Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade. Bil Smith Composer

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  E Guitar

Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade.  Bil Smith Composer  

For Trumpet, E-Guitar and Cello

World Premiere.

23.05.15

by PLAY Plattform

Jagoda Szmytka

Paul Heubner

Milosz Drogowski  

Steffen Ahrens

Honsellstrasse, Frankfurt am Main

Kunstverein Familie Montez

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade." Performance Guidance.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade." Performance Guidance.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade." Performance Guidance.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade." Performance Guidance.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Cello Score Page 1.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Trumpet Score Page 1.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Score detail.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Score detail.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Score detail.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Score detail.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Score detail.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  E Guitar Score Part.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Score detail.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Score detail.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Score detail.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Score detail.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Score detail.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Score detail.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Score detail.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade." Cello Score Page 3.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Cello Page 2.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Trumpet Page 3.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  E Guitar

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Trumpet Page 2.

"Jerked Into The Nexus of the Abandoned Motorcade."  Score Cover.

"Resistance and Assimilation" for Tuba

The score for "Resistance and Assimilation" for Tuba occupies a space that isn’t so much notated as it is constructed, built from a fabrication of notational elements that channel the same energy as the crushed, shaped, and formed metal sculptures of John Chamberlain. It’s a design language, but not one based in the flatness of traditional notation; rather, it’s a topographical architecture, a space where the musical structure is folded, distorted, and reassembled in such a way that the score itself becomes a site of provocation and exploration.

At the core of this composition is a material tension, not unlike the raw materials of architecture, where steel and concrete resist yet coexist. The score doesn’t aim for the comfort of linearity or the predictability of convention. Instead, it presents a topography of resistance—a landscape of notational archetypes that challenge our assumptions about form, about the very nature of representation. It poses novel questions of our own conventionality, but not through direct confrontation. Rather, it teases, it plays with the edges of what we know, asking us to engage with it as a living, breathing artifact, not a static set of instructions.

This brings us to the score's spatial intelligence, which, much like architecture, is built upon the understanding that space is not neutral. In architecture, space is political, cultural, social—an active participant in shaping the way we live and move. The score for "Resistance and Assimilation" taps into this same idea but within the domain of music. The irregularities and distortions in the score's visual landscape force the performer to navigate through it, to make decisions in real time, much as an architect must adapt to the complex and often contradictory forces of a building site. There is no single, dominant reading of the score, just as there is no single, ideal way to inhabit a building. It resists simplicity in favor of a more layered, fragmented experience—a conversation between structure and interpretation.

What’s most challenging about the score is how it provokes domesticated notions of coexistence. In architecture, the idea of coexistence is often domesticated by function, efficiency, and utility. Buildings must serve, they must shelter, they must conform. But here, the score rejects that. It refuses to be domesticated by tradition or functionality. Instead, it lives in a state of relentless provocation, where each notational element—each bend, each curve, each broken line—becomes an opportunity to rethink the very coexistence of sound and space. The score isn’t just a tool for generating music, but a commentary on the act of creation itself, on the ways we shape and are shaped by the forces of our environments.

There is a rawness to the score’s fabrication, much like the exposed structural elements of a building that deliberately refuse to hide behind walls or facades. The materiality of the score is front and center. You see the labor in it, the way it resists polish and refinement in favor of something more honest, more immediate. The alternate compositional intelligence at work here is not about smoothness or resolution, but about the dynamic interplay of elements that resist easy categorization. It’s a score that forces engagement, that demands to be read as a living artifact of performance, not a finished product.

Ultimately, the score for "Resistance and Assimilation" doesn’t settle. It doesn’t offer a place of repose. Instead, it positions itself as an active participant in the tension between forces—between tradition and innovation, between resistance and assimilation. It’s a structure that both shapes and is shaped, constantly in flux, constantly pushing against the boundaries of what we expect from a score, much like the buildings that challenge our assumptions about space, function, and form. It’s architecture for the ears, a site of dynamic interaction, and above all, a provocation to think differently about the spaces—both sonic and physical—that we inhabit.

"Sissikoppaniat" for Guitar

In examining the score for "Sissikoppaniat" for Guitar, we are immediately confronted with a compositional landscape that refuses to align itself with conventional norms of musical notation. This refusal is neither arbitrary nor experimental for its own sake; rather, it reflects a broader philosophical engagement with the nature of spatial representation in musical composition. The score, in essence, presents what we might call dual contingencies of spatial figuration, where form, mass, and volume take precedence over the more traditional reliance on line and plane. This departure from convention is not superficial but speaks to deeper theoretical questions about the structure of music and its representation in notational form.

What "Sissikoppaniat" asks us to consider, then, is a tension between disparate forms of notational representation. To understand this, we must begin by recognizing that musical notation, like law, is a system of signs that mediates between abstract ideas and real-world phenomena—in this case, sound. Traditionally, the line and plane have served as the dominant conceptual tools in notating music, allowing composers to delineate pitch and rhythm in a temporally linear format. "Sissikoppaniat" challenges this orthodoxy by privileging surface depth and mass, creating a new system where musical ideas are expressed through a kind of volumetric notation. The score becomes an object of inquiry in its own right, not merely a medium for sound, but a structure that demands engagement with spatial depth.

The critical innovation here lies in how the score transcends the tectonic, moving beyond the traditional "architecture" of musical notation, which relies on a fixed relationship between symbols and the sounds they are meant to produce. Instead, "Sissikoppaniat" becomes ever more focused on form, inviting us to think about the relationship between representation and interpretation in a much more fluid way. This is akin to the way constitutions or legal frameworks may be understood: not as rigid structures that dictate precise outcomes, but as living documents that require active interpretation to remain meaningful in different contexts.

The compositional methodology of "Sissikoppaniat" provides further insight into this complexity. The use of distortions, curvature, and gradients in the notation reflects an ongoing negotiation with the score’s irregular visual landscape. These elements are not decorative; they are essential to maintaining the score’s legibility in the face of the intricate relationships it embodies. Here, we might draw a parallel with the concept of judicial interpretation in law, where textual ambiguity or complexity is not an obstacle to clarity but a fundamental part of how we understand and apply the law. In much the same way, the distortions in "Sissikoppaniat" invite the performer to engage with the score as an evolving, interpretive challenge, where legibility and clarity are achieved not through simplification but through interaction with complexity.

This brings us to the heart of the matter: the relationship between form and function in "Sissikoppaniat". In privileging form over function, the score aligns itself with a broader philosophical tradition that sees the representation of ideas as an active process rather than a passive reflection of an underlying reality. The tension between disparate notational forms becomes a site of exploration, much like the tension in legal theory between textualism and purposivism—between those who would insist on a strict adherence to formal rules and those who seek to understand the broader purpose behind those rules. "Sissikoppaniat" positions itself firmly within the latter camp, suggesting that musical meaning arises not from adherence to notational convention but from an engaged dialogue with the score’s form.

In conclusion, the score for "Sissikoppaniat" challenges us to rethink our relationship with musical notation in profound ways. It presents a dual contingency of spatial figuration, where the focus is on form, mass, and volume rather than line and plane, and where the tensions between different notational systems are not problems to be solved but opportunities for deeper engagement. This compositional methodology, rooted in distortions, curvature, and gradients, maintains the legibility of the score in the face of its complex interrelations, much like the ongoing work of legal interpretation maintains the clarity of the law amidst its inherent ambiguities. "Sissikoppaniat" is, in this sense, not just a piece of music but a philosophical exploration of the possibilities of representation, one that transcends the tectonic to become ever more focused on form.

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.