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IGOR WAKHEVITCH / donc... / BOX 6 CD
Fractal 002
www.pitchforkmedia.com - Friday, June 14th, 2002 - Website
(USA)
It Was the Strangest Record I Had Ever Heard.
Igor Wakhevitch was an obscure French composer who apparently took pleasure
in messing with peoples’ heads. He had studied with terry Riley,
Olivier Messiaen and famed stage director Pierre Schaeffer, as well as
having ties with the Soft Machine and Salvador Dali. He made six studio
albums in the 70s, which might best be described as encapsulated chemical
enhancements. I have no idea what kind of shit he was on, though I would
say that his very odd mastery of noise, experimental classical and synthesizer
technology was none too compromised by his mental state. Fractal records
reissued all of his records as a box set in 1998, including 1971’s
Docteur Faust, and I highly urge anyone with an interest in fringe music
to give them a listen. For now, I’ll share the story of my first
exposure to Wakhevitch’s world, via the turntable of a mystical shaman
(aka heavy duty strange music collector) I know. See it as a window into
wonderland, or cautionary tale.
What had I walked into? “I should tell you, I’m pretty fucked
up,” he said, and the strange, warm look he gave ma told me more
than I wanted to know about his current state. “What did you do?”
I asked, ready to hear only a little of his messy private moments-- I
wasn’t the kind to get way fucked up on anything. Of course, I was
completely drunk at the time, and he had some pot in his loft, which I
hadn’t touched yet. “Do you want some pot?” He was stalling.
“Not yet, maybe later.” And then a bit of silence, as he just
looked at me. He was definitely out there, and I knew he was a serious
acidhead, though I thought he’d told me he’d given that stuff
up because of some weird stomach problem he had. He gave me a look like
your dog gives you when you shut the door in its face just as its ready
to jump on your chest. “Hmmm, okay,” was the only response I
got, and he turned around to face his turnable.
“So, I wanted to play this for you last time. I think you”ll
like it.” We had a long history of trying to knock each other out
with new music. He’d play me some obscure experimental band from
France, and I’d play him my Smile boot (extra potent, as he’d
heard virtually no Beach Boys); I’d play him Scott Walker. I know
he must have thought I was a square, and I definitely thought he was strange,
but I can’t lie: he exposed to me a lot of shit I would otherwise
never have heard. However, I knew he was high as a fucking kite, and was
fairly worried that this was about to turn into some never-ending jizz
fest for him and his chemical brain.
“But I didn’t want to play this, because it’s so devastating.”
Whatever, just put it on, and let’s get this over with. “What
is it?” I asked him, but he was still turned around, intent on placing
this thing on the turntable. “So, yeah, I did some acid about an
hour ago, and this album always kills me like that.”
He put it on, turned around slowly, showed me the cover and I laughed
in his face. This record, Docteur Faust, featured this incredibly stupid
looking 60s cartoon version of Skeletor or something, surrounded by outreaching
demon claws. This huge face stared right at me, red background and psychedelic
medallion sun symbol overhead. It was in ‘stereo’. But I didn’t
have time to actually turn my thoughts into an insult, because the music
started, and for the first time that night, I was aware that dropping
acid may have been a good idea. Something like a filter for this stuff,
because it was in fact the strangest I have ever heard. And it went like
this.
“Levez-vous,” boomed an announcer, along with some other French
words that were indiscernable under the dense layers of echo. It was like
a stadium proclamation, and this kid’s five-foot speakers did the
voice considerable justice. And then someone started playing a very heavy
beat, like the beats on the first Funkadelic record, but completely stoned
out and with no regard for decent funk - it was moldy and decayed, with
a tight snare, but the slowest tempo known to man, and the echo made it
huge. There were things happening in the background, too, like what sounded
of people screaming and guitars being torn apart. Every so often, a wah-wah
would accentuate the slowness and the dense, whore-y mess of a beat. Was
I still drunk? This was a very sick thrill, and watching my stellar pal,
already completely lost, I knew I was in this alone. And they were still
screaming.
Now, suddenly, a bass run and faster tempo completely changes the atmosphere.
