~t provokes _the scandal! Also, an individual hearing these bird songs m nature gives them minimal attention, precisely because of the context. He perceives the colors, scents, and sounds as a whole; asked to isolate them from each other, he'd be at a total loss. When I find myself in this situation, I'm equally sensitive to the colors and perfumes, but I listen particularly to the songs because I am there to transcribe them; my hearing is much more profound, much more acute than that of the casual stroller. I will add that this passage is frighteningly difficult to execute because none of the counterpoint or rhythm is alike, and there's no harmonic control: the lost instrumentalist cannot regain his place, unable to make out a guidepost in the confused hubbub he hears around him. If the conductor makes the slightest error, everyone is lost. 1

c.s. You've just used the term "confused hubbub;' which might be considered a pejorative remark, but isn't that the goal you've tried to achieve in this passage?

o.M. No, it's not the goal, but it is the impression of_ the instrumentalist in the middle of the orchestra-a vantage pmnt unfavorable for listening-as well as that of an audi~n~e member who, although well placed in the concert hall, doesn t hsten properly.

c.s. What rules must be observed in order to "listen properly"? 0 M First to arrive at the concert with an open mind, ~ith no

· · · ·t ward the composer then, to love nature, knowing how an1mos1 Y. ot "t . all its manif~stations, sounds as well as colors, to apprec1a ll e 1 in fumes· and perhaps also to ma1nta1n · · a re flect"ion allo~ yourself to realize that in this apparent colors a~ ~e ~sef o~ mus1ca ~r de~ order reigns, that in this lack of harmonic control, disorder, a hid . r d and that in this lack of rhythm, thousands chordal ~olors adre ~e 'blend into one great rhythm in blocks of of superimpose r Y ms duration. ' . eat ·umble of bird songs in Chronochromie C.S. Doesn t this t~enty~five years in advance, ''The Sermon to the foreshadow, some .? Birds" in Saint Fram;ois. 11 ''The Sermon to the Birds" is also an organized O.M. Yes, natura Y·

e:o

I;:1f

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dis.order, but the scoring has been greatly expanded. Instead of a stnng section, there's an entire orchestra, with seven flutes, four oboes, seven clarinets, four bassoons, four trumpets, six horns, three trombones, three tubas, xylophone, xylorimba, marimba, vibraphone, glockenspiel, crotales, three Ondes Martenot, bowed and plucked strings, and, finally, a very complicated percussion section involving three triangles, two sets of bells, temple blocks, a reco-reco, cymbals, gongs, and tarn-tarns, not to mention the Eoliphone and the Geophone. In addition, from eighteen parts in Chronochromie, I went on to some 150 parts, to say nothing of the instruments playing hors tempo that, in Saint Fran~ois, further accentuate the feeling of disorder. C.S. These harmonies that one encounters along with the bird songs-in the end you are their great organizer.

O.M. Absolutely. C.S. To understand music of such complexity, wouldn't it be better to follow the score while listening?

O.M. Your question is very imprudent, for no doubt very few musi-

-Âˇ cians are capable of reading the passage from Chronochromie we've described, especially while listening to it interiorly; I myself am obliged to read it very slowly so as to let nothing escape. I would be absolutely unable to hear it interiorly in tempo; I defy anyone to do it. Obviously it's easier in actual performance, but even then it demands close attention and great concentration. C.S. In general, do you think it's profitable to listen to music while

reading the score? O.M. It's indispensable for the composer, who thereby learns how to

orchestrate. C.S. But for the average listener?

O.M. For some listeners, it's a supplementary pleasure because

beyond the emotion derived from the beauty of the music and timbres, they'll call into account the construction of the work; but for the majority of listeners, this kind of reading is impossible and would even be harmful since, not knowing how to read a score, they'd be lost and, instead of listening correctly, would spend their time senselessly turning pages.

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C.S. Before leaving the aviary of Chrono h . one last explanation: What is the mean·c romfzeh, would you give us ing 0 t e work's title? O.M. This title brings together two Greek w d . k . time and kroma, meaning "color" s· or. s. ronos'.which means . . ince in composite words the terms. are generally inverted, time precedes color h . chromze therefore means "color of time:' ere. ChronoThe most important parts of Chronochromie the "strophe · 1 ' s, are based on symmet nca permutations I won't give you a · 1 ~xpla~ation of these, which would b~ very complicated, ;~c~:~~~~ mg d_iagrams and heap~ of numb.ers (a table of these permutations, running to ~50 !?ages, will appear in my Treatise on Rhythm), but a little demonstration is needed all the same: You know that the number of permutations of several distinct objects ~creases astr.onomically with each additional object. Thus, three ob1e.cts have six :possible permutations; seven objects have s.040 possible permuta~1ons; twelve objects have 479,001,600 possible permutations. Let s take a chromatic scale of durations going from a 32nd note to a whole note, from one to thirty-two 32nd notes, with all the intermediate durations. If I wanted to seek out and use the permutations, I'd need half a lifetime to write them down and several years to perform them, they are so many in number. One must therefore choose, and choose with the maximum chance of dissimilarity between one permutation and another. To achieve this, I read my chromatic scale of durations in a certain order (of my own choosing); then, after writing down the result, I number from 1 to 32 the succession of note-values obtained; I then read my result thus numbered in the same order as the first time; I write down this second result and again number from 1 to 32 the succession of note-values obtained; then I read my second result in the same ~rder as t~e first time, which gives me a third result; then I read my third result in the same order _as the first time· I do the same thing for the fourth result and so on, until I arrive back ~t the chromatic scale of durations with which I began. This yields a reasonable number of per~utati~ns (not too far from the number of objects chosen), permutations different enough to be juxtaposed and superimposed. . In the two strophes of Chronochromze, one ~ears three · d unfoldings of three lines of permutations on the supenmpose f h t ti 12 d thirt -twonote-values:superimpositiono t epermu.a ons , ,an 3 in f'ite first strophe; superimposition of the pern:iutations 22, 23, and · h nd strophe In order for the listener to hear the . 1 . h 24 in t e seco unfolding of these permutations, I've color~d mby noted-vba uest 1~ t reef u • ti' ng 11 [le monnayage] by trm re, an y s rams o ways: by min ' chords. "·

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The first coloration, "minting;' occurs in any long unfolding of durations; in order to appreciate the tiny differences between the long durations, one must preserve the feeling of the unit of value (here, the 32nd note) . The woodwinds, glockenspiel, and xylophone will "mint" the durations through various rapid counterpoints of bird songs containing many short values, including the 32nd note (which will be constantly brought to mind). In addition, each unfolding of durations is entrusted to metallic percussion instruments, differing in timbre, intensity, and pitch. The upper unfolding is entrusted to three gongs, pianissimo; the central unfolding to a set of bells, forte; and the lower unfolding to a suspended cymbal, a Chinese cymbal, and a tarn-tarn, pianissimo. The "strains of chords" coloration is by far the most effective. The attacks of the metallic percussion are doubled, underlined, and prolonged by chords on twenty-two solo strings-chords belonging to three kinds of harmonic coloration. The line for the gongs goes with eight violins playing turning chords. The line for the bells goes with seven violins playing chords of transposed inversions, continually changing in position and transposition. The line for the suspended cymbal, Chinese cymbal, and tarn-tarn goes with three violas and four cellos playing chords of contracting resonance. One note-value will be linked to a red sonority flecked with blue, another to a milk-white sound complex embellished with orange and fringed with gold-another will use green, orange, and violet in parallel bands-another will be pale gray with green and violet reflectionsanother will be clearly violet or clearly red. Whether juxtaposed or superimposed, all permutations will be brought to the fore by chord colorations, color serving to show the divisions of time. It's the two strophes of Chronochromie that determined the title of. the work. Durations and permutations of durations made perceptible by sound colorations (one type explaining another)-this is truly a "color of time;' a Chronochromie. In Sept hafkai~ rhythmic issues are also pursued, but the approach is not all that similar, as the title implies. Sept hafkaf resulted from the love-at-first-sight I felt for Japan when first I toured there with Yvonne Loriod. Between the various concerts, my impresario, Madame Fumi Yamaguchi, had astutely scheduled some rest periods, allowing us to encounter Japanese music, composers, and birds. So in Karuizawa, Subashiri, and in the forest near Lake Yamanaka, I was able to hear a .great n:umb.er of Japan~se birds. I was accompanied by a Japa1:1ese ornithologist.with ~horn, s~ce I speak neither Japanese nor Enghsh, I conversed in Latin, for birds-like trees and flowershappen to possess scholarly Latin names. So, I composed Sept haiÂ°kaiÂ° at the end of my trip to Japan, and I

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must stress its. instrument~} composition: the work is written for eleven woodwinds-one piccolo, one flute, two oboes English ho · I · , rn, E-fl at c.Iannet, two c annets, one bass clarinet, two bassoons; and two brass instruments-trumpet and trombone. All the instruments serve to depict bird songs. The woodwinds play chords to underline the timbres of the various Japanese birds, and the brass reinforce the ringing character of some of the birds' songs, notably the uguisu Oapanese bush warbler) and . the hototoguisu (little gray-capped cuckoo). The two keyboard soloists, a xylophone and a marimba, play bird passages of great virtuosity-particularly those of the kibitaki (narcissus flycatcher) and san ko cho (paradise flycatcher)-and, finally, a solo piano is entrusted with the long cadenzas. Without having created any true concertos, I've nevertheless written numerous piano cadenzas in my orchestral works; the five brilliant ones in Hafkaf contain both bird songs and passagework meant to show off the instrument. Finally, Hai°kaf includes some percussion: a set of cencerros, a set of crotales, a triangle, eighteen tubular bells, two small Turkish cymbals, two gongs, a Chinese cymbal, and two tamtams. You'll notice that all these percussion instruments are metallic in nature and relate to the idea of the bell, which is perhaps my favorite percussion instrument. Eight violins are also included, intended to produce grating sounds imitating the sho, or mouth organ, for this work relates Japanese birds to the landscapes and traditional music of Japan. The central piece is entitled "Gagaku;' from the name of the eighthcentury Japanese music, a noble form of music played at the imperial court to this day. This music principally uses the timbre of the sho, which I've replaced by the eight violins, and of the hichiriki, a small, extremely shrill primitive oboe, which I've replaced by a trumpet doubled by two oboes and English horn. The ense~ble of eig~t violins establishes grating chords above the melody- as the sky is above the earth;' the Japanese say-in privile?e~,.c?ntradictory, and unexpected places. Besides the sho and the h1ch1rzk1, what sti:uck ~e most about Gagaku was its static character. I reproduced this static, hieratic, and sacred atmosphere while trying to give it a Christian ·· d dimension. . .. 1 The fifth piece is entitled 'M1yapma et 1e torn ans a ~er . ·· and the Torii in the Sea]." It evokes the most beautiful [M1yapma · · Japan, which I've already d escn'be d : a mountamous 1and scape m · ·h island with a hill covered in matsu (a very green J~panese pine wit arled like the arms of an old witch); at the foot of stately b ranches gn . · f · · l d t . ds a magnificent white and red Shmto temple, acmg ·· ( · tr 1y t h 1s 1s an s an -and what a blue!-and a torn a portico, ex eme t h. e blue . feet 1n . to · sea c ti"nted red) in front of the temp1e p 1unges its s1mp1e 1n iorm,

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the sea and opens onto the invisible, which is to say onto the true temple. You can imagine all these mingled colors, the green of the Japanese pines, the red and white of the Shinto temple, the blue of the sea, the red of the torii- That's what I wanted to translate almost literally into my music; this piece is really red and blue, and I added even more col ors to it-gray and gold; orange, pale green, and silver; red, lilac, and violet-purple-by combining different instrumental sounds and timbres. Finally, two pie.ces are dedicated entirely to birds: ''Yamanakacadenza;' which assembles the birds I heard in the forest near Lake Yamanaka, and "Les oiseaux de Karuizawa:' Karuizawa is a magnificent site, beyond the rice fields on the outskirts of Tokyo, in the middle of an extremely tortuous and jagged mountain range and in the shadow of a still-active volcano, Asama. Karuizawa is full of waterfalls, narrow gorges, and forests of matsu and azaleas, those marvelous shrubs with flowers of delicate and refined shape, in ravishing shades of pink or red! Thousands, millions of azaleas grow naturally, without any cultivation. Obviously, all this attracts thousands of birds, and almost all species of Japanese birds are found together in this area of Karuizawa where I spent several days taking notes.

c.s. Chronologically, Sept hai'kai' is followed by Couleurs de la cite celeste. O.M. Couleurs de la cite celeste was born of a strange commission; Dr.

Heinrich Strobel had asked me to write a work for three trombones and three xylophones. I had accepted but was very unhappy, for I couldn't see how I was to use these instruments. Finally, after long reflection, it occurred to me that trombones had an apocalyptic sound, so I reread the Apocalypse looking for quotations from it. Then I was struck by the percussive sonority of the three xylophones, which allowed me to use bird songs provided I add a piano. Still with Âˇ birds on my mind, I thought it perhaps necessary to have a few clarinets to vary the timbres, and, reviewing all these ideas, I added to the three trombones a little trumpet in D, three trumpets and two horns in F, as well as bass trombone; I changed the three xylophones to one xylophone, one xylorimba, and one marimba; I added the solo piano, the three clarinets, and finally the metallic percussion: a set of cencerros, a set of bells, four gongs, and two tarn-tarns. As you've noticed, this work brings together all my special preoccupations. First, my religious concerns, since it has as its source five quotations from the Apocalypse. Then my love of the mysterious, of magic, of enchantment, for these quotations from the Apocalypse are extraordinary, extra~agant, surrealistic, and

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terrifying. Take this one for example: "And to the star w · key of the bottomless pit:' as given the This made me imagine such effects as the fusion f I d d 1 ,, . h . o very ow b tro~ one soun -pe a s wit the shrill resonance of the three ~lar1net1~ and ,~he deep s~ro~es of t~e tarn-tarns. To this I added the 1~ea of color that you find in the title: the colors in Couleurs de la cite celeste are t~e c?lors of celesti~l Jerusalem, which is to say paradise. Now, paradise I~ represented ii: the Apocalypse as a shimmering of colors, and we find here the stained glass I was so enthusiastic about in my ~outh. To mas!er g~assworkers of the Middle Ages, a stainedglass w.mdow was pnma~tl~ a lesson taught through images; one can recognize-enclosed withm the trefoils, almond shapes, leaden stars-many tiny figures representing the lives of Christ, the Blessed Virgin, and the saints, and their corresponding Old Testament symbols: it was a holy history and a catechism. When a stained-glass window is viewed at a distance, the figures are too small to be distinguishable, but one is still dazzled by the colors: a window dominated by blues and reds (even with a few patches of yellow and green) produces an enormous violet to the eye. It so happens that in the Revelation of Saint John the Divine, the saint described his celestial visions in the same way. Thus, when speaking of divinity, instead of naming it he says, "Round the Throne was a rainbow;' the idea of majesty being associated with the radiance of color. When speaking of the Holy City, he says, "Its radiance was like unto a jasper, clear as crystal:' As you know, jasper is mottled with red and green; as for jasper crystal, this was an extremely rare stone that was not only endowed with all the colors of the rainbow but was translucent. Finally, Saint John says, "The foundations of the wall of the holy city were adorned with every jewel: jasper, sapphire, agate, emer~l~, onyx, sardius, c~r~eli?n, chrysolite, beryl, topaz, chrysoprase, 1ac1nth, and amethyst. I d hke to point out that the colors of these together are those of t~e rai~bow. So I've tried to translate into my work the colors men honed in the Apocalypse, and I don't think I've eve~ goi:e so far with the soundcolor relationship: certain sound combinations really correspond to certain color combinations, and I've ~o!ed the names of these colors in the score in order to impress this vis10n upon the .conductor, who ·11 · tum transmit this vision to the players he directs. The brass WI / in ' · d s s h ou ld " p1ay biue," should, if I dare say, "play red,,; t h e wood win /1

andFsorth on. more Couleurs de la cite, ce'l este contains, · 1·k 1 e sept haz"kat.. an d . u ert'ques 'Hindu and Greek rhythms, and like Chronochromie, 0 zseaux exo z ' · o ne a1so f'ind s in · 1't · 1 permutations of durations. symmetnca · h t themes· I had used such themes years b efore, actua11y ' La natzvzte . . , du 5eigneur · · one or two pieces · P1a1nc an . elv in an d in rather ten ta t iv J,

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fro111 my Vingt regards, and then I abandoned them. I took up this idea again because plainchant contains some marvelous melodies. I chose four alleluias: the alleluia for the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, the alleluia for the Fourth Sunday after Easter, the alleluia for the Dedication, and the alleluia for the Holy Sacrament. Finally, I used bird songs, both for their intrinsic beauty and as a symbol of heavenly joy, and as I had done before in my Oiseaux exotiques, I borrowed bird songs from different countries, songs that would never otherwise be brought together. C.S. An imaginary museumO.M. Yes, to borrow Malraux's expression, it's an imaginary museum

of bird songs: birds from New Zealand, Argentina, Brazil, Venezuela, and Canada. C.S. Recollections of journeys? O.M. I sojourned in Argentina where I heard two very popular birds:

the hornero, which is the country's symbol, and the benteveo, whose name means "I saw you clearly." A few years ago I was also in Canada, where I heard the song of the western meadowlark (in Latin, Sturnella neglecta). These three birds and also the New Zealand tui and bellbird, the Venezuelan stripe-backed wren and mocking bird, the Brazilian bare-throated bellbird and grayish saltator, and many others-all these I've used in Couleurs de la cite celeste.

c.s. You've pointed out that Couleurs de la cite celeste wouldn't have come into existence without the commission from Heinrich Strobel. The majority of your works originate from commissions, and particularly the famous Et exspecto resurrectionem mortuorum, commissioned by the French government. O.M. Indeed, the score was commissioned by Andre Malraux, when

he was minister of cultural affairs. The title means "And I await the resurrection of the dead:' The five parts of the work are based on texts from the Holy Scriptures dealing with the resurrection of the dead, the Resurrection of Christ (cause and assurance of our resurrection), the life of the glorious souls that will follow the resurrection of the dead, the applause of the angels, and the resonances of the stars that will accompany the moment of resurrection. I scored this work rather unusually. It brings together a woodwind ensemble comprising eighteen instruments: an ensemble of sixteen brass-a small trumpet in D, three trumpets, six horns, three

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trombones, bass trombone, tuba, bass saxhorn in B-flat (a miÂˇ1Âˇt . . . i ary 1 band instrument simi ar to Wagner's bass tubes)-and percu Âˇ . . . ssion, 11 t th ose me a ic percussion instruments I'm particularly fond of. C.S. It should be added that you had some percussionists affiliated

with the Strasbourg group. O.M. Indeed, I composed most of my works for them because they are

wonderful and play the instruments with marvelous tone quality. This score involves three sets of cencerros, a set of tubular bells, six gongs, and three tarn-tarns. Above all, my score incorporates the religious concerns of the quotations I've compiled from the Holy Scriptures, but one also finds in it two very symbolic bird songs: the song of the musician wren and the song of the calandra lark. The musician wren (Leucolepsis modulator) is an Amazon bird reputedly heard at the moment of death, here symbolizing an inner voice-Christ's-waking the dead from their sleep and giving the signal for imminent resurrection. The calandra lark is a sensational singer that has disappeared from France, killed off by overhunting, but that still exists in Greece and Spain. Its song is extraordinary for its chirping, alleluia-like virtuosity: here it symbolizes celestial joy and one of the four qualities of the glorious souls, the "gift of agility:' I'll add that Et exspecto resurrectionem mortuorum was premiered on two ceremonial occasions, the very first time discreetly, since Andre Malraux desired that the work be played before a few initiates, in the absence of the general public. And so it happened, with a sort of semisecrecy and in a place quite suited to my religious thought and to the colors I love, in the midst of the most beautiful stained glass in Paris, where light is irradiated in blues, reds, golds, and extraordinary violets. I'm referring to the Sainte-Chapelle, that marvelous church completely surrounded with stained glass, built on the order of Saint Louis as a depository for the crown .of thorns. The second hearing took place in the presence of General de Gaulle in Chartres Cathearal, a Marian sanctuary, another exalted spot of Christianity, famous not only for its two towers (one Romanesque, the other Gothic), ~ut also f?r its marvel?us porches and statuary and for its extraordinary stained-glass windows and famous Chartres blue. One last word about t~e se~ip~ivate p~emiere at the SainteCha elle: the privileged audience 1nv1ted to this event was st~ck not onl pby the play of light but also by the m~st un';lsual ac~ushcs. Do yoJthink that these acoustics gave a new drmension to this score, or

c.s.

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did you imagine it thus while composing it? O.M. I conceived it to be played in a church, taking for granted the

resonance, the ambience, and even the echoing of sounds that can be obtained in such a place. But later, I liked just as well the performance conducted by Bruno Maderna in front of the Apadana in Persepolis. I even wanted it to be played in the open air and in the high mountains at La Grave, facing the Meije Glacier, in those powerful and solemn landscapes that are my true homeland. There, by the play of sunlight on the whiteness of the ice, 111 visually achieve the second symbol running through my music, the principal attribute of glorious souls, the "gift of light"C.S. Works and places should complement each other. That's also

what Wagner thought. O.M. He knew that his works could really be understood only in

Bayreuth. He was right. To play, in a concert, symphonic excerpts such as ''The Ride of the Valkyries;' the Meistersinger Overture, or the Prelude and Liebestod from Tristan und Isolde is ridiculous and improper. C.S. In the nineteenth century, breaking works up was a widespread custom. It was common to place a movement of a Beethoven

symphony between two vocal numbers. O.M. I remember having seen in Vienna, at the Lobkowitz Palace, the

program of a concert in which Beethoven's Second Symphony had been played-the Allegretto movement of the Seventh Symphony was added to it! But, since we were speaking of concert halls, I should say that the hall of the Lobkowitz Palace is minuscule: it hardly accommodates more than forty musicians and forty listeners, and that's where the Fifth Symphony was first performed! Poor Beethoven! C.S. In Paris, Beethoven's symphonies were premiered in a

marvelous but small place: the hall of the old conservatory, which you know very well. O.M. That hall is an enigma. Thanks to its extraordinary acoustics, it

was one of the best concert halls in the world. It belonged to the Conservatoire de Musique, and it was given to the Conservatoire d'Art Dramatique, which made nothing of it, not even a playhouse! There, in my youth, I saw Philippe Gaubert conduct the works of

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Debussy, Schmitt, Ravel, Roussel, and also of my teacher D ka h S W 0 â&#x20AC;˘ t f â&#x20AC;˘ u th f f at a performance o e us act o Ariane et Barbe-Bleue told ''Th. f tf I h , me, is is the llr~ ime hcano e~r mcy o~chestra"-even after listening to it severa hmes at t e pera- om1que, then at the Opera. 1

c.S. Still, a work like Et exspecto requires broader horizons. O.M. Yes, but that's a very special case. It's a work in which brass and

percussion dominate. C.S. Having dealt with Et exspecto, we quite naturally arrive at the last

two works you've written for orchestra: Des canyons aux etoiles of which we'll speak in another chapter, and La Transfiguration de Notre Seigneur ]f sus-Christ. O.M. The Transfiguration is one of my most important works. I even

consider it one of my most successful, but when it was first performed, it wasn't understood. The Transfiguration is not a traditional work. It's divided into two septenaries, or groups of seven pieces: I adopted the symbolic number seven, which turns up in the Bible constantly, especially in the Apocalypse. Both septenaries observe the same structure: each opens with a Gospel narrative describing the scene of the Transfiguration, followed by two pieces of commentary based on texts from Holy Scripture; a second Gospel narrative is followed by two other pieces of commentary, and the seventh piece is a closing chorale. The chorale of the first septenary is pianissimo; that of the second, fortissimo. The orchestral scoring is considerable: woodwinds-two piccolos, three flutes, three oboes, English horn, the small E-flat clarinet, three clarinets, bass clarinet, three bassoons and contrabassoon; brass-little trumpet in D, three trumpets in C, six horns in F, three trombones, bass trombone, tuba, bass saxhorn in B-flat, contrabass tuba in C; a large number of strings, which is often difficult to obtain-sixteen first violins, sixteen second violins, fourteen violas, twelve cellos, ten double basses; and for the percussion-a group of six musicians playing som~ thirty inst~me~ts. Among these percussion instruments, you'll find my favontes: instruments with prolonged resonance like the set of tubular bells, gongs (seven in number), and three tam-tams. We had already encountered that in Et exspecto, but here there are ~any ~ther per~uss!on ~nstruments, and there will be even more 1n Saint Fran~ois d '.Assise. Complementing the instrumental ensemble is a cho~s of one hundred singers, divided into ten groups of ten: ten first and ten ~econd sopranos, ten mezzos, ten first and ten second contraltos, ten first and

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ten second tenors, ten baritones, ten first and ten second basses. I r~peated this distribution in Saint Fran~ois, but called for fifteen singers per group. C.S. A chorus, but unlike Saint Fran~ois, no vocal soloists. The musical

signature of the Transfiguration is its seven instrumental soloists. O.M. Indeed, I chose seven solo instruments: flute, clarinet,

xylorimba, vibraphone, large marimba, cello, and piano. C.S. You not only chose seven instruments, but seven instru-

mentalists, who ultimately were assembled for only the first five performances. Having been commissioned by Madame Azevedo de Perdigao on behalf of the Gulbenkian Foundation, the first performance of the work took place in Lisbon. 0.M. Yes, in the immense hall of the Coliseu. Along with the

Orchestre de Paris under the direction of Serge Baudo, I had my seven soloists: Michel Debost on flute, Henry Druart on clarinet, Alain Jacquet on xylorimba, Jacques Delecluse on vibraphone, Fran<;ois Dupin on marimba, cellist Mstislav Rostropovich, and my wife, Yvonne Loriod, the piano soloist. Most of my orchestral works include solo piano: I'm married to a great pianist, and I always imagine her in the midst of the orchestra. I'd add, too, that I have a very great affection for Fran<;ois Dupin, who has often advised me on the use of percussion. His Lexique de la percussion is the standard work on the subject. C.S. As for RostropovichO.M. Rostropovich had in fact asked me to compose a cello concerto,

and, as I didn't judge myself capable of that task, I placed some cello cadenzas in the Transfiguration. These are very difficult, very free cadenzas, completely in keeping with the character of the cello, which is to say more songlike than virtuosic, very declamatory, with many changes in tempo. Rostropovich, with his customary expertise and ample, generous tone, perfectly understood his role: he played not only as a virtuoso, but also as an actor, not only as a great cellist, but also as a musician. The piano cadenzas are even more difficult than those of the cello. They call for extraordinary virtuosity and a knowledge of the birds they imitate. But the piano part presents still other difficulties: it participates in the cadenzas of the six other soloists, and it adds to the overall orchestral texture, spicing up or diamond-studding the

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timbres. Yvonne Loriod did all this brilliantly, at all the performances of the work. Of course, .the piano and cello ~olos must not cause us to forget the other soloists: the two woodwinds (flute and clarinet) and the three keyboard instruments (xylorimba, vibraphone, and marimba) . They, too, were superbly played at the first performance in Lisbon. Let's add, for the sake of historical accuracy, that the work was premiered on 7 June 1969, in Lisbon, before an audience of nine thousand people, with the participation of the Gulbenkian Chorus. It was then performed in Paris, at the Palais de Chaillot, on 20 October 1969, with the same conductor, orchestra, and soloists, but with the chorus of the ORTF. This second concert was part of the Semaines Musicales Internationales de Paris [International Music Weeks]. A third and fourth concert assembled the same performers at the TEP (Theatre de l'Est Parisien) and the Levallois-Perret Sports Arena, on 21 and 22 October, respectively. Finally, a fifth concert, again reuniting the same conductor, soloists, orchestra, and chorus, was given on 25 October, at the Theatre des Champs-Elysees in Paris. That fifth performance of the Transfiguration was the most beautiful of the five premieres. C.S. The Transfiguration was written on commission from the Gulben-

kian Foundation. Was the subject chosen by you or by the foundation? O.M. By me. I'd been considering the subject of the Transfiguration for

years, perhaps twenty years, ever since the day when I heard, in a little country church in the Dauphine region, in Motte-d'Aveillans, an old priest deliver a sermon on the light and the filiation, the two principal ideas of my work. This was on 6 August, the Feast of the Transfiguration, so I devoted the first septenary to the idea of light, because Christ transfigured becomes radiant: ''His countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow:' The second septenary is based on the idea of the filiation: a voice emerges from the cloud, saying, ''This is my Son, whom I love." There ar~ two kinds ~f filiation: eternal filiation of the Word-become-Man in Jesus Chnst, and the adoptive filiation .of all the poor h~man beings that we are. I treated this subject by using Lahn texts I chose myself, texts drawn from the Gospel according to Saint Matthew for the narrative portion of the Transfiguration; excerpts from the Psalms for the two choralesÂˇ then passages borrowed from Genesis, from the Book of Solomo~ from others of the Psalms, from the Epistles of Saint Paul, from the' Office of the Transfiguration, and from Saint Thomas Aquinas. I reread the entire chapter dealing with the Transfiguration 145

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in Saint Thomas Aquinas's Summa Theologica, and I set to music entire phrases of Saint Thomas. C.S. Why did you use Latin? O.M. For a long time, Latin was considered the classical language in

secondary education; today it's gradually being abandoned in favor of sciences, mathematics, and modern languages. Even the Catholic Church decided that the Offices could be recited in the vernacular, Latin rendering them generally incomprehensible. This new practice is certainly much better for the natives of a country, but it doesn't suit the unfortunate faithful who, like me, travel a great deal. When I go to Czechoslovakia or Bulgaria and hear a service in Czech or in Bulgarian, I don't understand a thing. I even remember the day in San Francisco when I attended a service that I was hoping to understand in English; I wasn't able to figure it out and was trying to determine whether it was Greek, Spanish, or Hebrew. It was Basque! C.S. So, by using Latin for the texts in the Transfiguration, you wanted

to return to your own sources. O.M. I wanted to renew the tradition, but also to prove that Latin texts

are very beautiful and that their unintelligibility adds to their mystery. The statue remains on its pedestal. So I decided on Latin, and my knowledge of plainchant led me to ask the choristers to use the Roman pronunciation. Roman pronunciation is very beautiful, much more beautiful than that ridiculous pronunciation that was the rule in secondary schools. C.S. Your pronunciation rules are addressed to the choristers in the

Transfiguration, for you've excluded vocal soloists. O.M. Bach's Passions and cantatas always include vocal soloists. In

the Transfiguration, I preferred instrumental soloists. C.S. Can it be said that the Transfiguration is an oratorio? O.M. Yes, if you like. In a certain sense, the Transfiguration is similar to ~e

Passions of Bach. I, too, used Gospel narratives, but they're very different from those of Bach; they're chanted and vocalized. Finally, each septenary concludes with a chorale, with massive chords~hi~h are, more than anything, colors. I even think the Transfiguratio~ is one o~ my most colored works. Between the Transfiguration and Saint Fran~ois, I wrote some works in which color is even more impor146

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tant. When I co~posed Saint Fran~ois, I was older, I had better control over my material, and the sound-color relationship was not onl y familiar to me, but obvious. C.S. One last word: the ideal place for performing the Transfiguration.

Church or concert hall? O.M. S?me people have preferred the Transfiguration in a concert hall,

others in a church or cathedral. For myself, both possibilities are satisf~ct~ry. God is prese~t everywh~re, and performing the Transfiguration in a concert hall is as beautiful and as valid as in a church. At the time of the work's first performances, two criticisms were made. It was claimed that the Transfiguration was a synthesis of classical and modern languages. That's absurd. My musical language is totally free. It is above all colored, and its colors are what cause the listener to participate in the dazzling religious experience, like a stained-glass image or rose window in a cathedral. The second criticism concerned the lack of dramatic movement. The luminous manifestation of Christ transfigured, as well as his eternal filiation as the Word and our small adoptive filiation: these are magnificent subjects for meditation. There is no drama in them, no theatrical effect, no progression, only an ever-renewed amazement. C.S. Could you give us a short analysis of the Transfiguration? O.M. The first septenary opens with a Gospel narrative, a rhythmic

introduction with metallic percussion, temple blocks, claves, and bells. The Gospel text is sung in embellished psalmody, with a long vocalise on the words transfiguratus est. The second piece takes up the idea of light. If Christ was radiant, we, too, shall be after the resurrection, when we possess the gift of light. The voice of a grand indicateur (the black-throated honeyguide, a bird from Africa) proclaims it joyfully, and the tenors vo.ice the~r ex~ectati~n of ~t: exs~ectamus. The third piece expresses a ~1gher h~ht ..'Thy hghtn1ngshghtened .the world;; says Psalm 77. Saint Pauls Epistle to ~he Hebrews ~rocla1ms in its turn: "Christ Jesus, glory of the Father. The fourth piece continues the Gospel narrative. The fifth piece is a musical setting of Psalm 84: "How amiable are thy tabernacles! ... Thy altars, thy altars, my King and my God!" with great contrasts of pi~nissimo and fortissimo in the chorus. Modal colors e~erge: gold and violet, red and violet-purple, bluish gray studded with gold and deep blue, green and orange, blue and gold, yellow and ~olet stre?ked with gold and whiteness- The solo cello sings the simple brightness of eternal light. The solo piano adds the song of the American bluebird. The 147

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piece concludes on the red-and-gold harmonies of the chorus, humming-smooth, very far off, pianissimo-from which arises the voice of the nightingale, given to the piano. In the final bars a chord of "total chromaticism" occurs, superimposing the twelve tones and giving the illusion of a consonant chord. Let's spell out this chord from low to high: B, E, G-sharp, and C-natural are the first, large, ruby-red zone; G-flat, B-flat, E-flat, and F-natural, the second, smaller, crimson-red zone; the four additional notes of D, C-sharp, A, and G are added around a bright and shiny blue-gray circle. The sixth piece is a hodgepodge of birds more complex than those in Chronochromie, presaging "The Sermon to the Birds" in Saint Fran~ois d'Assise. The seventh piece is the "Chorale of the Holy Mountain;' which closes the first septenary. The text is borrowed from Psalm 48: "Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised in the city of our God on his holy mountain:' This is a prophecy of the Transfiguration, for Christ was transfigured on a high mountain. A massive tutti of chorus and orchestra concludes pianissimo, in contrast to the last chorale, which will end fortissimo. Here the colors are very distinct because of the very slow tempo. 111 try to enumerate them. The first two chords are superimpositions of green-black tint. The third chord belongs to the category of turning chords; it contains, from high to low, blue-green, pinkish mauve, and green. The fourth chord (fourth and sixth of E major) is red. Measures 4 and 5 take up approximately the same colors as the opening. Measures 6, 7, and 8 are in both E major (red) and in Mode 2 (second transposition), containing gold and brown and also red. Measures 9, 10, and 11 return to the colors of the opening. Measures 12 and 13 are in Mode 3 (second transposition), which is gray and mauve, and they end (at measure 14) on a neutralblue seventh. Measure 15 takes up the turning chords, from high to low: blue-green, pinkish mauve, green, then yellowish green, silver, grayish black. Measure 16 (fourth and sixth of E major, pianissimo) is red. Measures 17 and 18 are in Mode 3 (first transposition), containing orange and gold. Their crescendo brings on in force the sixth chord of E major in measures 19 and 20: this chord is red, the two piccolos heightening its light. Measures 21, 22, and 23 go back to the opening sonorities in ascending steps, ending (measure 24) on the fourth and sixth of E major, fortissimo, which is red. Measures 25 and 26 are at once in E major (red) and in Mode 2 (second transposition), containing gold and brown and also red. Measure 27 is a neutral-blue seventh; there's a great contrast in color between the red of measures 25 and 26 and the blue of measure 27. (Furthermore, measure 27 brings an A-natural and an F-sharp that didn't exist in the previous mode.) Measure 28 has two turning chords, from high to low: the first one is blue-green, pinkish mauve, green; the second is yellowish 148

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gre:n, silve.r, grayish black. Measure 29 is the fourth and sixth of E maJOf, red; in measure 30, a cluster on Mode 3 (first transposition), all the notes toge~her (except for the B, which is reserved for the last measure), all give, be~ause of their close position and low register, a gol~ and brown that is almost. bl~c~. The last measure is a perfect EmaJor chord~ deep r:d, very pianissimo, mysterious, with the fifth (B) made conspicuous in the upper part (sopranos, trumpet). . The seco!1d. septena~y, like the first, opens with a Gospel narrative, rhythmic introduction on metallic percussion, temple blocks, claves, and bells. Then the text speaks of the bright cloud that overshadows the t~ree a~ostles. This cl~ud is rendered in the orchestra by groups of stnng ghssandos of different lengths and in different tempos. Then comes the crucial moment of the narrative: "A voice from the cloud said, 'This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.' " The words Filius meus are accompanied in the strings by trilled chords, a trilled cluster, and harmonic tones. Triangle and suspended cymbal trills combine to create a shimmering supernatural light. The note B, repeated in the chorus pianissimo, then crescendo, creates an immense pedal enveloping all the music. The effect comes primarily from the colors, which move at different speeds. Three turning chords in slow eighth-notes, in violas and cellos, are repeated with permutations. At the same time, three other turning chords, in another transposition and with other permutations, climb chromatically in the second violins, in slow sixteenth-notes. The fourth measure of this passage, the crescendo, brings out a fourth and sixth of E major in the cellos, of a glittering red. Then the chorus's vocalises are superimposed onto glissando clusters from all the strings, whose crescendo swells with a bass-drum roll. A fortissimo C in the six horns with a strike of the tarn-tarn brings the concluding text: Ipsum audite! Listen to it! The ninth piece sets to music a text drawn from the Summa Theologica of Saint Thomas Aquinas.. H.eard h:re are rhyt~ms of shocked cymbals (in the manner of Sikkim music); pedal pmnts on trombones and low, black notes of the bass voices (in the manner of Tibetan music); bird songs of Europe, Canada, Mexico; and a very complex rhythmic and harmonic combination using Greek meters treated in the shorts and longs of various note-values and Indian de~i-talas in retrograde motion. The whole piece is divided into two strophes, the second strophe repeating the elements of t~e fi~~t ~th other music. The text of Saint Thomas treats our adoptive fihahon, image of the one and only filiation, that of the Son of God. It's worth quoting: ' natura1 Th adopted sons of God are mad e to b e like unto h is So~, . .. first, through the grace of the present life, which only

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gives an imperfect likeness; next, tl.rÂˇough glory, '":hich brings perfect likeness.... We achieve grace through baptism; but the Transfiguration showed us a foretast~ of the g~ory to ~ome. Hence, as much for the baptism of Chnst as for his TransfiS':1~aÂ tion, it was right for the sign of the Father to show the na~ral fihation of Christ; for only the Father is perfectly awa~~ of this perfect generation, as well as the Son and the Holy Spint. The tenth piece sets to music an oratio~ from the Fe~st of the Transfiguration. Heard here are permutatio~s of durati~ns ~nd several little cadenzas for solo cello. In the middle of the piece is a grand cadenza for five of the seven solois~s: ~~te, clarin~t, marimba, cello, piano. The conclusion occurs on a pia~issimo ~lleluia, ~ung by a few sopranos and tenors, interrupted from time to time by bud. songs in the woodwinds, xylorimba, and marimba, and accompanied by colored chords, played by string soloists combined with vibraphone and bells and topped by a celestial otherworldliness of crotales and eight violins playing in high-pitched harmonic tones. The eleventh piece is the continuation and end of the Gospel narrative. The twelfth piece contains the cries of the Bonelli eagle and the peregrine falcon. The "Gloria in excelsis" emerges from them in force, with densely scored brass, and ends on a pianissimo subito on the word Deo. On an extremely tender fourth and sixth in the chorus and harmonics in violins and violas, the cello pizzicatos and piano chords vibrate to the changing colors (second mode of limited transpositions, chords of transposed inversions, and chords of contracted resonance). The bass voices play fortissimo with the trombones. Other terrifying birds-the goshawk and the short-toed eagle-launch a canonic vocalise, in twenty real parts, and then the final word: terribilis. The thirteenth piece is very long. It uses several different texts (all in Latin): a verse from Psalm 43, the preface and hymn from the Offices of the Transfiguration, and another sentence from the Summa Theologica of Saint Thomas Aquinas: "In the Transfiguration, which is the .sacram.ent of the second regeneration, the whole Trinity manifested i~s~lf: the Father through the voice, the Son through Man, the Holy Spuit through the bright cloud." Both septenaries end with a chorale. Hence, the fourteenth piece is the "Choral de la Lumiere de Gloire [Chorale of the Light of Glory]:~ T?is is a long Â°:1tti for chorus and orchestra, extremely slow and fortissimo. It comprises numerous changes in chord colors. The text is drawn from Psalm 26: ''Lord, I love the beauty of thy house, and the. place where thy glory dwelleth!" Glory did dwell in the mountain of the Transfiguration; glory does dwell in the Holy Sacra-

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ment in our churches, and glory will dwell in eternity.

