1.1. Narrative

‘Narrative’, however, is a slippery term, ranging from narrower definitions – which, in their precision, tend to limit narrative to a literary and textual phenomenon – to the broadest definitions, which tend to paint narrative in such broad strokes of human experience that its usefulness as a theoretical tool is somewhat reduced. We will primarily be focusing on a ‘middle ground’ definitional area, which tends to emphasise time and change as marked by a succession of events (Brunson Reference Brunson2012): ‘the representation of an event or a series of events’ (Abbott Reference Abbott2008); ‘the representation of a temporal development, which consists of a succession of events’ (Meelberg Reference Meelberg2006), although both the broader and the narrower definitions are also, at least occasionally, of relevance to certain areas of acousmatic narrative, as we shall see. An important distinction should be made here, however. Both of the definitions above, by speaking about ‘representations’, appear to be speaking about narrative as a function of the work itself, and to thereby be operating at Nattiez’s ‘neutral level’ (Reference Nattiez1990); here, however, we will be emphasising narrative as a function of the act of reception, rather than as some autonomous quantity residing in a ‘work’ that is somehow independent of human construction or contact. Instead, let us combine these with David Herman’s broader definition, which describes narrative as ‘a basic human strategy for coming to terms with time, process, and change’ (Herman Reference Herman2007, quoted in Brunson Reference Brunson2012). Herman’s emphasis is different, describing narrative not as a function of a work, but as a function of our experience of the work – in our case, as a function of the listening experience. We can therefore adjust the above definitions accordingly: ‘our experience of an event or a series of events’; ‘our experience of a temporal development, and of a succession of events’.

Brunson’s proposal of a ‘narrative stance’ is useful here, positing narrative as a conscious attitude taken towards the work (Brunson Reference Brunson2012). By describing narrative as an active position taken by the listener, this position perhaps bears similarities to Harrison’s ‘expanded listening’ (Emmerson Reference Emmerson2007:15) and Leigh Landy’s ‘heightened listening’ (Landy Reference Landy2007: 105), all of which run counter to the deliberate anti-narrativity of Schaeffer’s ‘écoute réduite’ (Chion Reference Chion1983).

2.1. ‘Universal’ modes

Some of these modes are shared with tonal or other instrumental musics, while some are unique to acousmatic music, or at least are much more likely to appear in, or be engaged by, acousmatic music. More ‘universal’ modes may be enacted similarly across genres and musical forms; or, they may behave quite differently in acousmatic music than in other musics. Formal narrative is an example of a mode common to many (or most) musical genres; however, as we shall see, there are nevertheless some implications and affordances of formal narrative as it appears in acousmatic music that are unique to the genre.

4.1. Material narrative

As has been argued above and elsewhere (Andean Reference Andean2010, Reference Andean2014a), one of the obvious elements of acousmatic music that sets it apart from other musical forms in its degree of narrativity is the potential use and presence of recorded real-world material. This ranges from short, discrete, isolated materials, to the use of dominating, full-bodied soundscape recordings offering a fully formed sonic environment containing any number of sonic agents, backgrounds and details. These are all notably different from the referential capabilities of instrumental music, which can only evoke real-world sources through metaphor and similar indirect devices. ‘Material narrative’ is closely related to Smalley’s ‘source bonding’ (Smalley 1994: 37) and ‘first-order surrogacy’ (Smalley Reference Smalley1997: 112).

Both Rumeurs and Undertow offer extremely strong material narratives, in that the vast majority of materials in both works are recorded real-world sounds, most of them recognisable to a significant degree, or at least sufficiently suggestive as to be directly evocative of an imagined source. The more closely linked to, or immediately evocative of, a sound source, the likelier it is that the material narrative mode will be invoked. As sounds become increasingly abstract, more distant from potential sources, the material narrative mode weakens, making shifts to other modes likely – for example, towards the mimetic narrative mode, and then, as materials become more abstract still, perhaps towards the structural or studio narrative modes, depending on the behaviour of the materials in question.