The drums aren’t playing hard beats, but tom-heavy free jazz fills,
and the bass is doing its best to sound completely incompetent. Okay,
so here’s where it becomes stoner music, right? The screeches return,
and then a massive crescendo... to a full orchestra! What the fuck just
happened? Violins jump out of both speakers, playing different runs, timpani
pounds, trumpets soar overhead, and out of nowhere the whole piece becomes
a hellish scherzo. It backs off, and comes back, like a tide of horror
movie and avant-guard classical clichés. But then, the xylophone
slams a furious run, as more trumpets scream overhead, and the strings
cut through the omnipresent echo to become louder and louder and louder.
My ears hurt, and I want to get up.
But then it all goes away. Soft choral voices chatter like a crowd of
alien tourists around my slightly frazzled head. They pop and sway, and
then whisper, as a triangle alarms in the distance. The timpani urges
them on to strange medieval fanfares, and then the sopranos begin to carry
a tune with bells, and a soloist begins to speak French about who knows
what and the gong. The gong stops them, but you can still hear about a
thousand bats deeply buried in the distance, crying. And the choir returns!
They’ve chanting some strange Mass in unison, and the violins play
tremolo unison lines to support them. The gong hits in between every line
become increasingly louder. These people, they sound dead, or in a trance.
And then the women begin a shrill cry that swoops down with an odd synthesizer
and overhead I can see -- I mean, I can hear -- more strange synthesizers
flying by. The entire group collapses into disgusting bass splatters.
The church bell signals what seems to be found sound of an actual Mass,
but filtered through a god-awful flanger, and someone begins snapping
wood in between every line. The snapping is quite violent, and becomes
more frequent as this processed section of the Mass continues. I haven’t
noticed this train moving from left to right to left, as it snuck up on
me while I was paying attention to the Mass. And now there’s a terribly
loud synthesizer motif repeating from the left speaker. And it becomes
so loud as to drown out everything but what sounds like an electric saw
in the right speaker. There’s also some kind of emergency alarm going
off, and a trombone blasts bass notes like the mothership in Close Encounters.
I can now hear someone speaking backwards, and the train suddenly blasts
out of the right speaker.
At this point, a hard, doom-rock band starts in, like fucking Spinal Tap
dropping “Stonehenge” right in the middle of the whole mess.
Okay, some breathing room. They repeat some very standard 70s satanic
riff-rock stuff, but also, someone hacks away on a snare drum on the far
right. And they stop suddenly, giving way to a solo violin and light gong
touch. The orchestra’s back. The brass plays a very mournful chord,
and the solo cello announces new trouble at hand. The trumpet agrees,
and the xylophone and cello begin to converse in some horribly muted language.
The gong interrupts, and like a boxer’s jab, the entire orchestra
returns with a furious, Varese-esque exposition. The percussion bullies
the strings, which are by now content to lay low. The group makes one
last stand, as the timpanis hammer the tempo. And suddenly it stops, and
nothing remains.
This leads to another track, with a harpsichord introduction not unlike
some of the more somber church hymns you may have heard. It gives way
to cyclinal white-noise pulse, full of bass. A,d a lone flute begins one
of the most hauntingly beautiful melodies I have ever heard. This is truly
alien music, and that flute line, seemingly way off in the distance, cuts
so easily through the tumbling wall of noise. It drops octaves, scatters
beneath the wall, trills and returns effortlessly. If the record ended
there, I’d have walked out of the room cleansed. But it doesn’t.
A rude electric guitar announces a new harpsichord fanfare. The guitar
plays a grungy riff, and the bass comes back, but only with flamenco-like
percussion as timekeeper. It’s as if Neil Young suddenly became producer
and xas vacationing in Madrid.
Naturally, a horse whinnies over and over again as the castanets play
on and the harpsichord just starts pounding. I thought those things were
supposed to be delicate, but maybe not. Just as it starts to get violent,
South American percussion takes over, and a snare plays a very military
figure. The guitars are now in both speakers, alternating noise and wah-wah
riffs. The echo returns, and whatever link this has to straight up acid
rock is broken by the primal shouts in the background and the general
lack of order in the riffing. It becomes a guitar-caveman duet, and just
as I start to think the record is falling off into a psych-haze, the synth
noise starts to pick up. At that point, and the military snare returns.
The toms blare, and the snare plays a repetitive figure. It has become
a very loud percussion feature, and just as quickly stops. Nothing happens.
That is the end of the record.
I sit still, and my friend says nothing. After a moment, I turn to him.
