![]() |
| "Mimetized Disasters, Dan Quayle And His Evangelist Wife In A Hotel Room". Page One |
![]() |
| Transparency One |
![]() |
| Transparency |
![]() |
| "Mimetized Disasters, Dan Quayle And His Evangelist Wife In A Hotel Room". Page One |
![]() |
| Transparency One |
![]() |
| Transparency |
One does not read this score. One enters it.
Across its partitioned surface etched in chromatic vector and modular topology, we encounter not a composition, but a system of knowing. "Luxtrapathy, Capitalocene, and the Logicade" refuses the linearity of conventional music notation and instead orchestrates a machine for time-experiencing, rendered simultaneously in data, metaphor, and myth.
It is written for trumpet and cello. Two instruments stretched here not only across register, but across epistemic tension: breath and bow, metallic propulsion and fibrous resistance. The result is less a duet and more a semantic exchange, conducted across contradictory zones of presence and absence.
The first frame of the score is both ornamental and clinical. Brass-gold gradients clash against gunmetal blue fields. These chromatic fields do not merely stage notation; they perform an affective inversion. What glows with visual clarity obfuscates in meaning; what appears simple throbs with recursive complexity.
“"Luxtrapathy,"an invented compound of lux (light, radiance) and pathy (feeling, suffering) designates a form of illumination that blinds even as it seduces. Here, musical gestures are not written as commands but exposures. Notation blooms into calligraphic morphology, part architectural plan, part surgical interface.
Beneath the brass title “TOMIAVA 5” and its shadow-opposite “YALSIVO 9,” a field of spectral glyphs flicker: notated as if haunted, spectralized into the faint, the barely-there. The music becomes a technology of fading, where events are scaffolded on the brink of disappearance. What remains is not the phrase, but its residue.
In another discreet panel, we find ourselves among brands, syllables, and patented fragments: CHERILLISP. TYMAT. LINGSONN. CITO.
They are not names. They are vectors. They are tokens of a para-economic language. The score here dissolves into corporate surrealism, where every name is both a claim and a veil. Graphically, these are arranged within radiant zones of silver and mauve: not neutral, but institutional. Bureaucratic gradients masquerading as elegance.
Each musical passage here is framed in quasi-algorithmic units. What looks like traditional staves is quietly dismantled by nested brackets, echo clusters, graphic interjections, and the occasional appearance of industrial iconography...a screw, a barcode, an architectural form.
What emerges is a kind of audit of musical labor. Each gesture must justify itself, not through expressive agency, but through diagrammatic consistency. It is the Capitalocene rendered in sound: a place where even breath and bowing technique are abstracted into value flows.
The third panel, perhaps the most elaborately designed, plunges us into the domain of the Logicade. Here the music becomes play, but a regulated play, with its own grammar of control, glitch, and surprise.
Let us define the Logicade as a ludic epistemology: a worldview in which logic becomes game, and the game becomes score. Across this zone, trumpet and cello are cast not as interpreters but as operators. They become executors of sonic maneuvers inside a semiotic arcade.
Diagrams spiral. Notation stretches and recoils. Glissandi appear beside punctured spheres and orbital scripts. The Logicade rewards fluency not in reading music, but in navigating diagrammatic uncertainty.
Here, the musicians improvise not from instinct but from spatial coordinates. They do not perform; they simulate.
To engage with this system fully, we must name its parts. To score is to invent grammar. From this work, we derive the following terms:
Luxtrapathy – The pathology of excessive visibility; when sonic form becomes overlit and evacuated of intimacy.
Auditonics – The practice of rendering musical decisions legible to bureaucratic logic.
Glyphonomy – The study of semiotic particles that carry neither pitch nor rhythm, but instructional aura.
Value Drift – When notational form escapes its origin to accrue alternate meanings through placement.
Logicade – A designed logic-as-game, wherein instrumental behavior becomes rule-determined action.