In Rumeurs, materials range from the recurring motif of slamming doors, through rattling chains, footsteps on creaking floorboards, a buzzing fly, a flushing toilet and an astonishing number of other sources. In Undertow, materials are focused on the waves of the opening and closing beach soundscapes, and the bubbling sounds that make up the bulk of the work. As is already clear from these brief descriptions, although each work offers an extremely strong material narrative – in that, throughout the majority of both pieces, very clear imagery is produced by the sounds heard – there is a significant difference in the clarity of the relationships between these sounds, and in the degree of a concrete sense of ‘storyline’ that results. However, this is not a product of the material narrative mode – since, as just described, the two works are roughly equal in this regard – but lies elsewhere, for example in the formal, mimetic and embodied narrative modes.

4.2. Formal narrative

Of the narrative modes proposed here, the formal narrative mode is perhaps the most closely connected to existing theoretical discourse on musical narrative. It is the category of what is traditionally described as ‘musical form’, reaching across the full length of a work; traditional examples include binary form, rondo form, sonata form and so on (Berry Reference Berry1966). Form at this level is too often treated as a largely technical architecture, or as simply ‘boxes to be filled in’; this misses its crucial role as an essential musical ‘storytelling’ device, for which it has received so much attention in musical narratology. For example, at its broadest level, ternary form is a narrative of ‘the return’, which, depending on the details of its development, can be further specified as, for example, ‘the triumphant return’, or ‘the nostalgic return’, etc. The broadest themes of musical narrative, such as ‘victory’ or ‘defeat’, ‘order’ or ‘transgression’ (Almén Reference Almén2008), tend to play out, or at least to be emphasised, in this mode.

The formal narrative mode is one of acousmatic music’s most direct inheritances from music history, tending to function in a very similar manner, and serving a very similar purpose, to its role in other musical forms. As a result, to some extent it is the mode that is best covered by existing musical narratological literature. However, the formal narrative mode is an excellent example of one of acousmatic music’s unique strengths in narrative delivery: where instrumental music tends to be limited to metaphor in the delivery of narrative themes (Spitzer Reference Spitzer2004; Zbikowski Reference Zbikowski2008), acousmatic music can be explicit and entirely literal. This was mentioned in our discussion of material narrative; it is true again of formal narrative. Undertow provides an excellent example of this. The work is a very clear example of ternary form, that is, ABA: materials are introduced in section A; new materials are introduced in section B; followed by the return of the section A materials. In instrumental music this can offer a metaphor of ‘coming home’, of travelling out and then coming back to where you started. In Undertow, however, explicit materials, coupled with an explicit formal narrative, make this entirely literal: the ‘subject’ of the work (with whom the listener is invited to identify by the extremely close spatial placement of key sound materials) begins on a beach; then walks into the water, until submerged; then finally returns back up onto the beach. What remains a metaphor in instrumental music is here made literal, thanks to the unique affordances of the acousmatic genre: the metaphorical ‘return home’ of the ternary form is now entirely explicit, as the listener returns back out of the water and back up the beach, to end where (s)he began.

4.3. Structural narrative

The structural narrative mode is a particular challenge for acousmatic music. It is an attempt to address those aspects of narrative that are communicated through ‘language’ or syntax (Emmerson Reference Emmerson1986). In tonal music, for example, narrative elements that are communicated through the use of major or minor keys, perfect or deceptive cadences, delayed resolution and so on would all fall under this mode. Serialism offers another example of narrative meaning being communicated (potentially at least) through syntax and structure (see, e.g., Street Reference Street2013). This is more problematic with acousmatic music, however, because, although it does indeed access the structural narrative mode, the genre lacks the kind of clearly defined, unified syntax that makes this mode so effective in tonal music – that is, in which a shared structural signifier (e.g., ‘minor key’) is immediately associated with a given narrative signified (‘sad’). While there are syntactical elements to Schaeffer’s initial framework, the genre has evolved and branched out significantly since these early roots – a complex process that has resulted, in fact, not so much in a loss of syntax, but in its multiplication. This has resulted in quite a number of available syntaxes, between which a composer can pick and choose from work to work, or even within the scope of a single work. This has led to a number of identifiable structural ‘currents’ within the broader acousmatic stream – a ‘gestural school’, a ‘timbral school’, a ‘microsound school’ – each of which tends to orient towards rather different structuring processes. These can be quite elaborate and sophisticated, but are sometimes shared only within that given ‘school’, losing relevance as one moves further out into the broader acousmatic field – for example, the detailed granular structuring mechanisms of the ‘microsound school’. This is further complicated by acousmatic music’s chameleon-esque ability to absorb or reference existing syntaxes, the most obvious being, of course, that of tonal music, whether it forms a central structuring principle, as for example in some of John Young’s work, or is simply referenced in passing, via the occasional cadential ending for example. This lack of universalism in acousmatic structural strategies can be of enormous benefit to the genre, as it offers a great richness and flexibility; but it does significantly weaken the communicability of structural narrative. It could be argued, however, that acousmatic music more than compensates for this weakness through the strength and number of the other narrative modes available.