~.S. After comp~sing the Transfiguration, you went back on two occasions to the solo instruments you had abandoned: thus you retu d th . M'd' . rne t~ e ~rgan in e 1tatwns sur le mystere de la Sainte Trinite, then to the piano In La fau~et~e des jardins. The Fauvette is an isolated piece, whereas the maJonty of your piano works belong to large cycles. ~-~ÂˇIf age didn't prohibit me from thinking about a second Catalogue d ozsea.ux" the Fauv~!te could be the central piece of a new cycle, some-

what In the way La rousserolle effarvatte" constitutes the central po~ion of the first C~talogue._ ~ut I'll have you notice that La fauvette des ;ardzns lasts forty minutes: its the longest of my piano pieces. C.S. What is the origin of La fauvette des jardins? The desire to go back

to the keyboard after working for a long time with instrumental colors? O.M. No. The origin is the love I feel for the property I own in the

Alps. This property has quite ~ history: fifty years ago, I purchased a meadow that was alongside a lake, at the foot of a mountain; I had a little house built on this meadow, but I was surrounded-I couldn't leave my property without paying a toll to my neighbors. So I bought two other meadows, one above and the other to the left, in order to free myself. Thanks to these successive acquisitions, I rescued an extraordinary landscape from modern civilization, a piece of land overlooking four lakes, a ring of mountains, and one summit in particular, a sort of bald mountain, with clusters of trees at its base. It's sublime, it's totally quiet and full of bird songs at sunrise and sunset. A heavily trafficked road passes close by my property-I don't need to tell you that there are many serious accidents on it-but it's not only the road: there's also the lake, ~hich attracts hundred~ of windsurfers, especially on weekends. Two or three of them ghde expertly, but the majority fall over, disapp;ar under .t~e water, and make incredible efforts to get back up. It s so agon1z1ng, I cannot watch any more. All this tells you that the area is vulnerable to overdevelopment, and I encountered a thousand difficulties trying to preserve the site. I succeeded and I have rescued my landscape. C.S. As for La fauvette des jardins0 M Well I wrote La fauvette des jardins because I adore that land. Âˇ bec'ause I've worked there for much of my life, because I scape, . Al I . d wanted it to have a musical dimension. so, tne to create a new

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musical form. In effect, I wanted to show that, beyond all the false notions associated with musical structure, a form is a living organism, capable of following the unfolding of the hours of the day and night. The piece begins before four o'clock in the morning and ends around eleven o'clock at night. It represents late June to early July, the birds' season of love and of singing (the mating season is later in the mountains than on the plain). The piece begins at night with the call of the quail, whose Cretic rhythm is recognizable; then it's the nightingale, finishing its strophes. Dawn arrives, a marvelous moment, a moment of great poetry when everything becomes pink: the sky, but also the lake, meadows, and trees. This only lasts five minutes, but it's magical. The garden warbler then begins to sing. It is the great soloist of the region, hidden in the ash trees surrounding the meadow. At five o'clock in the morning the sun rises. The blackbird, the green woodpecker, the chaffinch, and the skylark are heard as the garden warbler sings its solo. The silvery gray foliage of the alders is more visible, the fragrance of the wild mint stronger. As the morning progresses, the garden warbler stops singing, and a storm threatens to break out above the big lake, which loses its blue color to become streaked with green and violet. Protected by the lake's reeds, a new bird speaks up: not a reed warbler [rousserolle effarvatte], but a great reed warbler [rousserolle turdoiÂ°de], whose voice is shriller and louder. Here's yet another voice, marvelously golden, rich in harmonics: a passing golden oriole that just ate some cherries. The day continues, the garden warbler returns to its song. The black kite is seen turning circles in the air (thanks to the twisting of its tail, which supports the movement of the wings) before falling on its prey (young birds or dead fish). We're in midafternoon: the lake is blue, sapphire blue, the bluest of all blues. The mountain tops are green and golden. Then evening comes. The garden warbler and the blackcap (a bird that will be heard often in Saint Fran~ois) answer each other. Night falls: the nightingale sings for the second time. Then, the tawny owl breaks the silence, sending its sinister hooting call out into the night. Only silhouettes remain; the darkness is total. It's the end of the struggle between the great mountain, immobile and bald, and the bluish undulations of the lake. C.S. In short, this is the description of a landscape, the hero of which is

the garden warbler. O.M. It's more than a description. It's the life of an entire day from

da~ to night, with all the occurrences and changes in light this entails. The theme of the night, the theme of the mountain of the

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Grand-Serre, the theme of the blue lake, the theme of the water's undulations, the theme of the alders, all the bird themes, the long development on the flight of the black kite, the solemnity of the lake in the moonlight-all this has been lived and, like a scene in a play, lives on in memory. Of course, the garden warbler remains the featured bird and is heard the most, with long and frequent solos. Its brownish gray plumage offers nothing of interest, but its marvelous song is easily recognizable by the timbre and the extraordinary virtuosity: these are rapid, well-delineated and ever-changing figures. The song of the garden warbler is very difficult to capture in writing. I've made transcriptions for hundreds of members of this species, and all these combined allowed me to create one ideal garden warbler.

c.s. As for the pianistic language of La fauvette des jardins, did it evolve from earlier pieces? O.M. The style is comparable to that of Catalogue d'oiseaux, perhaps

more virtuosic, because the song of the garden warbler is itself very virtuosic, and more dependent on the colors of chords. In this work, I make better use of my modes, chords of contracted resonance, chords of total chromaticism, and chords of transposed inversions on the same bass note. I dedicated this tremendously difficult piece to Yvonne Loriod, and she is still about the only one who can play it. She gave it its first hearing on 7 November 1972, in the Espace Cardin in Paris. On the same program were Hai'kai' and Et exspecto with the Ars Nova Ensemble conducted by Marius Constant. Yvonne Loriod has often played La fauvette des jardins: in Paris, in the French provinces (Chalon-sur-Saone, Orleans, La Rochelle, Mulhouse), and abroadin Italy (Perugia), in England (London), in Belgium (Tongeren and Brussels), in Germany (Karlsruhe and Bonn), in Ireland (Dublin), in Denmark (Copenhagen), and in the United States (Hanover and New York). Special mention should be made of a magnificent performance in Tokyo Oapan), at Sogetsu Hall on 17 July 1978.

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_____ An American Paradise - - - - - C.S. A1:1erica conjur~s U_P images and suggests allusions. Depending o.n .o~e ~taste, America ~s .geography, money, politics, a society, and a c1vihz~hon. Often, too; it is a dream. Are you attuned to this utopian

America? Before getting to know America, was it on your mind much? O.M. I have to be honest with you. Many concert tours have drawn

me to the United States, and for me America has mainly represented jet lag and tours. The States are also big cities, terribly big cities like New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles, where millions of people live, where frightening eighty-story skyscrapers tower above you. I'm not wildly fond of cities, and even less of that sort. In New York, I consent to walking down Fifth Avenue only if I have to. Some of its pretty shop windows remind me a little of Paris, and I almost feel at home there. But the rest is really terrible. Mechanized civilization is overwhelming. My first contact with the country was a little different. Back then I discovered a verdant America: Tanglewood. Then, later, I toured, from plane to plane, from city to city; I passed through some immense cities, and I admit to having been terrorized. I was grievously affected by these modern metropolises, I who am a mountain man, a man of nature and stillness. I'm speaking of the United States, but I know very well that France endures the same evils; today, Paris has become unbearable. In my childhood, Paris was different, quieter, with less traffic, and not ~et invaded by all those ra.dios ~n every floor of every house. A few sites have been preserved: m Pans, artistic treasures like the Sainte-Chapelle, Notre Dame, the Unicorn Tapestries; in the United States, TanglewoodC.S. Tanglewood, the scene of your American debut-

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O.M. Indeed, Tanglewood was the purpose of my first trip to the

United States, when Koussevitzky asked me to teach composition there. At that time, I had just finished the Turangalila-s¥mpho.nie, a work commissioned by Koussevitzky. I remember that fust so1ourn with pleasure-the immense park where I attended some wonderful concerts drawing fifteen thousand listeners, the first American composers that I knew: Leonard Bernstein and Lukas Foss, who must have been in their twenties. These are great memories, dominated by the dazzling personality of Koussevitzky, who was an extraordinary conductor and man, and who, despite his age, radiated strength and life. One tends too often to forget how sensational a conductor Koussevitzky was. It was he who shaped that other sensational conductor, Leonard Bernstein. One doesn't attain such stature without working with a marvelous teacher. C.S. And so Koussevitzky, who, it may have been forgotten, intro-

duced numerous new works, commissioned you to compose this monument called the Turangalila-symphonie. To demand such an important work from the young composer you were shows uncommon audacity. O.M. All the more audacity since I was not only young, but little

known. But Koussevitzky knew me slightly. He had conducted my first works, Les Offrandes oubliees and L'Ascension, and had liked them. Still, his choice was strange, but true to form; he was not a man obsessed by fads, he didn't care about overnight success, his likes and dislikes went deep. C.S. By commissioning the Turangalila-symphonie, was he anticipating such a mammoth score? O.M. He was surely surprised at the result, but he could have predicte~ it s~ce he had told me, "Choose as many instruments as

you desue, wnte a work as long as you wish and in the style you want." An extraordinary proposition! C.S. But it wasn't Koussevitzky who conducted the first performance

of Turangalila-symphonie. 0.M. Alas, no! H~ wanted to, but a grave illness took him away. It was

Leonard ·Bernstein who led the first performance of the 'Tl lUTanga l"l i a· B h symp ome m oston before conducting it in New York. C.S. The public, too, must have been surprised.

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o.M. The public reacted quite favorably to the Turangallla. But I'd say the American public is less rigid than the French public, less concerned with fads, less clannish, and, no doubt, more sentimental. When music touches them, they let themselves be touched. I just spoke badly of American cities, but I'm eager to pay homage to the American people I've known and dealt with: they are agreeable, friendly, and sincere. With them, cordial ties are quickly established, mostly because they don't hide their inner thoughts. C.S. So the start of your "American career" goes back to the first per-

formance of the Turangalila-symphonie. O.M. No, it dates from the performance of L'Ascension that

Koussevitzky conducted at Tanglewood. That was the first time one of my works was heard by fifteen thousand people: ten thousand in the hall and five thousand on the lawn. It was Koussevitzky's last concert; at the end, the entire audience rose to its feet, waving handkerchiefs and crying, "Goodbye, Koussy!" C.S. And the American public kept coming to hear your music. O.M. Yes, I cherish the memory of some very beautiful concerts: for

example, in November 1978, three magnificent concerts in New York given by the Philharmonic under the direction of Zubin Mehta, each time before an audience of six thousand people, of Oiseaux exotiques (solo piano: Yvonne Loriod) and Et exspecto resurrectionem mortuorum, not to mention all the works conducted by Seiji Ozawa. After conducting the Turangallla-symphonie in Tokyo, Seiji Ozawa conducted it fifteen more times the same year in different cities: San Francisco, Berkeley, Boston, New York, then Paris, and finally Tanglewood. C.S. Mehta and Ozawa are international stars. Shouldn't some of the

less-celebrated American performers also be mentioned? I'm thinking of Peter Serkin, son of the great Rudolf, who founded the Tashi Quartet after the instrumental scoring of Quatuor pour la fin du temps. O.M. You're right. Peter Serkin has played my Vingt regards magnifi-

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cently and, with the Tashi Quartet, made an excellent recording of Quatuor pour la fin du temps .

c.s. In a certain sense, though, the performance and recording of con-

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temporary music is more problematic in the United States than in France, if only for economic reasons. Doesn't the American musical 157

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society's obsession with the market value of works and individuals annoy you? O.M. Financial problems exist in France, too. As soon as a p~oje~t is

launched with a record firm, a publisher, or a concert organization, they begin talking to you about the annual budget. There is a fundamental difference, however: in France, great musical institutions are subsidized by the state, whereas in the United States the government gives practically nothing, except to the National Symphony Orche~ tra in WashingtonC.S. Which is called the "Orchestra of Presidents"O.M. -and whose current conductor is Rostropovich. As for other

orchestras, they subsist only through patronage, thanks to generous people who love music without always understanding it. C.S. America is also a different musical world; it is numerous com-

posers, representing all sorts of tendencies, but generally little known in Europe. Have your travels allowed you to meet your American colleagues? O.M. Besides Bernstein and Lukas Foss, I'd add the name of a com-

poser who died too young, Irving Fine, who was perhaps the most gifted of all. Americans have a sort of devotion to Charles Ives, whom they consider the prototype of the avant-garde. In France, Ives is only one modern composer among others, but in the United States he's truly the sun! C.S. Ives was, all the same, a very astonishing inventor in his dayO .M. Yes, he certainly was a genius. He stood head and shoulders

above his era, but there are others. If I compare him with Varese, I think Varese was a more decisive pioneer than Ives. C.S. lves's work was practically all written before the First World War.

Chronologically, Varese's output comes later. O.M. That's correct, and all the more to lves's credit. His approach

reminds me of D~rius Milhaud's. He had the power, the audacity, the courage to supenmpos~ ele~ents !hat, a priori, didn't work together. H~ worked on that with 1ncred1ble energy. For his part, Darius Milhaud was roundly booed in his youth, not Ives, who knew neither success nor failure . Ives composed for himself, for his own pleasure, 158

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and he died without suspecting the importance of his work. He didn't provoke any scandal for the simple reason that he wasn't played.

c.s. Ives didn't want to make the slightest concession; he ensured his livelihood with a nonmusical activity in order to be more free in his composing. This must touch you. O.M. Yes, I find that approach absolutely admirable. I must say that I

myself have never tried to live off my art. I've always preferred to earn my living by another activity, specifically by teaching. C.S. And teaching music is, after all, better than the insurance com-

pany that Ives administered. O.M. It's more pleasant. C.S. Let's get back to the American music school. I have the impres-

sion that, after being greatly influenced by Western models-notably exiled masters like Schoenberg, Hindemith, and StravinskyAmerican composers are distancing themselves from European influences and seeking their own identity. O.M. For me, the Americans are not so Europeanized. In the United

States, one naturally lives with European music, but I don't have the feeling that today's American composers are much concerned with the European approach. They aren't worried by it at all. With the exception of the American Indians, they have no past of their own; they've no reason to be troubled. The Japanese are much more conflicted than the Americans. They have some very ancient traditions, like Gagaku, which goes back to the eighth century A.O., and when they come to France, they're torn between the desire to side with new Western techniques of composition and the need to relate to the secular traditions of their own country. Certain composers manage to achieve a compromise, but others fail. Americans don't have these problems. They came to Europe and brought back neither enrichment nor despair. They continued to love their own country. C.S. So tradition is a burden. Have you yourself felt it?

O.M. In France, we have no tradition, other than Gregorian chant. In any case, we don't have a very strong tradi~ion like the Japanese and the Chinese. The past is behind us, not with us.

c.s. Let's stay in America. Not the America of the cities, which you 159

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detest, nor even the America of the composers, b1!t t.he America of the landscapes you discovered because of a commission. O.M. Then this is the moment to tell you about Des ca.nyo~s aux etoiles

and about Miss Alice Tully, who commissioned it. First I must describe the extraordinary personality of Miss ~lice T~lly.. In her younger days she was a singer; she must now be in.her nineties, but she's still very attractive and in good health. Miss Tully has an amazing collection of art work in her home. For e~~mple, she owns some manuscripts of Gregorian chant. In her living room are a painting by the elder Holbein and vintage Greek statue~, four Egyptian deities and, notably, an Anubis, the portrayal of the 1ackalheaded god used in the rites of the dead. These are treasures. Miss Tully one day had the idea of commissioning something from me, but you know how insufferable I am, so as always, I refused. To change my mind, Miss Tully invited me to a lavish dinner. I remember an immense cake crowned with pistachio frogs spewing creme Chantilly. It was extraordinary, yet I remained unswayed until, during the meal, Miss Tully recounted how, after an invitation from a maharajah, she'd taken a trip to India simply to shake the paw of a lion. When she found herself nose to nose with the lion, the maharajah and his whole court ran away, but she shook its paw. That lion was her friend. You can imagine the amazement at the dinner table. The French ambassador broke out laughing. I myself didn't laugh; I was very interested in the adventure of Miss Tully, who had really taken that trip. I was reminded of the story of Andrades, who was spared in the arena by a lion he had cared for as a cub. I reread Chretien de Troyes's Chevalier au lion, which is a similar story. In sum, this woman who had undertaken a trip to India to meet a lion she had never ~~t moved me. It was all so extraordinary that I accepted the commission. But the conditions of the commission were more constraining than they had been for the Turangalila-symphonie. In fact, the work was to b~ p~emiered at Lincoln Center, in Alice Tully Hall, a rather small aud1t~num. ~etween ~ver:r Fi~her Hall and the Metropolitan Opera, the drmens1ons of which didn t permit me to consider an orchestra of a hundred players. I chose the full complement of woodwinds and brass, to which I added a solo piano, solo horn, glockenspiel, xyl?rimba, and very substantial percussion-my Geophone and Eoliphone, as well as a set of bells-but I reduced the string en~emble, which, ultimately, di~n't bother me so much, for today's Âˇ stnngs are not what they were in the classical era. C.S. You're speaking of sound level-

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While expecting Messiaen, his mother, Cecile Sauvage, wrote a prophetic book of verse entitled L'ame en bourgeon.

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The composer at the Cavaille-Coll organ of the Trinite, where he was appointed in 1933, and (below) in the company of Cardinal Roncalli, future Pope John XXIII, in Venice in 1947.

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Messiaen with past students Karlh einz Stockhausen (above) in Metz in 1974 (photo b y Mali) and (below) with Yvonne Loriod and Pierre Boulez in Donaueschingen fo r the prerniere of Structures pour deux pianos.

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Casual after-concert photos with Yvonne and Jeanne Loriod (above), on the occasion of a performance of the Turangallla-symplzonie conducted by Hans Rosbaud (photo by Klaus Zaugg), and (below) at the 1966 Besan~on Festival with Seiji Ozawa, Henri Dutilleux, and Charles Munch.

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Messiaen's wife, Yvonne Loriod, in her roles as ornithological research assistant (photo by Mali) and interpreter of the great piano cydes (photo by R. Fassey) .

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Olivier Messiaen and Claude Samuel-accomplices in dialogue-meeting for the first book of conversations at the Festival de Royan (above), where the Olivier Messiaen Competition took place, and (below) in Paris in 1985 for the second book.

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o.M. Yes, the instrumental balance is different. To combat the wind nd percussion ensembles, I would have needed an enormous group ~f strings-which Miss Tully's commission had ruled out. Still, I kept a few strings: six violins, three violas, three cellos, and a single double bass. In relation to the whole instrumental body, this is ridiculous, so I was confronted with some terrible problems of instrumentation. Ultimately I treated the strings as a specific group to which I assigned solo parts. I had to work it out; it was really a technical ordeal. After accepting Miss Tully's commission, I considered the subject matter for the new score as well, and it struck me that writing a work for the United States implied that I like the United States, that I even love it. But how to love those skyscrapers I cannot stand? So I searched in my library and found in an art book the most beautiful thing in the United States: Bryce Canyon in Utah. I said to my wife, 'We must go to Bryce Canyon!" Going to Bryce Canyon is no simple matter! My wife and I had already taken a plane to the United States for someÂˇconcerts and an orchestral recording in New York and Washington, D.C. A second plane was to take us to Salt Lake City. Once in Salt Lake City, one has to find an automobile to cover the two or three hundred kilometers to the canyon. But when one is in the canyon, it's extraordinary, it's divine! It's totally deserted and wild. As always in the United States, the solitude is a bit organized: a sort of inn stands at the entrance of the canyon and offers a few small, simple "cowboy-style" rooms with showers and kitchen. The tour of the canyon itself must be made on foot and may last for weeks. It's not dangerous, and the marked trails keep one from getting lost. Lastly, you have to pick a good time of year. For me, the good time is when I hear bird songs, which is to say the spring, a season that also makes it possible to avoid throngs of tourists. So we set off alone, my wife and I, in the canyon. It was marvelous, grandiose; we were immersed in total silence-not the slightest noise, except for the bird songs. And we saw those formidable rocks tinted with all possible shades of red, orange, and violet, those am.a zing formations created by erosion: the shapes of castles, towers, bridges, windows, columns! We took walks in the canyon for more than a week, and I transcribed all the bird songs. I also took note of all the fragrances of the sagebrush (an aromatic plant growing there in great quantity), the dizzying height of the chasms, and the beautiful shapes and colors of the canyon, while my wife recorded the bird songs and took hundreds of photos. But I didn't just settle for a visit to Bryce Canyon. I wanted to know, close up, two other canyons: Cedar Breaks and Zion Park. Bryce Canyon is truly the most beautiful thing in the United States. The color is fantastic there in broad daylight, and still more at 161

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sunrise and sunset, when the red-orange is tinted with violet. It's immense. For hundreds of kilometers everything is orange and red, and one constantly discovers new p~ths and ne.w landscapes. Cedar Breaks is smaller, but very impressive. The wind ?lows v~ry hard there, and the ground is dusted with snow. It'~ a big amph1the~ter, very deep, with spires and dungeons, but its height makes one d1z.zy. Its colors are more mixed: red, yellow, violet, brown, gray, and white. It gives a more dramatic impression, which I want~d. to translate musically into a feeling approaching awe. It was a d1ff1cult task. . Finally, at Zion Park, I discovered yet another land~cape. It t~o is rocky, but the general view is greener, with trees ~n~ a nver. The ~1ver is the Virgin River, and the mountains have religious na~es given them by the Mormons when they arrived in Utah. The main mountain is called the Great White Throne, an evocation of an image from the Apocalypse, and the Mormons called the entire spot Zion Park. Zion, of course, is the mountain symbolizing the celestial Jerusalem, which is to say paradise, so Zion Park suggests a more rural setting with religious overtones. I would have liked to continue traveling and to become acquainted with the other states close to Utah: Nevada, Idaho, Arizona. I would have liked to see Monument Valley and its version of fortresses in pink rock, its pyramids that, instead of being sunken in abysses, as in Bryce Canyon, rise right above the sand, forming lunar landscapes where Indians still live. I wasn't able to. I also missed out on the fossils and, notably, the remains of the stegosaurus. The stegosaurus is a creature which long ago haunted my nights. It's one of the strangest prehistoric animals. Perhaps you've seen it in the sequence devoted to The Rite of Spring in Walt Disney's Fantasia? In it, one is witness to a combat between the tyrannosaurus and the stegosaurus,. The tyrannosaurus is the only prehistoric animal that walked on its hind legs. It had rather small front legs and enormous hind legs. It was carnivorous and pounced on the diplodocus and stegosaurus in order to devour them. By contrast, the other prehistoric animals were quite peaceful; as the weather was very hot they lived in the water and ate leaves off the treetops. But th~ stegosaurus possessed a m~ans of defendi_ng itself: it had not only a powerful and dangerous tail and two brains-one in the head the o~her at the far end of t~e tail-but its back was covered with bony, tnang~lar plat~~ ~n wh~ch !he aggressive tyrannosaurus haplessly shred itself. This is fascinating, and I would have liked to see this fossil, but I didn't have the chance to. Still, I saw some truly extraordinary landscapes, landscapes like ~~se we'll probably see after our death, if we then have the chance to visit other planets.

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c.s. And out of all

those landscapes you wrote a work which you called From the Canyons to the Stars. Why this title?

o.M. I wanted to compose a geological work, in tribute to the canyons. I also wanted to do a colored work. You know the importance I attach to the relationship of sound and color, and with this subject I was at home; I had red-orange rocks I was able to translate into my chords and orchestration. Des canyons aux etoiles is another ornithological work: in it are found all the bird songs I transcribed in the United States, and particularly in Utah, along with a few other bird songs from other lands: Africa, Japan, and the Hawaiian Islands. But I also wanted to write an astronomical work and to raise myself up from the depth of the canyons to the beauty of the stars. I was interested in astronomy in my childhood and, here, I focused on Aldebaran, one of the brightest stars in the firmament. Having left the canyons to climb to the stars, I had only to keep going in the same direction to raise myself up to God. So my work is at once geological, ornithological, astronomical, and theological. Despite the importance of color and birds, it's above all a religious work of praise and contemplation. C.S. Des canyons aux etoiles comprises several sections. How did you

structure them? O.M. 111 give you the details of the different pieces. The first is called

''Le desert [The Desert);' a literal reference to the desert of sand that is immersed in silence and where man dies of thirst, symbolizing the desert of the soul (which Saint John of the Cross calls Night), the desert in which the divine voice can make itself heard. The second piece is entitled ''Les orioles [The Orioles):' The word doesn't exist in French, but the equivalent is loriot, although the European golden oriole isn't the same as the American oriole. Orioles are a family that French ornithologists call troupiales because they live in troops. I've encountered a great many orioles. The most famous is the Baltimore oriole. Orioles, which are covered with an orange and black suit, have some very beautiful and varied songs, with some very pretty melodic formulas and a timbre especially rich in harmonics. So this made very interesting material ~or my orchestratio~, ~rnishing me with numerous possibilities of instrumental combinations and chord complexes. C.S. Where did you hear orioles?

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o.M. Not in Bryce Canyon. I heard them in a place known for its bird songs, still in Utah, where an omithol?g~st escorted me. When I transcribe bird songs, I always have a spec1ahst accompany me so as not to waste time. , Let's go on to the third piece, which is called "Ce qui .est ecrit sur les etoiles [What Is Written in the Stars]." We have arnved on .the astronomical plane. Here, I made reference. to the .three t~rnb~e words of the prophet Daniel that are recorded 1n the Bible dunng his account of the feast of Belshazzar. The three words are "mene, tekel, peres," words that have come to mean "numbered, weighed, divided." It's a sort of curse: ''Thy days are numbered, thy merits are weighed, thy kingdom shall be divided." King Belshazzar saw a hand writing these words on a wall. The next night he was killed and his kingdom divided between the Medes and the Persians. I've imagined these words written in the stars to signify the order of the world, on which philosophers have written so much. Even for nonbelievers, the movement of the stars and their placement in the universe reflect an inexplicable order, if not a supreme being who has conceived everything. I've summed up this "putting in order" by these three words: numbered, weighed, divided. The fourth piece is a piano solo bearing the name of a bird: "Le cossyphe d'heuglin [The White-browed Robin]:' It's an African bird that probably shouldn't turn up here, but I added it because I liked its song. Like Berlioz, I have whims: Berlioz placed a Hungarian march in his Damnation of Faust, which is set in Germany, simply because it pleased him. The fifth piece is "Cedar Breaks et le don de crainte [Cedar Breaks and the Gift of Awe]:' As I've said, Cedar Breaks was a frightening place, and to evoke it, I thought of the different stages of fear: first the fear of the police~an or, if you prefer, the fear of punishment, then the fear that the Bible calls awe, which is the beginning of wisdom. Awe her~ signifies the se~se of the sacred. When Moses approaches the burning bush and a voice says to him, '1 am the One who is" he is afraid. It~s not the fear f~lt before death, but a feeling caused' by an extr~ord1nary event that 1s beyond you. It's a reverence for the sacred and if we pursue this line of thinking, we arrive at theology and th~ knowledge of God. The fifth piece was the most difficult one in the whole work for me to compose. C.S. Why? Because you wanted to avoid a sort of illu t t" representation? s ra ive

0.M. No, because I wanted to translate this feeling of awe which is not fear but a feeling of reverence before something high:r. 111 give

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you a simple example: suppose that an extraterrestrial comes into this room. He would be stunned to see us, and we, too, would be stunned to see him. We wouldn't be able to understand each other- Well then, the gift of awe is a little like that: the impossibility of understanding, and it isn't easy to translate into music. The following piece, which I named "Appel interstellaire [Interstellar Call]," is a horn solo. This horn solo has been much discussed, and horn players have begged me to detach this piece and authorize them to play it separately in concert. I don't agree, for this piece must remain in the flow of the work. Two texts from the Psalms and the Book of Job inspired this piece. They are absolutely extraordinary texts. The first one says, speaking of God, 'Be heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. He determines the number of the stars and gives to all of them their names:' This text is amazing because it shows us God as both the immense and formidable creator of the whole firmament and as sympathetic to the humble beings we are, even to the lowliest ant. The second text, from the Book of Job, is a sort of outcry against the problems that all the suffering of humanity poses for us: "O earth, cover not my blood, and let my cry find no resting place!" This is a criticism and questioning of suffering; I'd add that this phrase is an extension of the preceding one, which affirmed that he who knows the number of the stars also knows the wounds of the brokenhearted. And of this piece, which sums up all the questioning about misfortune and suffering, it can be said that the entire work answers it by showing, alongside the atrocities surrounding us, the miraculous beauties of our planet and the hope of still greater beauties after death. C.S. Beyond its philosophical and spiritual content, this piece also

presents a challenge to instrumentalists. O.M. It is difficult, but everything in it is feasible. And I11 take this

opportunity to mention that each week in my composition class at the conservatory, I'd invite a different instrumentalist to explain the possibilities of his instrument in response to the students' questions; it might be a bass clarinet, a viola, a trombone- We'd have them execute some extravagant passagework, and I, personally, used to take lots of notes. In the final analysis, it was I who profited most from those courses since I took part in them year after year, whereas the students only passed through; from this, I learned what orchestration treatises don't always reveal. To get back to the sixth piece of Des canyons aux etoiles, it benefited from the advice of the horn player, Georges Barboteu, whom I invited

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to my class and who showed us all the ways to use his instrument.. So in this piece I included some unusual procedures: flutter-tonguing and stopped notes, which are fairly common; some stopped trills, which are rarer; and lastly, "suppressed" notes. These are sounds produced by alternately raising or lowering the three valves halfway, yielding nontempered, pianissimo tones above and below the real note, whose timbre Americans would say sounds like a dog with a headache. You've heard the strange sounds dogs make while dreaming, or, if you prefer another comparison, these sounds resemble the song of whales. The whole piece requires a marvelous horn player, capable of mastering the special effects and of achieving absolutely perfect pitch, for the melodic themes and passagework demand the greatest precision. As you know, with a horn one has only to slide the lip or lightly touch the valve to obtain a totally different noteC.S. Why, in a work like

Des canyons aux etoiles, did you suddenly

insert a piece entrusted to one solo instrument? O.M. Perhaps it's surprising, but the horn is not alone in this; I also

included two piano solos: ''Le cossyphe d'heuglin," which we've already spoken of, and '~e moqueur polyglotte [The Mockingbird]," which we11 look at shortly. I conceived the work for solo piano, solo ho~, solo xylorimba, solo glock~nspiel, and orchestra. That was my cho1~e from the start. These four mstruments play an important role, and it was natural for two of them to play a solo piece. C.S. The choice of the horn is also rather unusual. O.M. The horn is a marvelous instrument. It possesses some extraordinary capabilities. C.S. Mozart wrote four concertos for it, after allO.M. Richard Strauss also wrote two horn concertos and Sch

I , umann coI?.posed a tern"biy difficut piece for four horns. I'd never think of writing a concerto for tuba, and yet it's an instrument with a great deal to offerC.S. Let's leave the tuba players to their regrets and Âˇf will, to the next piece. pass on, I you O.M. This is the central piece of the entire work. I entitled it "Bryce

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Canyon et les rochers rouge-orange [Bryce Canyon and the Redorange Rocks];' to indicate the general color of the piece in the title. In fact, this movement evolves through all shades of red, violet, and orange, with the most varied nuances: red-orange, purple-red, hyacinth-violet, etc.

c.s.

This primordial red of Bryce Canyon-with what type of harmony or instrumentation did you attempt to translate it?

o.M. That's difficult for me to answer. Nevertheless, I'll point out that the piece is written around the key of E major, which for me represents the color red; but I don't believe in an exact correspondence between such and such a note, key, or color. On the other hand, I think complexes of sound correspond to complexes of color. A complex of ten or twelve sounds, for example, may correspond to a red flecked with violet with orange streaks. You know I have this strange ability to see complexes of color, not with my eyes but intellectually, while hearing complexes of sound; the same sound complex always engenders the same color complex, which is reproduced in lighter shades in the high octaves, and in darker shades in the low octaves. But if the sound complex is transposed by a semitone, one tone, a third, a fourth, or a fifth, the colors change. C.S. This special ability goes back to some of your models. I'm think-

ing of Paul Dukas, your teacherO.M. I was a pupil of Paul Dukas, whose masterpiece, the opera Ariane

et Barbe-Bleue, contains in the first act the amazing scene of the gemstones. Ariane successively opens seven doors, and out of each door rushes a stream of gems. The precious violet stones are amethysts; the precious red ones are rubies; the blue ones are sapphires; and the green stones are emeralds. Each stream of gemstones is represented by a variation in Ariane's theme, in a particular orchestration and tonality. Thus Dukas was able to link orchestration and tonality to the color of the stones, and this correspondence struck me when I was eighteen. I later made the acquaintance of the Swiss painter BlancGatti, whose visions of sounds took form in the spiral shapes of his paintings; what's more, they're superimposed on whatever is around them. At home, I have a Blanc-Gatti painting depicting an organ with a stained-glass window, in which colored circles surround the organ pipes and the stained glass. That's exactly what he saw. As far as I'm concerned, my visions are intellectual, for I'm not afflicted, like BlancGatti, with synesthesia. In any case, the influence of that painter and

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of Dukas's scene of the gemstones caused me to think about my own sensations. I was my own physician, and I elaborated a theory that is doubtless valid only for me. C.S. A theory whose practical application you've attended to and that

we see, here, in your Canyons. 0.M. Let's get back to Canyons. I entitled the eighth piece ''Les

ressuscites et le chant de l'etoile Aldebaran." The name Aldebaran comes from the Arab al-dabaran, which means "that which follows," for this star, the most brilliant in the Taurus constellation, always follows the Pleiades. But my primary reason for choosing it as a symbol was because its Arab name appealed to me. 111 add that I discovered in the Book of Job an extraordinary phrase in which it is said that "the stars sing:' This is not only a Biblical image: indeed, scholars have taken an interest in this phenomenon and have attempted to record the echo of certain planets surrounding our sun. I don't have any specific information on this scientific investigation, but the idea that a planet has harmonics, that a star possesses its own natural sonority, deeply touched me. C.S. You know that Stockhausen is also interested in the music of the starsO.M. Yes, both of us have given the topic some thought, but from dif-

ferent perspectives. My piece is called "The Resurrected and the Song of the Star Aldebaran." You11 notice that it's not the resurrected but the star that sings. The resurrected revolve around the stars and ultimately have the right to know stars other than the sun. The piece is extremely radiant, blue like the blue of the sky, blue like that precious stone I'm so fond of, chalcanthite. Harmonically, the piece hovers around A major, a tonality that for me corresponds to the color blue. I feel this piece is successful, for it is both very modern and very. engaging. And you know as well as I that, generally, modern musicC.S. -is not pretty. O.M. It's aggressive, intellectual, interesting, gripping, but it isn't pretty. C.S. And you have no qualms about writing "pretty" music.

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o.M. I think we need to get back to charm/ to sweetn

· . or JUst simply ess, to w h at sound s goo d . The music of Mozart is sim I f k · 1'ts accentuation, · P e, ran but the result is beaufful d , very eIa b orat e in I , an no one · · · · h'1m for it. d reams o f crihc1z1ng Now comes the ninth piece, which is a piano solo ''Le

· name d for the most famous bird in the,United moqueur po1yg1o tte." It is St t

the moc~i!'1gbird. The ~r~nch qualify it with the word "poly;l~t~~ bec~use Its ca~able of 1m1tating other birds. Its vocabulary is quite varied. I transcribed the song of the mockingbird in several regions of the United States, notably near Pasadena and Los Angeles. It has so much. to offer that I devoted my entire ninth piece to it. Another bird gave its name to the following piece: "La grive des bois [The Wood Thrush] ." This tenth piece, to which I attach great significance, is built on an extremely simple theme sung by the thrush. It's an inverted arpeggio, a porrectus fl.exus. In the course of the piece, the theme takes on two aspects: one, very quick, the song of the bird itself; the other, very solemn, which I've entrusted to the solo horn. It's the same theme, but treated in a different manner and with a different character. For me, this piece symbolizes "man deformed by himself;' man who has, by his own fault, made himself ugly, reprehensible, wicked, even criminal, whereas he was originally conceived by God as the masterpiece of creation. The same man will become beautiful and magnificent again, after death and resurrection. The serene and solemn music of the horn represents magnificent man, whereas man deformed is depicted by the more fleeting theme of the bird. The spiritual content of this piece goes back to theories of Thomas Merton, a Franco-American theologian (he died in 1968) who left a considerable body of work, including a book entitled The New Man. The eleventh piece in Des canyons aux etoiles foreshadows ''The Sermon to the Birds" in Saint Fran~ois d'Assise. Its title, "Omao, leiothrix, elepaio, shama;' is an alexandrine combining th~ name.s of four birds from different countries. The omao and the elepaw are birds of the Hawaiian Islands; the leiothrix comes from · China, and the shama from India. But although I singled out th~se four ~?mes fo~ the title I added numerous other birds in the music: Hawauan, Afncan, and Japanese birds, and birds from the United States. The result is a long symphony of birds. 1

C.S. For the pleasure of the bird songs0.M. For the pleasure of the bir~ songs, yesd, buttfto ~ht e terrtortolf

It's a very difficult piece to con uc, or 1 cons an y d uctors. cchon anges tempo and beat· Finally, with the twelfth and last piece, as the 169

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mountain of Zion is a symbol of celestial Jerusalem, I summon "Zion Park et la cite celeste [Zion Park and the Celestial City]," and I finish Canyons in paradise. C.S. When it was first performed, in New York's Alice Tully Hall on 20

November 1974, how was it received? 0.M. With enthusiasm by the public, but the New York critics clearly

didn't understand a thing. The theological aspect, the astronomical effect, the ornithological content, my admiration for the red-orange color of the rocks in Bryce Canyon-all that escaped them completely. I wonder if they could understand that the beauty of America is not concentrated only in the New York skyscrapers. C.S. The work was then repeated in Europe.

