Current Thoughts on what I think I am doing writing music…                                                                       eldritch Priest (2007)

Lately I have been working to actualize in music a radical melodic purpose. By this I mean that I am trying to write the sense of sound’s advance, to compose the pure presentiment of melodic desire. I used to be captivated by music’s vertical inertia and the way sheer sonority cultivated interest in a parade of harmonic curiosities.  However, I eventually grew weary of these simple curios and their denial of the force that duration bears upon itself.  My experience of music as a “motionless pageant” changed from appreciating a timeless interest to suffering a false eternity.  It seems to me now that the “musical” in sound, the (musico)logic that “keeps us waiting in someway for the result…of [sonorous] order,”[1] derives from the way sound acquires an “Idea” of itself over time. This Idea is the “musical” as such, and it is exactly what happens when in listening when sound “never stops exposing the present to the imminence of a deferred presence”[2].  Thus, musical sound is sound that impinges, that inflects and strains the space and time in which it both opens up and opens onto.  Lacking this modulation, sound fails to become musical, being instead only a dumb emission.  Straining sound has become increasingly important in my work, not only as an aesthetic hinge but as a focus for exploring music as something productively forgetful. 
 
Memory and Forgetting…

I think that Deleuze is correct about remembering, that it threatens to make “something unique or singular which has no equal or equivalent”[3] become law or a regularity.  Forgetting might therefore be considered not a loss of memory, but rather a peculiar species of memory, a species that functions like desire and invention. When Deleuze writes, “Desire is always assembled and fabricated on a plane of immanence or of composition which must itself be constructed at the same time as desire assembles and fabricates,”[4] he is describing the way in which the process of creation invents itself in the alchemy of connecting heterogenous entities and events.  In other words, desire expresses the logic of relations that inhere in all forms of coupling. 
         Musicologically speaking, the desires we sense in the coupling of sounds are the affects and moods we experience in hearing music.  Affects and moods are the expression of music’s logic of a deferred presence; they indicate moments of forgetting, moments when the continuously suspended arrival of a musical presence forgets pitches, rhythms, melodies, etc, and gives its work—its labour of promising a development—an expressive sense.  Like “air” in breathing, musical sound is forgotten.  Yet also like “air,” this forgetting is what animates that which forgets it.  We laugh when we forget about “air,” and we hear music when we forget about sound. In this regard, memory, and its desire to forget, is not a passive aspect of experience but an active and productiveprinciple.  Remembering does not involve the recollection of a dim and distance copy; instead memory actually re-members or re-creates perception in the repetition of its difference.  By straining the differences that express a (musico)logical desire, we remember to forget the “laws” of music and re-member the alchemy that increases the Ideas that may be had about it. 
         My work is about inventing (musico)logical expressions of desire and maximizing the affective differential in music.  I try to achieve this by weaving generic melodic tendencies into an asymmetrical surface where one can forget global coherence and multiply sites of local interest.  I consider much of this work to be a memory of desire, a memory-desire characterized by glacial durations and entropic drift that tries to forget its innate fatalism. Although I don’t claim to have accomplished this, I consider my efforts to create “forgettable memories”, or “memorable forgettings,” to be modestly successful, if not entire failures.  Perhaps then, if I my failure is my success, it is more accurate to say that I do not write anything other than what has always been forgotten.    


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[1] Nancy, Jean-Luc. 2007. Listening.  Trans. Charlotte Mandell. New York: Fordham University Press, 66.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Deleuze, Gilles. 1994. Difference and Repetition. Trans. Paul Patton.  New York: Columbia University Press, 1.
[4] Deleuze, Gilles. 2002. Dialogues II. Trans. Janis Tomlinson (et al). New York: Columbia University Press, 103.