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The Case for Alea: Boulez on Indeterminacy
MUS253
The Case for Alea: Boulez on Indeterminacy
By
Robert Giracello
Presented in partial fulfillment
of the requirements for
MUS 253- Advanced Seminar in Music Theory
Dr. Walter Clark
The Case for Alea: Boulez on Indeterminacy
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The Case for Alea: Boulez on Indeterminacy
There are few composers who create such an instant impact with their music as Pierre
Boulez does. His musical compositions, particularly his highly serialized works like Structures,
show an amazing sense of precision and attention to detail, carrying the torch from such
composers as Schoenberg, Webern, and Berg. Every note has its place and reason for existence.
Every pitch, and sometimes even rhythms and dynamics as well, have been serialized and arrived
at through complex procedures. And yet, elements of his Piano Sonata no. 3 incorporate a
compositional technique that could throw all of this precision to the wind, leaving whole
arrangements of passages to the will of the performer, and even letting the performer decide the
order of movements. In Piano Sonata no. 3, Boulez explores the antithesis of serialized and
calculated music, and begins to write with aleatoric elements- “chance” music. This is a drastic
change in philosophy and style, particularly when Boulez‟s roots are taken into account.
However, when observed from a theoretical perspective, by looking at Boulez‟s writings as well
as his previous compositions, it can be seen that Boulez is not simply “switching sides”, but
creating his own paradigm. Boulez the theorist, then, has established a new musical philosophy
that allows him to create, on his own terms, a music that is both established and concrete, as well
as indeterminate. This is stylistically incomparable to previous aleatoric champions like John
Cage, and required a great amount of theoretical thought on his part. There are three main
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reasons for this new creation- first, a deep look at form, particularly the lack of formal evolution
in the second Viennese school, allowed him to reach to new heights in creating and establishing
a modern sense of musical form. Second, his tumultuous relationship with Cage caused him to
reject many of Cage‟s “free for all” techniques, yet consequently develop a more practical
solution in the same general vein, which he was attracted to. Lastly, Boulez‟s special admiration
of the poet Stephan Mallarmé, and the thoughts philosophically Mallarmé had about music and
about the Livre, in addition to Joyce‟s masterwork Finnegan’s Wake, gave Boulez a literary
springboard to help will thematically these concepts into being.
Boulez‟s exposure to serial music and the works of the Second Viennese School (led by
Arnold Schoenberg and his two disciples, Anton Webern and Alban Berg) came via another
master himself in the great French composer Olivier Messian. It was through Messian that
Boulez was to understand twentieth century theoretical concepts like dodecaphonic serialism,
along with other masterworks by Debussy and Stravinsky. Many of these works, Pierrot lunaire
(which precedes twelve-tone serialism) for example, were 30 years old at the time, but had never
been seriously studied in France, due to war. Boulez was immediately attracted to these ideas,
particularly the twelve-tone works of Webern, whom he saw as the figurehead for a development
of existing musical language for the modern era. 1 Rather than seeing them as new, theoretically,
they were simply a continuation of the continuum of music and musicianship. Again, since so
much time had lapsed between the works of the Second Viennese School and Boulez‟s discovery
of them, he was disappointed by the lack of development of their ideas, and chided his
1
Breatnach, p71.
The Case for Alea: Boulez on Indeterminacy
contemporaries as “lazy men who boast of their superiority as ignoramuses”.
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2
This was a
calculated insult, for Boulez saw significant strides made in the manipulation made of the written
word that weren‟t happening in music. Never was that more evident than when he began to write
his third piano sonata. This word, which was hundreds of years old, describes a musical form
that saw its height during the Classical era. Webern himself, in his Symphony, op. 21, used
sonata form as the basic structure of the first movement. What did it mean, that, despite all the
new innovations in rhythm, tonality, and harmonic development, he was still writing a piano
sonata? Furthermore, a quick look back at his second piano sonata, composed in 1950, shows
the clear dominance of the Classical era form. 3 In order for the language of music to fully
develop, form must develop alongside it. The only solution, then, was to develop and synthesize
unprecedented forms- forms that were as modern as the music contained in them.
The resultant Piano Sonata no. 3 is not a piano sonata at all, in the traditional sense.
One only sees the relationship to tradition in the title, as well as the pure definition of the word,
(“sounded” as opposed to other music that was “sung”) as having meaning. In many ways this is
similar to Luciano Berio‟s masterpiece Sinfonia, where the definition of the word, and its link to
history, is the only reason for the title, rather than an indication of the musical material. Form is
the most innovative feature of the piece, in that the movements are interchangeable and
constantly in flux.