Modal Ciphers – Sonic signatures encoded not as pitch collections but as spatial event triggers
"Luxtrapathy, Capitalocene, and the Logicade" is not a performance score. It is an infrastructural fiction. Its diagrams simulate the behavior of sound within regimes of control, visibility, and abstraction.
Trumpet and cello here are instruments of more than tone: they are epistemic agents. They emerge as conduits through which the score’s operative logic becomes temporarily audible.
We are not being asked to listen.
We are being asked to navigate.
Recessive Tablatures: Toward a Deconstructive Notion of the Musical Score
To speak of Recessive Tablatures in the Derridean sense is to evoke a site of multiplicity and différance. They are scores no longer constrained by the rigid binaries of prescriptive and interpretative, but one that operates as a field of constant deferral, of interstitial spaces where meaning and sound dissolve, reconstitute, and dissolve again. The recessive quality here is not merely one of subordination or withdrawal but is a deliberate and generative retreat, where what is withheld becomes as potent as what is given, if not more so. In this way, Recessive Tablatures are not just a notational system but a philosophical interrogation of notation itself, a questioning of its origins, its functions, and its possibilities.
![]() |
| "Detlin's Baby" for Alto Flute |
The concept of Recessive Tablatures begins with a fundamental premise: that every mark on the page and carries within it the trace of what it excludes. The traditional musical score, in its seemingly authoritative clarity, is a structure of violence, a suppression of the unmarked, the silenced possibilities that exist at its margins. Recessive Tablatures, by contrast, make space for these silences. They posit a score where absence is inscribed as presence, where what is erased leaves its ghostly imprint, its irreducible remainder.
Take, for instance, a fragment of notation that has been intentionally degraded or obscured...perhaps an eighth note whose stem is erased, whose placement on the staff is uncertain. In the language of Recessive Tablatures, this erasure is not a void but a productive gap, a site where the performer must actively negotiate meaning. The trace of the erased note lingers, not as an absence to be lamented but as a presence to be inhabited, explored, and even celebrated.
Imagine a score where the traditional bar lines are rendered in fading gradients, moving from bold opacity to translucent shadow. The first bar is clear and authoritative; the last is barely visible, almost a memory. The performer, encountering this fading structure, must decide: Does the dissolution signal a move toward rubato, an abandonment of strict meter? Or does it invite a hyper-precise adherence to the remnants of structure? The bar line, in its recession, becomes an open-ended question, a site of différance where meaning is perpetually deferred.
In Recessive Tablatures, the score functions as a palimpsest, a surface where multiple layers of meaning coexist, overlap, and obscure one another. The composer, rather than presenting a single, unified text, inscribes a series of provisional gestures, each of which points beyond itself to a network of potential interpretations. The performer, in turn, becomes an archaeologist of sorts, excavating these layers and deciding which to privilege, which to ignore, and which to let linger in the background.
Consider a score printed on multiple sheets of translucent vellum. The top layer contains a traditional melody line; beneath it, faintly visible, are alternative pitches and rhythms that suggest possible embellishments or deviations. A third layer might include abstract graphic symbols, and a fourth, textual cues like "hesitate" or "disperse." The performer, manipulating these layers, creates a dynamic reading of the score, choosing which elements to foreground and which to let recede. The act of performance becomes an act of writing, a re-inscription of the score that is unique to each iteration.
Time, in Recessive Tablatures, is no longer a linear progression from one moment to the next but a field of simultaneous possibilities, a temporality that folds back on itself and opens outward in all directions. The score, rather than dictating a fixed sequence of events, suggests temporal flows that are fluid, recursive, and indeterminate.
A passage in the score is marked with overlapping rhythmic structure. These make take the form of triplets in one layer, duplets in another, and free-floating accelerandi in a third. The performer is instructed to "weave" these rhythms together, not in strict alignment but in a way that allows them to resonate against one another. The result is a temporal texture that feels both anchored and unmoored, a pulse that is perpetually becoming but never fully arrives.
This temporal indeterminacy aligns with Derrida's notion of the "future anterior." It becomes a sense of time that is always already in flux, where the past is rewritten by the present, and the future is haunted by the traces of what has come before.