O.M. After the world premiere, which was conducted by Frederic Waldman, it was Marius Constant who conducted the European premiere in Paris, at the Theatre de la Ville on 29 October 1975. The same year, Pierre Boulez conducted Canyons in London on 12 November. All the first performances were given with Yvonne Loriod as piano soloist, but with different horn players. The horn part was played in New York by Sharon Moe, in Paris by Georges Barboteu, and in London by Alan Civil. The work has also been recorded by Marius Constant. C.S. After the Turangalila-symphonie, Canyons was your second Ameri-

can commission. Have there been any others, or other invitations? O.M. I've refused a few, but I've more often refused to teach courses in the United States, even turning down a recent invitation from Harvard University, for the simple reason that I don't speak English. It embarasses me to say this: my father made a critical translation of Shakespeare, so I should speak English, but when he wanted to give us lessons, my brother and I would start to laugh, and we didn't learn anything. Still, I did agree, on two occasions, to give courses at Tanglewood, and on one of those two occasions it was my pupil Gerald Levinson, one of the best composers in the United States, who acted as translator; but no matter how qualified the translator, it's very uncomfortable to stop every thirty seconds: one's train of thought is lost and direct contact with the students compromised. So, I preferred to give it up. I'd had a similar experience in Budapest, with a Hungarian translator, and I participated several times in courses in

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Darmstadt; Antoine Golea was my very loquacious translator for German.

c.s. You mean he embellished a littleo.M. He spoke very quickly and very well, and I wasn't at' ease.

c.s.

~ether th~ obstacle is .language or lifestyle, ultimately you remain. ve~y ~ore1gn to Amenca, and the essential merits that you

recognize in it are the landscapes of Utah, the oasis of an American dream. O.M. Of an American paradise, but this isn't a feeling associated exclusively with America. In France, I'd like to get away from the automobiles, the factories, the big cities. Living in Paris is tolerable thanks only to the Sainte-Chapelle's stained glass, the Louvre, the Opera, and a few beautiful churches like Notre Dame. In France, I like the Chartres Cathedral and the stained-glass windows of Bourges; but I especially like the landscapes-the very desolate Causses region, for example, which few people know, or the area around Banyuls. The beauty of Banyuls comes from five simultaneous landscapes: the perpetual snows, the mountains, the terraced vineyards, the cliffs, and the blue sea. What can I tell you- I love nature, and it's really in spite of myself that I live in a city! But how would I find my beautiful Parisian organ in the Causses? C.S. One more word on America, on an American composer: John

Cage. O.M. I knew him in Paris, when he was around thirty. He was the

typical "American in Paris." Lost, but very courteous. At that time, Cage was composing pieces for "prepared piano;' inserting pieces of wood, metal, or rubber between the strings of the piano, which changed the timbre of the notes and tra~sformed the piano into a sort of immense storehouse of tones covering more than seven octaves. Each note possessed its own timbre, its ?wn attack, its own s.on~rity. It was a brilliant idea without far-reaching effects, except indirectly, with the appearance of electroacoustic techn~q.ues. Cage was an experimenter and a true musician. Later, he became fascinated with I Ching. I'm well acquainted with the Chinese I Ching signs in which solid and broken horizontal lines ar: s1:1p.erimposed to form eight trigrams and sixty-four hexagrams. An in~inite ~u~ber of symbols exist depending on the placement of these hnes. I ll give you my opinion ~f I Ching and that science of divination to which it 171

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belongs. When man is placed in danger, .when he has ~o m~ke? gra~e decision when he undergoes a crucial moment in his life, his conscie;ce dictates what he must do; his intuition guides him. The moment he shakes the dice-or in the case of I Ching, small lengths of twigs-it's actually his conscience that he is expressing. The I Ching gesture only confirms this.

c.s. To believe in I Ching is to deny one's own responsibility, and this idea shocks you. O.M. I remain convinced that the man who consults I Ching has

already made his decision. It was the same with the Pythian priestess of the Delphic oracle: she confirmed with her pronouncements whatever a king or visitor already intended to do. C.S. From I Ching, Cage went on to defend anarchy. O.M. This is a terrible point of view. In France, this nihilistic stance has

been explained by Daniel Charles, who in my class at the conservatory had prepared a thesis on Mallarme's "toss of the dice;' which is to say, on chance. It's understandable that Cage's approach interested him. So he wrote about Cage better than anyone, but in the manner of philosophers and rhetoricians who displace the words of an idea, concept, or proverb in order to arrive at its opposite meaning. The Marquis de Vauvenargues said, ''When a thought is offered to us as a profound discovery, and we take the trouble to elaborate on it, we often find that it's a run-of-the-mill truth;' which caused l..autreamont to reply, "When a thought is offered to us as a run-of-the-mill truth, and we take the trouble to elaborate on it, we find it's a discovery." That's the technique of Daniel Charles and John Cage. Ideas are taken, and they're turned around. It's a very clever game. Having said this, nihilism is.perhaps a beneficial worldview for John Cage, but if I had adopted this theory at the conservatory, my pupils would all have committed suicide; my class would have been strewn with dead bodies! C.S. When Cage claims that we're surrounded by sounds and that

these sounds, even haphazard ones, are interestingO.M. Perhaps he's right, but Milhaud said it before him.

C.S. And when Cage "composes" a work of silence in which for four

minutes, t~e al:1dience ~atc~es a pianist sitting in front of a mute keyboard, is this a practical Joke or a philosophical gesture?

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o.M. Pe.rhaps i.t's a joke. Perhaps it's a wonderful act of humility. 1

Cage s hfe reminds me of that Chinese painter who was ordered to decorate the walls of the imperial palace. In the end, when the emperor wished to see the finished work, the walls were still bare The painter had worked devotedly for twenty years, but he had obliterated everything as he ;went along. Cage has a lofty musical conscience, but he realizes the radical impotence of individual creation in the face of the mysteries which surround us. It's an attitude-

c.s. -at odds with your own approach. O.M. Yes, for I personally am filled with confidence. C.S. Your vision is optimistic; that of Cage, pessimistic. O.M. I don't have such an optimistic view of the present-day world. I find it atrocious and full of crime, but I hope for an afterlife that will be

marvelous and, above all, never-ending. C.S. You're already planning your work in this afterlifeO.M. In the afterlife, there will be no more works. We11 go from one

bright light to another. C.S. Then, as Cage might ask, what's the use of thinking? O.M. In another domain, that's the conclusion reached by certain

monks, hermit monks who have retired from society, thinking that everything, except achieving salvation, is useless. I don't share that opinion. I think there are a thousand ways to be a saint, that a king or a president of the republic who really fulfills his duties can manage to be one; I think that a successful body of work can be of use to my brothers and sisters, that it can allow them to know themselves better and to progress. C.S. Has giving up work ever been a temptation? O.M. No. I was born with the Faith, and I've never felt fundamental

doubt that doubt which even some mystics have known. Doubt can be sti~ulating, provided one recognizes on~'s err~rs, but doubt ~ust be overcome or one will sink into despair. Ultimately, Cage is a despairer. He acts like Figaro: he h.a stens to laugh at everything from fear of being obliged to cry over it. 173

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- - - - - Passing the Torch - - - - - - C.S. ~or over ~orty years, yo~ t~ught e~ery day and brought such a

special enthusiasm to that activity that, in our first book of co _ . t ld . "Th d . nversa ti ons, you o me. e ay I retire and am deprived of my class I'll be extremely unhappy:' That day has come. Has it made yo~ so unhappy? O.M. It's true that the day I left my class I could have died of grief, but,

most fortunately, I was then so busy with the composition and orchestration of Saint Fran~ois that I didn't have time to cry. C.S. Where does your passion for teaching come from? O.M. This probably sounds trite, but 111 answer that I first began

teaching to earn my living. I didn't want to make money by writing bad music, so I chose a nobler musical activity. But, beyond material questions, teaching, for me, has always had a dual purpose: it has allowed me to come to the aid of young composers who were seeking direction and, at the same time, to complete my education by analyzing scores sometimes very foreign to me. And I've always loved musical analysis; curiously, it was while in captivity that I acquired a taste for it. A German officer gave me an edition of Beethoven's piano sonatas as a gift. Since my childhood, I had pored over the composition treatise of Vincent d'lndy and his commentaries on Beethoven and sonata form, so I was well prepared to read these sonatas closely, and I recognized them as the miracles of structure they are. That's how musical analysis came into my life. At the Paris Conservatory, in my analysis class, I was surrounded by young composers who had placed their confidence in me; I had the duty not to thwart these young composers but to guide them along their own paths. Naturally, these young people were interested in the

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most advanced music, and their questions compelled me to undertake studies I might not have dreamt of, had it not been for them. C.S. Tell us about your analysis class. O.M. I was appointed professor of harmony at the Paris Conservatory

in May 1941, upon my return from captivity.. In 1947, ~laude Delvincourt arranged for me to teach an analysis class. Th~s class changed names several times: it was by turns Analysis and Aesthetics, Philosophy of Music, and Rhythmic and Musical Analysis. In 1966, Raymond Gallois-Montbrun had me appointed professor of musical composition. In my harmony class, in addition to harmonizing bass lines and melodies, I was already doing analysis; and in the composition class, after seeing the students' works, I would do still more analysis. So I've more or less always analyzed music. In fact, my analysis class was a class in "super-composition;' designed for young men and women from eighteen to twenty-eight who already possessed substantial musical knowledge. The majority of them had obtained the highest awards in composition classes, or a prize in conducting, piano, or organ. Some even had won all these prizes. So I was addressing some very remarkable musicians, and I had to offer them whatever they hadn't learned in previous classes, everything the professors of those classes hadn't had time to cover. For instance, in the organ class, improvisation and performance practice had relegated the study of neumes and plainchant rhythms-which are so useful to Catholic organists-to the background, so I did plainchant in my class. In composition classes, the correcting of students' works prevented professors from devoting much time to analyzing works of the masters and exotic, ancient, and ultramodern music: such analyses were the principal work of my class. In composition classes, orchestration and instrumentation are always treated too hurriedly: in my class, we never stopped talking about the possibilities of each instrument and the way to dispose a page of orchestral score. Finally, the Paris Conservatory, the provincial conservatories, and 111 say even all the music schools of Europe ~d ~e ~estern world emphasize harmony and counterpoint, showmg httle if.any concern for rhythm. Hence, I dealt with rhythm in my class. C.S. But before teaching this class, you taught outside the conservatory.

9.M. From 1934 to 193~ I taught a course in piano sight reading at the Ecole Normale de Musique and an organ improvisation course at the 176

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Schola Cantorum. In 1949 I taught courses in composition d orches~~ation at Tanglewood, then .courses in rhythm in Budapae~t, Saarbru.cken, a~d Dar1!'s;adt~ and finally courses in Greek rhythms and ancient Indian dep-talas in Buenos Aires in 1963, not to mention earlier lecture-courses on music and ornithology first in Winterthur Switzerland, and Boulder, Colorado, then in Japan, Canada, and Fin~and. On the other hand, while I was professor of harmony at the Paris Conservatory, I offered from 1943 to 1947-concurrent with my harmony class-~ private c~~rse at the home of the musicologist Guy Bern~rd-Delapierre, specifically a course in formal analysis, orchestration, rhythm, melody, and harmony of all kinds of music: classical, romantic, ancient, exotic, and modern. After learning of the existence of this private course, the director of the conservatory at the time, Claude Delvincourt, became enthusiastic about it; he judged this course to be most valuable and asked the board to set up a class dealing with exactly the same work and components. That request was granted, so the analysis class was founded. C.S. That class took up a large part of your life? O.M. Yes, for it was an extremely difficult and taxing class. Each week I

gave three sessions, each lasting four hours; during those four hours, besides lecturing, I would give at the piano examples that were sometimes very difficult to play. To lead such a class, then, one needed a broad cultural background, a good voice, good and fluent French, and the ability to play the piano very well and to sight read easily. But here's the most terrible thing: the subject of the course changed every year. Obviously, I could have said the same thing year after year and fallen into a rut, but the students came to me because they knew that if they stayed two or three years in the class, or even if they returned as friends after winning their prizes, they'd always be able to hear something new. So each year, we would choose one subject; for example, we once dealt with piano music: our starting point was the harpsichord, with Couperi.n, Dome1:1ico S~arl.atti, and Rameau. Then we studied practically all piano music, which is to say the twent~-two concertos of MozartÂˇ the thirty-two sonatas of Beethoven; practically all the works of Chopip and Schumann; Albeniz's lberia; the Preludes, Estampes, Images, and Etudes of Claude Debussy; Ravels. Gaspard .de la nuit; and we even analyzed Boulez's Second Sonata, bits of which I 1

played.

c.s. Wasn't this thrust toward the avant-garde a revolution in an official conservatory? 177

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O.M. Everything I did was revolutionary. To analyze the twenty-two concertos of Mozart was a revolution because they had never been spoken of on the rue de MadridC.S. Yes, but all the same, Mozart was an "accepted" composer, whereas the administration of the conservatory might have protested against the modernist tendencies of your class?

O.M. Claude Delvincourt was absolutely in agreement with the principles of my teaching. But I'll give you some other examples of the subjects chosen in my class: in the years devoted to opera, we analyzed Monteverdi's Orfeo; the opera-ballets of Rameau, including Castor et Pollux, Hippolyte et Aricie, Dardanus, Platee; and Mozart's operas with alternating arias and recitatives-The Marriage of Figaro, The Magic Flute, and, above all, Don Giovanni, the greatest masterpiece of the genre. We also took up leitmotif opera with Wagner's entire Ring. Not only did I speak to my students about the leitmotif, which I greatly admire in all its psychological, philosophical, cosmic, and social implications, but I procured, after a long search, the Eddas and Sagas which are the basis for the German text of the Nibelung legend Wagner used to write his poems. We also examined an opera with chorus, namely Mussorgsky's Boris Godunov, and two modern operas: Debussy's Pelleas et Melisande and Alban Berg's Wozzeck. C.S. These choices reflect your personal tastes. O.M. One cannot deal with everything in a few years. One chooses

whatever is best. But I nevertheless wanted to do a repertory opera and opted for the one that seemed to me the most striking and most successful: Bizet's Carmen. C.S. In a general way, your taste intervened to the extent that you

didn't analyze works you don't consider essential. O.M. I didn't tell my students where my preferences lie. It may have

come out in my talks, but as a rule, I sought to respect the opinions of my students and to steer them along paths that seemed suitable for them. C.S. You told me a moment ago: "During the course of the year, we

discussed such and such an opera." What does this mean? How did you proceed in studying a work? O.M. We would determine its psychological climate, the previous

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events that influenced it, and, in another direction, its effect on posterity. For an opera, we'd be concerned with theatrical movement, the disposition of scenes, the arrangement of the text, the orchestration, the instrumental scoring, the vocal writing, the composer's musical language (harmonies, melodic lines, rhythmic system), and form. In the theater, form is obviously linked to dramatic movement, but we devoted a year to the sonata and a year to the symphony, speakir.g exclusively of those forms, and this was very exciting. I even devoted one year entirely to rhythm; that was really a revolution, much more difficult than discussing Boulez-and the greatest difficulty was assembling members of the jury for the competition! That year, I spoke of the arses and theses of plainchant, of accentuation in Mozart, of rhythmic undulation in Debussy, of the rhythmic characteristics in Stravinsky's Rite of Spring, all rounded off with a complete analysis of the 120 ancient Indian de~i-talas, as well as an introduction to Greek metrics. It was a very fruitful year for the students, who were delighted. We also did some joint research on irrational note-values and their polyrhythmic combinations. C.S. But you never chose the same subject twice in your course? O.M. As a rule, no. However, at the request of the students, I offered

my course on Gregorian chant, Greek metrics, and Indian de~i-talas almost every year. As for the rest, I didn't follow any recurring cycle, and I avoided repetitions. I should also say that the yearly topic didn't depend entirely on my whim, nor was it imposed upon me. When I would arrive on 1 October, I'd have a few ideas without being really sure of my choice; the students' faces were the decisive factor. That might astonish you, but I'm a bit like a doctor or a confessor; seeing my new students enter, I'd examine them at length and say to myself, ''This one needs such and such a thing, that one another; he needs such and such a remedy or such and such a stimulant:' The year's subject was then decided according to the people I had in front of me. C.S. So, at that choosing time, a dialogue, explicit or implicit, occurred

between the students and the professor. O.M. A very explicit dialogue, for very often, toward 15 October, I

would tell my students, "Well then, given who you are, I intend to deal with such and such a subject this year; do you agree?" Some might protest. One of them would say, "I'm a cellist, piano music doesn't interest me, I don't understand the fingering:' Then I'd take the majority into account. For the entire school year, I'd be seated at the piano: I'd play, and I'd talk (somewhat ex cathedra), but my words 179

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would often be interrupted by questions from the students. Discussions between the students and me might follow, or even disputes among the students themselves because they didn't always agree: from those discussions sprang light-and fellowship! C.S. So that class was very autonomous and lively? O.M. Extremely lively because the personalities of the students were

generally quite varied, and I sought with all my power to respect them. C.S. Were your students future composers? O.M. On the whole. Some were only instrumentalists wishing to

complete their musical instruction, and a few were aiming toward musicology and wanted to have more comprehensive knowledge. C.S. But did the composers bring their first attempts in for discussion? O.M. Correcting works is the responsibility of composition

professors. Being responsible for a class in analysis, I had no right to encroach on that territory, but students who had taken my class for several years generally became friends, and when they left the conservatory, if they submitted their works to me-which frequently occurred-of course I would look at them and try to give advice. C.S. What was the size of your class? O.M. Twenty people maximum, fifteen French and five foreign stu-

dents, both sexes represented but with a majority of men-plus a great many auditors. C.S. Can a common aesthetic denominator be discerned among the young composers who took your class? O.M. No, they were, and have remained, all different. The glory of my

class was precisely its respect of personalities. I'll give you a marvelous example regarding Iannis Xenakis: when he came to me I looked him over closely and learned that he was an architect, a collaborator of Le Corbusier. I also learned that he was a mathematician: he asked me if he should bravely start his musical studies at square one, enter a harmony class, then a fugue class, and so on. I thought about it for a few days and advised him against this; contrary to my usual practice, I encouraged him to use mathematics and

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architecture in his music without becoming involved in problems o f . meIo d.y, h an~ony, co1;1nterpoint, or rhythm. He took that advice; I t~ink it -~as r~~ht for him- Whatever criti~ism may be waged against his position, it s nevertheless an extraordinary one in every sense of the word and contributes a new stone to the musical edifice. Indee~, as a compo.ser he has been able to take advantage of his mathematical and architectural knowledge. I think too that the first contact he had with the equipment in Pierre Schaeffer's studios reinforced his. experiment. Lastly, despite his French naturalization, he has remained fundamentally Greek, and I made a point of emphasizing this in the welcoming speech I recently gave at his election to the Institut de France. Greek discourse did not consist only of reason and logic: the Greeks knew how to spice up their discursive reasoning with a touch of madness. The entire Greek theater proves it. At the institute, I pointed out that Greek heroes are often stricken with madness, which makes their drama so modern and captivating. Now, in the music of Xenakis, one also notices a sort of madness. Xenakis uses music as a force of nature, a torrential power capable of overwhelming the listener. Therein lies his genius, for what music lover gets excited over the computation of probabilities, or even manages to understand it? Xenakis's writings are explicit, but they do make reference to mathematical or physical data that the general public has no awareness of. This notwithstanding, when the public hears Xenakis, they're thunderstruck and unleash their enthusiasm. C.S. Don't you think that one of Xenakis's major contributions is his having broken with traditional musical p:rception, for example, by mixing listeners and musicians or by creating grand spectacles of the Polytope variety? O.M. No, I don't think so. That's a spectacula~ c~ntribution, but it isn't

the most effective. The genius of Xenakis is the movement of enormous blocks of sound, movement led unflinchingly by the c~m putation of probabilities. He remains the only compos~r of our hme to have imagined and succeeded in such an undertaking. characteristic of Xenakis's music is his treatment of CS 11 · t h t 1 . . A no th er instruments. To play Xenakis, pianists or ce is s ave o earn a new technique.

0 M Other contemporary composers h~ve ~anipulated ~nstru. · b t lways with success. They ve tned to make instruh t dt ments, ut no a 1 . they were not made to do. too ave attemp e o d o t h mgs ments ·b T · b t ·th th h 1 of broaden the field of instrumental poss1 1 ihes, u Wl e ep 181

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instrumentalists and always with concern for respecting fundamental elements, like fingerings or breath. One. can tr~ to overcome traditional techniques, but one cannot write against the ~~truil_lent. It is true that an instrumentalist encounters enormous difficulties the day he turns to a work by Xenakis, but No~os alpha has already become a classic of the modem cello repertorre.

c.s. Now let's speak of the outstanding personalities ?f your c~ass, especially the vanguard, those who have been your disciples since the end of the war. O.M. They've continued to be the most affectionate and the most

important, and now they're the most famous-perhaps because they were the most gifted. In the very first place, there's Pierre Boulez. He was so intelligent and such a musician that he had no need of a teacher; I'm convinced he would have done something formidable without any help. He worked a short time with me, just a year of harmony; he didn't take the famous analysis class. He received his Harmony Prize at the first attempt, but then he participated in my private courses at Guy Bernard-Delapierre's. C.S. In retrospect, how do you view the Pierre Boulez phenomenon? O.M. For me, Pierre Boulez is the greatest musician of his

generation-perhaps of the half-century-and the greatest composer of serial music; I'd even say he's the only one. He is also, in a certain sense, my successor in the field of rhythm. Pierre Boulez took from me _the idea of rhythmic restlessness, the idea of rhythmic rese~rch, and the.use of certain formulas derived directly from Greek metrics and Indian rhythms, although in an unavowed manner. Beyond that, he is very far from my musical universe. C.S. When you firs~ met Pierre.Bo~lez, he was very young and in permanent revolt against a certain kind of musical worldO.M. Yes, he was in revolt against everything! C.S. Did you try to temper his rage? O.M. I tried to communicate to him, if not a little faith and charity at

least a little hope- .He's become much more human since th~se days- We were con:ung out of a calm and conservative generation. It was a natural reaction for us to come across some rebels. And I

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thought was that it would end ma · renewal of t• anger · d fruitful, 1. · that such technique, asce 1c1sm, an en 1ghtenment.

c.s. When Le marteau sans maitre ~as played for the first time in Paris, recall the surpnse and stupefaction of the d. You undoubtedly · au 1ence · Th' " M ·

in the P eht

eatre angny. Even those who knew Schoenberg d Webem had th~ feeling of being cast onto an unknown planet. Th~~y years later, we ve gotten used to the novelty of Marteau and have a better perspective on the backgrounds of the Boulez landscape: Webem and Debussy. O.M. Precisely. Boulez came from Webern and, as a serialist com-

poser, has greatly surpassed him. Ultimately I'm not certain that Schoenberg was serial, and I'm even less certain about Berg. Webem was undoubtedly the true serialist composer, but serialism inhibited him, preventing him from practicing large forms. As you know, Webem's works last only a few minutes. This isn't a criticism, but it nevertheless poses a problem. Boulez himself wasn't a slave of serialism; he managed to overcome it. To his Webemish pursuits he added a bit of my rhythmic restlessness and, above all, a Debussyian shimmer. He liberated himself and was able to compose works of large dimensions like Le marteau sans maftre, Pli selon pli, and, more recently, Repons. Boulez added variety to his longer works, something which (it must be admitted) was not a feature of serial music. C.S. The Del"?ussy that impressed Boulez was above all the composer

of Jeux and Eludes pour piano. That isn't the Debussy you prefer. O.M. In his youth, Boulez liked the Debussy of feux; in my youth, I

liked Pelleas et Melisande. Each of us has remained attached to his youthful emotions. I continue to think that the Debussy who is in love with sound, in love with the chord, is the composer of Pelleas, of Chansons de Bilitis, of Nocturnes, especially the third and last one, "Sirenes;' which is so rarely played and which is perhaps Debussy:s most original work. But in the area of form, on the l~vel of rhythmic mobility, Debussy actually went further in.Jeux and ~tudes pour piano. This is a Debussy less shimmering, less m love with. sound~ m?re anemic but more brilliant in formal concerns. At the time of its first perfor~ance, nobody really understood the importance o~ feux. It wasn't until Boulez spoke about it that one became aware of it. As for Etudes pour piano I believe this collection is at least as extraordinary as feux, if not more.'Here, too, the major element is not th~ love of .so~n~. These etudes were written to contribute to the perfecting of pianistic 183

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technique, like the etudes of Chopin, whose charm they don't possess. They're more troubled and particularly extraordinary for their allusive formal qualities. Things are left unsaid, implied, fleeting. All that, as Boulez has emphasized, was very new. C.S. So Boulez paved the way for a broadening of serial music, and at

the end of the 1950s, an entire generation found safety in it. But rebellion didn't take long to appear, and today few things reconcile Boulez with Berio or with Stockhausen, not to mention Xenakis, who right from the start blazed a different trail. O.M. It seems that the serial trend didn't suffice as an international

grammar. But, as you know, I also believe that purely tonal language has never existed, that enormous differences exist between the classicists and the romantics and even among the classicists themselves, who nevertheless all used the so-called tonal language. C.S. The elimination of serial language has, in any case, opened the

floodgates: each composer has tried to find his own renewal. O.M. This perpetual quest for novelty is, in my opinion, very

dangerous because it has prevented the majority of composers from working. You remember the cry of Diaghilev: "Surprise me: I expect you to surprise me!" That statement had terrible consequences! Why does one absolutely insist on being novel? It's a question that didn't concern seventeenth-century artists; they continued to write in the path they had paved for themselves. They weren't trying to surprise. They were working. C.S. What you also like about Boulez is his loyalty. O.M. He was criticized, at certain periods, for putting his conducting

activities before his work as a composer. Basically, he was right, for he took the time to reflect. Instead of writing bad works, he prepared new masterpieces. That was very wise. C.S. When you knew Pierre Boulez, did you predict that he'd not only

be a great composer, but the leader of a generation, an extraordinary organizer, a great conductor? O.M. I knew he was an engrossing personality. I guessed it right from

the start. I remember the day we were returning together to the rue Beautreillis where he lived. "What an era!" he said to me ''What an '

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era! Who11 be the great composer who will clean up thÂˇ h "bi lS orn e era.?"An d I answered h"1m, unuut, Boulez, you will!" And it was true All the same I hadn't expected that he would have such great talent Âˇ tha t h e 'd b ecome a great conductor and would invent s as ana . organize:, new podium manner.

c.s. His strength was also the awareness of his strength0.M. ~e knows: indeed, who he is. He's a force and a danger at the same trme, for since he has a brilliant intelligence, he doubts himself and others. He has occasio~ally admitted his own mistakes publicly and oft.en. accused others with vehemence, but he is also extremely appreciative o~ t~ose who have helped him. I'm thinking, for example, of Heinrich Strobel, of Jean-Louis Barrault and Madeleine Renaud, of Suzanne Tezenas. C.S. For a long time, Boulez stayed away from Paris. Don't you think

that his return and the role he has as the head of IRCAM and the Ensemble InterContemporain have allowed Paris once again to be one of the world capitals of contemporary music? O.M. Paris has always been an intellectual capital, a place teeming with ideas, but it's true that, for a time, the centers of interest for musicians had moved. We were together at the Festival de Royan, at a time when that festival had become one of these centers of interest. Now, Paris is again playing a greater role, but there's not only IRCAM: other organizations are accomplishing great things, notably the Itineraire group, which, thanks to the outstanding personality of Tristan Murai!, is at the forefront of the avant-garde. C.S. You just mentioned Tristan Murai!, but another of your former

pupils is playing a special role: Paul Mefan.o, the soul of th~ Enser:nbl.e 2e2m and so committed to it that he sometimes neglects his own 1nd1vidual work. O.M. Indeed, nothing seem_e~ to_ ~redestine Paul. M~f~n.o fo~ this organizational task. As for his 1n~1v1dual work, I think its 1ne~1tably suffering for it. When one organizes concerts, one has. less hm~ to compose. You're held back by !11eetings, badgered by impresarios, concerned with financial questions. C.S. Problems you've never known-

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ke t awa from them. I've always wanted solitude. I yd I played the organ. Beyond that, I chose taught to earn my ivmg, an to remain alone.

O.M. l ve always l.P .

C.S. A solitude you've shared with Yvonne Loriod, and this. is the

an who was also, at the same time as moment to ta lk ab out the Wom Pierre Boulez, your pupil.

o.M. lt's difficult for me to speak of her, su:ic~ she'~ ~y wife. But it's true that she is extraordinary, that she's a bnlhant pianist~ that she ~as exceptional pianistic technique, that she's capable of sight readmg any music that she's gifted with an uncommon memory, and, furthermore, that she has an advantage over her pianist colle~~es for having studied harmony, fugue, orchestration, and composition, and even for having written poetry.

c.s. Let's go back to the other pupils of the early days, to the classmates of Yvonne Loriod and Pierre Boulez. O.M. There was Maurice Le Roux, who loved music passionately; he

too was gifted in everything. There was Serge Nigg, who eventually turned in different directions. I really liked Serge Nigg; he was one of my greatest hopesC.S. You aren't bothered by the aesthetic deviations of this composer? O.M. I can say nothing; that's how his personality is. Some people

travel a very straight and blazing path, they take off like arrows; others zigzag- The main thing is to reach the goal. Again 111 mention Jean-Louis Martinet, who already possessed a strong technique; Michel Fano, who turned to films but who was a very good musician; and lastly Jean Barraque, a rebel of the Boulez variety although in a different sense, as his works show. C.S. In your book of memories, surely there is a place for your foreign studentsO.M. The most important is obviously the very brilliant Karlheinz Stockhau~en,_ who

took my analysis class when I was dealing with accentuation 1n Mozart. Because of that, he was unhappy in my class. At t~e time, the rules of the co~servatory compelled me to analyze classical sonatas and symphonies; I didn't have the freedom that I later acquired. After a few years, I worried about neither the rules nor

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the director; I conducted my class as I saw fit, but that was after Stockhausen's days.

c.s. V}e've spoker ab01..~t compos~rs who~e work is continually transforming: Stockhausen is a good Illustration of this. For you is this ' reassuring or disturbing? O.M. I think Stockhausen was most himself at the time of Momente.

The title is an explanation all its own. It's music that evolves moment by moment, minute by minute, fragment of time by fragment of time. Thus Stockhausen came close to what I've done, since I've used forms that follow the sequence of daytime and nighttime hours. The music is very different but the approach is similar. C.S. Other students from other countries in your classO.M. First, numerous Japanese. The oldest is Sadao Bekku, who was

in my class around 1950 and who took the train to Germany in 1953 to attend a performance of Turangalila-symphonie in Munich. Then came Mitsuaki Hayama; Makoto Shinohara; Akira Tamba (who wrote a book on the music of the No theater}; Kazuoki Fujii, a marvelous pianist and also a very original composer (I've never forgotten the extraordinary piano pieces he composed for my class and collected under the general title Aya); Susumu Yoshida, whose work Utsu Semi (Fragility of the Cicada) revealed the quality of Oriental silence within rustling orchestral textures of exquisite softness; and two very gifted young women who both compose very expressive works: Kimi Sato and Mie Marie Takumi. I had only two Chinese pupils. The first I taught at the very beginning of my career: the composer Chang Hao. The second, encountered at the very end of my career, is the composer Chen Qigang. Now we must talk about my Vietnamese pupil, Nguyen-Thien DaoC.S. Dao affirms that he found his way thanks to you-

0.M. I consider Dao an extraordinary composer, and the day I heard his Koskom I thought it was truly one of the great works of the century. It's enormous score, extremely worked-out, ":hose title means "cosmic community:' This is Dao's. d~~am as a ~1etn?m~se musician based in Paris: a "cosmic community, a f~llowsh1p bn1:'g1ng together not only mankind but also extraterrestrials. Koskom is the

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h' f rids a formidable seething of totally explosion of th~ .fello":s 1P 0 wo /nontempered notes-quarteroriginal sononhes, with the us~ oh f tones-and the echo of th.1rd tones and even s1xt s o tones, - th at Dao h as d rawn from traditional Vietnamese · t vocal Portamentos . · is · a s tn'king example of dynamic con rasts: . technique Dao ,s music f. . . ( . "bi . . . alternate with shattering 'ortissimos as rmperceph eh piamsfsXimosk's) It's music that moves primarily in the . h h awesome as t ose o ena 1 · ly high ranges often in bot at t e same extremeIy Iow an d ex t re me ' time.

c.s. It's obviously impossible to list all the talented musicians who have been your pupils0.M. We should mention Raymond Depraz, Alain ~uvi~r, M~chel

Zbar, Didier Denis, Gerard Grisey, Michel Decoust, Michael Lev1nas, . Michele Poison, Solange Ancona, Michele Reverdr:-. I'd also like to note two outstanding personahhes, Jean.-Lou1s Florentz and Frarn;ois-Bernard Mache, both of whom love nature and are interested, like me, in bird songs: they've made use of them in a totally different way from mine. There's also Raffi Ourgandjian, a musician of Armenian origin who is a very fine improviser at the organ and who followed with close attention my courses on ancient Indian dec;i-talas, courses which he continues at the new National Conservatory in Lyon. Nor will I forget Gilbert Amy, who at the start of his career was the successor to Boulez, but has gradually broken away from him. One of Amy's recent works calls for electroacoustics and is inspired by Rimbaud's Saison en en/er; it's a very moving piece. Two other major personalities were in my class at the same time: Paul Mefano, whom we've already discussed, and Jean-Pierre Guezec, who unfortunately died in 1971 when he was only thirty-seven. He was truly a very original composer who, like me, was interested in color: he didn't see colors .syn~st~eti~ally, but would look at paintings and found? s~urce of 1nsp1ration in the colored squares of Mondrian; the result 1s lil.<e a puzzle, mosaic music, very unusual. C.S. Guezec was severe, Mefano lyrical. 0.M. Guezec was soft-grained, a scrupulously careful and sensitive

~xplorer, whose , works aligned extremely refined rhythms and timbres. As for Mefano, h~'s another rebel, but a seething and powerful rebel, a sort of twentieth-century Berlioz, with all the technical know-how, all the boldness of language and all the fo f· · ti on an d rea l'ization · that this comparison ' implies! rce o 1magma188

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c.s. Let's move on to another generationo.M. To the Am.eric~n

~erald

Levinson, ~ composer of great talent, who has found 1nsp1rahon for some of his works in the gamelan of Bali and the music of Nepal and Tibet, and who just wrote a masterpiece: the Symphonie Anahata for large orchestra. To Tristan Murail, who we've already mentioned, for he is both composer and cofounder of the Ensemble de 11tineraire, in the service of which he puts to use the managerial experience he acquired at the Ecole des Sciences Politiques. He's interested in the most varied sound sources-the Ondes Martenot, which he plays; electroacoustics; and the synthesizer-and he works especially with sound texture and resonance phenomena. This is the context of one of his most beautiful pieces, Gondwana, the name of a hypothetical continent that, in the Paleozoic era, is supposed to have connected South America, Africa, Arabia, the Deccan Plateau, Australia, and Antarctica. Murai! has evoked that world with lunar music, very melancholy and very simple, that seems to spring from a prehistoric time. C.S. You haven't mentioned the Canadian Gilles Tremblay? O.M. I do like Gilles Tremblay, surely the greatest Canadian com-

poser of the present day. He is very close to me, for he loves nature, he loves birds, he loves rare sonorities, but his language is naturally more modern than mine. He's a poet and a true musician. C.S. Gilles Tremblay is over fifty years old. Tristan Murail is nearly

forty- Who, then, represents the new generation? O.M. Without hesitation, George Benjamin! Of all my pupils, he's the

one I loved the most. He's English and was studying music in his country when his professor told him, "My teaching is not sufficient. We're going to take the plane to Paris to meet Olivier Messiaen:' A fabulously humble statement! Benjamin must ~ave .be~n sixteen years old when I met him. He pre~ented ~e with his fust works, which I sight read at the piano, and I immediately understoo_d tha~ he knew how to harmonize and orchestrate and that he had an infallible ear. He was gifted like no one else, and while h~ ~as working on the piano with Yvonne Loriod, he took my composition class at the conservatory for two years. Unfortunately I had to retire, having reached the age limit, and his parents then ~emanded th~t he r~tum to England to obtain his degree at Cam~n~ge. He left. I ve_ coi:ihnued to correspond with him and witness his first successes with JOY. I very much like one of his works for orchestra, a work marvelously "heard"

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that he composed after a text of T. S. Eliot entitled Ringed by the flat Horizon. The timbres, harmonies, and rhythms are chosen With exceptional discernment; the form is absolutely masterful. A more recent work, At First Light, for chamber orchestra, inspired by a painting by Turner, offers the same qualities, even more accomplished. George Benjamin is as gifted as the young Mozart must have been! C.S. So Benjamin, young Benjamin, will remain the favorite!

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Contradictions of the Century _ __ c.s. Again and again in our conversations, we have dealt with the trends of present-day music in relation to your works, your pupils, and your tastes. We might now ask ourselves about the characteristics of this modern music, about its evolution, and about the sort of rupture that some denounce today. Do you accept the terin "rupture"? O.M. Certainly not. The music of our time is quite a natural continua-

tion of the music of the past; doubtless there are changes, but no rupture. C.S. No rupture, but perhaps an accelerated evolution?

O.M. In this, music follows the general movement of humanity, which

over the past fifty years has found and made a thousand times more things than it had found and made during its whole existence on our planet. C.S. But what appears normal in the technical scheme of things

doesn't seem obvious in an artistic sphere. 0.M. It's not obvious, but it's a fact.

C.S. Isn't it rather an illusion for us who live in this era, and won't our

great-grandchildren think quite differently about it? O.M. No, it's quite clear: there have been more cha~ges and ~isco~erÂ

ies in the twentieth century than in all the preceding centuries since the coming of Christ. C.S. And on the musical level?