Some of the strongest proposals for acousmatic structure come from Trevor Wishart (Reference Wishart1994, Reference Wishart1996), who has detailed his structural strategies in his own compositions in Sound Composition (Wishart Reference Wishart2012). While these are extremely strong, they pose a couple of challenges in proposing them as agents of structural narrative. One of these is that such strategies are not always readily discernible to the listener under ‘normal’ listening conditions, which runs contrary to our emphasis on narrative being linked directly to the listening experience. Some of Wishart’s works – for example, Encounters in the Republic of Heaven (Wishart Reference Wishart2010) – incorporate quite a number of structuring mechanisms, some of which are readily perceptible to the concert listener – for example, some of the spatial structuring mechanisms – while others are not – for example, some of his structuring work at the microsound level (Wishart Reference Wishart2010).

In general, however, the acousmatic genre is to some extent predicated on the ‘playing down’ of these kinds of structures in favour of a more sculptural approach to sound. As a result, depending on the approach taken, the structural narrative mode at times comes close enough to other narrative modes – for example, the material or mimetic modes – as to arguably cease to be a distinct mode in its own right. Thus, while the structural narrative mode is of central importance in many – or possibly most – other musical genres, it is of seriously reduced significance in acousmatic music. As a result of this relative weakness, it often works in tandem with other modes to produce narrative collaboratively. Consider, for example, the climactic ‘closing doors’ sequence towards the end of Rumeurs (approx. 11′00″ to 12′00″), in which a series of opening and closing doors reveal brief ‘windows’ onto scenes and materials from earlier in the work. Can we claim this to be ‘structure’? To some extent, perhaps, in that it establishes a system and a pattern that is recognised as such and that can then be developed or contradicted. However, it could be argued that other narrative modes play a much stronger role here. For example, material narrative is clearly invoked through the easy recognition of the doors; formal narrative through the regular referencing of material from earlier in the work, whose return marks this passage as climactic and points towards the impending end of the piece; and also possibly embodied narrative (which will be discussed below), through the familiar and recognisable pacing of the very ‘natural’ open/close rhythms of the doors, the turning of knobs and latches, etc. In the resulting network of narrative modes, it could be argued that the role of structural narrative here is not among the strongest.

If we examine Undertow for structural narrative, we come up somewhat empty-handed. While it could be argued that there are structural qualities that allow for our recognition of the opening and closing ‘beach’ soundscapes (Bregman Reference Bregman1990), this is not relevant to the structuring of the work per se. This leaves us with the longer central ‘bubbling’ section of the work. Here, however, while there may very well be structuring mechanisms at work, they are not perceptible to the casual listener, and the composer has not chosen to reveal any such mechanisms in the work’s liner notes (Harrison 2007; see section 4.10 below). As a result, structural narrative plays no appreciable role in the experience of Undertow, a situation that is not uncommon in acousmatic music.