Analysis of each movement, or formant, as Boulez describes them (a
reference to timbre and acoustics, as well as Mallarmé), is difficult, due in part to the fact that
only the second and third formant have been published. Formant 1 (“Antiphonie”), is as the
2
3
Boulez, “Eventually..” p146.
“Boulez, Pierre” in Grove Music online.
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name suggests, a call-and-response of two separate musical identities, with four possibilities of
form (ABBAB, AABAB, etc). A variation of each identity is written on the opposite side of the
page. The performer is to choose one of the four possible variants and literally cut and paste
these strips on to cardboard. While Boulez himself admits, “I could have used the four forms
complete,” 4 and simply had the performer choose one to play, the act of premeditated cutting
and highlights the aleatoric nature of the structure in a way that simply saying „play one of these
four fully composed pieces‟ doesn‟t.
Formant 2 (“Trope”) is in itself made up of four fragments, all of which have names
derived from literary sources, particularly Mallarmé- “Text”, “Parenthesis”, “Commentary” and
“Gloss”. The order of each subsection of “Trope” is left to the performer to decide, with the sole
provision that Commentary be played either before or after Gloss. One can see this form would
be difficult to categorize, since it would be quite different every time it‟s performed. And yet,
Boulez the composer is maintaining strict control over both the relationships of each subsection
to itself, and the actual music being played. The musical material in and of itself is quite rigid
and detailed, if not totally serialized, but the form is innovative and indeterminate.
The same is true of the third formant, “Constellation”. This movement is entirely made
up of small musical passages a few measures long, some printed in green ink, and some in red.
The performer may move vertically along the green passages, called “points” by Boulez, or shift
to the red ones, which he calls “blocs”. The entirety of “Constellation” is printed as a mirrorimage on the reverse side, called “Constellation-miroir”. The performer may choose to play this
4
Boulez, “Sonata, que me veux-tu” p.
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in lieu of “Constellation”. Boulez describes this structural arrangement as being akin to “the plan
of a city. One does not change its design, one perceives exactly what it is, and there are different
ways of going through it. One can choose one‟s own way through it, but there are certain traffic
regulations.”5
This quote brings the green and red ink idea into light (no pun intended).
Although similar design can be found in the Klavierstüke XI of Stockhausen a full year earlier,
the complexity of design in this aleatoric construction is in no way comparable. The performer
is not simply asked to jump around from section to section, as in the Stockhausen- he or she must
make a deliberate route through the map of the piece, as it were, a route which Boulez has
established the ground rules for.
As for the fourth and fifth formants (“Strophe” and “Sequence”) Boulez himself has little
to say about their structure, and since they have never been published, they remain somewhat a
mystery. He does point out that each formant grows progressively in the complexity of form,
though, to the point that “Sequence” involves “radical variations in the transcriptions of variable
pitches”. 6 The point of the Piano Sonata no. 3 as a treatise, though, is crystalline. The musical
material contained within each section is as structured and determinate as ever, but the
manipulation of the order of sections is not. Boulez, therefore, is saying that in order to be a
viable compositional tool, chance elements must be clearly thought out, an inherent reflection of
the focus of the composition itself, and only indeterminate in the presentation of otherwise
determinate materials.
5
6
Boulez, “Sonata, que me veux-tu?”
Boulez, “Sonata, que me veux-tu?”
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One of the main reasons for Boulez‟s new theory of indeterminacy was a detailed look at
the history of form. Boulez has a lot to say on the subject, having published several essays
entirely devoted to form from a composer‟s perspective. He was clearly inspired in this study by
the words of Levi-Strauss, whom he quoted both in his essay “Form” and later “Periform”:
“Form and content are of the same nature and amenable to the same analysis.” Even before
his landmark essay “Alea”, it is clear that Boulez was searching for new paths to form in his
writing. Use of chance music would give him that opportunity, but only if in a controlled
environment. If the indeterminate factors were limited to those that Boulez chose, he could
create a musical form that would be flexible to the will of the performer, and allow the performer
to assist in shaping the form of the piece, producing, “a material that is constantly evolving.” 7
This would truly be a revolution in music.
Another reason for Boulez‟s research into chance music was his relationship with the
composer whom many view as the founding father of indeterminacy, John Cage. Cage had
explored chance operations as early as 1951 with his Music of Changes, and later with Variations
I, which is scored for any instrument or instruments.
Variations I is made up of several
transparencies, which, when overlapped, create a visual field of lines and dots. The instruments
are then encouraged to comment musically on them. Though Variations I has indeed a musical
form hitherto unseen, there is little precognition on the part of the performers to help establish
that form- it simply is whatever it is. In Boulez‟s mind, this is too far. The composer has no real
hand in making or shaping the form, and consequently hasn‟t really created anything. He writes
7
Boulez, “Form” p90.