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O.M. We're witnessing a great upheaval, an upheaval no doubt as

radical as the one that occurred in the Middle Ages between the essentially melodic plainchant and the gradual discovery of counterpoint that required the blending of several voices; the other change was proportional notation, which allowed the combining of rhythms. The present-day change is nearly on the same order; it's obviously very drastic, but not without a link to the past. People of the Middle Ages were linked to the past through melody; we, for all that, have the link of harmonic control and of the ear's control over timbre. C.S. In your opinion, who is most responsible for the rapid evolution

of modern music? O.M. In the very first place, Debussy, who introduced the idea of hazi-

ness, not only in harmony and melody, but above all in rhythm and in the succession of timbres. After him came Schoenberg, who was perhaps not a great composer but who was, at any rate, a great destroyer; and, in a sense, this destruction was useful because it allowed for the rejection of so-called tonal barriers before leading to the discovery of the so-called series. C.S. Your sensibilities rather distance you from the works of

Schoenberg? O.M. I admit that Schoenberg is not my favorite composer. C.S. On the other hand, how do you place yourself in relation to

Schoenberg's two great disciples: Berg and Webern? O.M. Well, I agree that they are "two great disciples." For me, serial

music reached its zenith in Pierre Boulez. He is the great serial composer, because he has mastered and gone beyond that language instead of being enslaved by it. C.S. And yet, Webem is situated very precisely at the turning point of

this evolution. O.M. Of course. Webem was the "true" serial composer; Schoenberg

and Berg were the precursors, and Boulez the realizer and "surpasser." C.S. Among the pioneers of the new art, the names of a few other

composers should be added; and, for the record, I11 first mention Igor Stravinsky-

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o.M. Stravinsky is of.immense importance because he was the first to restore the emphasis on rhythm: through the use of exclusiv 1 rhythmi~ themes, ~uperimposed rhythmic ostinatos, and especia~I~ by creating (consciously or not) the procedure of rhythmic characters. This last procedure pursues and amplifies the Beethoven type of development, or development by elimination. "The Glorification of the Chosen One" and, even more, ''The Sacrificial Dance" in The Rite of Sp:ing . are striking examples of the juxtaposition of and maneuvenng through augmentation, diminution, or immobility of the rhythmic characters.

c.s. But, after this formidable invention, which you yourself have pointed up in The Rite of Spring, isn't it disappointing to find in the work of Stravinsky a kind of step backward, a curiously jagged trajectory? O.M. It is, I admit, inexplicable. C.S. In the category of pioneers, we should also place a composer

who's less famous but no less important: Edgard Varese. O.M. Varese is very important, for he foreshadowed the procedures of

musique concrete and electronic music; he was the first to "play" sounds backward, without any mechanical apparatus or manipulation, by simply notating them on music paper. For example, in Integrales he wrote some trombone sounds that begin with the decay of the sound, then swell and end with the attack. His rethought harmony (in which the concept of the chord is replaced by complexes of resonances calculated to produce maximum color and intensity) is also prophetic of most of today's sonoritiesC.S. Do you think that with these few names-Debussy, Schoenberg,

Berg, and Webern on the one hand and Stravinsky and Varese on the other-we've covered, without any serious omission, all those responsible for the new art? O.M. Not entirely. One should add, alongside Varese,

th~ name of

Andre Jolivet, who is his successor and who also made important contributions, notably restoring magic to music. This incantatory aspect is certainly not to be ignored: the psychic, phy~iological, and perhaps therapeutic action of a work like the Danses rituelles has not yet been fully comprehended: perhaps it's a misunderstood forceC.S. Alongside these pioneers, other composers have explored some

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fruitful individual paths, sometimes giving birth to genuine master. pieces. I think first of personalities. like Bart6k and Falla, whose approach in connection with folklore 1s rather far removed from your own interests. O.M. Yes, they're composers, great composers, who have had their hour of glory. You can also add a composer who, because he wrote so much, was more eclectic [mele], a composer who played an essential role: Villa-Lobos. C.S. I know you are fond of this composer because he was a great

orchestrator. O.M. He was a very great orchestrator! C.S. But I'd like to go back to the case of Bart6k, who in the eyes of

many music lovers stands at the threshold of modern music. O.M. Bart6k is a combination of Hungarian folk music-in some

respects very special and very original-and some rather academic developments of the fugal-episodic type, with a tendency toward an increasingly close-knit chromaticism, very close to serial music. C.S. But wouldn't you agree that Bart6k loved to travel through the countryside to collect folk songs and that, like you in a certain way, he studied nature? O.M. Yes, but his quest was very different. It wasn't nature he sought,

but humanity. His effort succeeded because Hungarian folklore is one of the most lively, most varied, and most original in the world. To me it is surpassed only by Andean folklore, which is to say that of Peru, Bolivia, and Ecuador. C.S. You certainly prefer "exotic" music to music "folkloric" in character. O.M. Exotic music has played a great part in my own works and also in

those of Pierre Boulez, who was excited about Balinese and African music. Something of this actually remained with him; the influence of the exotic is obvious in the instrumentation of Le marteau sans maitre. C.S. And you think that Western composers can learn a lesson from the musical traditions of distant continents?

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because the composers of those co untnes 路 know 0 路M 路 Certainly, , kn

things we don t ow; th~y have done studies in rhythm that we have been wrong to neglect. Finally, we live in an age of internationalism.

c.s. Is it legitimate to connect the phenomenon of jazz with the d 路 _ is coveries of folk or exotic music? o.M: Per~onal~y, I h~;e nev~~ been fond of jazz. I'm sorry to say it, but

I think. Jazz is a r~bber whose "innovations" are, in reality, borrowmgs from earher symphonic music. I've never believed in jazz, and I've always thought that the poetic and refined figure of Maurice Ravel was spoiled in his last years by this jazz influence, which really had nothing to do with his personal inclinations. C.S. And little to do with true jazz! But, since we're bringing up

musical tendencies having influenced certain composers between the two world wars, I'd also like to know your opinion of neoclassicism. O.M. It's a very strange phenomenon, inexplicable and curiously

unique. Never before has there been anything like these spectacular returns to past centuries. The Renaissance itself was a recreation and not a useless copyC.S. Do you know any valid works inspired by the neoclassic

movement? O.M. Ah, no! The principle is totally reprehensible; 111 even say it's a

complete absurdity. C.S. Today, certain young composers speak of neo-romanticism0.M. They've undoubtedly been suffering from repressed emotions

and are happy to be able to express them at last. C.S. Let's return to serious matters, if you don't mind. It's 1945, the

start of a new era. "The cities are razed and we can begin again at the beginning;' Stockhausen later said of this t~me: .A new generat~on, whose sensibilities you had influenced to a s~gn1ficant d~gree, seizes upon the Viennese models. Everything remained to be discovered: In the 1950s, in Paris, this discovery occurred through the Doma1ne Musical.

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O.M. The Domaine Musical represented the efforts of.one single man,

Pierre Boulez, to unveil not only the works of the senal school, but to satisfy the avid musical avant-gard~. This was ~ll the more extraordinary in that it was the accomplishment of one isolated artist, whose courage and lucidity were linked with a marvelous technique and who offered, with a single stroke, solutions to our problems. The Domaine Musical was the place to hear new works from all over the world (both very good and less good works-mostly the very good!); it was reassuring to know that in Paris we had a sort of melting-pot from which masterpieces occasionally emerged. C.S. You were a faithful audience member of the Domaine Musical. O.M. I was a subscriber. When I was in Paris, I never missed a concert. C.S. In those days performances of new music were rare. O.M. That's true. To hear avant-garde works, one had to keep up with

Domaine Musical events or attend festivals, so new-music fans would regularly go to Donaueschingen, Darmstadt, Venice, Warsaw, and Royan. C.S. Today, the Festival de Royan is only a memory. Donaueschingen,

Darmstadt, Venice, and Warsaw still exist. O.M. The Festival de Royan is defunct, and I'm sorry about that because for a number of years, it really had become the center of the international avant-garde. The Donaueschingen Festival was linked to the personality of Heinrich Strobel, and the Darmstadt summer courses to that of Wolfgang Steinecke. Strobel and Steinecke have died, and the scope of both events has noticeably diminished. As for the Domaine Musical, it was Gilbert Amy who, after Pierre Boulez, ensured its direction, but seven years later the Domaine disappeared for good. Gilbert Amy did some good work for it, but institutions depend greatly on the men who launch them, and it's rare for them to survive or be maintained on the same level after they leave, especially when it involves a personality as strong as that of Pierre Boulez. In no way does this reflect negatively on Gilbert Amy. C,S. The Domaine Musical had its loyal .public, like the Festival de

Royan, a public of the informed curious, some of whom denounced snobbishness and elitist tastes. It's true that the general music-loving public was absolutely unconcerned. Twenty years later, contemporary music is frequently performed, in Paris at least, but there is

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still a deplorable gap between the creators and the public.

o.M. This problem is absurd. First, because contemporary music

doesn't date f~om today. ~en Rameau composed his first operas, he was a revolutionary mus1c1an. When Mozart wrote Don Giovanni he too wa~ a revolutionary. Berlioz, Wag~~r, and Debussy were terrlbly revolutionary. Now they pass as class1c1sts because time levels all. In their day, there was also a so-called gap between them and the public, which didn't prevent their works from surviving and attracting more and more listeners. It's true that in the twentieth century, evolution has accelerated, and triumphs are more swiftly made and unmade. In the past, a composer could hang on to first place for fifty years. Today, in ten years, sometimes in five years, he's dethroned. It's terrible, but we have to accept it. I accept it all the more readily since I'm seventyseven years old and have seen many composers knocked off their thrones. C.S. Have certain judgments about your work sometimes hurt you? O.M. I won't say that all reviews have pleased me. Like all men, I'm

sensitive to praise and to criticism. But my convictions are too strong to be shaken by opposing judgments. I let them say what they will- I insist, however, on responding to an unfounded criticism, one that has been repeated twenty times, a hundred times: that my music is sensual. This is a horrible lie. My music is not sensual; it's simply well harmonized and well orchestrated. C.S. Actually, when I asked you about the criticisms provoked by

your music, I was mainly referring to opinions concerning the modernity of your works. In the beginning, your works seemed terribly modem. O.M. I remember the first Parisian performance of Chronochromie.

There were only enemies in the audie__nce. At the end of the work, everyone took to booing, and whe,,1)-"l rose ~o greet the cond_uctor, Antal Dorati a furious listener leaned out of his box and I had to stoop to avoid-n~rrowly-a knuckle~blow to the head! Then I mounted the stage, and the boos became twice as lou?. Wha~ could Id~? I raised my eyes, looked at the ceiling by Mau~1ce Denis, saw Pars1fal with his arms raised toward heaven, and waited for the tempest to subside.

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o.M. No. I said to myself, They're in a bad mood; it11 go better next time.

c.s. Modernity has only one time period: the present. Serial music

already belongs to the past, and yet in the days of the J?~maine Musical, it was considered the alpha and omega of creativity, the necessary route, the only valid movement of the avant-garde.

O.M. The only movement? There were others. I see at ~east oi:ie other,

just as important, that encompassed so-called electronic music and its elder sister, musique concrete; here one must mention Pierre Schaeffer-whom many stoned with criticism, forgetting he was a great discoverer of new sonorities-as well as his successor, Pierre Henry, composer of the extraordinary Voyage (after the Tibetan Book of the Dead). C.S. Have you felt the temptation to compose musique concrete or

electronic music? O.M. I didn't have the knack. Once I wrote a piece of musique concrete:

it was very bad. Musique concrete and electronic music have given us some absolutely incredible timbres as well as a new conception of time and of sound-space. Now it's possible to repeat their procedures quite simply with orchestral instruments; this happens in some of Xenakis's works. C.S. Do you think the day will come when electronic music supplants instrumental music? O.M. One might have thought so when it first appeared, but today we

realize that results just as new and valid have been obtained with conventional instruments, in consequence of which these two types of music will very likely coexist as do cinema and theater. C.S. Has electronic music already produced masterpieces? O.M. It has mainly produced experimental works. C.S. And the computer? O.M. I a~mit t~at it w?uld never occur to me to ask a question of an ~lectronic bram, ch_iefly . because I'd be incapable of it. The m~e~rogated electronic bram very quickly generates thousands, if not

rmllions, of responses, and among these thousands or millions of

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responses, only one is right. Rather than bother with an extremely burdensome apparatus and spend months formulating a question, isn't it quicker to have a stroke of genius and find the right solution right away? What's more, I don't think computers have produced any truly convincing results in music; but if a nuclear war doesn't annihilate us, if we have the time, perhaps the masterpieces will come-

c.s. You say the results aren't convincing; yet if we look at the works of Xenakis or at a piece like Boulez's Repons, we notice that, with or without a computer, a great creative artist remains himself.

o.M. I agree: any raw material is useful provided it's well manipulated. With men of genius like Boulez and Xenakis, the result is wonderful. With others, it's mediocre. It's a phenomenon of all ages: after Guillaume de Machaut, how many composers have undertaken likewise far-fetched musical speculations only to flounder in the end? As for Mozart, he was surrounded by mediocre composers who were botching their minuets. Mozart was the only great composer of his time. C.S. Do you think the computer threatens to "dehumanize" music, as

some claim it does? O.M. No, not at all. It's a tool that in no way prevents the creation of a

beautiful, noble, and expressive piece (using these three adjectives in the broad sense). The analysis, synthesis, and science of numbers are in fact closely related to music. Only the theory of groups can take into account the great "musical noises" of nature: storms, waterfalls, and the complex sounds of wind and sea. In music we were lacking the theory of groups and its working consequence: the calculus of probabilities. Let's thank Iannis Xenakis for having given them to us! C.S. What do you feel when listening to the works of Xenakis? Do you

think of calculus? O.M. Absolutely not. I receive the shock produced by the sonorities,

by the differences of speed calculated in the different glissandos, by the clouds of pizzicatos-

c.s. Do you believe that Xe~akis is currently opening a door through which many composers might pass and come to grief?

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O.M. It's extremely likely.

c.s. Another innovation, the use of chance, or aleatory music-this school was first launched in the United States by composers like John Cage or Earle Brown, but numerous composers, some of them as eminent as Boulez and Stockhausen, have, in their own way, tried the aleatoric approach. What do you think of it? O.M. Such attempts should be examined with g~eat ~auti~n; in fact,

that's Pierre Boulez's attitude. Personally, I don t believe in chance. Nor does Xenakis believe in it, since he calculates it: calculated chance is not chance! I don't believe in chance because I am a Christian; I believe in providence and I think that everything that happens is foreseen. Of course, there are choices to be made, but for God, who sees all things simultaneously, there is no chance. Furthermore, I think that in art there is one truth, one version that is good, a choice made automatically by genius. A flower, from which an insect gathers and carries pollen, will doubtless engender another flower; but it has sent out a quantity of pollen capable of producing thousands of flowers; even so, sometimes only one will result from insemination by the legs of the insect111 add one last very serious statement: It's unthinkable that man, who by his very nature has only a fragmentary and, above all, chronological view of things, could conceive of all the possibilities with their consequences on any subject: that belongs to God alone. C.S. In regard to all the trends we've been discussing-aleatory,

concrete, and electronic music-it is customary to use the term "experimental:' Isn't this word a contradiction to the necessary fulfillment of a work of art? Is it an error of terminology? Do you think that, in past centuries, certain works could be so categorized? O.M. But all aesthetic pursuit is an experiment, inevitably. It's simply erroneous to use this term in a pejorative sense: experimental work doesn't preclude success. C.S. Music thrives on experimentation of all varieties as well as on

acad~micism. For convenience, it's divided into move~ents, schools, or cliques. What about the composers who elude classification? O.M. !her~ are at least two I'd like to talk about: Gyorgy Llgeti and

Henri_ Dutilleux. For me, Ligeti is one of the greatest composers of the twentieth century. Without computers and without sophisticated 200

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electronic apparatus, using only his instinct, his brain, and his sensibility, he has given us some of the most advanced works of our time. I'm thinking particularly of Aventures and Nouvelles aventures, of Atmospheres, of the Requiem: these are pieces as incredible in structure as in resulting sonority. Furthermore, Ligeti is completely original; his craftsmanship is never lacking. There is a composer who knows how to harmonize and orchestrate!

c.s. Craftsmanship is a quality that impresses youo.M. I like composers who have a good inner ear. I detest amateurism. C.S. That certainly is not a criticism that a Ligeti or a Dutilleux might

incur. Let's talk about Dutilleux. O.M. He's a marvelous composer-classical in some respects,

modern in others. Curiously, more classical than I in some ways and more modern in others, though we belong to nearly the same generation. C.S. He's a man who writes littleO.M. That's a pity, but in one sense it's admirable because he only

writes successful works. He's very strict with himself. My teacher Paul Dukas had that same severity and ultimately left only five works: The Sorcerer's Apprentice, La Peri, Ariane et Barbe-Bleue, the Symphony in C, and the Piano Sonata. C.S. You respect that discipline?

O.M. Yes, although, personally, I prefer to take more risks. I may make

mistakes, but I don't stop composing. C.S. Today, now that your teaching activity is over, you~re dividing

your time between composition and travel, which allows you to rehear your own works performed all over the world. I know you enjoy these performances. Undertaken as they are by interpreters whom you don't always know, do these concerts ever hold surprises or disappointments for you? ,

o.M. I'm a very meticulous man, and I note with great care on my manuscripts the tempos I desire, the dynamics, the bowing when it involves strings, articulation for the woodwinds, fingerings for the 201

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t~ hear the music ?f the Angel. Finally, Sa~~t Fra~cis is followed by his bud song: the capmera, or blackcap of Ass1s1, typical of Umbria and th hermitage of the Carceri, where he lived. This blackcap is heard at the Carceri as soon as one arrives before the well at the entrance to the e friars' little cave-cells and monastic rooms. The Leper's theme has a dochmiac rhythm, which is to say an iamb and a Cretic: short, long, long, short, long- It's a tricky, agitated rhythm that turns into a dance of joy at the end of the third scene when the Leper is healed, and that returns in its joyful incarnation in the eighth scene when the chorus sings of Saint Francis's future resurrection. Brother Leo has his own song for a theme, the words of which are '1 am afraid, I am afraid on the road." This phrase is borrowed from the end of Ecclesiastes, which contains one image of death after another. The idea of death is harped on by Brother Leo, who constantly repeats, "I am afraid on the road." It's written in Ecclesiastes: "I am afraid on the road, when the windows grow large and fade away." Windows are eyes, which enlarge and fade away at the moment of death. I added to the verse some personal imagery: "when the leaves of the poinsettia no longer turn red." The poinsettia is a bush whose leaves are green in the rainy season and red, blazing red, in the dry season. If the leaves no longer tum red, it's because the plant is dead. Or another: "when the flower of Tian~ has no more fragrance." This is a very fragrant white flower that Tahitian women use to make necklaces. When there is no more fragrance, the flower is dead. These are all images that Brother Leo repeats, on a songlike theme. Brother Masseo's theme is very simple, very melodic, even a bit naive like his character. It's supported by chords of transposed inversions. As for Brother Elias, his themes are grotesque. I might be criticized for having caricatured him, but the Fioretti beats me to it.

C.S. You don't like himO.M. We're in the theater, and I needed an element of contrast.

Brother Elias was undoubtedly a good administrator, but his taste for money and comfort, as revealed in the execution of his duties as monastery superintendent, was in total conflict with the spirit of poverty. Musically, Brother Elias is accompanied by string and trombone glissandos, by the song of the notou, a gloomy-sounding pigeon from New Caledonia, and by the fitful rhythms of the reed ~a~bler, to which I already had devoted a long piece in my Catalogue

d ozseaux.

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and strings. Brother Bernardo is the eldest of my eharac ters; h e is . Âˇ F . older than Sa1nt. ranc1s, who was barely thirty years old, and he wears a long white beard. He too has a bird that interrupts . h h. Âˇ h. or punctuate~ a11 h 1s p rases: t 1s 1s a. p ilemon [or friarbird], from the Isle of the Pines ?ear New Caledonia, whose song is entrusted to the woodwind section. C:S. These are the characters seen on the stage and to whom you've given ~olo parts. But many more performers are required for Saint Franfots.

O.M. Indeed! Together, the chorus and orchestra comprise about

three hundred people, although at the Paris Opera, for the first performance, my expectations were a bit reduced. I had asked for five hundred choristers divided into ten groups (first and second sopranos, mezzos, first and second altos, first and second tenors, baritones, and first and second basses): I didn't get them. I was only allowed one hundred, but they sang very well and the volume was sufficient. Nor was I given all the strings I had asked for, quite simply because the total number didn't fit into the Paris Opera's pit. C.S. It's true that the size of the orchestra in Saint Fran~ois is rather

unusual. O.M. Yes! Take the woodwinds, for example: there are twenty-two of

them! This is an exceptional number, and in order to place those twenty-two players in the Opera, a platform had to be built, stretching over the pit between the left side of the stage and the audience. So these twenty-two woodwinds were grouped onto this platform: three piccolos, three flutes, one flute in G, three oboes, one English horn, two E-flat clarinets, three B-flat clarinets, one bass and one contrabass clarinet, three bassoons, and one contra-bassoon. Then we calle_d for another rarity at the Opera, a total of five keyboards: xylophone, xylorimba, marimba, glockenspiel, and vibraphone. Keyboards are bulky instruments, and in order to accommodate them in the Opera, a second platform had to be built, between the right side of the stage and the. audience. The bras~ normally ta~e up less space, but in Saint Franfots they are many: a httle trumpet m D, three large trumpets, six horns, three trombones, two tubas, and a contrabass tuba. They had to be placed in side boxes. Then there are the three Ondes Martenot-unheard of at the Opera! To achieve some spatial effects, I had planned to place on~ Ondes on the left, one on the right, and the third in the audience, behind ~he conduc~or, but I had to give that up, for the third Ondes player might have disturbed

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, h had very good contact with the the audience and ~ouldn ~ir~v~ndes were placed in a front box to · s' si·de and the second Ondesconductor. So the first and . Im the first VIO ' . the left of the stage, on . front box to the nght, on the cellos' the one taking the b~ss part-.tn af sfactory for the spatial effects I was side. I must say that It was q~te sa ~cussion: five musicians playing looking for. Next come t e /~n the back of the pit, behind the numerous instruments, p 1ace t strings. C.S. If we add the keyb oard s t0 them' the size of this percussion sec-

tion is also extremely rare in an opera. O M Yes but I must point out that, in my music, even .though the

· · d's are p Iayed bYpercussionists' they aren't .considered, I let's keyboar • s" 1·n the half-peJ·orative sense that is wrong say: u percussion · · yh assodated with this section. At their keyboards, the percuss1~n1s~s ave a · Ient to that of p1·anists · As for the other percuss1on1sts, roIe equiva . , they h have to handle a considerable amount of equipment. Here s t e specific layout: the first percussionist plays one set of tubular.bells. I call for two sets of b~lls, which is also uncommon and wh1~~ Dr. Strobel in Donaueschingen had refused m~ fo~ Chronochromze. ~o, one set of bells is assigned to the first percus~1on1st, as .well as the fi~st claves snare drum, and Eoliphone. A wind machme-hence Its name,'Eoliphone-is a wheel with spokes over which a pi~ce of silk has been stretched. It's operated with a crank, and the matenal makes a whistling noise like wind. The second percussionist has the first triangle, second claves, six temple blocks, one very small cymbal, one plain small cymbal, and one suspended cymbal. The third percussionist has the second triangle, third claves, wood block, whip, maracas, reco-reco, glass chimes, shell chimes, wood chimes, Basque drum, and three gongs. The fourth percussionist has the third triangle, fourth claves, a set of crotales, one large and one regular-sized suspended cymbal, medium tom-tom, deep tom-tom, and three tarn-tarns. The fifth percussionist is in charge of the second set of tubular bells, metal sheet, fifth claves, Geophone (or earth machine), and bass drum. You doubtless noticed the presence of five claves. These are wooden sticks that are struck one against the other. I wanted the s~unds pr~duced to be of different pitches, likewise for the three triangles. Fma~lf: a word should be said about the Geophone. I'm the one ~ho gav~ ~tits n~me, but it's M. Luiviere_:in charge of the "perc~ss1on pool In Pans, after overseeing for many years the percussion eqwpment for the radio-who built it. Ceo is for earth and phone 220

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for sound. The Geophone is an earth machine It' 1 with very thin membranes on both sides Inside. "t ~ a a:ghe, flat drum, . 1 is ne1t er earth nor ·ttl I d b d sand, b utf l1 e eaI ea. s. Swaying the drum p ro d uces a sound akin . to that o waves app~ng on the seashore, dragging back sand and result is very sonorous and beautiful I d h Pebbles. The · . . use t e f th fi Geoph one or e rst hme In Des canyons aux etoiles.

c.s. Percus~io': plays an important role in several of your works. It's true that this is one of the new elements in instrumentation. It is equa~ly . true that the French school of percussion is especially flounshmg.

o.M. Indeed, we have some marvelous percussionists in France. I cannot list them all, ~ut I'd especially like to mention Franc;ois Dupin, w~o'~ a pers?nal fnend; Jacques Delecluse; Alain Jacquet; Gerard Perotm; Sylvio Gualda; and the Strasbourg Percussionists. But I've always loved percussion because I myself took the percussion class when I was at the conservatory. My studies began when I was eleven, with piano and harmony; I then studied accompaniment, counterpoint and fugue, and percussion at the same time as music history. I finished with organ, composition, and orchestration. I spent two years in the percussion class. I cannot say that I was a good percussionist, but I nevertheless played in the conservatory orchestra and familiarized myself with all the instruments. I admit that I wasn't very interested in the timpani, but more in the instruments with extended resonance, like bells, gongs, and tarn-tarns, because of their extraordinary mysteriousness and the surprising lessons they te~ch us, which we see applied in the music of a young composer hke Tristan Murai!.

c.s. Gongs and tarn-tarns are also the sorts of instruments that allow you to break from Western traditions.

o.M. Of course, one thinks of exotic sounds, of the music of Bali, but for me, instruments with extended resonance are valuable above all for the harmonies they produce and the complexes of sounds they create. , d ·n review through the orchestra of Saint Franfois, C.S. Weve passe 1 except for the stringstin 1had asked the Opera for sixteen first ~·~· He~e too I was ~a~ liJ~~ fourteen violas, twelve cellos, and ten VIohns, sixteen secon vi? . ' them 11was only allowed twelve first double basses, but I wasn t given ·

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. . ds ten violas eight cellos, and six double basses VIohns twe1ve secon ' ' h .tt . I , which is a bit inadequate, notably in t e passage~ wn en in c usters, when the twelve semitones must be heard, someti~es even doubled, making twenty-four tones. So certain chords were incomplete. I had to remove certain notes from the scoreÂˇ

c.s. Did the difficulties brought on by the enor?'ity of the choral and instrumental forces lead you to consider reducing your demands for the future?

o.M. No, I don't intend to make the slightest mod}fication in ~y work. No more than I did at the time of the Tu!angalila-symphonie. When Koussevitzky commissioned the Turangali~a~ he had given m.e carte blanche and, instead of composing a traditional symphony ~.four movements, I opted for a long work in ten movements requinng a vast orchestral ensemble. For Saint Franfois, Liebermann also allowed me freedom of choice. So I said to myself, "I'm going to be seventy years old. I have a right to be e~travagant." ~s for going back over what's written, there's no question of my doing that.

c.s. You might have wished to revise certain details, however, not out of practical considerations, but because a performance can sometimes lead to the making of changes. O.M. I heard the music in my head for eight years. It was finally not

only alive, but definitive. It was the hour of truth. I know that certain composers don't have the same attitude. For instance, Debussy, who attended all the performances of Pelleas, frequently made little corrections in it. And Boulez writes a work, enlarges it two years later, gives a third version of it the following year, then a fourth version, and so on. This isn't my nature. In all innocence, I rather resemble Satie, who would ~rit~ t:es bien on his manuscripts. I myself write down fini, and when I ve finished, I never go back, even if I'm not happy with the end result. I prefer to go on to the next work rather than change what exists. C.S. When you heard your Saint Franfois for the first time at the Paris

Opera, did you hear the echoes of your mind's ear? O.M. Absolutely. And it was a great joy for me to know I hadn't been wrong.

C.S. T~e stage is set. It's time to answer the sticky question: Is Saint Franfois really an opera?

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o.M. It's obviously not a traditional opera · Th ere,s no overture .

tu:

inter1u d es b etween t h e various scenes no sy h . ' no po on1cfunumbl ers that can be played separately, like a hunting . 11 th .h . r a nera march Fina y, ere are u1 ne1t •er anas nor vocal ensemble s. It's very far from· · 1 Mozartean or vvagnenan opera. Let's say again it's a tacle. But I have a chorus, as in Boris, as in Japan~se Norr;husicta spe~. tG kd A h ea er, as m anc1en rikee rama. _c. orus that plays the role of commentator and that, 1 e a sort of d1v1ne voice, constantly intervenes.

c.s. So, no overtureo.M..~o._Overtures are symphonic numbers nobody listens to. The p~bhc 1~ ~tere~ted o~ly when the c~rtain goes .up. As, for interludes (I m thinking in particular of the interludes in Pelleas which are briJl!ant), they're general~y marred by the hammering of stagehands putting up a new set behind the curtain. So I left out interludes, too. C.S. So, without an overture, we immediately embark on the first

scene and hear keyboard instruments. O.M. Almost all the scenes begin not with an overture but with a

keyboard passage combining xylophone, xylorimba, and marimba. It's a way of paying homage to Bali, where spectacles are always introduced by the playing of metallophones. So the keyboards announce the first scene, which should have been called "Perfect Joy:' I rejected this title because it might have been misinterpreted. According to Saint Francis, to feel perfect joy is to suffer like Christ, in penance for all the sins of mankind. This is a strange joy, and I thought it simpler to entitle the scene ''The Cross:' In fact, at the end of the scene, a large cross produced by a laser beam appears. During the course of the scene, Saint Francis explains to Brother Leo that, having reached the door of the monastery, exhausted by a walk of forty kilometers, starving, thirsty, soaked by rain, driven off by a doorkeeper who not only pretended not to recognize ~~m but b~at ~im with a stick, ~e finally knows what he calls perfect JOY· Brother Leo is dumbfounded. The curtain falls as the chorus repeats the words of Christ: "He who would walk in my steps, let him renounce himself, take up his cross and folio~ me:' 1 might add that in the co~rse of this first scene as Saint Francis recounts what has befallen him, everything in his narrative is recreated musically, a little like the dream of AthaliaC.S. Events aren't seen, but heard.

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o.M. They're even clearly heard because I put in my scor~ the sound of rain, the footsteps, the anger of the doorke~p~r. To reinf?rce the sinister effect of night, I even called on the shneking of the httle owl and the tawny owl. C.S. Bell sounds announce the second scene-

Bell sounds with very complex chords, and these chords amplify the resonance of my two sets of bells. I added a special effect here, which our avant-garde musicians freque~tly use: the "silent noise." Seven flutes play without playing, or, if you prefer, blow . . . without producing any sound. At the beginning of the scene, Saint Francis si~gs f~ur stanzas from the Canticle of the Sun: the stanzas on Brother Wmd, Sister Water, Brother Fire, and Mother Earth. Then the friars stand up and sing the Sanctus with great contrasts between the pianissimos and fortissimos, contrasts that might bring to mind the chorus of ghosts and shades in Berlioz's Lelio. The bell theme is heard again. Saint Francis remains alone and asks God to cause him to meet a leper whom he'd be capable of loving. This second scene, then, depicts life in the monastery. It shows us the friars reciting the prayers of the Office and Saint Francis adding his own personal poems to it, as he always did and would continue to do even as he was dying. After the departure of the friars, he makes his request to God: he already knows that he will never truly be Saint Francis until the day he will have met and kissed a leper. This is the subject of the third scene: ''The Kissing of the Leper:' The contrabass clarinet and Ondes Martenot in the extreme low register establish the horror of leprosy. In the same vein, the Ural Mountain owl is heard in the horns and tubas. Then come symmetrical permutations, producing strange chords and rhythms. The curtain rises on a low room. It's a sort of dormitory, very starkly represented, with a bench on which the Leper is seated, a straw mattress for his bed, and in a corner, a window looking onto a dark alley through which the Angel will appear. At the beginning of the scene the Leper is alone onstage, intoxicated with rage: rage over his illness, his suffering, the blisters and tumors that cover his body. His fury is directed toward himself, toward ~ociety as a whole, toward God whom he blasphemes. His leprosy is of both the body and the soul. He's a wicked being. 0.M.

C.S. The idea that disease renders a being evil is, all the same, rather awful.

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.M· There are people . f whom th · ·disease makes better' who o ffer th eu penanced obr . eu sins. On the other hand, there are those who are y·it, whof become wild with rage · Eac h h as to h' · hexasperate deal wit dis ~~n e~penencfe o disease. But the Leper is going to be healed an spintua Y trans armed and will regret his imprecations.

· O affliction m

c,S. Who is the principal character of this scene, the Leper or Saint Francis?

o.M. They're both principal characters because they'll both be trans-

formed, ~nd a double miracle will occur. Saint Francis approaches the leprosanum; and here I wanted the spectator to feel the horror of the situation. Lepers, as pictured in the Middle Ages and as still seen in certain re~ions of the world today, are truly repulsive: they're covered with pustules, and some parts of their bodies fall off; what's more, they emit an abominable odor. So poor Saint Francis enters the humble room, determined to love this leper, but his first movement is one of terror; I depicted this brutal reaction with an enormous cluster in the entire orchestra. Saint Francis makes a second attempt and recoils again. He collects his strength, and finally managing to conquer his apprehension, sits down next to the Leper, but the Leper, still furious, doesn't listen to Saint Francis's soothing words at first. Only little by little does he calm down and come to understand that Saint Francis is not like the others, that Saint Francis doesn't even resemble the Friars Minor who take care of him. He says to him, "The others call me leper, but you call me 'my friend; 'my brother; 'my son'!" The Angel appears on the other side of the window and sings, in the third mode of limited transpositions, one of the most important themes in the score to these words, which Saint Francis will repeat: ''Your heart accuses you, but God is greater than your heart:' The Leper continues to be transformed. Choral clusters soar in great anguish, in the theme of decision, the theme of joy. Saint Francis holds out his arms and the Leper rushes into them. The two me~ kiss ~ac~ other~ This moment is extraordinary, for the Leper, who is ordinarily banished from society, and for Saint Francis, who knows ~hat.he hasJust riske~ contracting leprosy. Both mer:i are flooded ~ith JOY, S~nt ~rancis because he has finally accomphshed the crowning act of samtlmess of his life, the Leper because he s.uddenly notices that his deformities have disappeared and that he is cured.

c.s. Doesn't pride figure in this happiness of Saint Francis, who has just conquered his repulsion?

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O.M. That's a

blasphe~ous que.stio,11! When a soldier exposes him-

self to danger in war, IS that prideÂˇ . If a soldier plagued by cowardice conquers his fear c.s. Sometunes. . . . h Âˇ . '

the satisfaction that this deed gives him mig t contam a certain element of pride.

o.M. It would indeed be a terrible temptatio.n, but that's obviously not the case with Saint Francis. He has just delivered the Leper from his ills, and the Leper proceeds to dance. The. Leper's doc~miac ~heme is repeated but completely transformed in its orchestration: It ~ now a theme of joy, mixed with the ringing of bells. I even put a brrd In here, a blue rock thrush I had the chance to hear for several days in the mountains of Delphi and whose song I've entrusted to the xylophone, xylorimba, and marimba. It's still a sort of Balinese music, but with triumphal accents and a whole dusting of trills in the strings and cymbals. Saint Francis remains silent. It is his face which translates his inner drama, and the music expresses as much his joy as that of the Leper. The Leper meanwhile interrupts his dancing, suddenly aware of his former spitefulness. He realizes that the marks he bore on his body had invaded his soul, rendering him incapable of recognizing the favors that the Friars Minor were doing for him daily. Stricken with remorse, the Leper says, "I am not worthy to be healed." And, curiously, Saint Francis replies, "Nor am I any worthier to be healed:' The double miracle-the healing of the Leper and the definitive sainthood of Saint Francis-is thus confirmed. The chorus con~lude~ on the Gosp~l text: ''To those who have loved greatly, all is forgiven! Thus we arnve at the end of the third scene, and we're ready to turn to act two. C.S. You've preserved the division into acts? O.M. Yes, complete with obligatory intermissions between the acts.