He’s already smiling. “Wow, “ I mutter, and he knowingly
shakes his head. I turn to face the turntable, a bit in awe of the machinery
that brought that performance to me. I’m sure I must’ve gone
over that last moment a hundred times in my mind, the initial numbness
to feeling, and the gradual mystique I unraveled for days on the Internet
looking for information about the album and the artist. It was the strangest
record I had ever heard, and though I’ve had many chances since then
to catch up with it, I think theres’s some value in preserving that
first high. If you’re interested in this kind of thing, you might
look around for it. Just be careful, and have fun.
Dominique Leone
Letter from Michael GIRA (Swans) - November 10, 1998
The most astonishing music I have heard in some years
is the new Box Set of Igor Wakhévitch - 6 CDs, from 1970-79. Amazing
approach to sound, from classical to experimental, psychadelia to film
music. Ominous and beautiful, then clamorous and Wagnerian. At some points
it sounds like contemporary electronic music, then shifts seemlessly into
a full classical orchestra. You must buy this.
Audion - n°40 (page 7-8) - August 1998 (UK)
Donc... innovation !
An unclassifiable talent, Igor Wakhévitch could be seen as
the French equivalent of someone like Ralph Lundsten, or an explorer like
Franco Battiato, a pionner who proliferated in the 70’s with a series
of highly original and unusual albums.
Igor Wakhévitch’s roots are obscure ,
though his name implies he is obviously of Russian ancestry, and apparently
his father was a celebrated theatre set-designer. It was obviously in
the setting of the theatre that Igor Wakhévitch saw new potentials
in music. He was something of a genius as a young musician. By the age
of 17 he had already won the first prize for piano at the Superior Conservatoire
in Paris. But, not content to stay in the classical world, he moved on.
His academic qualifications served him well. In 1968 he was working at
the Groupe de Recherches Musicales (then directed by Pierre Schaeffer)
with access to some of the most advanced studio equipment around. There
he learnt his craft as a sound designer, as a master of studio trickery
and musique-concrete techniques. The perfect foil for his own musical
talents, and as a way to play with the possibilities of sound and other
musical forms. This fertile environment, at studios that were regularly
visited and/or used by the likes of Pierre Henry, François Bayle,
Bernard Parmegiani, et al, was the ideal springboard for the creation
of a new form of music.
Pierre Henry had already become celebrated for his works combining rock
and electronics in the early part of the 60’s, and particularly his
music for the avant-garde ballets of Maurice Béjart. Igor Wakhévitch
saw this as his oeuvre, being fascinated by the new forms of psychedelic
rock that were making shock-waves in France. With the moniker "Ballet
for the 21st Century" he worked with Béjart in an attempt
to turn this underground pop culture into high art. Inspiration came from
Soft Machine and Pink Floyd, and in fact Igor Wakhévitch worked
quite extensively with Robert Wyatt and Soft Machine for a while.
At this time, Igor Wakhévitch also worked together with Terry Riley
learning special tricks about tape delays and looping techniques. All
this experience melted into the pot of what became a unique music, with
a focus that lay in processing instruments, usually in a melodic framework,
blending in rock and diverse classical forms, bringing different unlikely
musics together, often in most perplexingly odd ways. Igor Wakhévitch
thus became established at Pathé Marconi Studios and also did production
work for other studios and labels, and as a result got in touch with the
French up-and-coming home-grown rock scene. The seeds were set for a radical
and unique new form of music.
- Logos
With such a background, and a concept based on Greek legend, Logos
"Rituel Sonore" amounted to a revolutionary creation for a 1970
release. Even if you know works like Pierre Henry’s The Green Queen,
which was weirdly comprised of rock and avant-garde musics fused together,
you’ll still be in for a surprise. Here we have a soprano singer,
strange orchestral textures and percussives (drums, cymbals, gongs, etc.)
blended with effects and processing. As the ominous percussion sets off
with drum-rolls and ritualistic tension, the mood is of a looming anticipation
of what is to come. here we go through phases of weird swirling effects,
vivid reverb and atmosphere. The tension becomes overpowering, yet we
are led on. Here we have the key to Igir Wakhévitch’s sound,
in a tension that becomes awe-inspiring.
The climax of the whole opus comes with "Danse Sacrale" , an
extraordinary psychedelic instrumental performed by Triangle (one of the
earliest French psychedelic bands) that has to be heard to be believed.
