What we are doing now is not important for itself but one day someone might be interested enough to carry things forward and create something wonderful on these foundations.
Delia Derbyshire’s words are revealing and prophetic. Her perspective is peculiarly British; diminishing her role to that of a footnote rather than a chapter in expectation that what comes after will be more important and pleasurable than her own significant contribution. She is like many ‘backstage artists’ in the world of electronica; deferring to the composer, identifying her role more as a technical assistant than as a collaborator. In the history of electronica it has not always been easy to define the contribution of people like Delia Derbyshire; they lack the typical benchmarks of the recording artist that we take for granted today; there is no definitive album, a memorable live performance caught on film or an unmistakable trademark playing technique that young pretenders steal and use in their own playing. When living in a world of constant technical change it is only by extending the passage of time and space that we begin to appreciate how her contribution helped us to get where we are. We also have to look and listen in other ways.
It is through acknowledging her feats of ingenuity, engineering and derring-do that we realise her importance and begin to appreciate what she achieved in arranging and recording that unique theme tune to Doctor Who (composed, lest we forget, by Ron Grainer). Without its inclusion in one of the most popular television programmes of the 20th Century it is quite possible that Delia Derbyshire and the BBC Radiophonic Workshop itself would only be known to a very few; consigned to muted celebration in the halls of academia or via anecdotes from aging sound engineers in dilapidated recording studios. Instead via the marvel of sound, light and images being transmitted along wires into tens of thousands of people's homes, the public were able, as one, to experience sounds (as well as sights) from another dimension and ask the all-important question: "Is that music?"
Long before the advent of the synthesiser and digital recording capabilities, the engineer, like Delia Derbyshire, was often as significant as the composer or the performer in realising the music in terms of sound, arrangement and even performance. John Cage's Imaginary Landscape No.1 would have been premiered in 1939 with two assistants on stage operating 2 turntables at different speeds. How discomforting a sight would that have been for the average concert-goer and how significant did those 2 assistants feel their contribution was to the performance?
Like many operating at the cutting edge of recording and sound engineering both before and after Word War II Delia's significance still remains elusive and unquantifiable. Often the understanding can only come from immersion and open-minded comparison with other music made before and after. It is to her credit that she understood the transient nature of her work, perhaps aware that implicit in the development of technology is the assumption that better tools and techniques coupled with a better understanding of how to use those tools and apply them will always be available tomorrow. In knowing that perhaps she found it easier to both accept and define her role within the process of recording the music rather than by the usual standards that are applied to determining the musical quality of the end product. The importance of the process in support of music rather than the musical quality of the recording is a recurring theme in the history and development of both classical music and electronic music in the last 100 or so years.
Therein lies another recurring theme; in the realm of electronica the accepted definitions of music have been stretched to such an extreme that the term "music" can sometimes seem inadequate to explain just what is going on in the listener’s head when they experience it. What is often heard is so unlike anything that has gone before that the listener finds it impossible to know how to react; the information that their senses are picking up hits a blind spot in the brain where a receptor would normally provide a sign-post for how to respond. For some of the great originators of the past their music continues to sound unlike anything that has subsequently materialised and we continue to ponder its significance or otherwise. What was once considered noise becomes music. Who hasn't reacted to music, when our mood and sensibilities are out of kilter, as "noise"?
Imagine then: what would a folk musician, a rock ‘n’ roller, a big band leader or a renowned cellist have made of the Doctor Who theme when it first aired publicly in 1963 and at what point did its alien sounds become a part of the accepted aural furniture we call music? What type of person – a child, a critic, a composer, a musician, an impresario, an Indonesian tribesman – would have been the most receptive to its strangeness? Do we really understand even today how it was made? And even if we do understand how it was made can we explain in sufficient words why it continues to sound so different, even today? And if words fail us then is it only through the music that comes afterwards and before that we can discover the why?
In 1997 the American composer John Adams made the following statement about music:
There’s a vast synthesis happening now. All genres are beginning to collapse.
The question often posed today is whether or not we have gone too far in breaking down the walls to the point that synthesis is actually creating music that is more predictable, too safe and ultimately too synthetic for sustainable human consumption. The open-ended possibilities of electronic music when combined with a hands-on approach, as personified by Delia Derbyshire, is often why a number of contemporary artists and composers consciously use old technologies and techniques – e.g. something with a valve rather than a microchip - in an effort to pursue a musical path and mode of expression that is untainted or diminished by the homogenisation of digital equipment. They think the human/machine relationship is out of kilter, dominated too much by the latter. It is an understandable reaction but its is as old as the hills. The debate continues; the advent of the affordable synthesiser, computer and digital recording equipment has primarily helped in the proliferation of simplifying the recording process rather than adding value to the compositional and performance process. Their facility as creative tools with which humans experiment and innovate has been blunted by music’s absorption as a bauble of consumerism. By going backwards perhaps these artists hope they can rediscover new paths for going forwards, ones that were missed first time round and which elude us in the omnipresent configuration of modern technology.