There are three scenes in the first act, another three scenes in the se~ond act,. and because they're very long, only two scenes in the the thrrd act. With the first act finished, we enter into the fo rth J . u scene, s f "Th cene 0 . e ourney1ng Angel;' one inspired by the Fioretti but whose text is totally my invention. '

c.s. The curtain is down and the music begins. Th.1s is . ... an ove rture. O.M. No. It's a musical introd f Âˇ h. the characters who fi . u~ion in w ich I present the themes of with the song of th ~~~in t e scene: Brother Bernardo's theme e P 1 emon, the New Caledonian friarbird that

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accompanies him; Brother Leo's song; Brother Masseo's theme Âˇ and Brother Elias's three themes, which is to say a glissando of string~ and tromb~nes, ~he song of t~e enormous New Caledonian pigeon, the notou (1n Lahn, Duc.ula golzath), and the grating, acidulous rhythms of the reed warbler. Like Rameau's pieces in binary form, this introduction has two parts; each theme is played twice but in a different musical arrangement at the second occurrence. The curtain then rises, and we see a path in the forest around Mount La Verna. You know that Saint Francis lived in two principal places: in the Carceri of Assisi and at La Verna. Carceri means "prisons," but here it refers to the caves where the monastery was situated. As for La Verna, it's not a mountain but rather a high hill that a great lord had given to Saint Francis and his friars for the establishment of a retreat more solitary than the Carceri. It was at La Verna that Saint Francis received the stigmata. I thought for a long time about the set for the fourth scene and decided it must be presented in this way: at stage left, a monastic cell whose interior is visible when the door is open; in the center, a road through the forest; at right, a cave where Saint Francis, unseen, is engaged in prayer. At the beginning of the scene-this is historically accurate-Brother Leo carries a spade and a wooden plank, for he's going to try to set up a makeshift bridge between two dangerous rocks. He repeats as ever his song on death: ''I am afraid on the road." Before going off, Brother Leo asks Brother Masseo, the most naive and innocent friar in the monastery, to mind the door while he's away. The stage is then left deserted, in preparation for the arrival of the Angel. The different themes of the Angel are heard prior to its actual appearance on the road. When it enters, the Angel must suggest the angels ofFraAngelico or the actors of Japanese No;itmustmovevery slowly and give the impression of dancing without touching ~he ground. In Fra Angelica's paintings, an~els dance on flowenng meadows as if suspended, and beneath theu steps, the flowers are not crushed. I had even wished, but this was impossible at the Paris Opera, to make the Angel circle abo':1t on a sort of flying carpet, as though it were dancing in space (which Cocteau managed successfully in Beauty and the Beast). ~s for the ~sual depiction of the Angel, it was inspired by iconographic models: ~t ~as a human .face ~nd la~ge wings and is wearing a long robe. T~1s .1~ a convention: in reality, angels are pure spirits, noncorporal, 1nVIs1bleC.S. You chose to have your Angel sing in the soprano register0.M. The ideal would probably be a child's voice; that's t~e p~r~s~ of

all. But the soprano timbre can also be very pure, especially if it s a

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·ce close to the voice of Pamina in The lyric soprano, a Mo~artean vo~a~ize the Angel's costume, for Which 1 Magic Flute. I.'d al~o hkel toe~~ I was with my wife in Florence and, on made a special tnp t~ F or~n Assisi but she didn't know about m four sepa:ate occasi.ofns, inLleber~ann understood that I was in th~ secret: neither my WI e nor . f -r g a Saint FranfOlS ! process o w~i ~l d at the monastery of San Marco I saw So I was inA orel?ce, ·~ells that he decorated himself, but also numerous Fra nge icos. · h · d . f these altarpieces, wh1c comprises a ozen · · I ·t altarpieces. 1n one o n ht appears an . · · found an Annunciation. small paintings, is f · k' . el dressed in a robe o a pin is mauve color 1t h 1 l.k extraord 1nary ang d lmon) It has a gold breastp a e, a a ·o 1 ea ·1 (between 11ac an sa · d hollow plate, also gold, capping the top of the head ~n , most 1m~res. f 11 t wm·gs spread out at the back, two f1ve-colored wings s1ve o a , wo df · h · striped blue, black, green, and yellow, with large re r1nge a~g1ng down: the colors are very vivid. The angel seem~ to be wearing .a double flag or, if you prefer, a double set of organ p1~es._ The re~ult is fabulous and had such a marked effect on me that I 1ns1sted this Fra Angelico angel be used as the model for ~he co~tume worn. by Christiane Eda-Pierre, who created the role m the first production. I'll get back to the Angel's entrance, which the music heralds with a series of themes, including the song of the gerygone already discussed. C.S. The gerygone you heard in New Caledonia0.M. Yes, and that was quite an expedition. Twenty-eight hours in the

air! An exhausting flight, in the company of my wife who didn't really know why we were going to New Caledonia, for I still harbored the secret of Saint Franfois. But I have a good remedy for fatigue. As soon as I hear bird songs, I regain my strength and forget my cares. I can be dying, but if I hear a bird's song I'm cured! I no longer suffer from cold, heat, or hunger: I listen to the bird. Upon my arrival in New Caledonia it was the same. I listened to the birds and was wild with joy. Of course, I had prepared for my trip. From an annotated book I had learned that a pharmacist in Noumea, a M. Tonnelier, was a specialist in ornithology, so I had written him to ask for his assistance, and as soon as my plane landed, he became my guide. It was with him that I discovered the song of the gerygone. Later I continued the journey ~ith only my wife, and I visited a magnificent place: the Isle o~ Koun1e, called the Isle of Pines. Araucarias, tall columnar pines wtth very sle~der trun~s., are found there, as well as other gigantic trees resembling sequoias that can live for several centuries. New Caledonia, whose population-all French-speaking-is a 228

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mixture of French, Melanesian, Polynesian, Chinese, Vietnamese, and Indonesian, boasts some extraordinary color combinations. The pigeons aren't gray like our horrible Parisian pigeons, but green, a marvelous emerald green, and covered with a silky, mosslike down, delightful to pet. The foliage of the trees is flaming red; the sea is violet, and the trunks of the niaoulis (trees used in cosmetics manufac~uring) are white. The meeting of these green pigeons, red leaves, white trees, and the violet sea is absolutely amazing. They're the colors of dream and madness. Finally, there are the songs of the birds. C.S. These are seabirdsO.M. No, they're land birds, songbirds that live in New Caledonia and

its neighboring islands, the Isle of Pines and the three Loyalty Islands. Some of these songbirds can only be heard there. I'm thinking specifically of the gerygone warbler (the Angel's theme!), which is a little yellow-bellied warbler. Its external appearance is not extraordinary, but it performs staccato figures in a sensational way, like a piccolo or xylophone. It can repeat the same figure twenty times in a row! We played a trick on it: we recorded it and made it hear its own song- It thought another warbler had arrived, and started up again! C.S. Let's get back to the fourth scene of Saint Franfois, to where your gerygone announces the entrance of the Angel. O.M. The Angel crosses the road, approaches the monastic chamber,

and knocks on the door. This event is reported in the Fioretti: the Angel, immaterial in nature, knocks quite softly, but the light touch of its hand on the door produces a frightful noise. The dochmiac rhythm that underlines this shock symbolizes the irresistible entry of grace, coming to question the Friars Minor. It's a theme with hammered rhythms that will be taken up again later, howled by the chorus when Saint Francis receives the stigmata. So the Angel knocks on the door. Brother Masseo, the doorkeeper, appears with his naive air and politely explains to ~he Angel that it isn't seemly to make such a racket. The Angel smiles amicably and answers, "May I ask Brother Elias a question?" Brother Masseo says, "Have patience for a few minutes; I will go and look for him." Brother Elias is upset by the summons: he was working writing a memo on the smooth running of the monastery, and ho~ does anyone dare disturb him? "How can one work under such conditions?" He is furious, and the Angel asks him a question about predestination: ''Hast thou put off the old man;' it says, "to put

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" rh·s 1 ·s a phrase from Saint Paul, distinguishing on th e new.? 1 · £ · d · between the old man, the one given over to antas1es an emotions, and the new man who follows the path ?f grace, who cond~cts him·th · tliness and truth. Brother Ebas wonders who this tenderself WI sam · h l d · foot is who means to give him a course m t eo ogy, an instantly throws the Angel out. The monastery doesn't.usua~ly employ such brutal methods, and Brother Elias's behav1or . dismays Brother Masseo. As for the Angel, it persists and presents 1ts~If once more at the door of the monastery, knocks delicately, triggering the racket a second time. Brother Masseo tells it, ''You have not taken heed of my lesson on how to knock." The Angel smiles and replies, "May I ask Brother Bernardo a question?" Brother Bernardo is quite different from Brother Elias. He's a calm, serene, even-tempered man, characterized by a simple and solemn musical theme. The Angel repeats the question just posed to Brother Elias. Brother Bernardo reflects at length and replies, "I have often thought that after my death, our Lord Jesus Christ will look at me as he looked at the tribute money:'-This is my own idea, inspired by the Gospel and recalling the scene of the tribute: Is it right or wrong to pay tribute money to Caesar? Christ replied, "Show me the tribute money." It bore the image of Caesar. "Whose image and inscription are these?" - "When I die;' continues Brother Bernardo, '1 would like Christ to look at me as he looke~ at the tribute ~oney, saying 'Whose image and inscription are these? and I would like to be able to answer him, 'Yours.' "The Angel is happy. ''You have answered magnificently!" Brother Bernardo b~comes bolder and says, "But who are you?" At this moment, a great glissando passes through the orchestra: the theme of the magnificent Angel. The Angel tum.s around, spreads its wings, and says, "I cannot tell you; my name is Wonderful." It exits very slowly: as it came. Du~b.founded, the two friars exchange glances and sha;e the same. suspicion: maybe it was an angel- All that remains is the modcking thd~~e of the ~erygone, which seems to say "You have not un erstoo . The curtam falls.

C.S. The curtain rises on the fifth scene, "The A nge l M us1cian." . . O.M. This scene is all the more im rt . . . first image of Saint Francis Wh P0 ant smce It reminds me of my 1 ful edition of the Fioretti the t e~ 7as:.oung, I owned a very beauti1 Old French in order to' evok:xth: ~ ch. had been translated into ciscans in the time of Sam·t F . mbnan spoken by the Fran.h ranc1s Now thi wit wood engravings by M . s work was illustrated angel playing the viol b f aunce en1s, one of which depicted an image, which made a gre:t~;:, an u~terly ecstatic Saint Francis. That pression on me, came back to me when

D ./

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I I

I decided to compose my opera. That's wh . Florence in order to research the Angel's costu~el :t~nt st:ai?ht to e pamhngs of Fra Angelico. The episode of the angel musi· . . f h d . . . cian is recounted at the , end o t e secon reflection 1n Considerations on th st· · 1 1 t · e zgmata It s a particu scene for a composer si·nce I·t must sh ow· con . . 1ar hy emptmg h vmcing y . ow t e ~elestial music played on the viol b the A Y ngel caused Saint Francis to faint. C.S. The curious power of music: magical and perhaps evil0.M. Ma.gi~~l, evil? No! !'lo! A hundred times no! Saint Francis says of the mus1~: Because of its unbear~ble swee.tness, my soul nearly left

my body. No .one can see God without dying; it's not possible until after resurrection. To hear the sounds of the invisible on this earth is an e~traordinary joy, a kind of knowledge of the beyond through music- And what a ~arvelous opportunity for a composer! But a dangerous opportunity, for the music definitely must be quite beautiful-

I I

l 1.

C.S. Onstage, we're still at I.a Verna. O.M. It's the same set as in the preceding scene, with the monastic

room on the left, Saint Francis's cave on the right, and in the middle, the path bordered by pine and beech trees. At the start of the scene, Saint Francis is on his knees, singing the two most famous stanzas of the Canticle of the Sun, those of Brother Sun and Sister Moon. In passing, 111 point out the difference between Saint Francis and the prophet Daniel. This great Hebrew prophet wrote a wonderful text, the inspiration for Stockhausen's Gesang der f unglinge, a text sung by three youths who, for I don't know what political reason, were thrown into a fiery furnace. They weren't burned, and, encircled by flames, they sang of the miracles of nature: "Springs and fountains, praise the Lord! Mountains and glaciers, praise the Lord! Snow and mists, praise the Lord! Sun, moon, and stars, praise the Lord!" This is magnificent, but nonetheless one grandly monotonous tonality, like numerous Hebraic psalmodies. Saint Francis took up the same ideas, and a certain kinship can be detected between the Canticle of the Sun and the Canticle of the Children by the prophet Daniel. But there's a big difference: not only is Saint Francis's canticle not monotonous, but in it the beauties of nature are considered friends of mankind. Saint Francis always refers to Brother Sun, Sister Moon, the Sister Stars, Sister Water, and so on. So Saint Francis sings the two stanzas of the Canticle of the Sun to the same music as the stanzas he sang in the preceding scenes, to be

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. t the moment of his death. Then Saint Francis cites a text . · 1 h c · · h eard again a b Saint Paul that is drawn from the Fus~ Ep1st e tot e onnth1ans, a Y ech oe d in · h"s text 1 own poem·· ''There is one glory of the sun, and on and another glory of the stars: for one star · h · anoth erg1ory o f the mo ' differeth from another star in glory. So also is t e resurrection of the

1 f t 1 1 d. dead." That means that paradise is a P ace ? e ema g ?ry an. Joy, hut that there are degrees of glory, that it will be appor~oned in all fairness, without inspiring the slightes~ jealousy, according to a person's attainments on earth. Next a blackbud and a song thrush are heard in the forest of La Verna. Saint Francis speaks up: "All these glories of which the apostle speaks delight me, bu~ e~en ,?'ore the joy of the blessed and the infinite happiness of meditation .. To fu~y sense what will be the joy of heaven, it is not enough to be unpassible, graceful, discerning, and luminous; o~e must above. all understand God, whom we cannot understand in our earthly hfe and whom we will always understand only imperfectly. Saint Francis begs God to give him a foretaste of that joy. But very softly the theme of the gerygone, the little warbler from New Caledonia, appears in the glockenspiel. The Angel isn't far away. Then another bird is heard, the kestrel, which was a friend of Saint Francis and-another historically accurate detail!-always reminded Francis, at La Verna, when it was time for his nocturnal Offices. This was a very gentle falcon: curiously, when Saint Francis was spent by fasting and deprivation, the kestrel would take pity on him and give him an extra half-hour of sleep. I'd like to provide a detail with regard to the instrumental sonority that I used to characterize the cry of the kestrel. Many listeners have told me they hear an Ondes Martenot. In fact, I used a contrabass tuba, fitting a bassoon reed on its mouthpiece. I wouldn't have thought of this effect myself, but found it by engaging in various experiments with a tuba player, and I got what I wanted: some absolu!ely atrocious sounds in the upper register. From a contrabass tuba, this is rather unexpected; I even manage to have it play a genuine theme of two or three notes. C.S. So the gerygone and the kestrel announce the entrance of the Angel. O.M. Yes, but i.t d~esn't a.~pear, as in the preceding scene, in the midst

of m~n, blending in. fam1harly with the group of friars. In fact, Sandro ~e_q':11, t~e stage director of the Paris Opera production had the rd!iant idea of placing the Angel on a bridge overlooking the stage, so it seems to be look·ing d own upon the world. Unconsciously,

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Sandro Sequi thus brought back two memories for me· th t fB 1· · · a o er 10z · · h' M re f erring. 1n 1s emozrs to Beethoven's Fourth Sym h hi f h P ony- Ber1·1oz spo e 1g Yo t e slow movement, which he said rem'nd d h' f ,, k h 1 k' h 1 e 1m o an ange 1oo mg at t e world"-and that of two pa· t' b . l' · th 'f' . 1n 1ngs y C1~r 1on1s at ~pe~1 1cally depict an angel high atop a sort of footbnd?e from which It looks upon an enormous rotating globe, representing our planet or the movement of the universe. So.our Angel arrives onstage very slowly, holding a viol. It crosses the bndge, then descends a stairway toward Saint Francis. All its words are const~ntly punctuated by the song of the gerygone, entrusted to the piccolo or xylophone. Then, over one of its themes in Modes 2 and 3 of limited transpositions, the Angel utters a phrase of Saint Thomas Aquinas: "God dazzles us by an excess of truth; music transports us to God by an absence of truth:' C.S. This is a beautiful phrase, but will it really be clear to our readers? O.M. 111 try to explain it. The arts, especially music but also literature

and painting, allow us to penetrate domains that are not unreal, but beyond reality. For the surrealists, it was a hallucinatory domain; for Christians, it is the domain of faith. ''Blessed are those who have not seen and who have believed." They haven't seen, but they have a secret intuition about what they don't see. Now, I think music, even more than literature and painting, is capable of expressing this dreamlike, fairy-tale aspect of the beyond, this "surreal" aspect of the truths of faith. It's in that sense that music expresses the beyond with its absence of truth, because it isn't inside the actual framework of reality. God alone is the single true reality, a reality so true that it surpasses all truth. Is my explanation satisfactory?

c.s.

Yes, and it was all the more necessary since the expression "absence of truth" might have been considered a pejorative judgment.

o .M. This isn't the case. "Absence of truth" doesn't. si~nify false~~od.

It's the symbolic representation of an event that 1.s n ~ really v~s1ble, whereas celestial meditation is no longer symbolic: it's a reality.

c.s. Which calls for another explanation. o.M. Entire treatises would have to be ~evoted to it. How can one comprehend the mystery of the Holy Trinity? The Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit-we'll never be able to see them completely. But, fortunately for us, God assumed human form, and later we11 be able to

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d Christ and through him, we11 undersee Christ, the real, resurrecte rth he ~id to the apostle Philip, "Have stand God. When he was on eat ~u do not know me, Philip? He who I been with you so long, and ;:t;er; how can you say 'Show us the has seen me has seen ~he that 1 am in the Father and the Father in Father'? Do you not ?eheve d see Jesus Christ resurrected ?" Wh e're m heaven an . , me. ~n w . derstand the Heavenly Father a httle better. through him we w111 un · h is · en ti" re1y my mven· el's speech wh1c N ow I'll return to the Ang ' , h · f . . d by its last phrase: 'Hear t e music o the tion and is summe up · 1 db · "th f invisible." The Angel prepares to play the v10 ~n eg1ns. w1 a ew bow strokes. It first plays slowly, then more qu!c~ly, ve~y JOyou~ly. It I til the forest resounds. Finally, when finished, its ha~d is no PI ays un the bow It ascends in silence and once agam over· . · ·t h d onger seen on looks the whole stage while hold~ng th~ v101 m 1 s an . . In order to summarize the music ofth1s scene, 111 remind you that the theme of the gerygone and cries of the kestrel accompany the Angel's entrance, followed by the different themes .of the Angel as already presented during the cours~ of the .P~evious scene, but underlined here by choral clusters. Saint Francis is warned; because it is not the hour for prayer, he understands that the falcon's signal concerns an abnormal event. Then the Angel enters, calling Francis by name, and an immense development stirs u~ the w~ole orche~tra; the theme of the gerygone is taken up by the strings (with other brrds in the woodwinds). Saint Francis, who has recognized the Angel, is flooded with joy: he falls to his knees immediately, and the Angel begins to sing the words I quoted for you, then concludes with these words: "Know the joy of the blessed by gentleness of color and melody . .. and may there be opened for thee the secrets of glory! Hear this music that suspends life from the ladders of heaven .... Hear the music of the invisible." There follows a short interlude by the gerygone, and viol glissandos, which are really glissandos in natural harmonics performed on the strings of the violins and violas. The result is a very pretty combination of harmonics and resonances. To this is added a solo double bass, playing on two strings with either the metal screw button of the bow or a triangle rod, while the instrumentalist muffles the fundamentals: this produces a tremolo of harmonics and results in some high-pitched sounds akin to wafer droplets. The whole thing has to take one by surprise. The listener must be transported to another world, and this is where something extraordinary occurs: the ·viol solo is played by the three Ondes ~arten~t, s~~arate~ spatially. The three Ondes play very slowly, each wit~ an 1nd1VIdual .ttm~re, and at first are simply accompanied by a Cma1or fourth and sixth m the solo violins, violas, and cellos. This is the 234

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moment of the miracle: 路路n d b the strings stop playing while the o n d esconttnue, ~h . s.upporte y the C-major fourth and sixth now entrusted to t~e invisible chorus, relayed through the ceiling of the theater by a series of loudspeakers. The effect is striking. Roused by the music of the Angel~ the forest reverberates; one notices some trombone pedalsounds with the t~~ chord of resonance, which is to say a very complex chord compnsing the fundamental, octave, fifth, third, seventh, ninth, and also 1:11Y che~ished augmented fourth, a minor sixth, major seventh, and minor thud-these last two scarcely audible. Joined to this harmonic layout is an orchestration in vertical diminuendo where trombone pedal-sounds first assert themselves, fortissimo, followed by relatively sustained harmonics played by horns and bassoons, and finally the weaker harmonics entrusted to the flutes. To this whole orchestra are added the Eoliphone, which imitates the sound of wind, and the Geophone, imitating that of sand. One truly has the impression that the Angel's viol has awakened the whole earth. Then the Angel plays ever louder and faster, while a very expressive song rises in the violins. Finally, when the Angel stops, the voices of the chorus descend once again from the ceiling, and the Ondes Martenot conclude with a final phrase, then a grand silence. By this time, the Angel has returned to the footbridge, and Saint Francis has collapsed in a faint. Abrupt change in the music-we return to earth, and Brother Leo enters singing, "I am afraid on the road;' then "Behold, the invisible is seen, the in-" He breaks off, stunned, for he has just stumbled across the body of Saint Francis. The kestrel calls out its warning: a misfortune has occurred, Saint Francis appears to be in trouble. Brother Leo tries, in vain, to awaken Saint Francis. He calls to the other friars for help; they come rushing from the monastic hall and finally manage to revive Saint Francis. ''My little lambs, thank you;' Saint Francis says to them. "I am not ill, only overcome by that heavenly mu~ic:' ~nd Saint Fra.ncis si~gs the historic phrase that appears in Consideratzons on the Stigmata: 'If the Angel had played one more note-if, after down-bowing, it had made an up-bow-from unbearable sweetness my soul would have left my body:' Curtain.

c.s. After the musical ecstasy comes another form of ecstasy, one that makes your ornithologist heart beat faster. We now enter upon the sixth scene路

o.M. This sixth scene is "The Sermon to the ~irds." This ep~sod~ from

the life of Saint Francis is related in ch~pte! s1xtee_n of the Fio.reth, b~t I d

路t I did not depend on it for inspiration. Being an orn1tholog1st

:n;~lf, and hence quite comfortable with the subject, I preferred to 235

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let my own memories speak for themselves. . Âˇ th moment to ask you the question: Was the encounter e .d . t t f t . between Saint Francis and the bir s ?an impor an ac or in the choosing of the subject for your operaÂˇ C.S. Th IS IS

O.M. Absolutely. This is a bit irrevere~t, but I ~ust say that I almost

consider Saint Francis a colleague. Saint Fra~CI~ had a great love for all of nature, and particularly for birds. All ~1s biographers, from the oldest to the most recent, have spoken of it.

c.s. As for ''The Sermon to the Birds;' it's historical fact. o.M. It is historic, but historians are not in agreement about its loca-

tion. Some place it at Pian dell'Arca, near B~va?na: this is a char_ming, very Umbrian, green landscape. Others indicate the Careen. The latter opinion is the one I've retained. The site is more beautiful, with the green oak, olive, and cypress trees, the caves where the Friars Minor lived, and the view of Mount Subasio. Musically, this scene is the terror of conductors. When Seiji Ozawa saw the score for the first time, he told me, ''This is unperformable!" He got used to it and ultimately conducted it wonderfully, as he did the rest of the score, with the authority, precision, expressive force, and genius characteristic of him. But it really is very difficult. The conductor has to beat some very complex bars based on unequal time signatures with the 32nd note as the unit of measure. For example, 3-3-2/32 or 2-3-2/32 or 2-2-3/32, and so forth. This is quite risky, and, as it is out of the question to learn it by heart, the conductor must use his left hand to tum the pages of the score. ~o, he is already responsible for executing two simultaneous actions, but there's a third: he must give the instrumentalists who are playing hors tempo their entrances and cut offs. This is a formidable _task, which I don't regret calling for; even if it is madness, the r~sult is marvelou~! I was looking for and achieved a great, orga~ized chaos of which I know no equivalent in contemporary music. C.S. And, right at the start of the scene, the birds make their voices heard. O.M. The. int~oduction is a long skylark solo entrusted to the three

xylos, which is to say the xylophone, xylorimba and marimba Next appears the mistle thrush, a bird I heard in Be;agna whose s~ng is r~a~~~ ~~h~ solo clarinet, hors tempo. Other hors te,,;po solos ensue: e ir n es Martenot and the first piccolo do a blackcap; the first 236

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flute does a blackbird; the first Ondes does a song thrush; tern le blocks, cello _solo, double bass pizzicato, and the second Ondes do fhe Japan~se bird, the uguisu. Other elements appear and are supenmpos.ed_onto the previous ones: the chaffinch is entrusted to ~ree solo v1ol~s,_ a reco-reco hors tempo, and three trumpets playing m Mode 3 of_hm!ted transpositions with Harmon mutes. . .The ~urta1n nses on the hermitage of the Carceri. The scene is ~1V1ded into sev~ral parts not always readily discerned by my first listeners, but ~h1ch fo~ me are very clear-cut. The first part is the entrance of Samt Francis and Brother Masseo. The most naive of the friars was the most qualified to follow Saint Francis in this somewhat miraculous episode. Accompanied by his own theme, Brother Masse<:> attempts to introduce us to the principal birds I heard at the Car~en: the turtledove-rendered by flutter-tongued flutes and clarinets and by an Ondes Martenot playing glissandos on the ribbon, with tremolo on the fingerboard, which gives a sort of cooing effect; then the wren, a funny little bird with a tail like a frying-pan handle and a formidable voice, considering its small size, whose song I entrusted to xylophone, piccolos, flutes, and clarinets; the robin, which does a quick, delicate melody, a "fragile stream;' and is depicted with descending scales in flutes and clarinets, an Ondes glissando, and a sort of slow, caressing appoggiatura; finally the capinera, which is to say the blackcap of Assisi, whose song is always entrusted to the entire woodwind section with a suspended-cymbal trill. This capinera cost me enormous effort, for I transcribed thousands of warblers and not only at the Carceri; for each warbler solo I had to invent chords on each note in order to translate the special timbre, which is very joyous and very rich in harmonics. The second part is the theme of decision, the theme of joy, the theme of Saint Francis. Overcome with sudden enthusiasm, Saint Francis stands up and says, "A psalm, an exclamation mark, an island like an exclamation mark!" Without my having to spell it out, one will have guessed that this is an allusion to New Caledonia, a very long island, cut in two by a mountain chain with slopes of tropical landscapes, magnificent, verdant, flowing do~ t? the sea. Its elongated form and the Isle of Pines at its far end give 1t the appearance of an exclamation mark. Saint Francis continues, citing all the marvelous things I saw in New Caledonia: "There where the leaves are red, the pigeons green, the trees white, there ~here the se~ changes froÂ°! green to blue and from violet to green like the reflec~ons of a~ opal. Colors pass through the chords in the orchestra as Saint Fra.nc1s menti 0 s them. As Saint Francis explains it, we, too, need the birds of the Âˇ 1nnds to fulfil! the words of the psalm: "That the isles may applaud!" is a . Franc1s . goes on t o 1n . tr d Brother Masseo is speechless, and Saint o uce 237

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to us the birds of the Isle of Pines, birds which, he says, he has "heard in a dream." For Saint Francis never made such a journey; I don't believe he went any further than Damietta,_ in Egypt, w~ch already amounts to an enormous distance for the time. These birds are the eopsaltria (a yellow-bellied robin); the phi_lemon, which, be.cause of its loyalty to its mate, gets its name from Phile~on and Baucis; the little gerygone warbler, which always accompanie~ the Angel, except here (and that's why I presented its staccato ma diff~rent w_ay); and lastly the gammier [scaler). The gammier is an extraordinary bird that begins its song by descending the scale, not note by note, but group by group and chromatically. It then goes back up the s.c~le, once again chromatically, group by group. This song, whose ongtn was authenticated for me by M. Tonnelier, the ornithologist fron:i New Caledonia, amazed me so much that it inspired a phrase I put into the mouth of Saint Francis. When Brother Masseo, shocked, says to him, '1t comes down the scale before going up it," Saint Francis replies, 'We too, after resurrection, will climb the ladders of heaven while seeming to descend them." This is a phrase that might seem surrealistic, but which effectively expresses the absence of time and space. The third part of the sixth scene is a little concert of birds. This is a potpourri of four garden warblers in the first and second violins, dominated by the chaffinch in the three xylos, with birds from Morocco and Sweden in the piccolos, flutes, and oboes, the mistle thrush in the clarinets, the cuckoo in muted trumpets and horns, plus the blackbird on the first Ondes hors tempo and the wood pigeon on first horn hors tempo. With the fourth part of the sixth scene returns the theme of decision, the theme of joy. On his theme of solemnity, Saint Francis sings, "Everything of beauty must lead to freedom, the freedom of glory:' A thing of beauty-excuse me for this Anglicism, but this is the primary message of the "Ode on a Grecian Um," the famous poem by John Keats. And the sentence continues: "Our brothers the birds are awaiting that day when Christ will unite all creatures, those of the earth and those of the sky:' The resurrection of mankind will be accompanied by the renewal of the whole earth, including the birds, trees, and flowers. With the theme of decision, after five big fortissimo chords marked with fermatas, Saint Francis comes forward, places himself under a large green oak, and delivers his sermon. This is the fifth part, ''The Sermon to the Birds;' strictly speaking. He tries to make the birds recognize all the gifts they have received from God, some being quite extraordinary. Indeed, God gave them plumage of marvelous colors and the ability to sing in a wonderful manner. They can fly, whereas men weren't able to imitate them until the invention of aviation. Finally, the last and strangest ability of all, their instinc-

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tual sense of migration. Then Saint Francis asks the birds to th k ~od for all these. blessing.s. ''Praise the Lord;' he tells them, "and I ~11 give you a blessing, makmg.the sign of the cross:' And Saint Francis traces a large sign of the cross in the air. C.S. In the Catholic religion, the presence of animals is, all the same, uncommon. O.M. Even so, there is Noah's ark, where all species of animals are

represented. I'm also thinking of the story of Daniel, who was thrown into a pit where hungry lions were preparing to devour him: he was finally able to pet them without the slightest danger! And there are also the ox and donkey of the Christmas manger: this is only a tradition, but it has remained deeply ingrainedC.S. In Saint Francis's sermon, the birds are more objects than subjects. They do nothing. O.M. They react-above all, by offering a veritable concert, then by

keeping quiet during the sermon. Saint Francis is interrupted only from time to time by the song of the capinera (blackcap), but when he has finished-and this is historically documented-the birds launch into an enormous, new concert that is the sixth part of the scene. Finally, the Fioretti adds that the birds then fly up, forming an immense cross in the sky. So we reach the seventh part of the sixth scene. The birds have disappeared. Brother Masseo approaches Saint Francis, who concludes with these words: "Do not forget the good example these birds provide us. They have nothing, yet God feeds them. Let us always place the care of our life in divine providence. Let us seek the kingdom and its justice, and the rest will be given unto us." Now we hear the song of the golden oriole in the woodwinds with string glissandos; trills in the third mode of limited transpositions, in the low register of the cellos and double basses, blending with the crescendo-decrescendo of the Geophone; Ondes 3, borrowing from the Australian lyrebird, does a high-pitched figure on the ribbon, delineating it with keys of a third and a fifth; one last blackcap; then the curtain falls on the theme of decision.

c.s. Thus ends one of the longest scenes in your opera. o.M. The longest! It lasts f?rty-five minutes-the l~~ge.s~ and the least it s my greatest d erstood, but in my opmion, the best. I am positive un b b' d Âˇ success in the bird-song style; these are my est ir tuttis.

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c.s. Some listeners had the feeling you wanted to drive them up the wall.

o .M. I wanted nothing of the kind! I've always said I was an ornithologist, and I believe I really proved it here.

c.s. Can the sixth part of the sixth scene, the great concert of birds in response to the sermon, be analyzed? O.M. Anything can be analyzed. In my class at the conservatory, I

analyzed everything, but for some works it's a tremendous task. For example, I'm thinking of Xenakis's Pithoprakta: hardly anyone but the composer could analyze that. Besides, he placed little Greek letters into his scores; these aren't musical signs, but points of reference that permit him to follow his own analysis and to locate the spots where his calculations begin and end! C.S. Are you the only one who can analyze the "great concert of

birds"? O.M. A serious musician who has good eyes and who can read large

pages of score with seventy staves should be able to manage it, but I still have the edge over anyone else, as both composer and ornithologist. So, first we have, in actual measured time, a skylark for three voices, played by the three xylos, then another skylark, also measured, harmonized with eight- , nine-, and ten-tone chords (one chord per note), and played by the woodwind section. The garden warbler, blackcap, and two blackbirds are heard at the same time, entrusted to the first and second violins against a background of triangle trills combined with the counterpoint of the bells. The pizzicato chords of the violas, cellos, and double basses intermittently punctuate the discourse and emphasize the "two vs. three" opposition in time signatures of 2-3-2/32, 2-3-3/32, and 3-22/32. To all these continually superimposed elements are added the hors tempo instruments that drive conductors to despair: a garden warbler on Ondes 1, a blackcap on Ondes 2, the Australian lyrebird on Ondes 3, another blackcap on the little trumpet in D. But the height of difficulty is reached with the appearance of the golden oriole played simultaneously by three horns, crotales, glockenspiel, and vibraphone. The problem for these hors tempo instruments that sort of wander off "into nature" is keeping together. They must be placed rather close to one another and look at each other. At the Paris

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Opera, it was the ~rst horn player who was responsible for his nei hbors, and everything went well. g . We'v~, reached the third act and the seventh scene: ''The ~ttgmata. . From the dramatic standpoint, this scene is the most 1mporta~t m_ the whole work. I encountered the greatest difficulties in composing It, because I'~ not a composer of pain, suffering, and horror, but a composer of Joy. That is to say that this scene was totally contrary to my nature, but nevertheless I composed it with all my heart. C.S. It begins at nightO.M: The curt~in rises swiftly on a stage plunged in darkness. The

music starts with a descending motion in the woodwinds followed in the distance, by a humming chorus that makes an enormou~ cluster. O~er ~his cluster appears a tawny owl, which is a very common bud 1n Europe, but whose cry always frightened me. The peasants also fear the tawny owl, a fear that has given rise to numerous superstitions. Naturally, these superstitions are ridiculous and unjustified, but the cry is strange: it's a descending minor third followed by a staccato note and repeated tones leading to the reprise of the descending minor third. I translated this with harmonics from the solo strings, Ondes Martenot glissandos, fluttertonguing by the three flutes using only the mouthpiece, and soaring above it all, one horn playing partially stopped notes. The effect is rather extraordinary. Next, there's a mode of timbres, durations, and intensities. This is not comparable to my ''Mode de valeurs et d'intensites," but it is in the same spirit. This super-serial passage gives you an idea of my feelings about serial music: I fin~ it capabl~ of expressing only fear, terror, and nig~t, and that explains the horrible subjects chosen by Berg for both his operas. 1

c.s. Is it the serial language itself that communicates this im~r~ssion of anxiety, or is it that a new language is strange only because 1t 1s new and, as a result, unsettling? The serial language is not unsettling-it is black! I see it without

o.M . 1 k coloration. Always black, gray, b ac , gray-

the scale of values, because it did c.s. Because l't "undifferentiated" .

away with tonal functions.

O.M. You say this from the theoretical standpoint. The reality is really

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more monstrous: this system did away with the phenomenon of resonance. C.S. Isn't that the case of all atonal music? O.M. Serial music, dodecaphony, atonality-the result is identical Resonance has been abolished. The rest-tonal functions or sonat~

forms-can disappear without my being concerned. But, without resonance, only a feeling of blackness remains. C.S. In this seventh scene, you wanted to convey blackness. O.M. lt's perhaps naive of me, but that's true. So Saint Francis is seen

on his knees, in the middle of the stage, in the night. Saint Francis says, ''Lord, grant me two favors before I die! The first, that I may feel in my body the pain you endured in the hour of your cruel Passion. The second, that I may feel in my heart the love with which you were fired, the love that allowed you to accept such a Passion, for us, sinners." After these words, the themes of Saint Francis and of decision rise up, very resoundingly: Saint Francis desired the stigmata! Little by little the stage lights up with a pale glimmer, strange and unsettling. Different effects animate the orchestra: in the violins, glissandos in artificial and natural harmonics; the violas play with half the hair of the bow on the bridge; the double basses muffle their fundamentals and play tremolos between the strings with the metal screw button of the bow; in the woodwinds-bizarre bird songs; low trills on the bass clarinet; and one Ondes plays tremolo chords, rather unusual because, as you know, the Ondes is a monodic instrument. But, by positioning three fingers on the keyboard on a chord and by very quickly and alternately playing one finger at a time, one obtains a succession of three tones, so rapid that they're practically simultaneous and give the impression of a chord. This is what's called the jeu en tremolo. The result is very strange and very surprising, here blended with the whole orchestra. Then the chorus comes in. In this scene of the stigmata, the chorus plays the principal role, representing the voice of Christ. "Mine;' says the chorus, speaking for Christ, '1 have loved unto the last, unto the end, unto the death on the cross, until my flesh and my blood surrendered, given as nourishment in the Eucharist:' More strange effects appear throughout the orchestra. The violins play arpeggios on all four strings, between the bridge and the tailpiece, which gives some curious, high-pitched sounds. The Eoliphone imitates the whistling of the wind; the Geophone makes the sound of the earth. Two Ondes play tremolo; the third Ondes uses the air filter (what

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composers of electronic music call white sound) / wi"th f1 Âˇh bi' h h ouns esand rum mgs w ~n t e key~oard is touched. In a particularly terrifyin passag~, the six horns chmb upward in clusters, underlined by th~ poundmg of. three claves and the bass drum, enormous hammerblows"bi assigned to punctuate every word of the chorus. An a b soIute Iy tern e atmosphere of growing anguish prevails, and we wait on the edge of our seats for an occurrence that will interrupt its progres.s. On on~ Ondes Martenot, runs are executed by four fingers successively, which wouldn't present any difficulty if the four notes weren't preceded by ~ littl: appoggiatura played by pressing two keys-keys four and five-in order to obtain a harmonic, the augmented fourth of the original tone. Added to all this are the lowpitched sonorities of the ' tarn-tarn, trombone pedal-tones, trilled chords, and glissando clusters in the strings. Then an immense cross appears, traced by a laser beam against the back of the stage. Saint Francis offers his unworthy body to the Lord, and the chorus proclaims, '1t is I!" I, Christ. It's the baritones who sing these words, while the tenors and basses cry "outki, oudja, outki, oudja!" like singers in Bali, with a terrific accelerando and crescendo; then, as though symbolizing the smoke of an enormous fire, the chorus hisses "cheu . . ." and lets out a cry on "tiak!" Supported by the fortissimo hammerblows heard previously, one part of the chorus chants "I am the Alpha and the Omega;' while other choristers utter onomatopoeically: "teu-keu, teu-keu, teu-keu:' Then the chorus, still speaking for Christ, says, '1 am that after which was before. I am that before which will be after"-human words that symbolize eternity. "By me all was made. It is I who conceived time and space. It is I who conceived all the stars. It is I who conceived the visible and the invisible, angels and men, and all living creatures. I am the truth whence comes all that is true, the first Word, the Word of the Father, he who gives the Spirit, is dead and resurrected, the eternal high priest:' . . . . This is where an immense crescendo nses from pianissimo to ffffff (six fs!); the theme of Saint Francis sweeps through the orchestra, and the chorus says, ''Man-God! Who comes from the other side of time, goes from the future to the past, a~d goes forward t.o judge the world:' A great silence, and four lummous rays emanating from the cross strike both hands and both feet of Saint Francis. The dochmiac rhythm, which represents the Angel knocking on the door, rea~pears over an enormous chord, underlined by the bass drum. As 1n the fourth scene, this powerful rhythm represents the violent and irresistible eruption of grace. Then, in another silence, a fifth luminous ray emanates from the cross and strikes Saint Francis on his right side. You know that the 243

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fifth wound of Christ was on the right; that's where the spear touch before entering the lung and piercing the heart. The fifth ray 0 ed again unleashes the theme of the Angel's knocking on the door ~ce on a frightening level provoked by an orchestral tutti along with tht chorus. This is a gigantic cluster, and the chorus, on twenty-five chromatic notes, raises a formidable clamor on the following vowe~ pattern: AO, AOA. Then there's a long silence, a total contrast. Over a chord of a sixth in E major, in utter pianissimo and in two long-held notes, the chorus alone says, simply, ''Francis!" And Francis, pierced and suffering atrocious pain, though nevertheless overwhelmed at being the object of this glorifying suffering and thus bearing the stamp of divine approval, quotes the words uttered by the apostle Thomas when he touched Christ's wounds: "My Lord and my God!" Then another cry, pianissimo, comes from the chorus-''Francis!"_ followed by these words from the Imitation of Christ: ''Many desire my heavenly kingdom. Few consent to carry my cross." Francis replies with this phrase from the prophet Samuel: "Speak, Lord! Your servant is listening." Here there are more chords marked with fermatas, entrusted to chorus alone, pianissimo. The progressions are strange, as in the madrigals of Gesualdo. Then the chorus concludes: "If you carry the cross with a good heart, it will carry you itself and lead you to the desired end. Is there anything painful that one should not bear for Life Eternal?" And it all ends on a chord of a sixth in E major that lingers as though suspended.

C.S. As you've just explained it, the music of a large part of this scene is very painful and very violent. The listener who knows your works recognizes this as a marked departure. It's ultimately one of the great musical surprises of your opera. O.M. Didn't I tell you a moment ago that, to set this scene, I was obliged to work against my nature? I am a man of joy, and I had to express atrocious suffering. C.S. You explore a new path. Is this the indication of a slight shift in your language? O.M. No, my goal was not to accomplish an aesthetic advance, but only to respond to the subject I had chosen. C.S. The last scene of your opera is entitled ''Death and the New Life:' This comes as no real surprise. O.M. No, but it is a new twist. I would no more recount a love story or

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a passionate than I would a11ow d eath to be its · Fcrime in my opera . · or · to new · hfe · cone 1usion. h" me, h as a believer' death is only th e passing · · in eternity, w ic accounts for the scene's title. C.S. Historically, what is known about the de a th o f sa1nt · Franc1s? · O.M. The unfortunate man died suffering. Sti·gmat.1zed , h e couId no .

onger putdh·is feet · h is ' h an d s. A s for 1 th h · on . d the ground or hold anythingin e woun m is si e, it bled profusely. He was taken, by a roundabout route, to Porziuncola, to that place he loved where the little c~ur.ch now stands in the middle of Santa Maria degli Angeli. He was laid in a cart b~cause of his wounds, and if the friars set out on a lesstraveled path, it was because the rumor of his saintliness had spread t~rou~hout the region and seve~al towns were on the verge of disputing where he should be buned. Some wanted it to be Perugia · others spoke up for Assisi or for Arezzo' C.S. Could you describe the last scene of your opera for us? O.M. lt begins with a short introduction on the theme of Saint Francis.

