The Power of Visual Representation: An Investigation into Non-Traditional Music Scores

 

Piece for Tuba

As the sphere of music composition continues to evolve, we find ourselves at a crossroads of sorts, with emerging technologies and approaches vying for our attention and allegiance. One such approach that has recently captured the imagination of composers and theorists alike is that of hyper-complex visualized scores. These scores, which combine intricate musical notation with highly abstract visual elements, offer a new way of understanding and engaging with musical composition, one that draws heavily on the work of thinkers such as Wilhelm Reich and Roland Barthes.

At its core, these radical scores represent a departure from traditional methods of musical notation. Rather than relying solely on written symbols and conventions, these scores incorporate a wide range of graphic elements, from abstract shapes and patterns to representational imagery and text. The result is a kind of synesthetic experience, where the visual and auditory elements of the music are intertwined in a complex and dynamic relationship.

But what are the implications of this new approach to music composition? For one thing, it raises questions about the role of notation in the creative process. Traditionally, musical notation has been seen as a kind of neutral medium, a way of encoding musical ideas in a way that can be easily shared and communicated. But with hyper-complex visualized scores, the notation becomes an integral part of the creative act, shaping the music itself in profound ways.

This shift in emphasis also has implications for the way we think about musical interpretation. In a traditional score, the written notation provides a kind of roadmap for performers, guiding them through the various elements of the music and helping them to bring it to life. But with hyper-complex visualized scores, the relationship between notation and performance becomes much more complex. Rather than simply following the written instructions, performers must engage with the visual elements of the score, interpreting them in a way that is both creative and responsive to the musical ideas being presented.

This brings us to the work of Wilhelm Reich, who saw the human body as a kind of musical instrument, capable of expressing and responding to the subtle nuances of sound and vibration. For Reich, music was a way of accessing the deep emotional and psychological energies that underlie our experience of the world. In a sense, hyper-complex visualized scores represent an extension of Reich's vision, offering a new way of accessing and expressing these energies through the medium of musical notation.

At the same time, hyper-complex visualized scores also draw heavily on the work of Roland Barthes, who famously wrote about the "death of the author" and the ways in which the meaning of a text is constructed by the reader, rather than by the author. This idea of the text as a kind of open, generative space is key to understanding the possibilities of hyper-complex visualized scoring. By creating scores that are at once highly structured and highly abstract, composers are opening up a space for interpretation and engagement that is far more expansive than traditional methods of notation.

But what are the challenges of working with hyper-complex visualized scores? For one thing, they require a high degree of technical skill and visual literacy on the part of both composer and performer. Unlike traditional scores, which can be read and understood by musicians with a relatively limited set of skills, hyper-complex visualized scores require a deep engagement with the visual elements of the music, as well as a willingness to experiment and take risks in the performance of the music.

At its core, hyper-complex visualized scoring can be understood as a fundamentally liberatory practice, one that seeks to subvert the hierarchical power structures that have long governed the creation and reception of musical works. In Reich's theory of orgonomy, for example, the human body is understood to be the primary locus of creative energy, with the production of musical works seen as a manifestation of this innate biological process. By extension, the role of the composer is not to impose their will upon the material, but rather to act as a facilitator, channeling the energy of the body into a coherent sonic form.

Similarly, Barthes' semiotic theory posits that meaning is not fixed or stable, but rather arises out of the complex interplay between signifiers and signifieds. In this sense, musical scores can be seen as a kind of language, with each note or symbol carrying its own unique set of associations and connotations. By embracing the inherent ambiguity and multiplicity of the musical language, hyper-complex visualized scores have the potential to create new forms of meaning that challenge conventional modes of interpretation and understanding.

Of course, the use of hyper-complex visualized scores also raises a number of significant challenges and questions. One of the primary concerns is the potential for these scores to become overly insular and elitist, catering only to a select group of highly trained musicians and scholars. This danger is particularly acute given the highly specialized vocabulary and notation systems that often accompany hyper-complex scoring, which can make it difficult for newcomers to access and engage with the works.

Another potential issue is the risk of over-reliance on technology, with composers and performers becoming too reliant on digital tools and software to generate and interpret the scores. This not only raises questions about the authenticity and originality of the works themselves, but also runs the risk of further entrenching existing power structures within the music industry, particularly with regard to the distribution and consumption of musical works.

Ultimately, however, the potential benefits of these scores far outweigh these challenges, particularly in terms of the ways in which it can disrupt traditional notions of musical authorship and interpretation. By foregrounding the role of the body, and by embracing the inherent ambiguity and multiplicity of the musical language, hyper-complex visualized scores offer a radical alternative to the hierarchical power structures that have long dominated the music industry. In so doing, they provide a powerful tool for artists and audiences alike to explore the myriad possibilities of musical creation, and to imagine new futures for the art form as a whole.

"Sequella" For Piano

"Wolad" Trumpet Fanfare Four

"Wolad" 

Trumpet Fanfare Four

A WET Score.  Words, Events, Texts.