If genres today have, as Adams prophesised, collapsed that process started with classical music. Today we can see and hear how advances made in electronic music have cut across all music genres. The more recent history has been more about assimilation (“synthesis”) rather than differentiation through evolution, let alone revolution. One has to go further back into the 20th Century to understand how such mass assimilation of musical genres today became possible. To co-opt Delia’s words, hindsight can help us to see how it was possible to “carry things forward and create something wonderful”.
For the greater part of the 20th Century classical music and the concepts and ideas that spun out from classical music have been more significant in developing electronic music than genres such as rock or pop. Classical music was the first genre to see its potential. Before Word war II key composers like Edgar Varese and John Cage signposted and popularised the idea of utilising electronic equipment in the composition, recording and performance of classical music.
World War II brought great advances in radio and other technologies, helping to establish magnetic tape (which before the war was losing the battle to wire and disc recording until the allies saw the advances German engineers had made) as the primary format for recording. Through the 50s and 60s the race to improve technology generated competition across the globe leading to significant investment by Britain, Germany, France and the USA to build and equip new recording studios that were capable of supporting the musical vision of musical and engineering pioneers. In turn technical improvements in how music could be recorded and played back allowed composers to advance even more radical ideas for music; the process of deconstructing music could be undertaken as much through the application of mathematics as by communication of artistic intent. It’s difficult to see how Minimalism, for example, could ever have come to the fore as the driving force of classical music in the latter half of the 20th Century without the technical advances made in the studio that were able to capture the nuances, spaces and subtleties of that particular music’s acoustics. For example the San Francisco Tape Recording Studio formed in 1962 became the base camp for Terry Riley, Morton Subotnik, Steve Reich and Pauline Oliveros offering them the kind of musical palette and brushes their ideas needed for transfer to a canvas.
Electronica in all its forms - as an instrument, as a recording technique, as a method of performance and as a method of listening - was both influenced by and an influence upon classical music, more so than any other genre. Principally this is because at the start of the 20th Century there was no other genre so well established in the modern world, both nationally and internationally; established not only in terms of public awareness but also in terms of composition, arrangement and performance. Classical music at the start of the 20th Century was highly advanced and evolved; its competition for our attention and appreciation was painting, not other music. It also came with a pre-built set of rules and, more tellingly, with a set of guide notes at each stage about how to interpret those rules; i.e. in the score and in the notes of the sheet music for each musician in the orchestra. It provided the ideal figurehead to fight against in the advancement of new ideas for music. It is often the way that when two opposing parties in a debate understand what is being demanded in the way of change that the party on the receiving end of the demands are more likely to make some kind of concession by virtue of the fact that they are still able to recognise something of themselves in the metamorphosis even if it looks ugly and sounds discordant. Electronica to classical music was The Monster to Frankenstein.
How do we learn to understand and love a monster? Often a perception engendered in the listener upon first exposure to experimental electronic music is that it is an incomplete and unresolved work in progress rather than a fully realised opus. There can be a lingering sense that putting across an idea for music was more important than the musicality of the final product. In turn, as listeners, we attune and condition ourselves to particular sounds and arrangements of sounds where often we place more significance on what we recognise rather than what is alien; the familiar is more comfortable and pleasurable to us than the unknown. All too easily we can dismiss certain sounds, noises and arrangements simply because we don’t understand them and through that lack of understanding we are pre-conditioned to reject them.
Electronica isn’t unique in this respect; many people reject other music genres for similar reasons. Perhaps it is dependent on what music you were and were not exposed to as a child, before acquiring critical faculties, comparative norms and the cognitive ability to filter through an increasingly acute and subjective collection of listening experiences. What is interesting to note is that these tensions and frictions between composer and listener are not as a consequence of electronica or of electronic instrumentation but were themes being played out on the Establishment stage of classical music in the 20th Century, with arguments about what was and wasn’t classical music being made long before any recorded versions of the music were available for the public to make up its own mind about what was and wasn’t ‘proper music’. The orchestra and the concert stage still remained the epicenter of performance and critical evaluation, accessible to the few rather than the many. Into this preexisting volatility electronic equipment and new ideas for it both acted as a trigger and a catalyst for clashes in ideas and ideology. The net result was to drag classical music kicking and screaming into the modern world.
Classical music is the first music I remember hearing as a child. My favourite was Grieg’s Peer Gynt. As a child of four I was both thrilled and terrified by In The Hall of The Mountain King and even at such a young age I can remember being affected by the sadness evoked in The Death of Ase; two vastly contrasting pieces of music in arrangement, tone and emotion but both available as part of a bigger picture that has only amplified over the years with increased familiarity rather than diminished. To this day classical is still the music I turn to if I need to hear something that articulates a strength of feeling when words fall short and that is often because it has left trace elements within me from when I first experienced it. As I’ve grown older and my tastes in music have both expanded and (im)matured I’ve consciously set about mapping connections between music for no other reason than it adds a dimension to the listening experience that helps me to share my enthusiasm with other people, helps me to understand more about what music is doing when I listen to it, those trace elements acting as my receptors. My enjoyment of electronica, particularly at the more experimental end of the spectrum, feels like a natural extension of my love for classical music; I hear sounds and ideas that can make the two genres feel like opposite sides of a split single. Arriving at such opinions is not based on academic study, I’m just a fan who is in a constant state of musical curiosity and exploration.