Two notes,.then three, and the rest is broken up. The theme is split up, as though it were wounded. A second aspect is that of Sister Death: the theme of Saint Francis is in the basses, fortissimo, overlapped by turning chords. Everything occurs at night. Dying, Saint Francis is stretched out on the ground. All the brothers are there, on their knees, surrounding him in a semicircle. Saint Francis says farewell to all that he has loved. Farewell to the creatures of time and space, forthese are my own ideas-I consider time and space creatures destined to disappear to make room for eternity. He bids farewell to Mount La Verna, where he received the stigmata, farewell to Brother Gheppio, his cherished kestrel, and to the blackcap, Sister Capinera. He says farewell to the holy city of Assisi, to the little church of Porziuncola, and lastly, to all the friars. The music then takes up the friars' themes, the theme of Brother Masseo and those of Brother Leo and Brother Bernardo. He blesses the friars one by one and kisses them. He finally sings the last stanzas of his Canticle of the Sun, which he addresses to our Sister Corporal Death. This moving prayer alternates with the friars' psalmody (Psalm 141). As in the Sanctus of the second scene, with the same chords and contrasts of pianissimo and fortissimo, all the ~riars stand ~p a~d utter a cry of distr~ss: ''I call:, 'Hei!' And my voice cnes and says, He1 to the Lord whom I implore! After a great silence, the g.erygone r~appears on the xylophone and glockenspiel, announcing the arrival of the A~gel. It ~ not only the Angel who arrives, but also the Leper, dressed in red hke an elegant 245

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gentleman; the Leper, who had die.d in the ?'~ant.im~, comes back now in a visible form to comfort Saint Francis m his final moments The Leper remains silent, and the An~el sars, ''Reme~ber!" befor~ taking up the phrase from the leprosan.u~: 'But God 1~ greater than your heart." The moment Saint Francis ~s a~out to die, the Angel reminds him of that decisive moment of his existence when his kindness to the Leper allowed him to attain saintliness. The Angel and the Leper disappear. Bells toll. The last words of Saint Francis: ''Lord! Music and poetry have led me to thee: by image, by symbol, and by. absence of truth. Lord! enlighten me with thy presence. Deliver me, enrapture me, dazzle me. forever with thy excess of truth." Saint Francis dies and the bells nng loudly. This is historically accurate: when Saint Francis died, all the bells in the town tolled. In the opera, it's an enormous, excruciating, heartrending carillon, because of the complex chords of the orchestra and the bells, because of the choral cluster, because of the crescendo and ascending motion. Then everything stops, and Brother Leo sings a short lament, the text of which I wrote myself: "He is gone like a friendly silence that one touches with very gentle hands. He is gone like a tear of clear water that drops slowly from the petal of a flower. He is gone like a butterfly, a golden butterfly that flies from the cross to beyond the stars." Everything vanishes; everything goes dark. Where Saint Francis's body was, only a spot of light remains. Separated by the theme of the third scene's dance of joy, by trumpet fanfares, and by two skylarks in the woodwinds and xylos, the stanzas of the resurrection are sung by the chorus on Saint Francis's theme transformed into a chorale of glory. The spot of light grows larger and larger; it becomes blinding, unbearable. It is understood that Saint Francis will rise from the dead to enter paradise. The chorus concludes: '~rom sorrow, from weakness, and from shame, he brings to life power, glory, and joy!!!" The curtain falls. C.S. This light of the resurrection-you're the one who called for it, just as you yourself indicated every detail of the staging. You conceived the .sound-picture and, at the same time, the visual aspects of your opera. O.M. I noted everything in the score: the scenery, the staging, and even the costumes. C.S. You sought a realistic production for a magical subject. Isn't this contradictory? O.M. It isn't a magical subject. It's a religious subject in which earth is

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married to heaven, but earth is here and now路 . ., are real. He is surrounded by real friars and r~ ~~1.nt Francis s wounds b a irds, wh~m he really addresses. A stylized staging would h spirit of Saint Francis, who never ceas=~~o e~n ~ contra.diction to the who called the sun and the moon h. b g onfy all !h1ngs on earth, tangible realities, even if they are IS t ~~ther and ~1ster. These are invisible realities. a e same hme symbols of C.S. And it was to Sandro Sequi that 0 t sibility of visualizing the invisible_! u en rusted the heavy responO.M. that simple ' to t h e fi t It wasn't f . 路 I'll remind you of th e st eps lead 1ng rs per ormance of Sam~ F:an~ois. It was actually Rolf Liebermann who, as I t?ld. you: comm1ss1oned the opera. He convinced me that I should 路 t . I'm very grateful h 路wnte it; without him' the work wouldn 't ex1s to . Im for that. Then Rolf Liebermann left the Paris Opera, and it wa.s his successor, Bernard Lefort, who chose the singers, notably the artists.for the two leading roles: the marvelous Jose Van Dam for Saint F~anc1s and !he mag~ifice~t Christiane Eda-Pierre for the Angel. Fmally, ~ass1mo Bog1~nc~1no took over the direction of the Opera along with the task of f1nd1ng the stage director and scenic designer for Saint Franrois. C.S. It was said that you wanted to direct the staging yourself0.M. That's true; I did want to, but I understood that this was a craft

for which I didn't possess the skills, and that I'd therefore be incapable of resolving technical difficulties. So Massimo Bogianckino proposed a team of his own choosing to me, two compatriots of his who had the great advantage of knowing the places where the opera unfolds, the landscapes, the costumes, the paintings of Giotto, the Fra Angelico altarpiece. I must say that Sandro Sequi and Giuseppe Crisolini-Malatesta always followed my wishes, all the while realizing their own creative vision. They were wonderful. I'm very grateful to them for having come up with the two platforms for the woodwinds and keyboards, and the two risers where the chorus was placed. They thus resolved a major problem.

c.s. And I have the feeling, with regard to the two platforms, that this solution had another advantage: making certain instrumental sections visible. It allowed the orchestra to be considered a genuine character in the opera.

o.M. That's precisely correct, and it suited my fancy. Here, in con247

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trast to traditional operas, the orchestra is as important as the singers. Obviously the adopted arrangement favo~ed the :voodwinds and keyboards and, in a way, minimized the strings, which I d?n't object to, for I preferred a solo texture to full strings. The percussion instruments, although placed in the pit, were numerous enough to be clearly heard, and from the boxes, the brass and Ondes sounded marvelous. I was thus able to obtain a sound balance that, despite the enormous instrumental and choral forces, always allowed the text of the important passages to be heard. C.S. Still, you were criticized somewhat for this systematic alterna-

tion of instrumental sections and exposed sung passages. O.M. There isn't any system. I've always said that operas hardly allow

the sung text to be understood, and if I wrote the solo voice parts in an exposed manner, it was precisely in order to avoid this drawback. C.S. It has also been said, but this isn't a criticism, that your prosody

- adhered to the tradition of Debussy. O.M. I'm sorry, but that's wrong; that's slanderous! Everyone knows I

have a passion for Pelleas, but I love equally the operas of Mozart and Wagner, Boris Godunov and Wozzeck. In no way did I try to imitate Debussy's declamation; I only respected the accents of the French language, and since Debussy did likewise, we achieve, on this level, a similar result; but the melodic shape of my declamation is not Debussyian. For example, you'll recognize the augmented fourth, my favorite interval, which Debussy doesn't use. C.S. Since we're on the subject of criticism, let's speak, if you will,

about the reception Saint Fran~ois had at the Paris Opera. Eight performances for which it was impossible to procure a ticket, a great public success, but discordant notes in the reviews. O.M. Many people came great distances to attend Saint Fran~ois at the

Paris Opera. Some came from Germany, Austria, England, Canada, the United States, and even Japan. The public was enthusiastic, increasingly enthusiastic. The last performance was an extraordinary triumph! As far as the press goes, I read numerous articles, in French, English, Italian, and German; some were very laudatory, others not. A few journalists wrote articles almost as malicious as those for my Petites liturgies, although in more respectable turns-of-phrase. Because I'm older, because I devoted eight years of work to my opera, they may not have attacked me head-<?~, but attack me they did

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nevertheless. All things considered, I told myself that these attacks proved I had preserved a certain youthfulness. C.S. Would you be willing to deal with the criticisms of the press possibly respond to them? '

O.M. I'll respond differently. There have been four conflicts in my life

as a composer, fo~~ eternal ~onflicts, constantly confirmed and wonderfully ?1agnified by Saint Fran~ois. The first is that, as a composer-believer, I speak of faith to atheists. How do you expect them to understand me? My second conflict is that I'm an ornithologist and speak of birds to people who live in cities, who have never awakene? at four o'clock in the morning to hear the call of birds in the countryside. They see horrible pigeons in the streets and sparrows in the squares, but don't know what bird songs are. One proof among thousands: ~ost critics have said that I've imitated chirping. Only sparrows chirp. C.S. And not a single sparrow found its way into Saint Fran~ois0.M. Birds have songs. Some, like birds of prey, nocturnal birds,

marine birds, have cries. It is said that the tawny owl hoots and that the raven caws. But in general, birds sing; they don't chirp. Now here's my third conflict: when hearing sounds, I see colors in my mind's eye. I announce it to the public; I repeat it to the press; I've explained it to my pupils, but no one believes me. No matter how much I put in my music-harmonies, sound complexes, and orchestration-listeners hear, but they see nothingAs for my fourth conflict, it's less terrible, but it's based on a formidable misunderstanding: I am a rhythmician, and I'm eager to say so. You'll tell me that all composers should be rhythmicians, but this notion has been so neglected that I've had to add the word "rhythmician" alongside the expression "composer of ~~sic:' Now, most people think that rhythm and the steady beat of a military march are one and the same. Whereas rhythm is in fact an unequal ele~ent given to ffuctuations, like the waves in the sea, the sound of the wind, or the shape of tree bran~hesv

lso criticized, though I acknowledge that this is a very

.. S 1ou were a d 1 k celementary criticism, for having compose too ong a wor .

0 M It's true my opera is very long. So are Wagner's, and no ?ne · · f · ~ · · h "m for that I don't see why one wouldn't write a · . d reams o criticizing i long work if the subject warrants it249

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C.S. How many pages? O.M. Around twenty-five hundred pa~es- Toget~er the eight

orchestral scores of the eight scenes weigh twenty kilos [approximately forty pounds]- But, having. reached th~ end of my career, I had all the same a right to take my trme expn~~smg ~yself: Not only was Saint Fran~ois's length criticized; some cnhcs ~I.aimed it was less an opera than an oratorio. Truthfully, it's not a ~rad1honal op~ra, b~t it isn't an oratorio either. As I've said, it's a musical spectacle in which the movements of the characters and their costumes are essential. And the orchestra is also a character in the opera, even the principal one. It's not typical, but any original work inevitably breaks with certain traditions. C.S. But is the Palais Garnier really the ideal place for such a work?

What would you say to a concert hall, or a religious setting? O.M. I rule out the concert hall, where the theatrical representation with its scenery and lighting would be impossible, and in a cathedral, the resonances and echoes would be injurious to the transmission of such masses of sound. Allow me to add that God is everywhere. He is especially present in structures destined for worship, but these places are not essential for prayer. One can just as well pray to God on a mountaintop or at the seashore as in the middle of Paris, in the metro. The Paris Opera is a place like any other. Just because secular works are played there doesn't mean it's unholy. C.S. The series of performances of Saint Fran~ois at the Paris Opera

was accompanied by a televised broadcastO.M. -whic~ gave an excellent idea of the production, even if

problems with sound weren't totally overcome. In any case, hundreds of thousands of people were thus able to become acquainted with Saint Fran~ois, and I received innumerable letters from enthusiastic viewers, some even telling me that the work had brought tears to their eyes.

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- - - - - Circling the Globe _ _ _ __ C.S. T~e l~st page of Saint Fran~ois has been turned. Eight years of

your life, eight years of relentless labor and worrying resulted in this monument that, to the last day, required all your energy. O.M. Indeed.' I was present at every one of the preparatory stages

before the fust performance of Saint Fran~ois d'Assise at the Paris Opera: rehearsals ~ith singers, chorus, and orchestra; staging rehearsals; the making of costumes and scenery. It was I who arranged for the purchase and transport of the three Ondes Martenot, the installation of the brass players in the front boxes, the twoplatform setup for the woodwind and keyboard players, and the seating of the string and percussion players in the pit. I even ordered the laser beams for the projections-the cross, the moving flecks of color. After the first performance on Monday, 28 November 1983, I attended all other performances of my work and had to give numerous interviews, which took several hours from me each day. After that, I was very tired, and my only musical activity was my organ at the Trinite, on Sundays, to which I had remained loyal.

c.s. Then you started composing againQ.M. In 1984, I worked on a commission for the city of Detroit, Michigan. It was to be a large work. for organ'. so I wrote ~ivre du Saint

Sacrement a cycle of eighteen pieces, lasting approXtmately two

hours. D~ring the summer of 1985, I wrote for Yvonne Lori?d Petit~s esquisses d'oise~ux, six pieces for. piano, about twenty minutes in length. In addihon, I traveled a lot in France and abroad to attend concerts of my works during 1985 and 1986.

These journeys would prove, if we didn't already know, that the e~tire world celebrates you. But they also serve as the best answer to 251 Scanned by CamScanner

those who persist in claiming that the music of our time still has public. For them, and for your admirers of course, it might be help~~ to list these trips and the successes you've had around the World beginning on 29 April 1985. ' O.M. On that day, Yvonne Loriod gave an immensely successful complete performance of my Vingt regards sur l'enfant Jesus in Toronto Canada. Still in Toronto, Yvonne and I were judges in the Glen~ Gould piano competition. In May-June, I was at the Ojai Music Festival (in California, a two-hour drive from Los Angeles) where, on 30 ~ay, Yvonne Loriod gave a piano recital: Chopin, Debussy, Albeniz, and ten pieces from my Vmgt regards. On 1 June, Des canyons aux etoiles (conductor, Kent Nagano; pianist, Yvonne Loriod; horn solo, Robin Graham; Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra); on 2 June, Lucy Shelton sang Chants de terre et de ciel, and Kent Nagano conducted the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra in Trois petites liturgies de la Presence Divine, with Yvonne Loriod at the piano and Jeanne Loriod at the Ondes Martenot. On 9 June, I left for Italy and the Festival of Brescia-Bergamo. On 11 June, in Brescia's Teatro Grande, Yvonne Loriod played ''Le merle bleu;' and a complete Harawi, with Gilah Yaron (soprano). On 12June at the church of Santa Maria della Pace in Brescia, Almut Rossler gave a recital of my organ works (L 'Ascension, Verset pour la fete de la dedicace, Messe de la Pentecote) . On 13 June in Bergamo, I heard a performance of Visions de l'amen, with Helena Varvarova and Roger Muraro, and on 3 July, I departed for Angers. That same.day, in Angers, my Fete des belles eaux was played by the Jeanne Loriod Ondes Martenot Sextet. Still in Angers, on 5 July, Kazuoki Fujii, the marvelous Japanese pianist, played La fauvette des jardins and excerpts from Vingt regards. That same day, in the large auditorium of the Angers Convention Center, Marc Soustrot conducted a superb performance of the Turangalila-symphonie, with Yvonne Loriod at the piano, Jeanne Loriod at the Ondes Martenot, and the Orchestre Philharmonique des Pays de la Loire: an immense success! On 12August 1985,I left with Yvonne for the Salzburg Festival to attend all the rehearsals of a semistaging of scenes three, six, seven, and eight of Saint Franr;ois d'Assise: "The Kissing of the Leper;' ''The Sermon to the Birds;' ''The Stigmata," and ''Death and the New Life:' The concert took place on 22 August, in an immense hall hewn out of rock, the Felsenreitschule. Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau sang the role of Saint Francis and Rachel Yakar, perched very high in the galleries, sang the Angel. The marvelous Kenneth Riegel was the Leper (as at the Paris Opera); Robert Tear was Brother Masseo; and Gilles Cachemaille, Brother Leo. It was with the Vienna Orchestra of the

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oRF, with the chorus of the ORF combined with :he wonderful Arnold Schoenberg Chorale-an extraordina per orma!'ce. The conductor,. Lothar Zagrosek, directed the fourry scenes . . with abso lute1y unique r h d precision, . 1 . authoritv . dynamism and em oh·on! Hea~co~p ~s,, e a;urac e m th: perilous intricacies of ''The Sermon to ! e d~rbls· han wa.s consistently .admirable. The success was th mere I e. t e }JUbhc gave a standing ovation lasting · t 1 I'd b . . more an m1nu es. een quite afraid of this partial perfo fift. een tu 1 rmance, h t th e ac a spectacle of a full staging, but it was so beautiful wit ou that I myself was quite carried away. 0~ 12 September, I left .for Aarhus, Denmark, where three days later, in the Aarhus Mus1khuset, the Turangalila-symphonie was conducted by Norman Del Mar, with Yvonne Loriod at the piano, Jeanne Loriod at the Ondes Martenot, and the Aarhus Symphony Orchestra-a considerable success! On 25 October, I traveled on to Bremen, where Bertrand Espouy had organized an exhibit and festival in my honor; the first program, on 26 October, included "Le traquet stapazin" with Julien Ridoret and Chants de terre et de ciel with Toni Sellers. The second concert included Cinq rechants by the Groupe Vocal de France, directed by Michel Tranchant. On 27 October, a complete Vingt regards sur l'enfant Jesus was rendered by Yvonne Loriod, who achieved an enormous success! On 28 October, still in Bremen, in the Glockensaal, the Bremen Philharmonic under the magnificent direction of Kent Nagano performed Et exspecto resurrectionem mortuorum-a very great success! On 7 November 1985, I left with Yvonne for Kyoto, Japan, to attend the ceremony for the Kyoto Award, which I was to receive along with two scientists, Messieurs Kalman and Shannon, given by Kazuo Inamori, the award's founder. This is an extraordinary award, akin to the Nobel Prize, and it is also extraordinary that the jury chose a composer along with tw? scientists. There ~ere four days of grand festivities, with mountains of flowers, d1n.ners, gardens, and temples-and many speeches; I personally delivered tw? speeches, each an hour and a half long. There was also some music: excerpts from Vingt regards with Yvonne Loriod and excerpts from Visions de l'amen with Madame Kaori Kimura and Kazuoki Fujii. All the technicians and musicians of Japan were there. Since Nobel Prize winners were also being honored, two important Swedish personalities had made a special trip: Queen Sylvia and Professor Astrand, director of the Stockholm Academy. JI

•

c.s. Quite a full

year-without forgetting a short hop to the Metz Festival, where the Liege Philharmonic, conducted. by Pierre Bartholomee, gave a performance of your Chronochromie.

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O.M. You know that, in the past, that wo~k has provoked some frightening scandals! It must be that something has chang~d in con-

cert audiences, for not only was there no scandal, but it was an enormous success! C.S. Despite your desire to honor your performers and to show them

your gratitude by attending concerts devoted to your wor~, you cannot hear everything. Yet you do ~eep ~bre.ast of t~e astonishing activity in connection with your music, which is practically nonstop, includL"lg pieces as considerable as Canyons or the Turangalfla-

symphonie. O.M. Of the Turangalfla-symphonie, I can cite six performances, in Santiago, Chile, that I didn't attend. The conductor was Juan Pablo Izquierdo, who led the Santiago Philharmonic. At the piano was Jean-Franc;ois Heisser and at the Onde Martenot, Jeanne Loriod. Of Oiseaux exotiques, there are more than two hundred performances I wasn't able to hear. Pierre Boulez recently conducted the work several times in Italy, England, and France with the Ensemble InterContemporain and Pierre-Laurent Aimard as soloist. As for Canyons, the piece has been frequently played in England by the London Sinfonietta, with the English pianist Paul Crossley, who even made a trip to Utah to get a close look at the red rocks of Bryce Canyon. He's played Canyons twice in London, under the direction of Simon Rattle and David Atherton; then he went on tour with horn player Phillip Easton and musicians from the London Sinfonietta, who (led by Elgar Howarth) gave nine further performances of Des canyons aux etoiles in February and March of 1985: in London, Oxford, Warwick, Liverpool, Durham, Leeds, Bracknell, Bournemouth, and Bristol. During that time, the Swedish pianist Carl-Axel Dominique, who had worked on the piece with me in Paris, played Des canyons aux etoiles with a Swedish orchestra under the direction of Per Ohlsson in Falun, Goteborg, Gavle, Stockholm, and Karlskoga (Sweden), Helsinki and Abo (Finland), and Bergen (Norway). And while I was in Tokyo for Saint Franfois, Gilbert Amy conducted Des canyons aux etoiles in Ljubljana, Yugoslavia, with the Orchestra of Ljubljana and pianist Jean-Fran~ois Heisser.

C.S. Let's zero in on 1986. We're well into the year, and there's one concert after anotherO.M. The year began with Sept hafkai~ conducted on 25 January in the Salle Pleyel, Paris, by Pierre Boulez, with the Ensemble InterContemporain and Pierre-Laurent Aimard as soloist.

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Then, beginning in March, an international series of concerts was given ~evoted to th~ee scenes (scenes three, seven, and eight) of Saint Fran~ozs. All we~e duecte? by Seiji Ozawa, starting in Japan, with the New Japan P~Il~an~on1c Orchestra. The mixed chorus, entirely Japanes~ but singing in French, comprised two hundred singers, and the so_loists were all members of the Ni Ki Kai Opera Company. Saint Francis was Futoru Katsube; the Angel was Madame Yoshi Ito; and the Leper, Noboru Shimono. The printed program included a translation of the text by Naoko Tamamura. I attended all the rehearsals and the two concerts of 12 and 13 March. The concerts took place in Tokyo's large, modern Catholic cathedral, Marina Church. The organizer, M. Matsubara, had the excellent idea of presenting the singers in costume, placing the Angel high in the organ loft, behind the conductor, and using colorful and luminous projections. So the performers were lighted, as was the immense twenty-meter-high cross decorating the far end of the church: red projections for the stigmata and gold for the resurrection transformed the cross, the church, and the singers. It was a semistaged spiritual concert, with the best chorus I've ever heard and a magnificent orchestra, of absolutely perfect coherence and sonority. All three singers were wonderful. The three Ondes players, Jeanne Loriod, Tak~shi Harada, a~?. Valerie Hartmann-Claverie, also were outstanding. As for Seip Ozawa, he was in tum precise, dynamic, fiery, mystical, meditative, violent, powerful, always sublime! ~t each conc~rt, the c?urch was filled to capacity, the success unbelievable, formidable, tnumphant! Each time, the two thousand people in attendance applaude~ for thirty-five minutes! In all my career, I've never had such a senous, emotional audience! Having returned to France, on 22 March my wif~ and I left for London for new rehearsals of the third, s~~enth, and eighth scenes of Saint Fran(:ois, under the direction of Seip ?zawa. Th_e _con.cert took I 26 March at Royal Festival Hall, with the part1c1patton of the P;~e~nm hony. The 160 choristers were a combination of the BBC B d Ly dp choruses The three Ondes Martenot players were an onL on 路 ' 路 Hartmann-Clavene. 路路 d Dominique Kim, and Valene Jeanne o~10 ' Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau as Saint Francis, and as Heard aga~ wer~h Riegel the marvelous creator of the role; Brother the Leper, en~e Philipp~ Rouillon, and the Angel by Julia Fausta Leo wa~ ~u;~nJe Charles and Lady Diana attended the conc:r~, as Gallamtnt. F h ambassador and his wife; numerous mus1c1ans well as the r~ncthe hall too: conductors Simon Rattle and John were prese~i:0ennifer Bate, pianist Paul Crossley, Melanie Daiken Carew, orga h R 1Academy of Music), and the very young and (profess~r at t e oya George Benjamin. Seiji conducted in brilliant outstanding composer 255

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fashion: the success was immense and immediate. The following day I went back to Paris in ~r~e: to play the Offices of Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday at the Tnn1te. On 1 April, I took the plane to Berlin. There again, Seiji Ozawa conducted the same three scenes from Saint Franfois, leading the Berlin Philharmonic and the London choruses. The cast was the same as in London, with the exception of Brother Leo, sung by George Fortune, and Saint Francis rendered by the incomparable Jose Van Dam, creator of the role atth~ Paris Opera. The three Ondes players were the same as in London. Two concerts were given in the large Philharmonic Hall, one the evening of Saturday, 5 April, the other the morning of Sunday, 6 April; each time was a wild triumph. My wife and I left immediately for the United States, where Seiji Ozawa was to conduct yet again the third, seventh, and eighth scenes from Saint Franfois: four times in Boston (10, 11, 12, and 15 April) and twice in New York (16 and 17 April). Both the Boston and New York performances were with the Boston Symphony Orchestra and Tanglewood Festival Chorus. In both Boston and New York, Saint Francis was the marvelous Jose Van Dam; the Leper was Kenneth Riegel; Brother Leo, Philippe Rouillo:r:i. In both Boston and New York, we had a new Angel, with powerful breath control and a sweet voice, a truly celestial Angel: Kathleen Battle. The three Ondes players were still Jeanne Loriod, Dominique Kim, and Valerie Hartmann-Claverie. The four Boston concerts took place in Symphony Hall, and the two New York concerts in Carnegie Hall. All six concerts were splendid performances: Ozawa ever more brilliant, halls always filled, formidable successes! Meanwhile, the New England Conservatory in Boston had given a concert of my works, Le merle noir, Chants de terre et de ciel, Oiseaux exotiques, and Quatuor pour la fin du temps. During the course of that concert, I was given a doctor of music degree and had to wear a black robe and a large pink hood. Back in Paris I attended two new concerts. On 26 April, in the large auditorium of Radio France, Yves Prin conducted my Couleurs de la cite celeste. The piano part was played by Jean-Franc;ois Heisser. On 28 April in the Salle Pleyel, Kent Nagano conducted the Orchestre de Paris in my Turangalila-symphonie, and I was reunited with my three percussionist friends, Franc;ois Dupin, Jacques Delecluse, and Alain Jacquet. The piano soloist was the ever-brilliant Yvonne Loriod! The Ondes Martenot soloist was the magnificent Jeanne Loriod! The performance was very beautiful, and Kent Nagano, who has conducted almost all my works, was splendid in his precision and soaring lyricism. It was once again an immense success! On 1 May I was off to Basel, to attend the rehearsals of Des cany-

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ons aux etoile~, and on 4 ~ay I was in Vienna, where Heinz Holliger was conduct~g Canyons in the large auditorium of the Konzerthaus. Y~onne Lonod .played the piano solo (on a magnificent Imperial Bos~ndorfer) wit~ extraordinary brio. The horn soloist was Josef Bre1za; the xy~onmba~ Siegfried Kutterer; the glockenspiel, Jean-

Claude Forest.ier. The players were those of the Basel Symphony Orchestra. Heinz Bolliger is not only a world-class oboist and comp.oser, he's als~ a ~onductor.- He led my work with exemplary precision and musicality. The success was great for him for Yvonne Loriod, for the soloists, for the orchestra, and also for the work. Two days. later, on 6 May, the Austrian minister of culture, Dr. Herbert Mo~tz, presented me with the European Music Prize. After I received the award, a concert was given, with Le merle noir and Cinq recha?ts, by the excellent Arnold Schoenberg Chorale. Finally, on the evenin.g of that same 6 May, Thomas Daniel Schlee played, on the great five-keyboard organ of the Konzerthaus, my Meditations sur le mystere de la Sainte Trinite-a perfect performance that revealed Schlee to be a great organist. ~n 12 May, in Caen, a new Messiaen program included Oiseaux exotiques (Pascale Talbot at the piano), excerpts from Visions de l'amen (with Pascale Talbot and Jean-Marc Bouche), and Trois petites liturgies de la Presence Divine (piano, Jean-Marc Bouche; Ondes Martenot, Mlle Simonin; orchestra and chorus of the Caen Conservatory under the direction of Jean-Pierre Dautel). Next, while Pierre Boulez was conducting the Ensemble InterContemporain in Oiseaux exotiques at the Theatre de la Ville in Paris, with Pierre-Laurent Aimard as piano soloist, I was with my wife in England to hear my Turangalila-symphonie performed in Wells by the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra under the direction of Simon Rattle (piano, Paul Crossley; Ondes Martenot, Tristan Murail). Then on 27 May, at the Bath Festival, it was Sept hai"kai" (George Benjamin conducting the Lo.ndon R?yal Co~lege of Music En~emble, with Yvonne Loriod at the piano). Fmally, still at the Bath Festival, on 28 May: Yvonne Loriod played a complete performance of my Vingt regards ~ur l'enfant J.?sus-extraordinary succ_ess met bot~ the pianist nd the work. While a few other works of mine were being played at :he Bath Festival, Yvonne Loriod present~d i~ da~zling f~sh~on my longest piano piece, La fauvette des 1ardms, m Pans, m the AmphithC<itre Richelieu of the Sorbonne, for the Concerts de l'ltineraire. On 16 June, I left for R~me in order t? be present at the :ehears~l~ of the Turangalila-symphonie ..On 20 June i~ Rome, fort~~ V~lla Medici Festival in the large auditonum on the Via della Concihazione, Kent 257 Scanned by CamScanner

Nagano conducted my Turangalfla-symph~nie (Orchestra Sinfonica di Santa Cecilia; piano soloist, Yvonne Lonod; Ondes Martenot solo, Jeanne Loriod) . On 27 June, I undertook another trip to the United States for the registrations of my last organ work, Livre du Saint Sacrement, first performed on 1 July in Detroit by Almut Rossler, on a very large fivekeyboard organ, the Merton Rice Memorial Organ. This was a private concert for the American Guild of Organists, which has two thousand members. So my work was first performed before an audience of two thousand, all professional organists. It was a very great success for Almut Rossler and for the work and, on my part, a great act of faith in the real presence of Jesus Christ in the Holy Sacrament. On 3 July the same work was played again by the same interpreter in Detroit and on 9 July, in Ann Arbor, Michigan. What follows is in the future, but we may complete the list of concerts of my works that I plan to attend in 1986. First there's the Bonn Festival, which lasts the entire month of September and which is (devastatingly for the poor modem composer) a Beethoven-Messiaen festival. Almost all my works are scheduled to be played there, notably two revivals: La Transfiguration de Notre Seigneur Jesus-Christ (with the Beethovenhalle Orchestra, the choruses of the Bavarian and North German radios under the direction of Karl-Anton Rickenbacher, Yvonne Loriod as piano soloist, and Julius Berger, cello soloist) and three performances of Saint Fran~ois d'Assise (the entire work in eight scenes) in Bonn, Utrecht, and Madrid under the direction of Kent Nagano. At the Bonn Festival there will also be a complete Vingt regards by Yvonne Loriod; Livre du Saint Sacrement in the Bonn cathedral by Almut Rossler, who will give two other concerts devoted to my organ works; Des canyons aux etoiles by the London Sinfonietta (conductor, David Atherton; piano, Paul Crossley); the Turangalfla-symphonie by the Bruckner Orchestra of Linz (conductor, Manfred Mayrhofer; piano, Jean-Franc;ois Heisser; Ondes Martenot, Jeanne Loriod); Quatuor pour la fin du temps; almost all my piano works and song cycles; and, notably, in the Festsaal of the University of Bonn, Chants de terre et de ciel, "Le merle bleu;' and Poemes pour Mi with soprano Sigune von Osten and pianist Gunter Reinhold. On 7 October, Jennifer Bate will give the first performance in England of Livre du Saint Sacrement, in the Catholic Westminster Cathedral in London; then, on 14 October, she'll play my Nativite du Seigneur in Paris, on the organ of Radio France's large auditorium. On 20 and 21 October, Kent Nagano will conduct Des canyons aux etoiles in Nanterre's Theatre des Amandiers, at the head of the Ensemble InterContemporain, with Pierre-Laurent Aimard at the piano and horn player Jens McManama. Then I'll leave for Diisseldorf, for a new 258

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Messiaen Festival, during the course of h. h .. La 11ativite du Seigneur and Livre du Sai t ~ ic Almut Rossler will play will conduct the Diisseldorf S ~ acrement, and Bernhard Klee formances of La Transfiguration ~r;;{y ony O~h~stra in th~ee pervonne nod at the piano and Heinrich Schiff as cello soloist. After that, while Varda Nish i 1 . Diisseldorf, I'll be in Oslo for thr; cs Paying ~y Catalogue d'oiseaux in by Yvonne Loriod and t orplete Vzngt regards, performed symphonie-on 6 and 7 N wo pber or~ances of the Turangalilaovem er-with the Oslo Philharmonic . (conductor, Marc SoustrotÂˇ piano s0 1 y M t t 1 ' o, vonne Lonod Âˇ Ondes H::n~~~ s~ o, ~anne Loriod). Two more Turangalilas f~llow in . g ( an_ 17 November, under the direction of Horst Stein ~t~Y~on~e ~orTiohd and Jeanne Loriod), and three more follow in th~ e er an s, in .e Hague, Utrecht, and Amsterdam. A complete Vzngt regards will be given in The Hague on 28 November, by Yvonne Loriod. Then, after my Christmas Offices at the organ of the Trinite on 24 and 25 December we start off the New Year 19~7 with~ first performance: on 26 January, in the Paris Theatre d~ la Ville, during th~ ,co~rse of a program given by Pierre Boulez with ~ouleurs de la _cite celeste, Yvonne Loriod will play the world prem1ere of my Petites esquisses d'oiseaux.

C.S. Dear maestro, the care you have put into this enumeration proves your meticulousness. Those who know you will not be surprised; as for the musicologists, they11 rejoice at having this sort of firsthand information, which not all composers of the past have been so obliging to hand down to them. But in this very complete expose, I recognize above all your desire to assemble in a collective tribute the names of those who devote their interpretive talents to the performance of your works and to those who, in spite of the prejudice against so much contemporary music, come to your concerts, discovering in this case that modem music can be sensitive, warm, radiant, and colorful-1 would even say classic. If this were not so, how can one explain this spontaneous enthusiasm, which I've often not~ced myself_while listening to pieces as monumental as the Turangalila-symphome or La

Transfiguration? And so we have reached the close of our conversations. I would like us to leave with the thought of the young composers whose work you have shaped with so much guidance and support, these rays of hope. The art of our time can be_reco~nized ~ithout waiting_for the questionable blessing of postenty. It is possible to take a different

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path. Even while spurning popular concessions, this new art offers emotion and joy to our contemporaries. More than the honors bestowed upon you, I know this exchange constitutes the best vindication of your long musical career.

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In Memoriam: Olivier Messiaen - - Olivi~r ~essi~en ~a? no fear of death, so strong was his belief in an afterlife distance and matter" would no Ionger h oId sway h. inAwhich f over ~Âˇ ew ~ays.after he passed away-during the night of 2728 Apnl 1992-his wife, Yvonne Loriod, told me simplv "Now he's JI happy." Now ~essiaen is ~o longer the same man I knew for over thirty years-.pnvate yet ~anng, gentle yet opinionated, more at ease in the trapp.mgs of et~rruty t~an behind ~he masks of modem society. Messiaen, we might say, is now a musical monument, a glorious name whose. works. have ent~red the ranks of twentieth-century classics. Postenty, which sometimes falters and hesitates but which can also make up for its mistakes, will ultimately grant the composer of Saint Franfois his place in the sun among our contemporaries. Even so soon after his death, it would be no overstatement to say that Messiaen was one of the great masters of our time. I can remember when audiences booed the "aviary bowing" of Chronochromie, and-even earlierwhen recording the Turangalila-symphonie was considered a project of epic proportions. The number of Turangalilas committed to disc since then (ten or so, including those about to be recorded) indicates how far we have come. Certainly, except for a handful of loyal admirers, people in musical circles weren't the most zealous supporters of this oeuvre which they considered, paradoxically, both too naive and too complex. Instead, it was the general public who, when given the opportunity, gradually caug~t on to this music-which i~ tender, violent expressive, often magical, and always colorful. Listeners who still,cringe at Scho~nberg. and Varese applaud !ur~n?al~la, listen in ecstasy to La nativite du Seigneur, marvel at the pianistic fireworks of Vingt regards sur l'enfant Jesus. ~his a time-defying phen~men~~ in an age of confusion: for M;ss~aen s works to become as classic as th f Stravinsky or Bartok, it should have taken some forty years. 0 tc~irs sur l'au-deliz [Bright Glimpses of the Beyond], which

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Messiaen finished before he died, bears a title all-too-appropriate for posthumous performances. Recently rediscovered is Saint Fran\ois staged by Peter Sellars at the 1992 Salzburg Festival. When the nam~ of the opera world's modern t:11fm1I terrible was proposed for this production, the composer merely asked, "Is he a believer?" The last prcmiere attended by Messiaen happened to be that of Lt: sourirc, a brief musical "smile" in honor of Mozart. How symbolic! Claude Samuel Paris, 1993

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Selected List of Works 1929

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Huit preludes for piano (Durand) 1. La colombe. 2. Chant d'extase dans u

. nombre leger. 4. Instants defunts 5 L n pays.age tnste. 3. Le reve. 6. Cloches d'angoisse et larr~e~ d;sd~ons ;~)a.Ipables du 8. Un reflet dans le vent. a ieu. Âˇ a1nte calme.

1930

Trois melodi:s for soprano and piano (Durand) 1. Pourquo1? 2. Le sourire. 3. I.a fiancee perdue. La mo~t du nombre, chamber cantata for soprano, tenor, violin and piano (Durand) ' Diptyque for organ (Durand) (Essay on earthly life and blessed eternity)

Les Offrandes oubliees for orchestra (Durand) 1932

Hymne au Saint Sacrement for orchestra (Broude) Theme et variations for violin and piano (Leduc) Fantaisie burlesque for piano (Durand) Le banquet celeste for organ (Leduc) Apparition de l'eglise eternelle for organ (Lemoine)

1933

L'Ascension for orchestra (Leduc)

1934

L'Ascension, second version for organ (Leduc)

1. Majeste du Christ demandant sa gloire a son Pere. 2. Alleluias sereins d'une ame qui desire le ciel. 3. Alleluia sur la trompette, alleluia sur la cymbale. 4. Priere du Christ montant vers son Pere.

(The third piece is entirely different from the orchestral one. It is entitled: ''Transports de joie d'une ame devant la gloire du Christ qui est la sienne:')

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Piece pour It tombtau dt Paul Dukas for Pia Musicale) no (~ ae\t\le Vocalise for soprano and piano (Leduc)

Ui nativite du Seigneur for organ (Leduc) 1. La Vierge et l'Enfant. 2. Les bergers. 3. Dessein

1936

1937

, 4. Le Verbe. 5. Les enfants de Dieu. 6. Les Ange! e~e~els. accepte la souffrance. 8. Les Mages. 9. Dieu panni · ·Jesus nous. Potmts pour Mi for soprano and piano (Durand) 1. Action de graces. 2. Paysage. 3. La maison. 4. Epouva t 5. L'Epouse. 6. Ta voix. 7. Les deux guerriers. 8. Le coJ~e~· 9. Priere exaucee. ·

;44 Trois ~etites liturgies de la Presence Divine for women's chorus 1943 solo piano, solo Ondes Martenot' celesta' vibraphone, maracas' small ~nd large tam-tams, an~ str~g.orchestra (Durand) ' 1. Antienne. de la mterieure. 2. Sequenee du o·Conversation . 3 Verbe, C antique ivm. . Psalmodie de l'Ubiquite par Amour. 1944

O sacrum convivium! for mixed a cappella chorus (Durand) 1938

Chants dt terrt tt de citl for soprano and piano (Durand) 1. Bail avec Mi. 2. Antienne du silence. 3. Danse du bebe-pilule. 4. Arc-en-ciel d'innocence. 5. Minuit pile et face. 6. Resurrection.

1939

Lts corps glorieux for organ (Leduc)

1. Subtilite des corps glorieux. 2. Les eaux de la Grace. 3. L'Ange aux parfums. 4. Combat de la Mort et de la Vie. 5. Force et agilite des corps glorieux. 6. Joie et clarte des corps glorieux. 7. Le Mystere de la Sainte Trinite. 1941

1943

Quatuor pour la fin du temps for violin, clarinet, cello, and piano (Durand) 1. Liturgie de cristal. 2. Vocalise, pour I'Ange qui annonce la fin d~ Temps. 3. Abime des oiseaux. 4. Intermede. S. Louange a l'Eternite de Jesus. 6. Danse de la fureur pour Jes sept trompettes. 7. Fouillis d'arc-en-ciel, pour I'Ange qui annonce la fin du Temps. 8. Louange a11mmortalite de Jesus.