In the world of traditional notation, the performer is often positioned as a subordinate figure, a medium through which the composer's intentions are realized. Recessive Tablatures disrupt this hierarchy, positioning the performer as a co-creator, an active participant in the construction of meaning.
A passage in the score contains fragments of text: "fractured clarity," "oscillating shadow," "vanish toward brightness." These phrases are not instructions but resonances, verbal textures that invite the performer to consider not just what to play but how to inhabit the music. The text functions as a horizon of meaning, a field of possibilities that the performer must navigate.
Recessive Tablatures do not exist in isolation; they draw on a broad range of influences from art, architecture, and literature. The score becomes a site of interdisciplinary exchange, where the visual, the spatial, and the textual converge to create a new mode of musical communication.
A section of the score is laid out not in traditional staves but as a spatial diagram that suggest relationships between musical ideas. The performer, interpreting this diagram, must consider not just the sound but the space it inhabits, the way it interacts with the physical environment of the performance.
Recessive Tablatures represent a radical rethinking of what a score can be. By embracing ambiguity, deferral, and multiplicity, they open up new possibilities for both composition and performance. They challenge us to reconsider the very nature of musical meaning, to see the score not as a static text but as a living, breathing field of potential.
In this way, Recessive Tablatures are not just a notation system but a philosophical proposition, a call to rethink the relationships between composer, performer, and audience, between presence and absence, between what is written and what is yet to be imagined. They remind us that music, like language, is always more than it appears...always receding, always becoming, always arriving.
Let's think about the score not as a route to performance, but as an autonomous object: a speculative instrument built to model musical possibility rather than to realize it. Its primary medium is not sound, but the conditions under which sound could be argued into existence. The notation reads like a protocol, a diagram, a legal brief, an index of exceptions, proposing a compact physics in which contradictions are not glitches to be resolved but structural features to be preserved.
By refusing performance intent, the score dislocates the usual hierarchy of “instruction → execution.” What matters here is not whether the work can be played, but what the score makes thinkable. Its procedures test the limits of legibility and authority: directives that over-clarify, rules that contain their own exemptions, measurements designed for phenomena that cannot stabilize. The result is a compositional practice that treats coherence as a kind of theater and treats rigor as something that can be applied to uncertainty.
Viewed curatorially, the score functions as a thought experiment with material consequences. It stages composition as an epistemic event, where the work’s content is the act of specifying, classifying, and authorizing. The page becomes a site where music is imagined with the force of policy: not to be fulfilled, but to be confronted. In this sense, the score is complete at the moment it proposes its impossible terms. It becomes an object that performs its own logic, whether or not any body ever agrees to sound it.
What happens when the score is treated as a constructed apparatus, less a prescription for sound than a system for producing it under invented conditions? It privileges the anomaly, the misalignment, and the procedural “failure” as compositional facts, elevating what is usually corrected into primary material. The notation functions like a measuring instrument calibrated for the marginal: hesitation, near-silence, micro-errors, and the gap between instruction and execution.
Rather than expressive interpretation, performers adopt an administrative role, operating rules, issuing authorizations, and enacting corrections that never fully resolve. Form emerges through precise instability: each attempt at clarity generates a new contradiction, each solution becomes the next problem. The performance reads as an experiment that cannot be replicated, a temporary physics in which the overlooked becomes structure and the act of compliance becomes audible.
The evolution of musical notation has often mirrored shifts in cultural, artistic, and philosophical paradigms. As music enters the 21st century, it is increasingly clear that traditional approaches to notation and scoring are insufficient for conveying the complexities and interdisciplinary ambitions of contemporary composers. This period marks the dawn of a transformative reinvention of the musical score. We are witnessing a metamorphosis influenced by the visual, architectural, and material languages of other disciplines.