Bil Smith Composer

Commissioned For The Opening of 56 Leonard St.

A Herzog & de Meuron Project

"Chartered Science" for Violin

Richter and Fluxus Inspired Score for Contrabass Clarinet

 

My score for Solo Contrabass Clarinet, inspired by both Gerhard Richter's "Strips" paintings and Fluxus practices, offers a unique synthesis of visual art, randomness, traditional notation, and intermedia. It challenges the very notion of traditional musical composition, blurring the boundaries between auditory experience and visual interpretation, extending into a realm where technology, pictorial reflection, and radical artistic opposition converge.

Gerhard Richter’s Strips and Pictorial Expansion

Richter’s "Strips" paintings, which emerge from slicing his abstract canvases into horizontal strips and then reassembling them into new configurations, serve as the conceptual bedrock for the score. The "Strips" paintings are not mere reproductions but are fusions of past painterly gestures and digital manipulation. They acknowledge the historical baggage of painting, while actively engaging with technology's influence, a kind of digital mourning for the traditional canvas, transformed through modern tools.

The inspiration from Richter’s work can be seen as a metaphor for the digital fragmentation of experiences: the sonic and visual worlds splintered and yet reorganized into something unfamiliar, but still deeply tied to their origins. Similarly, in this score, the musical ideas are deliberately fragmented—dissected and reassembled—inviting the performer and listener to experience sonic "strips" that are constantly recombining.

The score’s format, consisting of individual cards housed within a Fluxus-like box, mirrors this fractured yet cohesive approach. Each card, akin to Richter’s strips, provides a segment of sound, a piece of the overall structure that the performer can reassemble, much like an abstract collage of sonic moments. These moments defy linearity, embracing the Fluxus ethos of randomness and recombination.

Fluxus and the Intermedia Approach

The Fluxus movement, as described by Dick Higgins in his coining of the term "intermedia," sought to dissolve the boundaries between different forms of art—painting, music, performance, and even life itself. The Fluxus artists were deeply involved in using everyday objects, exploring chance, and breaking down the formal constraints that separated one genre from another. In this composition, the score’s DIY aesthetic, where the performer must physically interact with the cards, directly engages with Fluxus' spirit of anti-commercialism, collaboration, and experimentation.

Found materials and randomness, hallmarks of Fluxus compositions, are central to the performance. Here, the cards act as modular components—no single "right" way exists to perform the piece. The contrabass clarinet, with its broad tonal palette and capacity for extreme textures, lends itself to this improvisational style. The performer, much like an intermedia artist, must become a collaborator with the score—interpreting, organizing, and performing it with creative agency.

Technology, Pictorial Mourning, and Resistance

The idea of pictorial mourning—mourning the loss of the traditional canvas in the digital age—extends into the sonic realm in this score. The score’s use of Richter’s fragmented approach can be seen as an act of defiance against the totalizing claims of technology over art, in this case, over musical notation. Just as Richter’s "Strips" reflect the impact of digital technology on painting, this score reflects how digital culture has transformed musical composition and performance.

Here, the score does not regress into nostalgia for classical musical forms but instead confronts technology by using it to further challenge and subvert traditional musical expectations. Each card in the Fluxus box is an "act of mourning" for the disappearing boundary between sonic experience and technological mediation, yet also a celebration of the possibilities opened up by these very technologies.

The juxtaposition of quasi-traditional Western notation with photorealism also serves to reflect this confrontation. Photorealist notation, in this case, rejects the usual intent of notation to represent a world of feeling or motion and instead mirrors how a camera would capture the world—cold, detached, and exact. This detachment underscores the idea that music, like painting, has evolved under the shadow of technology and is now seen through a lens of distillation, a “camera’s” version of what we once perceived as deeply human and emotional.

The Performer’s Role and the Idea of Agency

The performer becomes more than just an interpreter—they are an active creator, engaging with the score as a dynamic, malleable construct. The "strip-like" fragments of notation and their reassembling reflect the performer's agency, much like a Fluxus artist assembling found objects into new configurations. The contrabass clarinetist, in this new score, becomes similarly empowered. They take on the role of both performer and curator, crafting a narrative from fragmented, non-linear parts.

Each card, like Richter’s strips, could be seen as a miniaturized, self-contained world. When assembled, the cards form an expansive and unpredictable sonic landscape, reflecting the performer's choices. This reciprocal oscillation between performer and notation forms the core of the piece—creating a living dialogue between sound, visual art, and performative intent.

A Bassoon Duet Inspired by Ed Ruscha and David Carson

 

The Bassoon Duet Inspired by Ed Ruscha and David Carson

Excerpt from a Bassoon Duet inspired by Ed Ruscha and David Carson. In this work for two bassoons, I explore the noise and the fluidity of language.

Recently, when asked about the abundance of text in this work, I explained, “I just happened to create words like someone else uses traditional music notation.” Aside from newly crafted notational tablatures, language remains the my most consistent subject, one whose form and meaning I continuously explore.