1945

Harawi for soprano and piano (Leduc)

1. La ville qui dormait, toi. 2. Bonjour toi, colombe verte. 3. Montagnes. 4. Doundou Tchil. 5. L'amour de Piroutcha. 6. Repetition planetaire. 7. Adieu. 8. Syllabes. 9. L'escalier redit, gestes du soleil. 10. Amour, oiseau d'etoile. 11. Katchi katchi les etoiles. 12. Dans le noir.

1946/48 Turangalila-symphonie for solo piano, solo Ondes Martenot, and large orchestra (Durand) 1. Introduction. 2. Chant d'amour I. 3. Turangalila I. 4. Chant d'amour II. 5. Joie du sang des etoiles. 6. Jardin du sommeil d'amour. 7. Turangalila II. 8. Developpement de l'amour. 9. Turangalila Ill. 10. Final. 1948 1949

Cinq rechants for twelve mixed voices a cappella (RouartLerolle; reprinted by Salabert)

Canteyodjaya for piano (Universal Edition)

1949/50 Quatre etudes de rythme for piano (Durand) 1. lle de feu I. 2. Mode de valeurs et d'intensites. 3. Neumes rythmiques. 4. lle de feu II.

Rondeau for piano (Leduc) Visions dt l'amen for two pianos (Durand) 1. Amen de la Creation. 2. Amen des etoiles, de la planete a l'anneau. 3. Amen de l'agonie de Jesus. 4. Amen du Desir. 5. Amen des Anges, des Saints, du chant des oiseaux. 6. Amen du Jugement. 7. Amen de la Consommation.

Vingt regards sur l'enfant Jesus for piano (Durand) 1. Reg~rd du Pere. 2. Regar? de l'etoi~e . 3. L'Echange. 4. Regard de la Vierge. 5. Regard du Filssurle Fils. 6. Par Lui tout a etefait. 7. Regard de la croix. 8. Regard des hauteurs. 9. Regard du temps. 10. Regard de l'esprit de joie. 11. Premiere communion de la Vierge. 12. La parole toute-puissante. 13. Noel.14. Regard des anges. 15. Le baiser de l'Enfant Jesus. 16. Regard des prophetes, des bergers et des mages. 17. Regard du silence. 18. Regard de l'onction terrible. 19. Je dors, mais mon coeur veille. 20. Regard de l'eglise d'amour.

Potmts pour Mi, second version for soprano and orchestra (Durand) Fett des belles taux for sextet of Ondes Martenot (unpublished)

1950

Messe de la Pentecote for organ (Leduc)

.. 1. Entree: Les langues de feu. 2. Offertoire: Les choses visibles et invisibles. 3. Consecration: Le don de Sa~esse. 4. Communion: Les oiseaux et les sources. 5. Sortie: Le Vent de )'Esprit. Selected List of Works

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... 1935

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1951

Le merle noir for flute and piano (Leduc) Saint John). 4. "lls ress.usciteront, _glorieux, avec un nom nouveau, dans le concert ioyeux des etoiles et Jes acclamaf · h'1ans, Apocalypse, Job). s. wns des fil s. d u C .1~ I" . ,(I C ormt "Et j'entend1s la vo1x dune foule immense ..." (Apocalypse).

Livre d'orgue (Leduc) 1. Reprises par interversions. 2. Piece en trio. 3. Le . l'abime. 4. Chants d'oiseaux. 5. Piece en trio 6 Le s rnains de · · s Yeu x dans les roues. 7. Soixante-quatre durt-?es.

1953

Reveil des oiseaux for piano and orchestra (Durand)

1956

Oiseaux .exotiques for solo piano, glocke~spiel, xylophone, five percussions, and small wmd band (Universal Edition)

1956/ 58 Catalogue d'oiseaux for piano (Leduc) 1. Le chocard des Alpes [The Alpine ChoughJ. 2. Le loriot [The Golden Oriole] . 3. Le merle bleu [The Blue Rock Thrush]. 4. Le traquet stapazin {The Black-eared Wheatear]. 5. La chouette hulotte (The Tawny Owl]. 6. L'alouette lulu [The Wood LarkJ. 7. La rousserolle effarvatte {The Reed Warbler]. 8. L'alouette calandrelle {The Short-toed Lark]. 9. La bouscarle [The Cetti's Warbler]. 10. Le merle de roche {The Rock Thrush]. 11. La buse variable [The Buzzard]. 12. Le traquet rieur [The Black Wheatear]. 13. Le courlis cendre [The Curlew].

t 965/ 69 La Transfiguration de Notre Seigneur Jesus-Christ for seven solo instruments (piano, cello, flute, clarinet, xylorimba, vibraphone, and marimba), mixed chorus of one hundred voices, and very large orchestra (Leduc) Firs~ S~ptenary: 1. G.ospel narrative. 2. Configuratum corpori clantahs suae. 3. Chnstus Jesus, splendor Patris. 4. Gospel narrative. 5. Quam dilecta tabernacula tua. 6. Candor est lucis aetemae. 7. Choral de la Sainte Montagne. Second Septenary: 1. Gospel narrative. 2. Perfecte conscius illius perfectae generationis. 3. Adoptionem filiorum perfectam . 4. Gospel narrative. 5. Terribilis est locus iste. 6. Tota Trinitas apparuit. 7. Choral de la Lumiere de Gloire. 1969

1959/ 60 Chronochromie for large orchestra (Leduc)

1960

Verset pour la fete de la dtdicace for organ (Leduc)

1962

Sept hai"kai' for solo piano, xylophone, marimba, eleven w~od winds, trumpet, trombone, eight violins, and four percussions (Leduc) 1. Introduction. 2. Le pare de Nara et Jes lantemes de pierre. 3. Yamanaka Cadenza. 4. Gagaku. 5. Miyajima et le torii dans la mer. 6. Les oiseaux de Karuizawa. 7. Coda.

1963

Couleurs de la cite celeste for solo piano, xylophone, xylorimba, marimba, three clarinets, small trumpet in D, three trumpets, two horns, three trombones, bass trombone, set of cencerros, set of tubular bells, four gongs, and two tam-tams (Leduc)

1964

266

Et exspecto resurrectionem mortuorum for eighteen woodwind.s, sixteen brass, three sets of cencerros, set of tubular bells, six gongs, and three tarn-tarns (Leduc) 1. ''Des profondeurs de l'abime, je crie vers toi, Seigneur: Seigneur, ecoute ma voix!" (Psalm 130). 2. ''Le Christ, ressuscite des morts, ne meurt plus; Ja mort n'a plus sur Jui d'empire." (Romans). 3. "L'heure vient ou Jes morts entendront la voix du Fils de Dieu ..." (Gospel according to Selected List of Works

Meditations sur le mystere de la Sainte Trinite for organ (Leduc) First meditation: Le Pere inengendre. Second meditation: La saintete de Jesus-Christ. Third meditation: "La relation reelle en Dieu est reellement identique a I'essence:' Fourth meditation: "Je suis, je suis!" Fifth meditation: Dieu est immense, etemel, immuable; Le souffle de !'Esprit; Dieu est Amour. Sixth meditation: Le Fils, Verbe et Lumiere. Seventh meditation: "Le Pere et le Fils aiment, par le Saint Esprit, eux-memes et nous:' Eighth meditation: Dieu est simple. Ninth meditation: '1e suis Celui qui Suis:'

1970

La fauvette des jardins for piano (Leduc)

1971/74 Des canyons aux etoiles for solo piano, solo horn, xylorimba, glockenspiel, and orchestra; percussions include an Eoliphone and Geophone (Leduc) 1. Le desert. 2. Les orioles. 3. Ce qui est ecrit sur Jes etoiles. 4. Le cossyphe d'heuglin. 5. Cedar Breaks et le don de crainte. 6. Appel interstellaire. 7. Bryce Canyon et l~s rochers rougeorange. 8. Les ressuscites et le chant de l'Etoile Aldebaran. 9. Le moqueur polyglotte. 10. La grive des b?i,s. ~ 1. Omao, leiothrix, elepaio, shama. 12. Zion Park et la cite celeste. 1975/ 83 Saint Fran(:ois d'Assise, opera in three acts a~d eight tableaux for seven soloists, mixed chorus of 150 voices, and very large

orchestra (Leduc) Act I. Scene one: "La croix:' Scene two: "Les laudes:' Scene three: "Le baiser au lepreux." Selected List of Works

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"<r"

Act n Scene four: "L'ange voyageur." Scene fiveÂˇ "L' musiclen." Scene six: "Le preche aux oiseaux." Âˇ ange Act m.Scene seven: "Lesstigmates:' Scene eight: "La mort . ,, etla nouve11e vte. Scored for seven soloists: the Angel (soprano), Saint Fr . (baritone), the Leper (tenor), Brother Leo (baritone), Br~~~~ Masseo (tenor), Brother Elias (tenor), and Brother Berna d (bass)-Woodwinds: three piccolos, three flutes, flute inr Go three oboes, Eng~sh horn, two small_ clarinets in E-flat, thre~ clarinets, bass clarinet, contrabass clannet, three bassoons, and contrabassoon-Keyboards: xylophone, xylorimba, marimba glockenspiel, and vibraphone-Brass: small trumpet in n' three trumpets, six horns in F, three trombones, two tubas, and contrabass tuba-Ondes: three Ondes Martenot-Strings: sixteen first violins, sixteen second violins, fourteen violas twelve cellos, and ten double basses-Percussion: percus~ sionist 1 plays first set of bells, first claves, Eoliphone, and snare drum; percussionist 2 plays first triangle, second claves, six temple blocks, very small cymbal, small cymbal, and suspended cymbal; percussionist 3 plays second triangle, third claves, wood-block, whip, maracas, reco-reco, glass chimes, shell chimes, wood chimes, Basque drum, and three gongs; percussionist 4 plays third triangle, fourth claves, set of crotales, large suspended cymbal, suspended cymbal, medium tom, low tom, and three tarn-tarns; percussionist 5 plays second set of bells, metal sheet, fifth claves, Geophone, and bass drum. 1984

1985

Livre du Saint Sacrement for organ (Leduc) 1. Adoro te. 2. La source de Vie. 3. Le Dieu cache. 4. Acte de Foi. 5. Puer natus est nobis. 6. La manne et le Pain de Vie. 7. Les ressuscites et la lumiere de Vie. 8. Institution de l'Eucharistie. 9. Les tenebres. 10. La Resurrection du Christ. 11. L'apparition du Christ ressuscite a Marie-Madeleine. 12. La Transsubstantiation. 13. Les deux murailles d'eau. 14. Priere avant la communion. 15. La joie de la grace. 16. Priere apres la con:imunion. 17. La Presence multipliee. 18. Offrande et Alleluia

Discography _ _ _ _ __

All items included here are in compact-disc format unless otherwise indicated. U's are listed only for works or performances by Olivier Messiaen not reissued on CD at the time of this compilation.

Collections BIS 409/410/441/442/464/491/492 (ODD); seven CDs. The Complete Organ Music. With Hans-Ola Ericsson on the 1987 Gronlund Organ of Lulea Cathedral, Sweden. Volume 1: L'Ascension, Le banquet celeste, Apparition de l'eglise eternelle, Diptyque. Volume 2: La nativite du Seigneur, 9 meditations for organ. Volume 3: Messe de la Pentecote, Livre d'orgue. Volume 4: Les corps glorieux, Verset pour la fete de la dedicace. Volume 5: Meditations sur le mystere de la Sainte Trinite. Volume 6: Livre du Saint Sacrement and birdcalls of the birds imitated by Messiaen in his organ music. CALLIOPE 9926/9927/9928 (ADD); three CDs. Organ Music. With Louis Thiry on the Metzler Organ of the Cathedrale SaintPierre de Geneve. Recorded 1972. Includes Les corps glorieux, L'Ascension, Messe de la Pentecote, Livre d'orgue, La nativite du Seigneur, Le banquet celeste, Apparition de l'eglise eternelle, Verset pour la fete de la

final.

dedicace. OISQUES MONTAIGNE WM332 (DOD). The Official 80th Birthday Concert. With Pierre Boulez, conductor; Ensemble InterContemporain; Yvonne Loriod, piano. Recorded live, 1988. Includes Sept haikai, Couleurs de la cite celeste, Un vitrail et des oiseaux,

Petites esquisses d'oiseaux for piano (Leduc) 1. Le rouge-gorge [The Robin) . 2. Le merle noir (The Blackbird]. 3. Le rouge-gorge. 4. La grive musicienne (The Song Thrush). 5. Le rouge-gorge. 6. L'alouette des champs (The Skylark).

Oiseaux EMIexotiques. (mono) CZS7 67400 2 (ADD); four CDs. Organ Works (1926-1951) . With Olivier Messiaen on the Cavaille-Coll organ of the Trinite, Paris. Recorded 1956. Includes Le banquet celeste, Diptyque, Apparition de l'eglise eternelle, L'Ascension, La nativite du Seigneur, Les corps glorieux, Messe de la Pentecote, Livre d'orgue. EMI CMS 764092 2 (ADD); two CDs. Melodies. With Michele

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J piano. . Clltnm.1m1, :-, 01,r•ino·, M:irie-Madelcine . . p \ ,Petit, . M ' Cl Recorded 1n r.uis, 1977. Indmks Trvis 111dod1es, 0£ lllt s pour I, 1a11ts de terre et iJ,• dd / lilmwi. ERATO ER 45505 (AD~); s~vcntecn ~Ds. Orch~stral, Instru. 1t Works • With Pierre Boulez Constant, 1ncn t.1 I .11l uJ "o v' ~· • • and Manus • ·tors· French Radio Ph1lharmomc; Domamc Musical t Cl)lk lll ., b p. . Orchcstr.i; J\rs Nlw.1 Ensemble; Stras ourg crcuss1ons; Yvonne Loriod, pi.mo; R.1chl'l Y.1kar, sop~.11~0 . Includes Des ca11yo11s aux hoih's, 517,, Jmilai~ Ct>11/rnrs dt' Ill ntc cdcs.ft', Et exspccto rcsurrcctionem mortuonim, L'Asct'llsi1>11 (orchestral vcrs10n), Les Offra11dcs oubliees, Hymllf 1111 Sai 11 t S11Cm111•11t, Q11a111.or pour .la fi~1 du temps, V~sio 11 s de l'amm, Vi11gl ri:'\ards s11r l'c11j1wt ]t•s11s, Huit pn:lwl~s, Quatre e~u~~s de rytl1mt', Catalogm· ,f~1is1·1111x, La }'111vt'fl~. d~s ~ardms, La. 1~atr~1te du St'ig11eur, Le ba11q11fl cdcsft', Appantw11 de I egl1se etcmelle, Med1tat1011s sur le mystfre de la Sainte Tri11it~, Trois petites liturgies de la prese11ce divine, Ci11q recha11ts, Pohnt'S pour Mi, Chants de terre et de cie/, Petites esquisses d'oiseaux. Also includes an interview of Olivier Messiaen by Claude Samuel (one disc, 58'10"). UNICORN-KANCHANA 9005/ 9024/9025/9028/9067/ 9068 (ODD); six CDs. The Organ Music of Olivier Messiaen. With Jennifer Bate, organ. Includes Le banquet celeste, La nativite du Seigneur (9005); Meditations sur le mystere de la SPinte Trinite, L'Ascension, Messe de la Pentecote (902419025); Livre d'orgue, Apparition de l'eglise eternelle, Verset pour la fete de la dedicace (9028); Livre du Saint Sacrement (9067/ 9068). UNlCORN-KANCHANA 9051/9062/9075/ 9078/ 9090/ 9122/ 9123 (ODD); seven CDs. The Piano Music of Olivier Messiaen. With Peter Hill, piano. Includes Fantaisie burlesque, Rondeau (9051); Catalogue d'oiseaux Books 1-3 (9062); Catalogue d'oiseaux Books 4-6 (9075); Canteyodjaya, Huit preludes, Quatre eludes de rythme (9078); Catalogue d'oiseaux Book 7, La fauvette des jardins (9090) · Vingt regards sur l'enfant Jesus (9122/9123). '

Electronic

Fete des belles eaux With Jeanne Loriod, Nelly Caron, Monique Matagne, Renee Recoussine, Karel Trow, and Henriette Chanforan on six Ondes Martenot. ERATO STU 70102 (LP).

270

Discography

Instrumental Eloge V1a d'1m1r . S p1va . k ov, vio . 1·m; Boris Bechterev piano MCA M LD · 32124 (AAD). '

Le merle noir

Gunilla von Bahr, flute; D.ag .Achatz, piano. BIS 160 (AAD). Peter-Lukas Graf, flute; M1ch10 Kobayashi, piano. CLAVES CD 50 704 (ADD). Jonathan Snowden, flute; Andrew Litton, piano. VIRGIN CLASSICS VC 7 90846 2 (ODD). Zoller, flute; A. Kontarsky, piano. EMI 63947 2 (ADD).

Quatuor pour la fin du temps Chamber Music Northwest: Ik-Hwan Bae, violin; David Shifrin clarinet; William Doppmann, piano; Warren Lash, cello. DELOS CD 3043 (ODD) . Vera Beths, violin; George Pieterson, clarinet; Reinbert de Leeuw, piano; Anner Bijlsma, cello. PHILIPS 422 834 2 (ADD). Huguette Fernandez, violin; Guy Deplus, clarinet; MarieMadeleine Petit, piano; Jacques Neiltz, cello. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. Saschko Gawriloff, violin; Heinz Deinzer, clarinet; Aloys Kontarsky, piano; Siegfried Palm, cello. EM! ANGEL CDS 7 47463 8 (ODD); two CDs. Erich Gruenberg, violin; Gervase De Peyer, clarinet; Michel Beroff, piano; William Pleeth, cello. EMI 63947 2 (ADD). Tashi: Ida Kavafian, violin; Richard Stoltzman, clarinet; Peter Serl<ln, piano; Fred Sherry, cello. RCA 7835 2 RG (ADD). Ensemble Walter Boeykens: Marjeta Korosek, violin; Walter Boeykens, clarinet; Robert Groslot, piano; Roel Dieltiens, cello. HARMONIA MUNDI HMC 901348 (ODD). Ensemble Incanto: Marietta Kratz, violin; Ralph Manno, clarinet; Liese Klahn, piano; Guido Schiefen, cello. EBS 6024 (ODD). Messiaen Quartet: Alain Moglia, violin; Michel Arrignon, clarinet; Jean-Claude Henriot, piano; Rene Benedetti, cello. CYBELIA 818 (DOD). Jacques Pasql;lier, violin; Andre Vacellier, clarinet; Olivier Messiaen, piano; Etienne Pasquier, cello. MUSIDISC.RC719 (LP) . Christoph Poppen, violin; Wolfgang Meyer, clarinet; Y~onne Loriod, piano; Manuel Fischer-Dieskau, cello. Recorded m the presence of the composer. EMI CDC 7 54395 2 (DOD) . . Luben Yordanoff, violin; Claude Desurmont, clarinet; Damel Barenboim, piano; Albert Tetard, cello. DG 423 247 2 (ADD).

Discography

271

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"r'

Gidon Kremer, violin; Martha Argerich, piano. DG (DOD). 427 351 2 Christoph Poppen, violin; Yvonne Loriod, piano. Recorde . the presence of the composer. EMI CDC 7 54395 2 CODD) d n 1 Duo Wacheux-Penven: Bernard Wacheux, ViolinÂ· Penven, piano. CYBEUA CY 1108 (DOD). ' I\Tier

01' .

L'Ascension

Orchestral

453 Myung-Whun 854 (ODD). Chung, conductor; Orchestre de la Bastille. DG Marius Constant, conductor; French Radio Philharmonic Orchestra. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. Karl-Anton Rickenbacher, conductor; Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra. KOCH-SCHWANN 311 015 (ADD). Chronochromie Marius Constant, conductor; French Radio Philharmonic Orchestra. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. Antal Dorati, conductor; Orchestra of the BBC. Recorded 1965. EMI CLASSICS Special Import Limited Edition 7 63948 2 (ADD). Karl-Anton Rickenbacher, conductor; Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra. KOCH-SCHWANN 311 015 (ADD). Manuel Rosenthal, conductor; Orchestre National de France. Recorded live, 1966. ADES 14122 2 (AAD); four CDs. Collection "Musique de Notre Temps." Couleurs de la cite celeste Pierre Boulez, conductor; Ensemble InterContemporain; Yvonne loriod, piano. DISQUES MONTAIGNE WM 332 (ODD). Pierre Boulez, conductor; Strasbourg Percussions; Domaine Musical Orchestra; Yvonne Loriod, piano. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. Esa-Pekka Salonen, conductor; London Sinfonietta; Paul Crossley, piano. CBS M2K 44762 (DOD); two CDs. Des canyons aux etoiles Marius Constant, conductor; Ensemble Ars Nova; Yvonne loriod, piano. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. Esa-Pekka Salonen, conductor; London Sinfonietta; Paul 272

Crossley, piano. CBS M2K 44762 (DDD); two CDs.

Et exspecto resurrectionem mortuorum Serge Baudo, conductor; Orchestre de Paris. EMI CLASSICS Special Import Limited Edition 7 63948 2 (ADD). Pierre Boulez, conductor; Strasbourg Percussions; Domaine Musical Orchestra; ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. Bernard Haitink, conductor; Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra Amsterdam. PHILIPS 426 667 2 (ADD). Arthur Weisberg, conductor; Ensemble 21. SUMMIT DCD 122 (DDD). Hymne au Saint Sacrement Marius Constant, conductor; French Radio Philharmonic Orchestra. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. Les Offrandes oubliees Serge Baudo, conductor; Orchestre de Paris. EMI CZS7 62669 2 (ADD); two CDs. Marius Constant, conductor; French Radio Philharmonic Orchestra. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. Hans Zender, conductor; Southwest German Radio Symphony Orchestra Baden-Baden. AMATI SRR 9003/ 1 (DOD). Oiseaux exotiques Pierre Boulez, conductor; Ensemble lnterContemporain; Yvonne Loriod, piano. DISQUES MONTAIGNE WM 332 (DDD). {\nders Loguin, conductor; Kroumata Percussions; Omnibus Chamber Winds; Kerstin Jansson, piano. CAPRICE 21355 (DDD). Pommer, conductor; Leipzig Gewandhaus Chamber Music Ensemble; Gunter Philipp, piano. PILZ PLZ 442062 2 (ADD). Esa-Pekka Salonen, conductor; London Sinfonietta; Paul Crossley, piano. CBS M2K 44762 (DDD); two CDs. Sept hai'kaf Pierre Boulez, conductor; Ensemble InterContemporain; Yvonne Loriod, piano. DISQUES MONTAIGNE WM 332 (DDD). Marius Constant, conductor; Ensemble Ars Nova; Yvonne Loriod, piano. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. Un sourire Marek Janowski, conductor. French Radio Philharmonic orchestra. Recorded at the premiere. RCA VICTOR Red Seal 09026 61520 2 (DOD); two CDs. La transfiguration de notre Seigneur Jesus-Christ Antal Dorati, conductor; Westminster Symphonic Choir; National Symphony Orchestra, Washington, D.C.; Yvonne Loriod, piano; Janos Starker, cello. LONDON 425 616 2 (ADD); two CDs.

Discography Discography

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.,,. Quatuor }'Our la fi11 du temps (excerpt) . . The Fisher Duo: Norman Fischer, cello; Jean Fischer, piano. Includes "Louange a l'eternite n~ l<ie;"lllan NORTHEASTERN NR 238 CD (DDD?). e Jesus." TI1eme et variations

Stephane Cardon, conductor; "A Coeur Joie" Vocal E Grenoble Instrumental En~emble; Odile Thomas, soprano~~:lllbie; Loriod, piano; Jeanne Lonod, Ondes Martenot. FORLA.NE ~nne 16504/ 16505 (ODD); two CDs. CD Marcel Couraud, conductor; French Radio Choir and Ch Orchestra; Yvonne Loriod, piano; Jeanne Loriod, Ondes Ma~~~er ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. not. Terry Edwards, conductor; London Sinfonietta Chorus; Londo Sinfonietta. VIRGIN CLASSICS VC 7 91472 2 (DOD). n Marc Florian, conductor; Choir Gabriel Faure; EnsernbI Abegg; Laurence Contini, piano; Raphael Saint-Remy, Onde: Martenot. CYBEUA 846 (ODD).

Turangalila-symplzonie Myung-Whun Chung, conductor; Orchestre de la Bastille; Yvonne 2 (DOD).Loriod, piano; Jeanne Loriod, Ondes Martenot. DC 431 781 Louis de Froment, conductor; Luxembourg Radio-Television Symphony Orchestra; Yvonne Loriod, piano; Jeanne Loriod, Ondes Martenot. FORLANE UCO 16504/16505 (ADD); two CDs. Marek Janowski, conductor. French Radio Philharmonic Orchestra. RCA VICTOR Red Seal 09026 61520 2 (DOD); two CDs. Simon Rattle, conductor; City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra; Peter Donohoe, piano; Tristan Murail, Ondes Martenot. EMI ANGEL CDS 7 47463 8 (ADD); two CDs. Esa-Pekka Salonen, conductor; Philharmonia Orchestra; Paul Crossley, piano; Tristan Murai!, Ondes Martenot. CBS M2K 42271 (ODD); two CDs.

Un vitrail et des oiseaux Pierre Boulez, conductor; Ensemble InterContemporain; Yvonne Loriod, piano. DISQUES MONTAIGNE WM 332 (DOD) .

Apparition de l'eglise eternelle

Organ Solo

Marie-Claire Alain. ERATO 2292 45470 2 (ODD). Jennifer Bate. UNICORN-KANCHANA 9028 (DOD) . Hans-Ola Ericsson. BIS 409 (DOD). Rudolf Innig. DABRINGHAUS UNO GRIMM 3346 (ODD). Marilyn Keiser. GOTHIC G 49037 (DOD). Ferdinand Klinda. OPUS 9351 2020 (DOD). Susan Landale. ADDA CD58 1039 (DOD). Olivier Messiaen on the Cavaille-Coll organ of the Trinite, Paris. 274

Discography

Recorded 1956. EMI (mono) CZS7 67400 2 (ADD)路 f C ' our Ds. Louis Thiry. CALLIOPE 992S (ADD) .

L'Ascension

Jennifer Bate. UNICORN-KANCHANA 9024/ 9025 (ODD)路

ros.

Hans-Ola Ericsson. BIS 409 (DOD). Charles Krigbaum. ORGAN HISTORICAL SOCIETY OHS 100路 two CDs. ' Susan Landale. ADDA COSS 1059 (ODD). Olivier Messiaen on the Cavaille-Coll organ of the Trinite, Paris. Recorded 1956. EMI (mono) CZS7 67400 2 (ADD); four CDs. Almut Rossler. KOCH-SCHWANN 315 024 (ADD). Herndon Spillman. TITANIC TI 204 (DOD) . Louis Thiry. CALLIOPE 9926 (ADD). L 1tscension (excerpts)

Rudolf Innig. DABRINGHAUS UND GRIMM 3346 (ODD). Includes four excerpts. Ferdinand Klinda. OPUS 9351 2020 (ODD). Includes ''Transports de joie d'une ame devant la gloire du Christ:'

Le banquet celeste

Marie-Claire Alain. ERATO 2292 45470 2 (DDD). Jennifer Bate. UNICORN路KANCHANA 9005 (DOD). Hans-Ola Ericsson. BIS 409 (ODD). Rudolf Innig. DABRINGHAUS UNO GRIMM 3346 (DOD). Susan Landale. ADDA COSS 1039 (ODD). . Olivier Messiaen on the Cavaille-Coll organ of the Trinite, Paris. Recorded 1956. EMI (mono) CZS7 67400 2 (ADD); four CDs. Louis Thiry. CALLIOPE 9928 (ADD).

Les corps glorieux

Jennifer Bate. UNICORN-KANCHANA 9004 (ODD). Hans-Ola Ericsson. BIS 442 (ODD). Susan Landale. ADDA COSS 1059 (ODD). Olivier Messiaen on the Cavaille-Coll organ of the Trinite, Paris. Recorded 1956. EMI (mono) CZS7 67400 2 (ADD); four CDs. Almut Rossler. KOCH-SCHWANN CD 315 023 (ADD). Louis Thiry. CALLIOPE 9926 (ADD).

Les corps glorieux (excerpts) Ferdinand Klinda. OPUS 9351 2020 (DOD) . Includes "Joie et clarte des Corps glorieux." Kimberly Marshall. PRIORY PRCD 261 (ODD) . I_n~~udes "Les eaux de la grace" and "Combat de la mort et de la vie.

Diptyque

Jennifer Bate. UNICORN-I<ANCHANA 9004 (ODD). Discography

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or'

Ttois petites liturgies de la presence divine

Livre d'orgue

"Communion: Les oiseaux et Jes sources:'

La 11ativite du Seigneur

0s.

Marie -Claire Alain. ERATO 2292 45470 2 (ODD) . Jennifer Bate. UNICORN-KANCHANA 9005 (ODD) . Kevin Bower. CONTINUUM 1012. Hans-Ola Ericsson. BIS 410 (ODD). Susan Landale. ADDA CD58 1039. Olivier Messiaen o n the Cavaille-Coll organ of the Trinite, Paris. Recorded 1956. EMI (mono) CZS7 67400 2 (ADD); four CDs. Simon Preston. LONDON 425 616 2 (ADD); two CDs. Wolfgang Rubsam . BAYER 100 004 (ODD). Louis Thiry. CALLIOPE 9928 (ADD) . David Titterington. HYPERION CDA 66230 (ODD) .

Jennifer Bate. UNICORN-KANCHANA 9028 (DOD). Hans-Ola Ericsson. BIS 441 (DOD). Olivier Messiaen on the Cavaille-Coll organ of the Trinite p . Recorded 1956. EMI (mono) CZS7 67400 2 (ADD); four CDs~ris. Almut Rossler. KOCH-SCHWANN 315024 (ADD). Louis Thiry. CALLIOPE 9927 (ADD) .

Livrc d'orgue (e xcerpts) Andre Iso ir. CALLIOPE CAL 9921-9927; seven CDs. Volume 2 of "Le livrc d 'or de l'orguc frarn;ais." Ferdinand Klinda. OPUS 9351 2020 (DOD) . Includes "Les mains d e l'abime: ' Livrt~

La nativite du Seigneur (excerpts)

Andre Isoir. CALLIOPE CAL 9921-9927; seven CDs. Volume 2 of "Le livre d'or de l'orgue fran~ais:' Marilyn Keiser.GOTHIC G 49037 (DDD) .lncludes "Lesenfants

d11 Saiut Sacmnmt

de Dieu:' Ferdinand I<linda. OPUS 9351 2020 (DOD). Includes "Les

Jennifer Bate. UNICORN-KANCHANA 9067/9068 (ODD); two CDs. Erik Bostrom. PROPRIUS 9014/9015; two CDs. Hans-Ola Ericsson. BIS 491/492 (DOD); two CDs. Also includes birdcalls of the birds imitated by Messiaen in his organ music. Almut Rossler. MOTETTE 11061 (ODD); two CDs.

bergers" and "Dieu parmi nous:' Michael Murray. TEI.ARC 80277 (DOD). Includes "Dieu parmi nous:' Robert Noehren on the D. F. Pilzecker Organ in the Church of Saint Jude, Detroit, Michigan. DELOS D/CD 3045 (DOD). Includes

Meditations sur le mystere de la Sainte Trinite

''Oieu parmiNoehren nous:' on the Reuter Organ at Whatley Chapel, Robert University of Denver. PRO ORGANO POCD 7019. Includes ''Les

Jennifer Bate. UNICORN-KANCHANA 9024/9025 (DOD); two CDs. Hans-Ola Ericsson. BIS 464 (DOD). Oli\i er Messiaen on the Cavaille-Coll organ of the Trinite, Paris. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. Da\id Titterington. HYPERION CDA 66230 (DOD) .

Anges:'

Verset pour la fote de la dedicace

Colin Andrews. PRIORY PRCD 272 (ODD). Jennifer Bate. UNICORN-KANCHANA 9028 (DOD). Hans-Ola Ericsson. BIS 442 (ODD). Harassowitz. MOTETfE 11481 (DOD). Almut Rossler. KOCH-SCHWANN CD 315024 (ADD).

Miditations sur le mystere de la Sainte Trinite (excerpt) Ferdinand Klinda. OPUS 9351 2020 (DOD). Includes the fifth meditation. A~ ~ L:z

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Hans-Ola Ericsson. BIS 409 (DOD). Rudolf Innig. DABRINGHAI!S. UNO GRIMM 33 D 46 Olivier Messiaen on the Cava11le-Coll organ of the Tri~it ~D). Record ed 1956. EMI (mono) CZS7 67400 2 (ADD); four ~ Paris.

PmteciJte

Piano Solo

Jennifer Bate. UNJCORN-I<ANCHANA 9024/9025 (DOD); two

CDs.

Canteyodjaya Peter Hill. UNICORN-I<ANCHANA 9078 (DOD) .

Hans-Ola Ericsson. BIS 441 (DOD). O livier Messiaen on the Cavaille-Coll organ of the Trinite, Paris. Recorded 1956. EMI (mono) CZS7 67400 2 (ADD); four CDs. Almut Rossler. KOCH-SCHWANN CD 315 023 (ADD). Lou~ Thiry. CAWOPE 9927 (ADD). Mes~ d.e Li P~wu (exc~)

Yvonne Loriod. Recorded 1958. ADES 13233 2 (AAD).

CataloguePeter d'oiseaux Hill. UNICORN-I<ANCHANA 9062 (Books 1-3); 9075 (Books 4-6); 9090 (Book 7) (ODD); three CDs. Yvonne Loriod. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs.

Ferdina nd Klinda, OPUS 9351 2020 (DOD), Includes

276

~r,>Tt

Discogtaphy

277

d 'oist~ u.x

(excerpts) Hakon Austbo. FIDELIO 9927 (ODD). Includes seven Rolf Hind. FACTORY CLASSICAL Facd 256 (DOD) ~xcelJ>ts. , nctudes "Le courlis cend re. Roger Muraro. ACCORD 201882 (DOD). Includes , rousserolle effarvatte:' 1.q Marius van Paassen.ATIACCA BABEL 8950 3 (DDD). IncJ Udes "Le traquet stapazm. II

•

Yvonne Lor~od. Recorded 1956. ADES 14112 2; two CDs. Yvonne Lonod. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. Roger Muraro. MCA AED2 10271 (DDD); two CDs. John Ogdon. LONDON 430 343 2 (ADD); two CDs. Peter Serl<in. RCA [not yet reissued on CD} . Malcolm Troup. CONTINUUM CCD 1004/1005 (DDD); two

•

cos.

Fantaisie burlesque Peter Hill. UNICORN-KANCHANA 9051 (ODD). La fauvette des jardins Peter Hill. UNICORN-KANCHANA 9090 (ODD) . Yvonne Loriod. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs.

Huit preludes Michel Beroff. EMI CMS 7 69161 2 (ADD); two CDs. Peter Hill. UNICORN-KANCHANA 9078 (DOD). Yvonne Loriod. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. Roger Muraro. ACCORD 201882 (ODD). Pierre Reach. CYBELIA 830 (ODD) . Gunter Reinhold. THOROFON CTH 2114 (ODD).

Petites esquisses d'oiseaux Yvonne Loriod. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. Gunter Reinhold. THOROFON CTH 2114 (ODD).

Quatre etudes de rythme Peter Hill. UNICORN-KANCHANA 9078 (DOD). Paul Jacobs. NONESUCH 71334 4. Yvonne Loriod. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. Yuji Takahashi. DENON CO 1052 (DOD). Quatre eludes de rythme (excerpts) Shura Cherkassky. NIMBUS NI 5090 (DOD). Includes "lie de feu I" and "Ile de feu II:' Jun Kanno. THESIS THC 82042 (ODD) . Includes "lle de feu I" and "Ile de feu II."

Rondeau Peter Hill. UNICORN-KANCHANA 9051 (ODD).

Virtgt regards sur l'enfant Jesus (excerpts)

Volker Banfield. WERGO 60134 SO. Includes "Noel:' ''Premiere communion de la Vierge:' "Regard des prophetes, des bergers et des mages:' "Regard du silence:' "Regard de l'esprit de joie:' Louise Bessette. CBC RECORDS MVCD 1041 (ODD). Includes ''Premiere communion de la Vierge:' "Regard des anges:' "Regard de l'eglise d'amour:' Vladimir Feltsman. CBS M2K 44589 (DDD). Includes ''Premiere communion de la Vierge:' "Noel:' "Regard des prophetes, des bergers et des mages." Eric Ferrand-N'I<aoua. FONDATION SOFIA ANTIPOLIS [catalogue number unavailable). Jun Kanno. THESIS THC 82042 (DDD). Includes "Regard de l'esprit de joie" and "Le baiser de l'enfant Jesus:' Michael Levinas. ADES ACD 14079 2 (DDD). Pierre Reach. CYBELIA 830 (DDD).Includes "Regard de l'esprit de joie:' ''Premiere communion de la Vierge:' "Regard de l'eglise d'amour:'

Visions de l'amenBouwhuis; Cees van Zeeland. CHANNEL CLASSICS Gerard CCS 4592 (DOD). Katia and Marielle Labeque. ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeenTove CDs. Lonskov; Rodolfo Uambias. KONTRAPUNKT 32031 (DOD). Yvonne Loriod; Olivier Messiaen. Recorded 1958. ADES OR 13233 2 (AAD). Double Edge: Edmund Niemann; Nurit Titles. NEW ALBION RECORDS NA 045 (DOD). Alexandre Rabinovitch; Martha Argerich. EMI ANGEL CDC 7 54050 2 (ODD).

Vingt regards sur /'en/ant Jesus Alice Ader. ADDA 581061/581062 (DOD); two CDs. Anton Batagov. MELODIYA SUCD 10 00041-00043 (ODD); three CDs. Michel Beroff. EMI CMS 7 69161 2 (AAD); two CDs. Peter Hill. UNICORN-KANCHANA 912219123 (DOD); two CDs. Discography

278

Discography

279

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G:!;;!(}gut

Cliants de terre et de ciel Michele Command, soprano; Marie-Madeleine p . EMI CMS 764092 2 (ADD); two CDs. etit, Piano Jane Manning, soprano; D. Mason, piano. UN · KANCHANA 9094 (DOD). IcoRN. Maria Oran, soprano; Yvonne Loriod, piano. ERATo ER (ODD). 4Ssos Rachel Yakar, soprano; Yvonne Loriod, piano. ERAro E 71580 (ADD); seventeen CDs. CD

Cinq rechants Marcel Couraud, conductor; French Radio Choir Soloist 5· ERATO ER 45505 (ADD); seventeen CDs. Terry Edwards, conductor; London Sinfonietta Voices. VIRGIN CLASSICS VC 7 91472 2 (DDD). Michel Tranchant, conductor; Groupe Vocal de France. ARION 68084 (AAD).

Harawi Michele Command, soprano; Marie-Madeleine Petit, piano. EMI CMS 764092 2 (ADD); two CDs. Dorothy Dorow, soprano; Carl-Axel Dominique, piano. BIS 86 (AAD). Jane Manning, soprano; David MilJer, piano. UNICORNKANCHANA 9034 (DOD). Yumi Nara, soprano; Jay Gottlieb, piano. ADDA 581139 (DOD). Rachel Yakar, soprano; Yvonne Loriod, piano. ERATO ECD 75501 (ODD). La mort du nombre

Ann Murray, soprano; Philip Langridge, tenor; Andrew Watkinson, violin; Roger Vignoles, piano. VIRGIN CLASSICS VC 7 91179 2 (DOD).