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of this type of indeterminacy as, “a recourse against the asphyxia of invention.” There can be
little doubt that he is speaking directly of Cage as he calls this type of chance music “the most
elementary form of the transmutation of chance… located in the addition of a philosophy dyed in
Orientalism and masking a fundamental weakness in the technique of composition...” 8 Cage‟s
Music of Changes was directly inspired and, in fact, owes its creation to the Chinese I Ching.
Boulez, therefore makes this inflammatory statement straight at Cage because, in Boulez‟ mind,
Cage has rejected his role as composer. And yet, Boulez feels chance to be a viable aspect of the
musical process. In fact, he believes chance to be a fundamental part of the interpretation of
music, whether modern or classical. A fermata, for example, is an indeterminate held note or a
pause, the length of which is left up to the performer. Even a suggestive tempo marking like
“Slow” or “Rubato” is somewhat indeterminate. Boulez‟s hope is only to extend these ideas to
other aspects of written music. He writes “this will be, if made use of summarily, no more than
a sort of generalized rubato, a little more organized than formerly.” 9 In this light, a rubato that
applies to pitch and rhythm as well as tempo, the composer maintains his control over the
texture, manipulation, and overall impression of the piece, while giving the performer a set of
guidelines to explore and work with. Cage no doubt was a large factor in Boulez arriving at this
decision, for at the outset Boulez quite admired his techniques. In speaking to Cage about the
aforementioned Music of Changes, he said, “you cannot know how much I agree with you”
about Cage‟s organization of sound. In addition, he later writes, “the direction of research
8
9
Boulez, “Alea” p35
Boulez, “Alea.” P41.
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pursued by John Cage is too close to our own for us not to take it into account.” 10 Boulez first
established composition of this sort himself in Pli Selon Pli, where certain aspects are openended, left to the performers as well as the conductor to define and extrapolate. This was a giant
leap forward for Boulez personally, as well as the school of composition he had attempted to
bring forward since the 1940‟s. In spite of this, or perhaps because of it, Pli Selon Pli was met
with harsh criticism by Boulez‟s peers. When compared to Boulez‟s earlier Le Marteau sans
maitre, which is similar in style but doesn‟t feature any aleatoric elements, and was well
received, it‟s easy to speculate that Boulez‟s new theory of chance was the difference maker in
the opinions of his contemporaries. 11
Before completing the sonata, Boulez deliberated on how to put these thoughts on to
paper in a thought provoking essay, “Sonata, que me veux-tu?”. In it, he brings out many of the
points previously stated (the development of a modern form, the uses of chance, description of
the formants, etc.) as well as the monumental influence of modernist writers James Joyce and
Stephan Mallarmé. In Boulez‟s mind, these authors had created a similar path in the written
word, and he wanted to comment on them. He writes, “my present mode of thought derives from
my reflections on literature rather than on music.” Later, he states, “the two writers who have
the most stimulated my thinking, and thus profoundly influences me [are] namely Joyce and
Mallarmé.”12 Dealing with Joyce first, Boulez was inspired by the fact that Finnegan’s Wake in
particular is aware of itself as a novel, and its structure is dependent on this self-awareness. This
10
Boulez, “Eventually…”p175.
Breatnach, p82.
12
Boulez, “Sonata, que me veux-tu?” p
11
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aspect has a lot to do with Boulez‟s choice of using chance operations, because in order for a
work to be aware of itself, to maintain a kind of consciousness of its own, the composer must
distance himself somewhat from his creation. The idea of Boulez relinquishing a little of his
power over the work (again, nothing comparable to the works of Cage) in order to breathe more
life into it is very similar to what Joyce had done, creating a constantly changing pastiche of Irish
slang, making constant allusions to previous works, and constantly altering the English language,
rather than keeping a stranglehold on dialogue, narrative, and more traditional literary elements.
Also, the fact that Boulez creates in his aleatoric form an ever-changing entity is in itself an
homage to Finnegan’s Wake. He goes to the point of calling Piano Sonata 3 a “work in
progress”, the original title of Finnegan’s Wake, as it appeared in multiple published forms while
Joyce was still writing it. And, when taken into account that half of the Piano Sonata 3 is still
unpublished, the “work in progress” idea has an even deeper meaning.
If there is one outside influence that led to Boulez‟s unique incorporation of aleatoric
principles into his music above all others, however, it was the work of Stephan Mallarmé. The
French author‟s works and writings on music had a profound effect on Boulez, in a way similar
to Joyce, with regard to modern adaptation of language and placement of words on the page.