4.4. Mimetic narrative

It can be argued, however, that acousmatic music has, in fact, developed a functional syntax that is drawn from our embodied understanding of movement and behaviour in the world around us (Basanta Reference Basanta2010). This allows the acousmatic composer to establish order, expectation and anticipation, and thereby also to thwart expectation and to surprise, delay, or deny resolution (Andean Reference Andean2010). Consider, for example, the immediately recognised and understood pattern of the bouncing ball – a series of accelerating impacts; or, of a fall – a descending glissando, followed by an impact. These require no explanation; they are patterns – or, indeed, structures – that we immediately recognise, and which can therefore be employed by the composer to shape and deny expectation: delaying the impact after the fall, thereby creating tension and release; reversing or otherwise transforming the ‘bouncing’ archetype; etc. These, it could be argued, offer what we might call a genuinely acousmatic syntax, and so it is here, perhaps, that we find the key to acousmatic structure.

However, while it would perhaps be fair to argue that these structures play a role in the development of the structural narrative mode in acousmatic music, this misses the point somewhat, in that this may not be the primary mode of reception for such materials and behaviours. Our recognition of ‘bouncing ball’ or ‘falling object’ behaviours may indeed be used by the composer to develop structure (Emmerson Reference Emmerson1986; Wishart Reference Wishart1996), but the listener does not respond to these first and foremost as ‘structure’. Rather, it is the behavioural source-bond that dominates our reception of such materials, at least initially, while structural roles are perceived in a secondary fashion, if at all.

It is for this reason that this is here proposed as a distinct narrative mode: the mimetic narrative mode, in which the materials behave in a manner that we recognise from our experience of the world. As described above, this mode may be closely linked to the structural mode, if the composer has chosen to use this behaviour as a source of structural elaboration (through repetition, variation, extension, etc.). It is also closely related to the material narrative mode, in that both rely on recognition and familiarity based on real-world objects and behaviours; however, there is an important distinction to be made there – between ‘objects’ and their ‘behaviours’. Material narrative is based on object recognition – for example, ‘a ball’ – whereas mimetic narrative is based on behaviour recognition – for example, ‘bouncing’. While these may be closely linked – as, for example, in ‘a bouncing ball’ – acousmatic music also allows for them to be entirely distinct, as, for example, in ‘a bouncing cat’ or a ‘mewling ball’. This kind of play and tension between the material and the mimetic has been made a centrepiece of works such as Trevor Wishart’s Red Bird (1980) – see, for example, Wishart’s ‘imposed morphology’ (1996: 177–89). In other words, while the material and the mimetic may work together to collaboratively construct narrative, they may equally well work separately, providing two distinct or contrasting layers of narrative, and are therefore listed here as independent modes.

Undertow provides another example, although somewhat in contrast with Red Bird. As we learn from the liner notes, at least some of what appear to be ‘breaking waves’ in Undertow are, in fact, constructed from recordings of car motors (Harrison 2007). However, in this case, the break between Material and Mimetic is known only to the composer – the mimetic illusion is sufficiently strong that the listener is entirely unaware of ‘car’ as sound source, as a result of which it has no bearing on the material narrative. Instead, regardless of sound source, the material and mimetic narrative modes of the work are entirely aligned, both speaking only of ‘breaking waves’.

By contrast, on the surface at least, the mimetic narrative mode is minimally engaged in Rumeurs. The closest, perhaps, might be the use of disparate materials to create compound objects and textures, for example at 0′24″ to approximately 1′00″; the claim here would be that the compound texture displays a collective behaviour that, in its details, is distinct from the recorded behaviour of any of its single recorded materials taken individually.

4.5. Embodied narrative

The real-world recognition that is exploited in mimetic narrative is not limited to the world ‘out there’, beyond and around us; instead, our experience of the world is firmly rooted in our own selves. The most defining factor of our perceptual experience of the world is the nature of the perceiver (Gibson Reference Gibson1966). Our concepts of action and gesture are not limited to the passive observation of balls bouncing and so forth, but are to a much greater extent determined by having arms that can swing, throw and sweep, and legs that can walk and run; by the rhythms of breath and heartbeat; and so on (Johnson Reference Johnson1987; Godøy 2010). Thus, when acousmatic music makes use of our understanding of the world to generate narrative, much of this ability lies specifically in our embodied experience of the world (Windsor Reference Windsor2000). This carries forward into the work, making acousmatic listening a fundamentally embodied experience (Andean Reference Andean2012). When we listen to Rumeurs, we do not stop at an objective recognition of ‘closing doors’; we can imagine, or even feel, ourselves opening and closing those doors. When we hear pipes scraping along the ground, it is as though we ourselves were dragging those pipes. And so on. This is even stronger, though somewhat simpler, in Undertow: we have a clear sense that it is we ourselves who are descending from or ascending up the beach; that it is we ourselves who become submerged; that it is we ourselves who are underwater. This is not mere mental imagery; it is a very physical reaction that results.

