Alvin Lucier is an experimental composer who got his start in the late 1960s alongside Robert Ashley, David Behrman, Gordon Mumma, and others. Those four formed the Sonic Arts Union and toured under that umbrella. Of the four of them, Lucier's always struck me as the scientist of the lot, his work being based as much in explorations of acoustic phenomena as musical compositional strategies. He created a device to catch and amplify brainwaves in "Music for Solo Performer." In "Music on a Long Thin Wire," he found incredible sub-harmonics within the reverberations of the titular material. Best of all is "I Am Sitting in a Room," in which Lucier speaks a piece of text for one minute, noting his slight stutter and describing the intention of the piece, runs the voice text into the room, which accumulates the room tone as well as the speech fragment. With each new iteration, the tape contains the voice plus another layer of the room tone; on the next iteration, it's the speech plus the room tone plus the room tone; on the third pass, it's speech plus room tone plus room tone plus room tone, etc. After 40 minutes (!) have elapsed, the voice is completely unrecognizable. In its place is a ghostly hum, rising and falling where the speech once was, created from layers upon layers of a sound we would never be able to recognize (the intrinsic reverberations of the room) and carved in relief by the punctuations of speech.
That's the key to Lucier's work. When you read that the composition "Clocker" is music "For amplified clock, performer with galvanic skin response sensor and digital delay system," your first thought might not be "beauty." but Lucier, despite working in some purely acoustic and almost scientific phenomena, usually finds something beautiful, human, and even a bit melancholic in these process-based pieces. He finds other ways to remove the composer from the system (a la John Cage and his chance operations), letting the process find its own ways. In later years, Lucier introduced more composing into his process-based pieces, and his body of work is never less than inventive and intriguing.
Like most avant garde composers, Lucier has a day job. He teaches music at Wesleyan University, including his "Music 109" class, in which he introduces incoming students to the century-long history of experimental music. Music 109 the book is Lucier's class notes, refined over years of teaching and built to be as wide-ranging as possible. Unlike Witold Gombrowicz's A Guide to Philosophy in Seven Hours and Fifteen Minutes, Music 109 is written to be read. It's not just shorthand and memory prompts, but multi-page narratives and remembrances. Even without Lucier's presence and, presumably, his playing of the pieces in person, this is a thoroughly usable book no matter where you are in your exploration of experimental music.
To accommodate all of the different conventions that have been expanded, flouted, or broken in the 20th century, Lucier divides the chapters into their classical components -- string quartets, symphonies, voice, percussion, piano -- as well as more expected sections on extended techniques like tape recorders, repetition, indeterminacy, graphic notation, and so forth.
For those of us who have followed Lucier's career, the first big surprise is that Lucier seems altogether like a friendly, almost avuncular, teacher. Go Google image search "Alvin Lucier" and try to find a pic where he's smiling, or even not scowling fiercely. Here, though, he seems like he's having fun engaging the students, cracking wise about modern technology, and spouting endless fascinating anecdotes and remembrances about a who's who of 20th century experimental music, from Morton Feldman to Robert Ashley to James Tenney to Phillip Glass.
If you're just getting interested in music at the fringes, this is a lovely primer. Now that youtube has pretty much all world knowledge on it, you could spend weeks plugging in composition names Lucier mentions and hear for yourself. That can't be anything but a great thing. If you're on the fence and want to just get a little taste, the concise chapters make it easy to jump in and out. If you're, say, a classical vocalist who is specifically interested in extensions for voice, there's nothing wrong with just focusing on the parts that apply to you. It's very useful that way, and easy to access the materials you want.
Because it's not an end-to-end history of the developments, it needn't get bogged down in precise chronology. It leapfrogs freely from style to style, from Phillip Glass's repetitions on the keyboard to Steve Reich's use of tape loops to create a similar hypnotic effect. Lucier's own works are mentioned sparingly alongside similar works by David Behrman or Gordon Mumma, not he's careful not to make it all about himself, but not downplaying his considerable contribution to the experimental canon, either.
And of course, it does the other thing I'd hoped/feared it would do -- it grew my album want-list by at least another fifty titles.
Fun, funny, breezy, but substantial. Recommended.