0 sacrum convivium! Terry Edwards, conductor; London Sinfonietta Chorus. VIRGIN CLASSICS VC 7 91472 2 (DOD). Richard Marlow, conductor; Choir of Trinity College, Cambridge. CONIFER CDCF 176 (ODD) . . Michel Tranchant, conductor; Groupe Vocal de France. ARION 68084 (AAD).

EMI CMS 764092 2 (ADD); two CDs. Jacqueline D.elman, soprano; Lucia Negro, piano. BIS 86 (AAD). Jane Manning, soprano; D. Mason, piano. UNICORNJ<ANCHANA 9094 (ODD). Maria Oran, soprano; Yvonne Loriod, piano. ERATO ECD 75502 (ODD). Lucy Shelton, soprano; Lambert Orkis, piano. NONESUCH 79106 4. Yakar, soprano; Yvonne Loriod, piano. ERATO ER 45505 Rachel (ADD); seventeen CDs.

Saint Franfois Kent d'Assise Nagano, conductor; Groot Omroepkoor; Nederlands Kamerkoor; Radio Symfonie Orkest; Radio Kamer Orkest; Philippe Rouillon (Saint Francis), baritone; Maria Oran (Angel), soprano; John Gilmore (Leper), tenor; Phil Frohnmayer (Brother Leo), baritone; Gerard Carino (Brother Masseo), tenor; Bruce Brewer (Brother Elias), tenor; Charles van Tassel (Brother Bernardo), bass. Recorded live, 1986. KRO KK 8802; four CDs. Seiji Ozawa, conductor; Paris Opera Orchestra and Chorus; Jose Van Dam (Saint Francis), baritone; Christiane Eda-Pierre (Angel), soprano; Kenneth Riegel (Leper), tenor; Philippe Duminy (Brother Leo), baritone: Georges Gauthier (Brother Masseo), tenor; Michel Senechal (Brother Elias), tenor; Jean-Philippe Courtis (Brother Bernardo), bass; Jeanne Loriod, Valerie HartmannClaverie, and Dominique Kim on three Ondes Martenot. Recorded live in Paris at the premiere, broadcast by Radio France, 1983. CYBELIA 833-836 (ODD); four CDs.

Trois melodies Michele Command, soprano; Marie-Madeleine Petit, piano. EMI CMS 764092 2 (ADD); two CDs.

Trois melodies (excerpt)soprano; Rudolf Jansen, piano. PHILIPS 412 628 2 Elly Ameling, (DOD). Includes ''La fiancee perdue:'

Poemes pour Mi Lise Arseguest, soprano; Olivier Messiaen, piano. EVEREST 3269(lP, now out of circulation). Michele Command, soprano; Marie-Madeleine Petit, piano. Discography

280

Discography

281

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Vocal

The following bibliography lists predominantly English- and Frenchlanguage books and articles focusing on Olivier Messiaen and his music, including English translations (when available) of the composer's own writings and the many additional items that have appeared since the 1986 publication of the French edition of Claude Samuel's conversations with Messiaen. Entries from that edition's bibliography that were not subsequently translated into English are presented here in their original languages, German, Polish, and Danish included. General music history surveys, biographies/ memoirs, and articles in which Messiaen receives only passing reference are, in most cases, omitted here; a number of them appear, however, in Ray W. Urwin's "Olivier Messiaen: A Bibliography" in the December 1979 issue of The American Organist, pages 50-51. Of particular interest is a 1992 publication in French and German, ''L'Avant-Scene Opera Saint Franfois d'Assise," a special edition of the Salzburg Festival Program and the fourth in their Opera Aujourd'hui Series. It contains an introduction by Pierre Boulez, a January 1992 interview of Messiaen by Jean-Christophe Marti, a complete libretto and musical analysis of the opera, a bibliography, and numerous other articles, photographs, and musical examples. -E. Thomas Glasow Works by Olivier Messiaen 1944. The TechniqÂľe of My Musical Language. 2 vols. TranÂˇs. John Satterfield. Paris: Editions Alphonse Leduc. 1959. Conference de Bruxelles (in French, German and English). Paris: Leduc. 1977. Conference de Notre-Dame. Paris: Leduc. 1983. Saint Franfois d'Assise: Scenes Franciscaines (libretto text). Paris: Leduc. 1988. Conference de Hyoto: November 12, 1965. Paris: Leduc. 283

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Selected Bibliography _ _ __

er 0uly): 25·

Books on Olivier Messiaen and his music

Adams, Beverly Decker. 1969. 111e Organ Music of Olivier M . Ph.D. thesis, University of Utah. ess1aen.

Ahrens, Sieglinde, Hans-Dieter MOiler, and Almut Rossler Des Orgelwerk Messiae11s. Duisburg: Gilles und Francke. · 1976· Bell,Publishers. Carla Huston. 1984. Olivier Messiaen. Boston: 'llvayn, Borum, Paul, and Erik Christensen. 1977. Messiaen: en lfandbog. Copenhagen: Egtved.

Golea, Antoine. 1960. Rencontres avec Olivier Messiaen. Paris: Julliard. Griffiths, Paul. 1985. Olivier Messiaen and the Music of Time. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press. Gut, Serge. 1977. Le groupe Jeune France: Yves Baudrier, Daniel Lesur, Andre /olivet, Olivier Messiae11. Musique-Musicologie Series, no. 4. Paris: H. Champion. Halbreich, Harry. 1980. Olivier Messiaen. Paris: Fayard. Hohlfeld-Ufer, Ingrid. 1978. Die musikalische Sprache Olivier Messiae11s, dargestellt an dem Orgelzyklus 'Die Pfingstmesse'. Duisburg: Gilles und Francke. and Almut Rossler. 1978. Zur Interpretation der Orgelwerke Messiaens. Duisburg: Gilles und Francke. . Holloway, Clyde. 1974. The Organ Works of Olivier Messiaen and '0e1r Importance Seminary. in His Total Oeuvre. Thesis, Union Theological

Johnson, Robert Sherlaw. 1975. Messiaen. Berkeley: University of California Press. Kaczynski, Tadeusz. Muzyczne.

1984. Messiaen.

Polskie

Wydawnictwo ,

Lee, John Madison. 1972. Harmonic Structures in the 'Quatre Etudes Rythmiques' University. of Olivier Messiaen. Ph.D. thesis, Florida State Mari, Pierrette. 1965. Olivier Messiaen. Paris: Seghers. Massin, Brigitte. 1989. Une poetique du merveilleux. Paris: Alinea. Muncy, Thomas R. 1984. Messiaen's Influence on Post-War Serialism. Ann Arbor, Michigan: University Microfilms International. Myers, Rollo. 1971. "Messiaen, Boulez and After." Chap. 9 in Modern French Music, From Faure to Boulez, 152-178. New York: Praeger Publishers. Nectoux, Jean-Michel, Roger Nichols, Patrick Gowers, G. W. Hopkins, and Paul Griffiths. 1986. "Olivier Messiaen:' In The New Grove Twentieth-Century French Masters, 219-248. New York: W.W. Norton. 284

Selected Bibliography

Nichols, Roger. 1986. Messiaen. Rev. ed· London·· Oxford uru·vers1·ty P ress. Perier, ~lain. ~979. Messiaen. Solfeges Microcosme Series, no. 37. Pans: Semi. Peterson, Larry Wayne. 1973. Messiaen and Rhythm: Theory and Practice. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina. Reverdy, Michele. 1978. L'oeuvre pour piano d'Olivier Messiaen. Paris: Leduc. Rorem, Ned. 1974. "A Note on Messiaen:' In Pure Contraption: A Composer's Essays. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. . 1983. ''Messiaen and Carter on Their Birthdays:' In Setting the Tone: Essays and a Diary, 146-148. New York: CowardMcCann, Inc. Rose, Mark Alan. 1977. The Perception of Multitonal Levels in Olivier Messiaen's 'Quatuor pour la fin du temps: Thesis, University of Cincinnati. Rossler, Almut. 1986. Contributions to the Spiritual World of Olivier Messiaen, with Original Texts by the Composer. Trans. from the German by Barbara Dagg and Nancy Poland. Duisburg: Gilles & Francke. Rostand, Claude. 1957. Olivier Messiaen. Paris: Ventadour. - - . 1973. ''Messiaen:' In French Music Today, trans. Henry Marx, 42-67. New York: Da Capo Press. Urwin, Ray W. 1979. The Late Organ Works of Olivier Messiaen. Master's thesis, Yale University. Waumsley, Stuart. 1975. The Organ Music of Olivier Messiaen. 2nd ed. Paris: Leduc. Periodical special issues honoring Olivier Messiaen

Melos (December 1958). The Diapason (December 1978). .

,, . "Olivier Messiaen 70th Anniversary. Music/The AGO-RCCO Magazine (December 1978). Musik-Konzepte (1982) 28.

Articles on Messiaen and his music Anderson, Julian. 1992. "Olivier Messiaen (1908-1992):' The Musical Times 133 (September): 449-451. Armfelt, Nicholas. 1965. ''Emotion in the Music of Messiaen." The Musical Times 106 (November) : 856-858. Avery, James. 1979. "Olivier Messiaen: An Introduction to His Piano Music" (with several musical examples). Contemporary Keyboard (August): 36-42. Bernard, Jonathan W. 1986. ''Messiaen's Synaesthesia: The Correspondence Between Colar and Sound Structure in His Selected Bibliography

285

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1990. Les 22 concert?s po~r p~a.no d; M_ozart. Preface b Hocquard. [Pans]: Librame Segu1er. Y lean-Victor 1991. "Every Angel's Terrifying." 111e UNESCO Courj

Music:' Music Perception (Fall): 41-68. Bingham, Seth. 1953. ''M.essiaen's Pentecostal Organ Mass:· Or Institute Quarterly (Wmter): 9-18. gan Birkby Arthur. 1972. "Interview With France's Noted Organ· t , . ,, ( . th . 1 is and Composer, Olivier Messiaen w1 mus1ca examples). Clavier 4:18-24. Brown, Royal S. 197~. "Frenc~ Music Since Debussy and Ravel:· Higli Fidelity/Musical America (September): 50-65. Burkat Leonard. 1950. "Current Chronicle" (with an extensi'v · an d many musicale ' analysis of the ~uranga l'1la-symp1w11!e examples). Tiie Musical Quarterly (Apnl): 259-268. Chamfray, C. 1976. "Olivier Messiaen:' Le Courrier Musical de France 56:163-165. Cahalan, Aileen, R.S.C.J. 1968. ''Messiaen: Reflections on Livre d'orgue." Musicm1e AGO and RCCO Magazine Ouly): 26-27, 3739; (November): 28-30, 56; (December): 28-31. Demuth, Norman. 1955. "Messiaen and His Organ Music:' The Musical Times 96 (April): 203-206. - - . 1960. ''Messiaen's Early Birds:' The Musical Times (October): 627-629. . Dennis, Brian. 1970. "Messiaen's La Transfiguration." Tempo (Autumn): 29-30. Drew, David. 1954-55. ''Messiaen: A Provisional Study:' 171e Score 10:33-49; 13:59-73; 14:41-61. Evans, Adrian. 1974. "Olivier Messiaen in the Surrealist Context: A Bibliography." Brio (Spring): 2-11; (Autumn): 25-35. Fishell, Janette. 1988. "Old Symbols-New Language: An Examination of Olivier Messiaen's Meditations sur le mystere de la Sainte Tri11ite." The Diapaso11 (December): 12-15. Fowler, J. Roger. 1954. "An Introduction to the Music of Olivier Messiaen." 17re Cliesteria11 Oanuary): 77-83. Fremiot, Marcel. 1948. "Le rythme dans le langage d'Olivier Messiaen:' Polypho11ie 2:58-64. Gardiner, Bennett. 1967. ''Dialogues With Messiaen." Musical Events (October): 6-9. Gavoty, Bernard, and Olivier Messiaen. 1961. "Who Are You, Olivier Messiaen?" (an unsigned translation of a discussion previously published in the journal Musical fra11~ais). Tempo 58 (Summer) : 33-36. Gillock, Jon, trans. 1978. ''Messiaen's Organ Works: The Composer's Aesthetic and Analytical Notes." Musicm1e AGO and RCCO Magazi11e (December): 42-54. Griffiths, Paul. 1971. "Poemes and Haikai-A Note on Messiaen's Development:' 17re Musical Times 112 (September): 851-852. . 1978."Catalogue de Couleurs: Notes on Messiaen's Tone Colors on His 70th Birthday:' The Musical Times (7 December) : 1035-1037. 286 Selected Bibliography

J-Iassman, Carroll. . h . "Messiaen: An Introduct"ion to His .. l 'T' 1971. composittona 1ec mques and an Analysis of La t. ·t ' " ( . "bl" h ) Th . na 1v1 e with a short b i iogr~p Y . . e p1apason (December): 22-23. J-Iold, Trevor. 1971. 'Messiaen s Birds:' Music and Letters 2:113-122 l(rastewa, Jwanka. , . 1972.. "Le langage rythmique d'Olivier Mess1aen · · et a metnque ancienne grecque:' Schweizerische Musikz.e'tu l 112:79-86. I ng l(nussen, Olive~. 1976. ''Messiaen's Des canyons aux etoiles ... " (review of first performance). Tempo 116 (March): 39-41. Landale,. Susan. ~?78. :·Olivier Messiaen: Musical Language, Musical Image. Music/The AGO and RCCO Magazine (December) : 36-39. Lee, John Madison. 1983. ''Harmony in the Solo Piano Works of Olivier Messiaen: The First Twenty Years:' College Music Symposium 23:65-80. Milsom, John. 1992. "Working With the Maitre: Pianist Peter Hill Remembers Messiaen . . :·Gramophone (September): 20. Morris, David. 1989. "A Semiotic Investigation of Messiaen's 'Abime des oiseaux':' Music Analysis 8:125-158. Murray, Michael. 1978. "An Interview With Olivier Messiaen:' Tlie Diapason (December) : 3-5. Otto, Theophil M. 1978. "Messiaen and the Baroque Organ:' Music/The AGO and RCCO Magazine (December): 40-41. Palmer, David. 1988. "Olivier Messiaen, A Tribute on His 80th Birthday:' The Diapason (December): 10-11. . 1984. "Saint Fran~ois d'Assise, An Opera by Messiaen:' American Organist (March): 46-48. Pfaff, Timothy. 1992. "Keys to the Kingdom:' Piano Quarterly (Summer): 50-54. Quenetain, Tanneguy de. 1963. "Messiaen, Poet of Nature:' Music and Musicians (May): 8. Raver, Leonard. 1974. "Olivier Messiaen's Meditations sur le rnystere de la Sainte Trinite"(a review of the first New York performance). Music/The AGO and RCCO Magazine (April): 27. Renshaw, Jeffrey. 1991. "Olivier Messiaen's Et exspecto: An Interpretive Analysis:' The Instrumentalist (November): 28-34. Romig, David W., and J.Melvin Butler. 1978. "Olivier.Messiaen's ~he Birth of the Lord/La 11ativite du Seig11eur ... as a Settmg for a Chn~t mas Communion Service." Music/The AGO and RCCO Magazme (December) : 32-33. . . Simundza, Mirjana. 1987-88. "Messiaen's Rhythmical Organisation and Classical Indian Theory of Rhythm:' Parts 1, 2. International Review of the Aesthetics and Sociology of Music (1987): 117144; (1988): 53-73. . Smalley, Roger. 1968. ''Debussy and Messiaen:' 111e Musical Tunes 109 (February): 128-131. Selected Bibliography

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Smith, Rollin. 1978. "Le banquet celeste." Musicffhe AGO alUf Re Magniru {December): 35. . . Co Street, Do nald. 1976. "The Modes of Limited Transposition:' Musical Times 117 (October): 819-823. The (Strobel, Heinrich?! 1949._ "Gcsprach mit Olivier Messiaen" (an interview). Melos (Apnl) : 101- 104. Stuchn'>Chmidt, JI. H. 1963. "Contemporary Techniques in MusÂˇ " The Musical Quarterly Oanuary): 1-16. tc. Tikkcr, Timothy J. 1988-89. '"The Organs of Olivier Messiaen:' Parts 1-4 (Part 3, "German Organs"; Part 4, "0rgans in America"). The Diapason (December) : 16-19; Oanuary): 12-13; (February): 1013; (March): 14- 16. Toop, Richard. 1974. "Messiaen/Goeyvacrts, Pano/Stockhausen, Boulcz." l'erspeclives of New Music (Fall-Winter): 141-169. Trawick, Eleanor F. 1991. "Serialism and Permutation Techniques in Olivier Mcssiacn's Livre d'orgue " (with bibliography). Music Research Forum : 15-35. Tremblay, Gilles. 1970. "Oiscau-naturc, Messiaen, musiquc." Les Cahicrs ca11adie1111es de musique: 15- 39. Walker, Rosemary. 1989. ''Modes and Pitch-Class Sets in Messiaen: A Oricf Discussion of 'Prcmicrc communion de la Vicrgc.'" Music Analysis 8:159- 168. Watts, Harriet. 1979. "Canyons, Colours, and Birds: An Interview With Olivier Messiaen." Tempo 128 (March): 2-8. Wen-Chung, Chou. 1971. "Asian Concepts and Twentieth-Century Western Composers:' Tl1c Musical Quarterly 57:211-229. Wyrembclski, Wayne. 1988. "Olivier Messiacn's Timeless Vision of the Eternal Church: On the Occasion of the Composer's Eightieth Birthday." America11 Organist (December): 54-55. Youngblood, Joseph. 1978. "Some Rhythmic Features in Messiaen's Tura11galila Symplio11y." Percussionist (Spring-Summer): 117-120.

288

Selected Bibliography

Index of Names - - - - Bate, Jennifer, 128, 203, 255, 258 Battle, Kathleen, 256 Baudelaire, Charles, 107 Baudo, Serge, 144, 204 Bayle, Franc;ois, 59 Beethoven, Ludwig van, 42, 70, 97, 103, 117, 142, 175, 177, 233, 258 Bekku,Sadao, 187 Bender, Philippe, 205 Benjamin, George, 189, 190, 255,

Adar, Mcnahem, 92 Aeschylus, 75 Aimard, Pierre-Laurent, 202, 254, 257, 258 Alain, Jchan, 120 Albeniz, Isaac, 114, 177, 252 Albert, Rudolf, 204 Alcaeus (of Mytilene), 74 Alonso, Od6n, 205 Amy, Gilbert, 188, 196, 204, 254 Ancona, Solange, 188 Andre, Franz, 205 Angelico, Fra, 44, 227, 231, 247 Antoine, Father Louis, 211 Aquinas, Saint Thomas, 16, 125, 127, 145, 149, 150, 233 Arcouet, Gontran, 110 Asclepius (of Athens), 74 A.strand, Professor, 253 Atherton, David, 205, 254, 258 Aubut, Franc;oise, 71 Aulnoy, Madame d', 14

257 Bereau, Jean-Sebastien, 205 Berg, Alban, 27, 50, 112, 178, 183, 192, 193, 205, 241 Berger, Julius, 258 Berio, Luciano, 184 Berlioz, Hector, 34, 35, 53-55, 87, 97, 109, 112, 120, 129, 164, 188, 197, 224, 233 Bernard-Delapierre, Guy, 71, 177,

182 Bernstein, Leonard, 156, 158, 204 Beroff, Michel, 202 Bizet, Georges, 178 Blanc-Gatti (painter), 37, 40, 167 Bach, Johann Sebastian, 14, 23, 25, Bleriot, Louis, 45 53, 68, 111, 120, 121, 124, 125, 146 Bogianckino, Massimo, 247 Bonaventure, Saint, 210, 211 Baggers, Professor, 112 Bosch, Hieronymus, 44 Bau, Antoine de, 74, 75 Bouche, Jean-Marc, 257 BouleZ, Pierre, 51, 52, 55, 63, 71, 82, Balet, Bernard, 204 Barboteu, Georges, 165, 170 115, 128, 170, 177, 179, 182, 183, 184, 188, 192, 194, 196, 199, 200, Barraque, Jean, 186 Barrault, Jean-Louis, 185 205, 206, 222, 254,257, 259 Bartholomee, Pierre, 204, 253 Bart6k, Bela, 112, 115, 194, 261 289

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11n111h'. Ji111ily. "l)~l i:,uk, . l 1 lrl1•s 2ll4 Cl • ·• t1n11·J... 111~. I"'' .. .,. l'h}' lhyn·Ju Is1H\. ll '> 01 llunll'I, M.1rf dh'. 12 . ... Jln111·11.

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C111'c11\n, ,\nh1~h'.d1•, l 21 C1Khcm.1ill1•, Gtll1 \ 2~73 200 c,1~'" J1,hn, 171, 17.., • CmlN\. St1lplu11w, 204 Carrw, John, 255 Caridis, Milti.1d1·s. 204 Causs..1dc, Gt·or~1·s, 111 Cav.iilli.:.coll, Aristidc, 23 Cel.ino, Thom.is de, 210 Ch annc, Paul, 45, 46 Chabrun, Daniel, 205 Champollion, Jean-Franc;ois, 123, 124 Charles, Daniel, 171 Charles, Prince, 255 Chopin, Frederic, 42, 62, 83, 114, 115, 177, 184, 252 Chretien de Troyes, 160 Cipriani, Guy, 204 Ciurlionis, Mikolajus Konstantinas,

233 Civil, Alan, 170 Clare, Saint, 213 Claude!, Paul, 16 Cluytens, Andre, 204 Cocteau, Jean, 14, 112, 227 Collaer, Paul, 205 Constant, Marius, 153, 170, 204 Couperin, Franc;ois, 97, 177 Couraud, Marcel, 204 Crisolini-Malatesta, Giuseppe, 247 Crossley, Paul, 202 254 255 257 258 I I I I Daiken, Melanie, 255 Dali, Salvador, 13

Dnq11i11, Clat1d1•, 97 l),1r11ss1•, X11viN, 121 n.1ri11s (l\•n1ia11 kin~), 123, 12 7 l).111h•I, J1•1111 · Pil'rr~, 257 lkbnst, Mldwl, l •M rkhussy, C l.111d,•, 25, 30, 35, 36, 42 4t4~4~5~6Z6l7~1z 828 i 87, 91, 97, 110, 111, 114, 122, i43' 177, 179, 183, 192, 193, 197, 222' 248, 252 ' Dccoust, Michel, 188 Dclamnin, Jncqucs, 91 Dclaunny, Robert, 43, 45 Dclccluse, Jncqucs, 144, 204, 221

256

Del Mar, Norman, 205, 253 Delvincourt, Claude, 176, 177, 178 Denis, Didier, 188 Denis, Maurice, 197, 230 Depraz, Raymond, 188 Dervaux, Pierre, 204 Desarzens, Victor, 204 Desbordes-Valmore, Marceline, 14 Desormiere, Roger, 205 Diaghilev, Sergei Pavlovich, 184 Diana, Lady, 255 Disney, Walt, 162 Dominique, Carl-Axel, 202, 254 Donohoe, Peter, 202 Dorati, Antal, 197, 204 Dorst, Jean, 85 Druart, Henry, 144 Dubois, (Frarn;ois-Clement) Theodore, 110 Dukas, Paul, 111, 112, 122, 128, 143, 167, 168, 201 Dumaine, Gabrielle, 128 Dupin, Franc;ois, 144, 204, 221, 256 Dupre, Marcel, 22, 23, 72, 111, 118, 121 Dutilleux, Henri, 200, 201

Easton, Phillip, 254 Eda-Pierre, Christiane, 217, 228, 247 Daniel (Biblical prophet), 164, 231, 239 Ehrling, Sixten, 205 Eliot, T. S., 190 Daniclou, Alain, 78 ~Joy, Jean-Claude, 82 Dao, Nguycn-Thicn, 187, 188 Eluard, Paul, 14

290

Emmnnucl, Maurice, 73, 112 Ernst, Max, 63 Espouy, Bertrand, 253 Estylc, Cesar Abel, 111 Etchccopar, Robert-Daniel, 91, 92

Groves, Charles, 205 Grunewald, Mathias, 43, 44 Gualda, Sylvia, 221 Guardini, Romano, 17 Guczcc, Jean-Pierre, 188

Fnlkenbcrg, Georges, 111 Falla, Manuel de, 194 Fano, Michel, 186 Ferrari, Luc, 59 Fine, Irving, 158 Fischer, Michel, 128 Fischer-Dieskau, Dietrich, 252, 255 Florentz, Jean-Louis, 188 Foison, Michele, 188 Forestier, Jean-Claude, 257 Fortune, George, 256 Foss, Lukas, 156, 158 Fournet, Jean, 205 Francis, Saint, 20S-219, 221-239, 242-252 Franck, Cesar, 23, 117, 118 Frescobaldi, Girolamo, 23, 24, 121 Froment, Louis de, 204 Fujii, Kazuoki, 187, 202, 252, 253

Habakkuk (Biblical prophet), 119 Hao, Chang, 187 Harada, Takashi, 255 Hartmann-Claverie, Valerie, 204, 255, 256 Hayama, Mitsuaki, 187 Heisser, Jean-Franc;ois, 203, 254, 256, 258 Henry, Pierre, 59, 198 Hindemith, Paul, 159 Holliger, Heinz, 204, 257 Honegger, Arthur, 57, 112, 113 Howarth, Elgar, 205, 254 Hue, Franc;ois, 92

Gallamini, Julia Fausta, 255 Gallois-Montbrun, Raymond, 176 Gallon, Jean, 22, 111 Gallon, Noel, 111 Gaubert, Philippe, 142 Gesualdo, Carlo, 244 Gibon, Jehan de, 110 Gillock, Jon, 128, 203 Giotto (di Bondone), 45, 247 Girard, Andre, 205 Gluck, Christoph Willibald von, 109, 110 Goehr, Walter, 204 Golea, Antoine, 171 Gottlieb Blarr, Oskar, 205 Gould, Glenn, 252 Graham, Robin, 252 Gras, Uonce, 205 Green, Julien, 212 Grigny, Nicolas de, 23, 24, 120, 121 Grimaud, Yvette, 71 Grisey, Gerard, 188

Iliev, Constantin, 204. Inamori, I<azuo, 253 Indy, Vincent d', 175 Innig, Rudolf, 203 Ito, Yoshi, 255 Ives, Charles, 82, 158, 159 Iwaki, Hiroyuki, 204 Izquierdo, Jose, 205 Izquierdo, Juan Pablo, 254 Jacquet, Alain, 144, 204, 221, 256 Janowski, Marek, 204 John the Baptist, 14 John, Saint (the Apostle), 130, 216 John, Saint (of the Cross), 163 John, Saint (the Divine), 139 Jolivet, Andre, 82, 193 Jordan, Armin, 205 Kalman (scientist), 253 Kandinsky, Wassily, 45, 46 Kars, Jean-Rodolphe, 202 Katsube, Futoru, 255 Keats, John, 238 Kim, Dominique, 204, 255, 256 Kimura, Kaori, 202, 253 Klee, Bernhard, 259 Index of Names

Index of N.imcs

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' I j~' 211~ II r•'Il•l , I 1.111( 'l'i7 lln'I"'· 11" 1' ' • ·

291

l[llllJ

Martinet, Jean-Louis, 71, 186 Martinon, Jean, 205 Matsubara (imprt'sa rio), 255 Matthew, S.iint, 145 Mayrhofer, Manfred, 258 McM.rnama, Jen s, 258 Mefano, Paul, 185, 188, 205 Labe, Louiseâ&#x20AC;˘. 14 i Marielle, 203 Mehta, Zubin, 128, 157, 204 Labl\qlll'. Katm am 14 Mendelssohn, Felix, 122 La F11yetlc, Madame de, Merton, Thomas, 17, 169 Lane, Louis, 205 Messiaen, Alain {brother), 207 Langlais, Jean, 203 Messiaen, Pierre (father), 19 Lariviere, 220 Milhaud, Darius, 82, 112, 113, 158 Lautreamont, Comte de, 172 172 , Le Corbusier, 180 Dom, 67, 69 Mocquereau, Leduc, Claude, 205 Moe, Sharon, 170 Lefort Bernard, 247 Mondrian, Piet, 188 Le Jeu'ne, Claude, 74, 75, 129 Monet, Claude, 44, 46 Le Roux, Maurice, 71, 186, 204 Leshem, Yoshi, 92 Monteverdi, Claudio, 28, 52, 62, 178 Levinas, Michael, 188 Moritz, Herbert, 257 Levinson, Gerald, 102, 170, 189 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 21, 25, Liebermann, Rolf, 207, 208, 210, 222, 27, 41, 49, 52, 59, 63, 68, 69, 70, 72, 228, 247 81, 87, 102, 109, 112, 117, 122, Llgeti, Gyorgy, 200, 201 166, 169, 178, 179, 186, 197, 199, Llszt, Franz, 83, 121 205, 207, 248, 262 Lltaize, Gaston, 203 Munch, Charles, 204 Lombard, Michel, 205 Murail, Tristan, 52, 58, 185, 189, 221, Lomont, Henri, 91 257 Loriod, Jeanne, 58, 204, 252, 253Muraro, Roger, 203 259 Musset, Alfred de, 42 l..oriod, Yvonne, 71, 99, 106, 113, 114, Mussorgsky, Modest, 27, 62, 178, 136, 144, 145, 153, 157, 170, 186, 209 189, 202, 203, 205, 251, 252, 253, 256-259, 261 Nagano, Kent, 204, 252, 253, 256, Louis, Saint, 17, 141 258 Louvier, Alain, 188 Nigg, Serge, 186 Nishry, Varda, 259 Maazel, Lorin, 204 Noailles, Anna de, 14 Machaut, Guillaume de 54 199 Mache, Fran~ois-Bernard, 1B8 Octors, Georges, 204 Maderna, Bruno, 142, 205 Ohlsson, Per, 205, 254 Mager, Jorg, 59 Oliveira, Joey de, 202 Mallarme, Stephane, 125, 172 Osten, Sigune von, 258 Malraux, Andre, 16, 140, 141 Ourgandjian, Raffi, 188 Mar, Norman Del. See Del Mar Norman ' Ozawa, Seiji, 103, 104, 157, 204, 236, 255, 256 Marmion, Dom Columba 17 Martenot, Ginette, 204 ' Palmer, Felicity, 128 292 Index of Names Kll't'. Paul, 45, 46 Klind.1, frrdi1111nd, 203 Korznmi, K.1zuhiro, 204 Kpusse,Âˇitzky, St~rgt'. 156, 204, 222 Kntterer, Siegfried, 257

Parvati, 77 Pascal, Blaise, 16 Passeronne, Felix, 204 Paul, Saint, 17,34, 130, 145,214, 230, 232 Penderecki, Krzysztof, 74 Penot, Jacques, 91 Perdigiio, Madame Azevedo de, 144 rerotin, G erard, 204, 221 Petit, Roland, 63 Philip the Apostle, 234 Picasso, Pablo, 45, 46 Pierne, Gabriel, 113 Pindar, 75 Plato, 67 Pompidou, Georges, 207 Preston, Simon, 203 Previn, Andre, 205 Prin, Yves, 205, 256 Prior, Claude, 71 Prokofiev, Sergei, 68, 115, 117

Saint-Saens, Camille, 122 Samuel (Biblical prophet), 244 ~appho, 14, 74 Sarngadeva, 75, 76, 77 Satie, Erik, 222 Sato, Kimi, 187 Sauvage, Cecile, 13, 15, 109 Scarlatti, Domenico, 114, 177 Schaeffer, Pierre, 52, 59, 181, 198 Schiff, Heinrich, 259 Schlee, Thomas Daniel, 128, 257 Schmitt, Florent, 143 Schoenberg, Arnold, 41, 45, 46, 50, 51, 52, 112, 159, 183, 192, 193, 205, 261 Schuillann, Robert, 25, 117,166,177 Scriabin, Alexander, 41 Sellars, Peter, 262 Sellers, Toni, 253 Sequi, Sandro, 232, 247 Serkin, Peter, 157, 202 Serkin, Rudolf, 157 Qigang, Chen, 187 Shakespeare, William, 19, 20, 26, 41, 51, 207 Rameau, Jean-Philippe, 27, 28, 114, Shannon (scientist), 253 177, 178, 197 Shelton, Lucy, 252 Rattle, Simon, 204, 254, 255, 257 Shimono, Noboru, 255 Ravel, Maurice, 110, 114, 122, 143, Shinohara, Makoto, 187 177, 195 Shiva, 77 Reber, (Napoleon) Henri, 110 Simonin, Mademoiselle, 257 Reibel, Guy, 59 Siohan, Robert, 204 Reinhold, Gunter, 203, 258 Sophocles, 75 Renaud, Madeleine, 185 Soustrot, Marc, 204, 252, 259 Reverdy, Michele, 188 Stein, Horst, 259 Rickenbacher, Karl-Anton, 205 Steinecke, Wolfgang, 196 Sternefeld, Daniel, 205 Ridoret, Julien, 253 Stockhausen, Karlheinz, 52, 82, 99, Riegel, Kenneth, 252, 255 115, 168, 184, 186, 187, 195, 200, Rimbaud, Arthur, 188 231 Robertson, David, 106, 205 Straram, Walther, 205 Rosbaud, Hans, 205 Strauss, Paul, 205 Rosen, Albert, 205 Strauss, Richard, 55, 166 Rosenthal, Manuel, 88, 204 Stravinsky, Igor, 45, 55, 62, 70, 71, 72, Rossini, Gioachino, 53 112, 125, 159, 179, 192, 193, 261 Rossler, Almut, 128, 203, 252, 258, Strobel, Heinrich, 138, 140, 185, 196, 259 220 Rostropovich, Mstislav, 144, 158, 205 Sylvia, Queen, 253 Rouillon, Philippe, 255 Roussel, Albert, 143 Index of Names

293

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-;.,

244 Tilson Thomas, Michael, 205 Tobon Mejia, Rosa, 203 Tonnelier (ornithologist), 228, 238 Torkanowsky, Werner, 205 Toscanini, Arturo, 128 . Tournemire, Charles, 23, 121 Tranchant, Michel, 204, 253 Tremblay, Gilles, 189 Tully, Alice, 160, 161 Turner, William, 190 Tzipine, Georges, 205

Urs von Balthasar, Hans, 17, 211 Van Dam, Jose, 45, 247, 256

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Tabachnik. Michel, 204 102 Takemitsu, !oru, . Takultl~ Mie Mane, 187 Talbot, Pascale, 257 ramamura, Naoko, 255 ramba, Akira, 187 Tear Robert, 255 Teilhard de Chardin, Pierre, 17 Tennyson, Alfred, 19 Teresa, Mother, 107 Terrnen, Lev, 59 Tessier, Roger, 58 Tezenas, Suzanne, 185 Thiry, Louis, 128, 203 Tholll<1S of Celano, 210 Thomas, Saint (the Apostle), 130,

varese, Edgard, 158, 193, Varvarova, Helena, 203 261 Vauvenargues, Marquis de Veron, Mademoiselle, l IO' 172 Villa-Lobos, Heitor, 194 Vivaldi, Antonio, 97 Wagner, Richard, 27, 31 3 5 4 2' 47, 50, 52, 59, 62, 85, 97, 109, 210 249

.248,

Wakasagi, Hiroshi, 205 Waldman, Frederic, 170, 204 Wand, Gunter, 204 Webem, Anton, 45, 46, 50, 52, 11z 18~ 19Z 19~205

______ Index of Works _ _ _ __ 82Âˇ

Weir, Gillian, 203 Wells, H. G., 15 Xenakis, lannis, 50, 81, 115, 121, 1 181, 184, 198, 199, 200, 240

Yakar, Rachel, 252 Yamaguchi, Fumi, 136 Yaron, Gilah, 106, 129, 252 Yoshida, Susumu, 187 Zacher, Gerd, 203 Zagrosek, Lothar, 204, 253 Zbar, Michel, 188 Zdravkovic (conductor), 205 Zender, Hans, 205 Zilgien, Line, 203

80 â&#x20AC;˘

Apparition de l'eglise eternelle, 118 Ascension, L', 56, 118, 156, 157, 252

Haikai. See Sept hailcai Harawi, 30, 128, 129, 203, 252

BatuJuet celeste, Le, 118

Livre d'orgue, 25, 79, 81, 118, 119, 122 Livre du Saint Sacrement, 251, 258, 259

Catalogue d'oiseaux, 35, 92, 94, 114, 116, 117, 218, 259

Meditations sur le mystere de la Sainte Trinite, 23, 122-128, 151, 257 253, 256, 258 ''Merle bleu, Le" (excerpt from Chronochromie, 48, 57, 79, 94, 117, Catalogue d'oiseaux), 35, 252, 258 131-136, 139, 148, 197, 205, 220, Merle noir, Le, 257 253, 261 Messe de la Pentecote, 25, 118, 252 CituJ rechants, 30, 129, 130, 203, 253, ''Mode de valeurs et d'intensites" (excerpt from Quatre etudes de 257 rythme), 47, 79, 241 Corps glorieux, Les, 118 Couleurs de la cite cileste, 138-140, Nativite du Seigneur, La, 80, 118, 122, 204, 256, 259

Chants de terre et de ciel, 128, 203, 252,

139, 259, 261

Dame de Shalott, La, 19 Des canyons aux etoiles, 57, 124, 143, Offrandes oubliees, Les, 56, 156, 205 160-171, 202, 205, 221, 252, 254, Oiseaux exotiques, 131, 139, 157, 254, 257, 258

257

Diptyque, 118

Petites esquisses d'oiseaux, 251, 259 Petites liturgies de la Presence Divine. Eclairs sur l'au-deld, 261 See Trois petites liturgies de la Et exspecto resurrectionem mortuorum, Presence Divine 16, 140-143, 153, 157, 253 Etudes de rythme. See Quatre etudes de Poemes pour Mi, 106, 128, 203, 258 Preludes pour piano, 111, 113 rythme Fauvette des jardins, La, 92, 117, 151- Quatre itudes de rythme, 79 153, 252, 257 Quatuor pour la fin du temps, 80, 116, Fete des belles eaux, 252 157, 256, 258

295 294

Index of Names

Rechants. See Cinq rechants Regards sur l'enfant Jesus. See Vingt regards sur l'enfant Jesus Reveil des oiseaux, 131

"Traquet rieur, Le" (excerpt fr Catalogue d'oiseaux), 35 Â°ll1 ''Traquet stapazin, Le" (excerpt fr Catalogue d'oiseaux), 35, 253 Â°lll

"Rousserolle effarvatte, La" (excerpt Trois petites liturgies de la Presenc Divine, 22, 57, 116, 130, 204 ~OS from Catalogue d'oiseaux), 92 248, 252, 257 Saint Fran~ois d'Assise, 20, 27, 28, 44, Turangalila-symphonie, 57, 63, 79, 103 57, 58, 59, 81, 87, 92, 133, 143, 144, 129, 130, 156, 157, 160, 187, 204' 14fr.148, 152, 169, 175,204,207205, 222, 252-254, 256-259, 261' 252, 254-256,258, 262 Sept haikai: 90, 101, 136, 139, 153, Verset pour la fete de la dedicace, 122 254, 257 252 Sourire, Le, 262 Vingt regards sur /'en/ant ]isus, 106, 113, 116, 129, 140, 157, 252, 253 Transfiguration de Notre Seigneur fisus257, 259, 261 Christ, La, 22, 57, 102, 143-150, Visions de /'amen, 113, 116, 203, 252 204, 259 253, 257 I

296

Index of Works

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