More than anything, though, it was Mallarmé‟s invention of the Livre that was to inspire the
move towards aleatoric form. Mallarmé‟s Livre (or “Grand Oeuvre”) was an idea of an allencompassing work that the poet had, visualizing the entire whole of creation summarized in one
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book. 13 All ideas, all books, according to Mallarmé, were contained in this Livre. His vision was
not a book to be read front to back, in the traditional manner, but could be approached from any
end, with any other as its goal. Though Mallarmé never finished any presentation of Le Livre,
his notes were extremely influential on Boulez‟s ideas. For one thing, Mallarmé suggested that
Le Livre would be printed on both sides, and when approached from the opposite direction would
have different meaning. He wanted the Livre to fold and unfold, revealing both a continual
narrative as well as a mobile presentation of ideas. This is comparable to the printed music in
formants 1 and 3 of the Piano Sonata 3. The “Antiphonie” has music on both sides that, when
flipped, represent the inverse or the reflection of the subject. And the entirety of “Constellation”
has its “Mirroir” printed on the backside, making it almost an homage to Le Livre. In addition,
Mallarmé, when writing on Le Livre, remarked on the necessity for an “operator” to control the
indeterminate movement through mass readings of it. This free involvement of a performer who
would control the manipulation of Mallarmé‟s design is absolutely essential to Boulez‟s work.
To him it represented a compromise between the totally structured and the “zen” style chance
works of Cage. Even Cage remarked, with regard to Boulez‟s indeterminate works, “After
having repeatedly claimed that one could not do what I set out to do [using chance operations],
Boulez discovered that Mallarmé Livre. It was a chance operation down to the last detail. With
me the principle had to be rejected outright; with Mallarmé it suddenly became acceptable to
him.”14 This quote says a lot about the prominence of Mallarmé‟s influence on Boulez, as well as
reaffirming other previously mentioned influences. Cage was justifiably upset, but it‟s quite
13
14
Simon, New Criterion online.
Carpenter, p147.
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likely that the Livre was merely the tipping point in ideas that had been percolating for some
time. He writes about first being presented with the Mallarmé material, “…more than being a
confirmation, Mallarmé‟s Livre was final proof of the urgent necessity for poetic, aesthetic, and
formal renewal.”
15
The key word here is final- it implies that Boulez, thinking about these ideas
and filled with, perhaps, a fraction of doubt about following Cage-style indeterminacy,
recognized in Le Livre a modern literary structure that he could apply to a musical form, thus
bridging the chasm between advances in the two genres.
In the end, it‟s this association that makes the biggest impact, for Boulez‟s theories of
indeterminacy, much like Mallarmé‟s theory of Le Livre, have been little imitated. The concepts
behind both lie in the culmination and coupling of art forms into one performance that is all, and
says all. This is a noble pursuit, and one that Boulez is, to this day, trying to accomplish. The
Piano Sonata 3 is in this light a manifesto of aesthetic as well as musical form. Boulez the
composer is subjected to the demands of Boulez the theorist in creating it. As he presents these
ideas musically, he also justifies his thoughts on indeterminacy in the written word. It‟s left to us
as audience and performer to interpret, define, and therefore assist in this process.
15
Boulez, “Sonata, que me veux-tu?”
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References
1. Breatnach, Mary. Boulez and Mallarme: A study in poetic influence. Aldershot, England:
Scolar Press, 1996.
2. Boulez, Pierre. “Alea.” In Notes of an apprenticeship, edited by Paule Thévenin,
translated from the French by Herbert Weinstock. New York: A. A. Knopf, 1968.
3. _____. “Sonata, que me veux tu?” In Orientations; collected writings, edited by JeanJacques Nattiez, translated from French by Martin Cooper. London: Faber and Faber,
1986.
4. _____. “Form.” In Orientations; collected writings, edited by Jean-Jacques Nattiez,
translated from French by Martin Cooper. London: Faber and Faber, 1986.
5. _____. “Periform.” In Orientations; collected writings, edited by Jean-Jacques Nattiez,
translated from French by Martin Cooper. London: Faber and Faber, 1986.
6. Boulez, Pierre and John Cage. The Boulez-Cage correspondence, edited by Jean-Jacques
Nattiez, translated from French by Robert Samuels. Cambridge, NY: Cambridge
University Press, 1993.
7. Carpenter, William. “Le Livre of Mallarme and James Joyce‟s Ulysses.” In Mallarme in
the twentieth century, edited by Robert Greer Cohen, Madison, NJ: Farleigh Dickenson
University Press, 1998.
8. Hopkins, G.W. and Paul Griffiths. “Boulez, Pierre.” In Grove music online.
www.grovemusic.com, accessed 3-13-08.
9. Peyser, Joan. To Boulez and beyond: music in Europe since “the rite of spring”. New
York: Billboard Books, 1999.
10. Simon, John. “Squaring the circle: Stephan Mallarme.” The New criterion online.
www.newcriterion.com, accessed 3-11-08.