Composition in Progress: Drawing Inspiration from Paolo Scheggi’s Intersuperfici

Composition in Progress: Drawing Inspiration from Paolo Scheggi’s Intersuperfici

In the world of contemporary music composition, visual art has long served as both muse and structural blueprint. The act of translation—from the spatial to the temporal, the visual to the sonic—offers a unique set of challenges and possibilities for composers. My new composition currently in progress explores this very relationship, taking direct inspiration from the work of Paolo Scheggi, specifically his iconic Intersuperfici series. These monochrome works, characterized by three overlapping canvases with elliptical or circular openings, serve not just as a visual reference but as a conceptual and structural foundation for this musical piece.

The Visual as Sonic Architecture

Scheggi's Intersuperfici (translated as "Inter-surfaces") are best known for their multi-layered canvases, which create a three-dimensional depth, despite the works being largely monochromatic. Each layer, though hidden to some extent by the one in front of it, contributes to an intricate play of light, shadow, and perception. In my current composition, this principle of depth and occlusion becomes a central feature.

I am treating the score not merely as a linear progression of notes and rhythms but as a spatial construct where overlapping musical ideas and layers interact, much like Scheggi's canvases. Each layer of the composition—whether a melodic line, harmonic structure, or rhythmic pattern—can be seen as analogous to Scheggi's canvases, with specific elliptical or circular "openings" through which the performer (and listener) peers into other musical layers.

Layering and Hidden Structures

Scheggi’s work disrupts the notion of a singular plane of representation, making the viewer constantly aware of what is seen and what is concealed. Similarly, this composition in progress plays with the idea of hidden musical structures. Certain elements, though seemingly dominant on the surface, will obscure or interact with underlying lines in a way that allows only glimpses of the hidden motifs or harmonic progressions. These "musical apertures" create a sense of mystery, inviting the performer to explore the spaces between the sounds as much as the sounds themselves.

In this way, musical material is revealed and obscured simultaneously, with layers of notational motifs emerging from beneath others only briefly before receding back into the fabric of the piece. 

Monochromatic Soundscapes

While Scheggi’s canvases are visually monochromatic, the subtle interplay of light and shadow between the layers gives the works a kind of hidden dynamism. In the composition, the idea of monochrome is translated into a restricted notational palette. 

Elliptical Openings as Musical Voids

One of the most striking aspects of Scheggi’s Intersuperfici is the elliptical or circular openings in the canvases, which suggest that something lies beyond but does not reveal it fully. In this score, these openings are translated into gaps, pauses, and silences. Rather than being traditional rests, these pauses are designed to be active spaces, creating anticipation and suggesting continuity beyond what is immediately performed. The performer must engage with these gaps not as empty voids, but as portals into an unseen (or unheard) musical space.

The idea of silence as structure is crucial here. Much like how Scheggi’s viewers are aware of what they cannot see, the performer is made aware of what they cannot hear directly, but which the structure implies is there. The elliptical gaps become invitations for the  imagination, asking the performer to mentally fill in what lies beneath the surface layer of sound. This creates an ongoing dialogue between presence and absence, sound and silence.

Tension Between the Static and the Fluid

A central tension in Scheggi’s works is between the static nature of the monochrome surface and the implied movement created by the openings. The composition mimics this tension by alternating between static harmonic or rhythmic sections and sudden shifts in texture or tempo. These moments of stasis—where a single chord or rhythmic figure is repeated, almost mechanically—are punctuated by rapid, almost violent, shifts that pull the performer into a new, deeper layer of the musical surface.

I aim to explore how these shifts can be both disruptive and fluid, much like how the circular voids in Scheggi’s works destabilize the viewer’s perception while also suggesting the continuous movement of light through the layers. In musical terms, the shift might occur through tempo modulation, sudden dynamic changes, or the introduction of a previously unheard performance technique into the texture, creating an effect akin to suddenly encountering a new visual plane beneath the first.

Performance as an Excavation

For the performer, this piece is less about following a straightforward narrative and more about excavating layers of sound. The score offers multiple interpretive possibilities, with certain sections allowing for improvisational freedom based on the performer’s ability to navigate the overlapping textures and silences. The challenge is not just in playing the notes but in bringing forth the hidden layers of the composition in a way that honors the tension between surface simplicity and underlying complexity.

Like Scheggi’s works, which encourage the viewer to engage actively with the space between the canvases, the score invites the performer to engage with the spaces between the sounds—the silences, the gaps, the moments where one layer of music folds over another. The performance thus becomes an act of discovery.

Conclusion

In this new composition, the influence of Paolo Scheggi’s Intersuperfici is not merely aesthetic; it is conceptual, structural, and performative. The score, much like Scheggi’s multi-layered canvases, plays with depth, occlusion, and revelation. It challenges the performer and the listener to consider what lies beneath the surface, to navigate the precarious relationship between sound and silence, and to explore the tension between the static and the dynamic. Ultimately, this piece is not just an homage to Scheggi, but a sonic reimagining of his artistic vision, translating his visual inter-surfaces into a rich and multilayered musical experience.