This embodied sense not only of observed action, but also of the listener’s own action is inherently pleasurable and rather thrilling, and has always been a part of the charm of the acousmatic genre. Interestingly, in recent decades cognitive research has caught up with our intuitive awareness of this experience, primarily with the discovery of ‘mirror neurons’, which are activated not only when we engage in an activity ourselves, but also when we observe someone else engaging in that activity (Rizzolatti and Craighero Reference Rizzolatti and Craighero2004). This explains, for example, some of the visceral pleasure we take in watching sporting events, or action in films; it is also clearly at play in our experience of acousmatic music.

This is not unique to acousmatic music; there is a great deal of theory arguing that embodied narrative is a crucial aspect of the musical experience more generally (Clarke Reference Clarke2005; Lidov Reference Lidov1987; Leman Reference Leman2010). However, by directly incorporating imagery from a much broader range of activity, it could be argued that acousmatic music expands, or at least relies more heavily upon, this narrative mode.

4.6. Parametric narrative

There are cases in acousmatic music in which a work is largely, or entirely, focused on a single musical/sonic parameter – for example, rhythm or timbre – from which it develops the majority, or entirety, of its discourse (Landy Reference Landy2007: 29). In some of these cases, the narrative of the work is generated largely from within the development of that single parameter; or, in other words, that parameter becomes the narrative of the work. This drifts close to structural narrative, but is sufficiently distinct – though arguably much less common – to deserve its own category here. In part this is because the resulting narrative is constructed or perceived rather differently: structural narrative constructs an argument, whereas parametric narrative is the argument itself – a distinction between the language used to communicate an idea, and the direct assertion of the idea itself, or between signifier and signified.

A primary example of parametric narrative in acousmatic music is Normandeau’s ‘timbre spatialisation’ works (Normandeau Reference Normandeau2009) – for example, StrinGDberg and Éden (Normandeau 2005) – which present large chugging monoliths of timbral slices set into motion. This process is not used to build an argument; instead, this process is set in motion, and simply observed – or rather, experienced – and it is this experience that is the primary narrative of the work. Note that parametric narrative is arguably less collaborative than most of the narrative modes; material, structural, mimetic, and embodied narratives – sometimes even formal narrative – all fall away, leaving the parametric narrative mode dominant.

4.7. Spatial narrative

One of the truly remarkable opportunities offered by acousmatic music is its capacity for spatial narrative. Sound and space share a symbiotic relationship: sound requires space in order to propagate and make itself heard; while it is from sound that we collect much of our information about space – in other words, space communicates with us through sound (Stocker Reference Stocker2013). Every recorded sound tells two stories simultaneously: one about source, and one about space – about a source object or action that might have caused the sound we hear, and, at the same time, about the space that surrounded that object or action. As a result, while an acousmatic work can be thought of as a series of sound events, with space serving as simply one parameter among many, the reverse can also be true: the acousmatic work as a series of spaces, in which the sound serves only to illuminate or activate those spaces. ‘One piece of music could be a single space, or it could be developed as a succession of spaces, establishing virtual relations between spatial forms, movements, actual relations, potential relations and the interweaving of time and space’ (Marty Reference Marty2016a). In other words, ‘[s]pace itself can “tell a story”’ (Emmerson Reference Emmerson2007: 102).

For many listeners, conscious attention is drawn primarily to sonic actions and objects, while space is relegated to a more subconscious level of reception; this is not always the case, however – such listening priorities are very personal, and can vary significantly between individuals. For example, in describing his electroacoustic listening priorities, Nicolas Marty puts the foremost emphasis on space, with other qualities taking a back seat: ‘I prefer to listen to sound as a kind of anti-matter, with space surrounding it as matter … The technique, sound materials … well that’s not important to me, maybe we hear it, maybe not, but it’s not the point, in my opinion’ (Marty Reference Marty2016b).