A great band in their early days, this goes to prove that Triangle were
not just Pink Floyd cum Traffic copyists. This all amounts to a unique
fusing of psychedelia and the avant-garde, and an awesome experience !
- Docteur Faust
This is the most obscure album of the lot. I’d never hit it
before this release. Aptly in tune with the title, it is also one of the
strangest. Docteur Faust was created for a festival in Avignon, and was
later choreographed. Though, the mind boggles as to how anyone could dance
to this. "Full of fury and energy" to quote a reviewer at the
Avignon festival, it certainly is !
On one hands this is a more balanced blending of classical and dramatic
musics, yet also it is much more extreme. There’s a wealth of sonic
collage, dense musique-concrete, and bizarre musics that collide and fragment
against rock structures. There’s also moments of pure classical avant-garde
moving into ensemble pieces feeling like Henze meets Ligeti or Xenakis.
The use of electronics is really vivid too. There are no rules or boundaries
in what makes up a Wakhévitch composition ! The rock elements return
throughout this album and, although not credited, I would guess that again
Triangle members are featured. The guitar reminds of Alain Renaud, and
percussion is quite distinctive, backed-up with weirdly treated organ.
Although a short album, it is so engrossing and weird that it would be
too-much if it were much longer.
- Hathor
Dating from 1973, shortly after working with Terry Riley on his Happy
Ending soundtrack,
there’s an obvious big advance in Hathor "Lithurgie du Souffle
Pour la Résurrection des Morts", with greater use of keyboards,
synthesizers, and looping techniques. But Hathor is no mere synth album,
far from it, but is Igor Wakhévitch’s most powerful opus.
Making use of the Paris Opera choir (no-less), along with weirdly processed
vocals, his usual off-the-wall electronics, and even drum/sequencer drives
unprecedented in any form of music before this. It’s another sonic
roller-coaster ride, in which we experience an ominous bellowing God-like
voice heralding something visionary.
As with his previous albums, Hathor contains a number of separate tracks
that continue or segue from each other, amounting to what feels like one
work. Here, we have surging electronic and percussion drives, a climax
sparked off by lightning, thunder-crashes, a wealth of weird contorted
voices, and much much more. Here tension gives way to intense power resulting
in a kind of dark Vangelis - on the edge ! With a weird Gothic choral
number and another electronic rock opus to follow Hathor really flies
! Only the closing coda offers relief, with a reflection on obvious Terry
Riley influences, and hinting at the albums to come.
- Les Fous d’Or
This is quite simply, the weirdest of the batch ! Scored for ballets
by the much celebrated avant-garde choreographer Carolyn Carlson. A big
step away from rock, this &çè( album is the challenching
start to the second phase of Igor Wakhévitch’s career. A very
avant-garde opera in parts, starting with a warbling soprano and cello,
you’d never guess where this album is going to take you. Synthesizers
(in looping patterns) take us close to the feel of Ralph Lundsten at this
time, which is not so surprising as Ralph Lundsten had also worked with
Carolyn Carlson. Tape collage is also used extensively, along with ritualistic
horns (sounds like Jac Berrocal), waves of sonic slurry, and a total disregard
for conventional musical continuity. Admittedly, it took a long while
to really get into this one !
- Nagual
Although a concept in its own right, Nagual "Les Ailes de la
Perception" (from 1977) again features music for a Carolyn Carlson
ballet. Arguably, it’s the closest to Ralph Lundsten, as a largely
cosmic work, with looping synthesizer patterns, putting melody against
dissonance, moving on from the darker edge of the "new-age".
The format is different to all the previous albums, in that this has 12
tracks (ranging from 30 seconds to 8 minutes) and features musics unheard
of within the Wakhévitch oeuvre before, like piano works of a weirdly
construed type (reminding of Ron Geesin) and what feels like a bizarre
Celtic jig amongst them. The mood is generally mysterious and enigmatic,
largely based around cycling patterns of keyboards and other instruments.
The range is very diverse and surprising. But, having said that, typically
Wakhévitch it is - as an uneasy balance that’s engrossing
- still so enigmatic and fresh !
