Tilted Axes: Music for Mobile Electric Guitars performs in the Kresge Court at the Detroit Institute of Arts as part of the 27th Annual Concert of Colors on July 12, 2019. #TiltedAxes Original video shot by @doooovid and music © 2019 Patrick Grant/Peppergreen Media (ASCAP) http://www.tiltedaxes.com
Bora Yoon holds a small purple box in her hands. “It’s the Buddha Box II, which is a meditative box that Brian Eno made very famous, ” she says. “Many people think that he made them, but he just went to China and bought a lot of them.”
She flicks a tiny switch on the side of the device, and a very low-fi transistor drone emerges from its plastic speaker. “It’s just small little repeating loops of sustained tone, just something to help you, wherever you are, to meditate.”
The Buddha Machine is just one of the many strange items in Bora’s sonic arsenal. At her apartment studio in Brooklyn, there are disassembled wind chimes at her feet, effects pedals, singing bowls, a hand-cranked radio on the shelf, a conch shell, a toy xylophone and tin cans. She composes lyrical soundscapes with these objects, her ethereal voice, the viola, violin, guitar and Max/MSP.
When we visited her last week, Bora shared with us a piece she’s working on now, which is based on her travels in Thailand and the sound of a new instrument she’s created with LEMUR, called the Subwoofing Spoons. In this first video clip, she discusses her compositional process and the origins of the spoons:
In the next clip, Bora performs the piece, using the Subwoofing Spoons, her voice, viola, the chime sticks and the Buddha Machine. Some neighborhood dogs make their own contribution:
As a composer and performer, Bora’s graced the stages at BAM and Lincoln Center, and filled the sacred space at Church of the Ascension with sublime sound. She’s collaborated with other artists such as guitarist Kaki King, DJ Spooky and Ben Frost, and her album ((PHONATION)) contains her piece PLINKO: A Cellphone Symphony, which was profiled in the Wall Street Journal.
(Keep your speakers turned up when you visit!)
My introduction to a musical world beyond the Motown & rock’n’roll I heard all around me growing up in Detroit, and the pop hits from the BBC as filtered through the CBC from across the river in Canada, to where I am now was, judging by the length of this already overly lengthy sentence, a circuitous one.
Dad was all about Johnny Cash and Scottish bagpipe music (being a cop will do that to you), and Mom was all theater and movie music. Despite begging for music lessons at an early age (Dad wanted me to be a hockey player; he was on the Detroit Police team), I was at least given a Magnus chord organ and lessons on the guitar and banjo from my Dad’s drinking buddies at many an impromptu late night “soirée.” I took to that chord organ like mad. I was a 7 year-old Phantom of the Opera in my mind, going waay beyond the “On Top of Old Smokey” by-the-numbers type books that came with it. Even so, my most creative outlet was visual art, being the best “draw-er” in elementary school, mostly geometrical patterns (and I was great at Spirograph too!) and the gruesome gore I emulated from Famous Monsters of Filmland fan magazine. “Why don’t you ever draw anything nice?” It wasn’t until my parents divorce and my Mom married some Harvard-trained CPA ne’er-do-well when I was 11, that I found out “music lessons should be a part of every gentleman’s upbringing.” Yeah, right. BUT, if that was my way in, I went for it: piano and viola/violin lessons began, and a nerd was born.
Around that time, the film “A Clockwork Orange,” originally released as Rated-X by the incipient rating system (along with “Midnight Cowboy” and “Last Tango in Paris” due to their adult themes) got reduced to an R-rating and re-released. The porn industry had made a joke of the X-rating by saying, “Well then, we’re XXX,” so it became meaningless. So, with an R-rating, “Clockwork” was able to air commercials on the TV. One day I heard it: the “glorious 9th Symphony by Ludwig Van” but, as we know, being “performed” by Wendy (née Walter) Carlos on the Moog synthesizer. However, I didn’t know what that strange sound was at the time. I shoveled snow like mad that weekend to make the $4.95 needed to purchase, what was to be, the very first LP that I ever bought for myself. Coming home, I was reading the back of it (who were these guys?) and couldn’t figure out which track I had heard on TV. I dropped that needle everywhere on the disc, but could not find it. What was up with all this classical stuff? I thought that was only used for goofing around in Warner Bros. cartoons! I noticed that one of the tracks looked a bit different in the middle, a darker color due to less activity in the grooves. I cued up that spot, and there it was: bum – – – bum – – – bum – bum – bum – bum – etc. It was the march section of the 9th’s choral movement (please pardon the WWII imagery).
It rocked my 11 year-old world
I took to reading and writing music right away, often well beyond my means of playing it (what else is new?) probably because I understood the visual representations of the patterns coming off the art I practically abandoned since hearing that first Moog. In fact, most of the music I naturally like also makes for fine visual art when it’s written down. A favorite joke of mine: Beethoven was so deaf. How deaf was he? He was so deaf he thought he was a painter.
At that point in the 70s there were a lot of “classical goes synth” type albums out but, despite some bits of 1960s Japanese anime, “Kimba the White Lion”, composer Isao Tomita’s takes on Debussy and Stravinsky, I was a dedicated Carlos fan (as was Glenn Gould). Aside from the Beethoven for Kubrick, the mostly baroque output of Carlos, beginning with “Switched-on Bach” in 1968, the attention to detail is still stunning, especially when you consider the means and the pre-planning that had to go into every track. Only was I to discover later that this was due to the use of “hocketing,” a medieval vocal technique where a single melodic line would be broken up amongst a number of voices. The best definition of a hocket I heard was from one of the curators at de Ysbreker while on tour in Amsterdam: “It is a monophonic way of suggesting polyphony.” That’s it! That’s why I like what I like. I like music that is made up of many interlocking parts, be it Bach, Steve Reich (“Music for 18 Musicians” was a 14th birthday present), Eno & Fripp, the Balinese Gamelan (three trips to study there), or now, in using looping software and hardware as compositional tools.
Here’s a gem I came across: a long out-of–print album by Wendy Carlos called “Secrets of Synthesis” recently re-released on East Side Digital. The MP3 here, using harpsichord sonatas by Domenico Scarlatti as realized on Carlos’ “The Well-Tempered Synthesizer,” are given as examples of how she applied this hocketing technique to, essentially, two-part material to get multi-layered and multi-timbral results, all on the 1970s rig shown above and two Ampex 8-tracks bouncing back and forth:
A long time ago at the Chelsea Hotel, producer, tenant activist and now author (!) Scott Griffin once told me, “You should never make pieces for solo instruments. Your music works best when it’s dense with layers.”
You know, I think he was right.