In the section on material narrative, Rumeurs was described as offering a steady stream of sound objects and events; but, as we have just seen, these could equally well be described as a stream of spaces. In fact, Normandeau here offers some useful examples of the material and spatial modes pulling apart. For example, in the climactic door sequence (described above in section 4.3), this string of doors, considered as material narrative, remains fairly static: a door, another door, and then another – multiple instances of a single identity. Spatially, however, this is quite a virtuoso passage; not static, but quite the opposite, as each of these doors portrays a unique space – some closer, some farther away; some more reverberant, some less; some larger, some smaller; some realistic, some fantastic; and so on. It could be argued that Normandeau’s doors provide a strong example of the case described above, in which sound is used simply in order to trigger space: once we have recognised the first couple of doors, the door no longer provides any new narrative input of its own, but instead serves as an impulse to activate a series of spaces. This plays a critical role in the narrative experience of this section, telling a story of imaginative, constantly shifting spaces.

Part of the importance of spatial narrative in acousmatic music lies in its potential usefulness to the broader field of narratology. ‘Narrative space’, or ‘narrative spatialisation’, has generated significant narratological interest in recent decades (Herman Reference Herman2002; Ryan Reference Ryan2009); however, it is considered a challenging subject, in that, in literature – which, despite a recent push towards other narrative forms and media (Ryan Reference Ryan2004), remains the primary focus for much of the field – space and spatialisation are somewhat ephemeral and abstract, difficult to pin down for closer study. With sound, on the other hand, due to its dominant role in our perception and experience of space, space and spatialisation are much clearer, more explicitly crafted and presented, and more explicitly received and understood. This provides yet another example of aspects of narrative that, while left to more distanced or mediated modes in other genres or art forms, become explicit and literal in acousmatic music, which, with its nearly endless capacity for the creative crafting and deployment of space, therefore offers an ideal playground for the study of narrative spatialisation.

4.8. Studio narrative

All the narrative modes discussed to date deal only with ‘listening to the work’; the studio narrative mode, however, deals with ‘listening to the making of the work’ – or rather, ‘listening to the (perceived or imagined) making of the work’. This is the mode in which we listen to (or imagine that we listen to) ‘the hand of the composer’: rather than listening to the materials ‘as’ materials, we listen to their crafting and shaping; rather than engaging the mimetic mode, we listen to the tracks of the composer’s in-studio performance gestures; the embodied mode changes focus, from re-living the encoded ‘virtual’ gesture (‘a bouncing ball’) to re-living the composer’s performative gesture (e.g., hand on a controller, creating the ‘bouncing’ gesture). The description of Harrison’s …et ainsi de suite… in Andean (Reference Andean2014b) is a strong example of the studio narrative mode, by which the composer becomes both the ‘implied author’ (Booth Reference Booth1961) and ‘protagonist’ of the work. This mode is also closely linked with Smalley’s ‘technological listening’ (Smalley Reference Smalley1997) and Landy’s ‘5ième écoute’ (Landy Reference Landy2007).

Smalley argues that, in fact, studio narrative should be ‘bracketed out’, in a variation on écoute réduite or Schaeffer’s ‘époché’ (Chion Reference Chion1983: 31): ‘Technological listening occurs when a listener “perceives” the technology or technique behind the music rather than the music itself, perhaps to such an extent that true musical meaning is blocked.’ ‘[W]e must try to ignore the electroacoustic and computer technology used in the music’s making. Surrendering the natural desire to uncover the mysteries of electroacoustic sound-making is a difficult but necessary and logical sacrifice’ (Smalley Reference Smalley1997: 108–9). While studio narrative does indeed draw attention away from other modes, there is no need to consider the studio narrative mode as somehow inferior; it is as able, and as rewarding, in its narrativity as any other mode. And, once again, it is often engaged simultaneously with other narrative modes – in this case, more likely in parallel than working towards the creation of a ‘compound mode’, as there is some distance between narrative imagery of ‘the hand of the composer’ and the imagery of the sound sources embedded in the work. In fact, this distance is occasionally played with or manipulated, the distortion and confusion between ‘composer’ and ‘embedded sound’ becoming its own source of narrative, a technique regularly engaged by Ferrari, and more recently by Tullis Rennie in works like Muscle Memory.Footnote ³