- Let's Start
This final album, from 1979, was created for the Batsheva Dance Company
(for the festival of Jerusalem), and musically is the sum of many ideas
from the two albums before, but in a more atmospheric framework. The grand
opus here, the 21 minute "Let’s Start" itself, is a treat
for those into the pioneering works of Terry Riley and Steve Reich in
that this combines use of delay lines on keyboards a-la Riley with phasing
techniques on voices first explored by Reich. Not really systems music
though, as the development of the work is not predictable, even the ending
is a surprise where confused phrases organise themselves into a logical
sentence ! Extremely clever, indeed ! The remaining works are Igor Wakhévitch
at his most restrained and subdued, largely synth/keyboard based, and
feel more like a hybrid of Deuter and peter Michael Hamel, with a very
film soundtrack type of feel.
As far as I gather Igor Wakhévitch sees Let’s
Start as a return full circle to his roots, though such a progression
or connection is hardly logical. There are characteristics and stylisms
that one picks up on in Igor Wakhévitch music, but they are very
hard to pin-down. Though I had heard rumour of other works, this seems
to be his entire published oeuvre. It all amounts to a bizarre and fascinating
trip with one of the true revolutionaries in new-music, and a definitive
set collecting it all together. The set is presented in a small red box,
including a poster (with the album sleeves) and a 24 page booklet (in
French, with a number of pictures), along with the 6 individually sleeved
CD’s. The original Igor Wakhévitch LP releases, despite being
on major labels like EMI and Atlantic, are nowadays all pretty rare and
collectable (most are reputedly worth £30+, with Docteur Faust reckoned
to be worth £100).
Alan Freeman
Diapason - n°455 - Janvier 1999 (France)
Cotation : RECOMMANDABLE.
Qui est donc cet Igor Wakhévitch dont on apprend
qu'il n'est jamais là où on l'imagine, et qu'il croit en
"des champs d’énergie propres à des plans de conscience
et de lumière créative" ? Rester jeune visiblement
le préoccupe, atteindre une Conscience Totale le fascine. Pour
cela, if faudrait – parait-il – accélérer. En
attendant, apprenti et éternel étudiant, il ne serait pas
contre l'échange de la musique contre des légumes tout en
voulant "transmettre quelque chose à partir d’un logos
originel". Vaste programme. Destinée pour la plupart à
des chorégraphies de Carolyn Carlson, Norbert Schmucki, Rina Schenfeld,
indéniablement datée 70, sa musique séduit aujourd'hui
par la richesse des couleurs, l'audace des moyens, la transversalité
entre les genres. L'influence du rock, du jazz, de Pierre Henry, Stravinsky,
Mozart, Berio, Cage ou Jimmy Hendrix s'y détecte sans trop de mal.
Servi par de talentueux virtuoses, tout cela s’écoute avec
un intérêt véritable , et souvent avec un plaisir
intense, même si parfois manquent finesse et développement
plus élaboré. Wakhévitch aime les grandes plages
monochromes, les déchaînements percussifs, les improvisations
savantes, les rythmes rock, les delays jadis à la mode, les lancinantes
répétitions, les sons de clavecins baroques ou de pianos
classicisants. Il manie avec aisance les choeurs et les voix solos, les
cris et les chants d'oiseaux, les rires d'enfants et les phonèmes
recomposés (époustouflante Eve Brenner !). Guimbarde, pluie,
chien qui aboie, chevaux au galop et boîte à musique complètent
le réservoir sonore dans lequel le compositeur puise sans hésitation
aucune et plutôt avexc bonheur. Cela frôle souvent le kitsch
mais atteint aussi des strates d’une belle noblesse. Très
inégale à travers les six disques, cette musique foisonne
d'idées, elle bouge, elle sonne admirablement, se situant quelque
part entre le trop-plein de l'Occident pressé et le vide recherché
de l'Orient réfléchi, en véritable témoin
du temps qui passe.
Elisabeth Sikora
Le Monde de la Musique - n°229 - Février 1999
(France)
A la croisée du rock, de la musique improvisée
et de l'électronique, les années soixante-dix ont suscité
des vocations : que l'on songe à Christian Vander et Magma, Rick
Wakeman et Yes, Klaus Schulze, Manuel Göttsching (Ash Ra Tempel)
et Tangerine Dream, David Vorhaus, Pink Floyd, Soft Machine, Amon Düül
2 et Can ! Entre 1970 et 1979, Igor Wakhévitch – élève
d'Olivier Messiaen, membre du GRM de l’ORTF en 1968 – a réalisé
plusieurs partitions destinées principalement à des spectacles
sur des chorégraphies de Norbert Schmucki, Carolyn Carlson et Rina
Schenfeld à partir d’arguments de Jacques Breyer ou Dali (Etre
Dieu, 1974) et dont découlent directement les musiques de Docteur
Faust (1971), Les Fous d'Or (1975), Nagual (1977) et Let's Start (1979).