In this article, we explore how the oeuvres of Donald Judd, Thom Mayne’s "Strange Networks", Arte Povera, Ed Ruscha, and David Carson can serve as potent sources of inspiration for composers seeking to develop notational systems and scores that transcend conventional boundaries. By examining these diverse influences, we aim to propose a new interpretative framework for crafting notation and scores...one that emphasizes materiality, spatiality, and performative engagement.
Donald Judd’s minimalist sculptures are characterized by their clean lines, modular forms, and emphasis on materiality. His work challenges viewers to engage with objects in relation to their surrounding space, rejecting traditional notions of representation in favor of pure experience.
Architect Thom Mayne’s work in "Strange Networks" explores the intersection of structural complexity and organic fluidity. His designs often feature nonlinear, web-like forms that challenge traditional notions of order and hierarchy.
Arte Povera, an Italian art movement, emphasizes the use of everyday, humble materials to challenge conventional notions of art and its relationship to society. Artists such as Mario Merz and Jannis Kounellis employed raw, ephemeral, and often unconventional materials to create works that defied permanence and categorization.
Ed Ruscha’s iconic use of words and type as central elements in his artwork demonstrates the power of text as a visual and conceptual medium. His work transforms ordinary phrases into evocative, multilayered statements through typography, layout, and context.
David Carson, a graphic designer known for his experimental and deconstructed typography, challenges traditional rules of legibility and layout. His work embodies a sense of controlled chaos, where meaning emerges through fragmentation and layering.
The contemporary score is entering a transformative period of reinvention, driven by influences from disciplines as diverse as minimalism, architecture, conceptual art, and graphic design. These influences challenge the traditional notion of the score as a static, two-dimensional document, offering new possibilities for interaction, materiality, and interpretation.
As composers continue to explore the boundaries of notation, the contemporary score will evolve into a medium that not only encodes music but also embodies the spirit of interdisciplinary creativity. By drawing on the practices of Donald Judd, Thom Mayne, Arte Povera, Ed Ruscha, and David Carson, composers can craft scores that are not only visually and materially compelling but also profoundly transformative in their impact on performers and audiences alike.
A Pharmacopeia of Sound: Prescribing a New Notational Ontology
In my latest work, musical notation takes an unprecedented turn into the pharmacological. A series of circular, color-centric diagrams – each one a concentric pharmacological bullseye – anchors this newly emergent prescriptive notational ontology. At first glance, these polished visuals resemble scientific targets or mandalas, ringed with vibrant hues and radial symmetry. Around each bullseye, dense blocks of text read like entries from an otherworldly Physicians’ Desk Reference: drug names, indications, dosages, and elaborate administration protocols. Yet nothing here is merely pharmaceutical.
The diagrams present a hybrid syntax – part medical classification, part poetic disruption – that invites us to experience notation as a wholly new discovery rather than a continuation of his prior compositions. In this curatorial commentary, we will explore the dual nature of this body of work: first, its visual/pharmacological language – the layers of color, clinical tone, and inventive jargon that collide in each diagram – and second, the performative or musical ramifications of these notational structures as a system of command, interpretation, or score.
Through themes of recursive logic, medical epistemology, semiotic overload, synesthetic transfer, and metaphoric decomposition, we encounter an ontology that challenges how we think about scores and the very nature of musical instruction. This text unfolds as a speculative analysis and philosophical inquiry, treating Smith’s project not as a subset of his past oeuvre but as a standalone ontological blueprint – a pharmaco-notational cosmos of its own.
Viewed through a curatorial lens, this pharmacological notational system stands as a speculative artwork in its own right. It transforms the score into a conceptual installation, not unlike a gallery of pill cabinets. The notation’s visual elements – its grids, shapes, and invented labels – can be appreciated aesthetically, even before a note is played. In fact, one could exhibit the scores on a wall and invite viewers to experience them much as they would a contemporary art piece, decoding the interplay of text and image, science and art. This underscores a key point: I bridges disciplines to provoke a deeper exploration of how we create and consume meaning. By appropriating the language of pharmacology, it prompts us to consider how musical performance, like medicine, is bound up with trust, experimentation, and the human desire to be transformed.