Returning to Smalley’s plea for a focus on ‘true musical meaning’, we might ask what, in acousmatic music, might actually qualify. For example, Smalley’s own ‘source bonding’, which is surely of great significance in the appreciation of much acousmatic music, presumably does not fall into the category of ‘true musical meaning’. Nor would the majority of the narrative modes we are describing here. Why, then, is ‘technological listening’ so easily dismissed? Is ‘technological source bonding’ a priori inferior to other forms of source bonding? One possible argument might be that ‘technological listening’ has limited audience reach, in that only those intimate, or at least familiar, with the studio tools and processes in question will recognise and respond to such materials. However, this is perhaps something of a phantom concern, since, like it or not, much of the acousmatic listening public consists of acousmatic practitioners themselves; so, while works or passages that are heavily dependent upon the studio narrative mode are perhaps not well suited to outreach towards new audiences, neither are they terribly likely to alienate the existing acousmatic audience.

Neither Rumeurs nor Undertow serve as particularly strong examples of the studio narrative mode: Undertow because it is entirely focused on establishing a very clear narrative that takes place outside the studio, and Rumeurs through a prioritising of the original recorded materials, rather than their in-studio manipulation or transformation. However, the latter case does include a number of instances in which our attention is drawn to the composer’s actions in front of the microphone; for example, the squeaking sounds from 1′55″ to 2′20″, or what might be the unrolling of a taut stretch of duct tape from 9′50″ to 9′57″. A more typical example might be, for example, the middle section of Luc Ferrari’s Visages V (1959), with its short, rapid gestures generated through hands-on manipulation of the tape reels.

4.9. Textual narrative

Acousmatic works that include the human voice represent a very particular narrative situation. To begin with, the human voice tends to be one of the strongest source bonds available, immediately identifiable, often despite any degree of processing and transformation. Perhaps, more importantly, the use of the voice, even in a relatively abstract manner, tends to result in personification: the appearance of a voice immediately leads to the conjuring of a subject to whom the voice might belong. Finally, and strongest of all, is the narrative power of the word, which tends to immediately and completely dominate the narrative experience of any work in which it appears.

The textual narrative mode has much in common with literary forms, and, when used in a sonic context, dramatically changes the narrative landscape – bringing a number of new or expanded narrative possibilities to the table, while diminishing the strength and capacities of others (Andean Reference Andean2014b). This mode has been memorably explored by composers including Luc Ferrari, Hildegard Westerkamp and Katharine Norman. Because textual narrative is such a unique case, it requires its own in-depth discussion, which is offered elsewhere in this collection (Amelidis Reference Amelidis2016; Naylor Reference Naylor2016), as well as in a number of analyses by Norman (Reference Norman2000, Reference Norman2004). For example, Norman’s analysis of Luc Ferrari’s Presque rien avec filles (2004) is particularly illustrative of some of the unique affordances of the textual narrative mode. For example, ‘Ferrari’s apparent presence within his own piece … draws attention to boundaries we might otherwise not have noticed’. ‘[W]e are suddenly aware of the difference between the “first-person” fabricated “composer” and the apparently unmediated natural environment’, granting the capacity to delineate and exploit ‘the difference between fictional truth, fictionalized truth and the “real” truth of non-fiction’, through ‘unreliability in its transitions; between different narrative presences, and between where “fiction” ends and “truth” begins’ (Norman Reference Norman2000: 231–3).

4.10. Extramusical narrative

Not all narrative stems from within the work itself, however; some – in fact, some of the strongest contributors to the formation of narrative – come from outside. The clearest examples are, first, the title of the work, and second, any accompanying programme or liner notes. However, with the exception of Weale (Reference Weale2006) and Landy (Reference Landy1994), the role that these play in listener perception has been given limited theoretical consideration.