Séparées de leur contexte, ces musiques apparaissent comme
un film sans images ; ainsi l'accumulation de musique électronique
(et l'emploie des synthétiseur dont, hélas ! les sons se
banalisent vite), d'ondes Martenot, de voix anonymes, de quelques choeurs
et d’instruments rock (guitares, batterie, percussion) dans Docteur
Faust renvoie l'auditeur à un théâtre de l'étrange
fondé sur un catalogue de sons hétéroclites, que
l'on trouve également dans Les Fous d'Or et Nagual. Pour Hathor,
"lithurgie du souffle pour la résurrection des morts"
(1973), Igor Wakhévitch tente de créer une musique apocalyptique
à grands renforts de voix torturées (au propre comme au
figuré), d'orgue et de citations bibliques. Rétrospectivement,
la réalisation dans son ensemble fait sourire, mais la puissance
suggestive de certains passages est indéniable ("Amenthi",
"Aurore"). Dans l'esprit de Terry Riley, le compositeur se révèle
un pianiste accompli, notamment dans "Taddy's Dream" de Let's
Start.
Frank Mallet
Halana - n°4 - May 1999
(USA)
donc... collects for the first time the six records
that legendary French underground composer Igor Wakhévitch released
in the seventies, providing a unique and valuable look at his singular
body of work. A piano protege who studied with Olivier Messiaen in the
late 6Os, Wakhévitch went on to join Pierre Schaeffer's seminal
Groupes de Recherches Musicales and soon after began composing music for
contemporary dance performances. In the early 70s, he met Terry Riley
and Indian guru Pandit Pran Nath, soon after becoming Riley’s assistant
and clearly absorbing his familiar musical approach. Over the course of
the decade and the ensuing six albums, Wakhévitch undertook an
impressive course of musical exploration and discovery, creating a music
uniquely his own from the influences of his past, tempered by those he
encountered along the way.
Releasing in 1970, Logos marks the beginning of the journey. Mixing floating,
delay-thickened vocals, timpani and sparse strings with a bubbling soup
of electronics and tape, it’s quite a powerful piece, building up
a climate that is at once turbulent and dreamy, classical and modern,
beautiful and frightening. Surprisingly, it eventually segues into some
repetitive prog-esque grooves, courtesy of the band Triangle, before a
short, dark, electronic epilogue closes the piece. It’s this mixing
of styles that seems to be the hallmark of Wakhévitch’s works,
and the skillful manner in which he is able to pull it off the key to
its success.
Continuing the progression is Docteur Faust from 1971, which again presents
adept pairings of potentially disparate elements. Sounding like a strict
soundtrack for a staging of the Faust story, the music is a highly theatrical,
event-driven collage of electronic and tape manipulations, dramatic narration,
rockist interludes, musique concrete and passages of classical orchestration
and vocals. It's a fascinating work that takes the skills he cultivated
during his time with Schaeffer’s GRM and expands them into a more
macroscopic view.
From 1973, Hathor is next, displaying a much more singular mind set than
the others, focusing almost entirely on electronically generated sounds,
live percussion and the voices of the Opera of Paris. The electronics
at times verge on that of early techno - pilling rhythms on more syncopated
rhythms - and the melancoly vocal compositions, enhanced by analog flutterings,
are particularly striking, especially followingthe harder-edged, beat-oriented
pieces.
Composed for the Carolyn Carlson Dance Theater in 1975, Les Fous d'Or
shows Wakhévitch further focusing his interests, leaving the intricate
sequencing and compositional techniques of his previous releases behind
for a more linear, orderly approach. Each track takes on its own style
– hypnotic, sonorous keyboard studies, spoken and plaintive vocal
pieces and a spooky collage that is the record’s finale. Drawing
from a palette of maniacal laughter, crying babies, aggressive thunderstorms
and whining dogs, along with distant, squealing brass and his own narcotic
electronics, this final piece is the real standout.
Nagual, released in 1977, features the now-familiar Wakhévitch
amalgam of keyboards and electronics with live instruments and vocals,
and once again, like Les Fous d'Or, was composed for a production choreographed
by Carolyn Carlson. It’s a swirling, delay-heavy work, broken up
by interludes of classically spare harpsichord/synthesizer and piano/synthesizer
duets. Fitting solidly within the minimal continuum, Wakhévitch
manages to add his own spin on the genre, concentrating to a greater degree
on the use of electronic effects to not only shape, but also to create,
his sounds.
Finally Let's Start, released in 1979 and composed for a work by Rina
Schenfeld and The Batsheva Dance Company, displays Wakhévitch growing
fascination with simple, repetitive figures - organ, voice, piano and
mettallophone - and thick, swelling electronic drone. As an end point,
at least as far as this collection is concerned, Let’s Start demonstrates
quite a distance traveled from the musique concrete-inspired, densely-collaged
beginning of Logos, a fascinating journey made accessible by the release
of donc....
Chris Rice
Revue & Corrigée - n°41 - Septembre 1999
(France)
De 70 à 79, Igor Wakhévitch ose toutes
les audaces, installe des passerelles entre les genres qui désormais
font recette et, accessoirement enregistre de Logos à Let's Start,
six disques (dont certains destinés à des chorégraphies
de Carolyn Carlson), collector's aujourd’hui réédités
sous forme d’un luxueux et bienvenu coffret. Compositeur virtuose
et talentueux, Igor Wakhévitch a travaillé avec Olivier
Messiaen et Pierre Schaeffer, croisé la route de Pink Floyd, Soft
Machine, Maurice Béjart, Robert Wyatt, Terry Riley (dont il produit
la B.O. du film de Joel Santoni, Les yeux fermés) et compose la
musique de l'opéra de Dali, Etre Dieu . A l'écoute de Docteur
Faust, Hathor, Les Fous d'Or, Nagual, les influences sont multiples :
le rock d'Hendrix (joué par Triangle !), Luciano Berio (la voix
d'Eve Brenner), l'électroacoustique de Pierre Henry, Bernard Parmegiani,
François Bayle, mais aussi Ligeti, Xenakis, Mozart et même
la trompette de Berrocal sur "Ritual of the master of the doll"
(thème qui ne manque d'évoquer 2001) à tel point
que certains ont cru bon de remarquer le kitsch et la lourdeur symbolique
de l'ensemble (on pourrait faire les mêmes reproches à Pierre
Henry et francis Dhomont). En fait, Igor Wakhévitch serait plutôt
un apprenti à l'atelier du son, restituant un peu de l'énergie
cosmique dans un vaste mantra créatif fixant des temps musicaux
particuliers comme autant de passages vers des mondes intérieurs
où le temps et l'espace ne s'inscriraient plus dans une durée
linéaire et horizontale mais dans des systèmes de conscience
différents. La quête de Wakhévitch est celle de "l'identité
dans la multiplicité, de l'unité dans la différence,
de l’élasticité et de la fluidité" et ce
n’est probablement pas un hasard si ses disques sont réedités
par un label répondant au nom de Fractal et dont le souci semble
être identique. Comme toute oeuvre d'art, donc... nous invite à
éprouver notre relation au temps et à l'éternité,
à tester autre chose que notre mémoire horizontale, à
vivre la verticalité du temps et de l'espace, à passer de
la durée extérieure profane à celle, sacrée,
cherchant à nous sensibiliser à des vibrations où
"le Verbe est à la fois son et couleur, lumière et
forme, énergie et conscience, où le temps et l'espace ne
sont plus des catégories sensorielles". Une oeuvre, dont les
questionnements – sans réponse – liés au grand
mystère qu’elle suscitera peut-être chez certains, s'inscrivent
dans une filiation qui regroupe également, entre "l'Occident
pressé et l'Orient réflechi" (pour reprendre l'expression
d'Elisabeth Sikora), le Théatre de la Musique Eternelle de La Monte
Young, celui des Mystères et des Orgies d'Hermann Nitsch et la
magie de "I said, this is the son of nihilism" de Keiji Haino.
Exactement là où donc... serait, à la fois, un mouvement
et un repos.
Philippe Robert
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