Listeners often assume that these materials offer direct windows into the ‘true’ nature of the work, or at least into the composer’s intentions; Batchelor (Reference Batchelor2014) draws attention to Emmerson’s and Landy’s rather apt term for this, ‘poietic leakage’ (see Emmerson and Landy Reference Emmerson and Landy2016). As a result, the strength of title and composer’s notes in determining the perceived narrative of a work is almost alarmingly strong – alarming, in part, due to the discrepancy between this strength and the potential unimportance of these materials in the compositional process. Composers often either dread the task of assigning title and programme descriptions to their works, or treat this task with a certain degree of contempt, in part because it lies outside of the task of composition (Andean Reference Andean2014a). These materials, however, inevitably serve as a powerful prism through which listeners will view the work – see for example Weale’s statistics on listeners’ use of titles in interpreting a work (Weale Reference Weale2006: 194).

We will once again take Rumeurs (Place de Ransbeck) and Undertow as examples. The titles of these works are representative of common acousmatic titling strategies: they are brief, and they are simultaneously illustrative enough to be narratively evocative, but vague enough so as to avoid too narrowly restricting audience interpretations. ‘All titles “set the scene”, conveying the essence of the work through the most minimal of programmatic aids … They may (and usually do) amount to only one or two words, which permit (through both brevity and strategic word choice…) a degree of ambiguity or “looseness” of interpretation (on the part of both composer and listener) that accommodates (or encourages) the ephemerality of any narrative contained therein’ (Batchelor Reference Batchelor2014). Rumeurs, however, presents an interesting case through its double title: Rumeurs, and Place de Ransbeck. The former fits Batchelor’s description; the latter, however, puts a very particular spin on the work, by tying it to a particular place. The fanciful soundworld of the work, as well as the more dominant Rumeurs of the title, ensures that this connection to place is not entirely literal or completely dominant in the narrative experience of the work, but placing Place de Ransbeck in the title ensures that the listener is aware of this connection, and potentially changes the tone of the piece significantly, from what could be taken as an entirely fantastical and whimsical piece of worldmaking, to a more grounded and situated work.

The programme notes for these works are also relatively representative.Footnote ⁴ Both are relatively brief; Harrison’s extremely so. Both make reference to and support the titles of the works; both again remain vague enough to be evocative without over-determining interpretation. Normandeau’s notes are representatively contemplative, and while they may not entirely determine or dominate the narrative experience of the work, they certainly supply a hook on which to ‘hang’ the work’s narrative: ‘Elusive … Fleeting … As soon as it materializes, it vanishes, leaving only traces in our memories. Here, nothing is certain … sounds reach us like faint echoes of the world’ (Normandeau 1998). Harrison’s notes, however, are an interesting case: ‘Plunging beneath the waves we discover a world teaming with life and pulsing with energy. But we cannot hold our breath forever. (And not only that, there seem to be cars down here, masquerading as breaking waves!)’ (Harrison 2007). Only a few scant lines, the first two of which are again typically ‘evocative but vague’. The last line, however, breaks from this, offering a single very specific fact from the composition of the work: that car sounds were used to generate some of the wave sounds. This may seem innocent enough, but in fact is likely to determine, perhaps not so much the precise listening actions of the listener (was that sound a car? or that one? or how about this one?), but certainly a listening strategy: it draws attention to the alchemical transformation of sound source into sound material, making it very likely that this will guide the listener in their approach to the work. This is perhaps not unwise, in that, as already described, other narrative aspects of the work are extremely strong, clear and communicative; providing this brief pointer in the programme notes helps strengthen an alternative narrative approach to the work.

Normandeau’s notes, in fact, end on a similar note, offering a challenge to the listener: ‘and if you listen carefully, you may find the key’ – certainly very engaging, offering the work as a kind of game or puzzle, to which the listener can hope to find the ‘solution’. Again, there is a line that is carefully walked here: trying to add to the listening experience, without thereby dominating or restricting possible interpretations too much; or, in other words, trying to ensure that these extra-musical materials add narrative levels, rather than taking them away.

Table 1 Narrative modes in Robert Normandeau’s ‘Rumeurs’ and Jonty Harrison’s ‘Undertow’.