The history of classical music in the 20th Century is one of constant flux. Established and immutable concepts of what constituted classical music have been subjected to a near continuous process of re-evaluation, resetting and sometimes outright rejection. Up to the end of the 19th Century classical music was, for the most part, an art-form that expressed a narrow and predictable concept of music. The themes and ideas that informed classical music were well-worn and if changes did occur they were evolutionary, not revolutionary. Musical ideas and influences also tended to evolve from interpretations of high art rather than from anything so prosaic as the toil of labourer, a factor worker or a simple stroll along a riverbank. There was a fixed symmetry to classical music most ably defined by the standard chromatic scale of Western music. Against this comparatively staid backdrop much of the story of classical music in the 20th century has been about composers breaking away from “the right notes in the right order” and from the precondition that the orchestra and accomplished soloist in the most elitist of public spaces were the best modes of performance and expression of the composer’s intentions. Modernism made the perspective of the classical world seem narrow and archaic.
Richard Wagner’s “Tristan chord” is widely considered to have pre-empted the 20th Century’s fixation with breaking away from the accepted tonal hierarchies of classical music; previously there was an insistence on there being a continuous harmony to the music supporting compositional experimentation with a defined set of parameters but always progressing naturally and harmoniously to a formal closure at both a musical and a thematic level. Wagner’s famous chord suggested light and dark motifs could occupy the same space and that musical progression could go in more than one direction and not necessarily either maintain or reach a harmonious resolution. Discordance – most notable in the advent of new tones and pitches in music - is a key aesthetic in modern classical music that would eventually materialise in more aggressive forms via the twelve-tone and accompanying theories of serialiasm as advocated by Schoenberg in the 1920s. Unsurprisingly Schoenberg's ideas have been seen as a gauntlet by other composers determined to prove him wrong. To steal from Kurt Vonnegut: And so it goes.
Theories of discordance perpetuated a cycle of deconstruction and reconstruction of the chromatic scale that is still being played out today. It unleashed new compositional contexts and instructions for incorporating far-reaching variations in pitch and tone. In breaking through these barriers the conventions of classical music were loosened so radically that new sounds and ‘noises’ could easily and legitimately occupy the same listening space as those of the traditional orchestra and instrumentation. Silence became a sound, noise became a sound, the ambient environment became a sound. Such new and radical theories became central tenets to modern classical and avant-garde. Both ideologically and practically they paved the way for sounds and noises that were natural and mechanical rather than human to be incorporated into the process, from composition to performance. The problem for many years was often one of finding performers able and willing to translate and perform such radical ideas into sounds and music that properly reflected the composer’s vision. Visionary and highly respect conductors such as Leopold Stokwoski were critical in championing new ideas for classical music, having both the clout and the temperament required to make musicians play as the composer intended and to help audiences learn to appreciate the new sounds ringing in their ears by performing them in familiar surroundings. That said, people still were prepared to riot if the music was considered too offensive.
Initially the challenges to the conventions of classical music came from within. The new generation of composers such as Mahler, Satie, Debussy and Ravel rejected many of the norms and rules about how music should ‘sound’ and what it should represent or reflect. For them the personal space and the cumulative effect of the music on the individual was more important than the public space and the consensus of an audience’s approval; for them our minds and bodies became the internalised bandstand for performing their music in preference to the pomp and spectacle of the concert hall. Satie, for example, who lacked formal training and was therefore unhindered by preconceptions of composition or performance, created a form of classical music that was for the everyday, even the mundane. Debussy and Ravel explored dream states, atmospheres and romantic concepts unbound by the physical or classical world. Composers were increasingly turning away from the traditional high art influences of their predecessors and instead were absorbing the sights and sounds of their imaginations and the ‘shock of the new’.
However human intervention alone was not enough to drive through the changes that discordance and variations in tone and pitch demanded. New and experimental electronic instruments and related technologies were often the key to realising the composer’s vision. The theremin and Ondes Martenot were embraced by modern and radical composers because of their facility to play across and through the standard pitch and tone of traditional instruments. The development of the turntable and then magnetic tape provided a mechanism by which the process of composition and performance would not have to be totally reliant on human interpretation of the original score. Enlightened musicians and orchestras were willing to adapt their skills and craft in the light of these compositional, technical and mechanical developments.
In many ways it was the growing awareness of the musical possibilities of new sounds and noises - those of the urban space and of mechanisation as precipitated by industrialisation - that overturned basic concepts of what constituted music and acceptable tone and pitch. The sound of a radio, a telephone, a lathe or a motor car back firing were considered by agitators as equally legitimate sounds for interpretation as bird-song or the imagined voice of God and his heavenly choir of angels. Modernism and industrialisation also brought with it radical new political and cultural ideas most notably represented in the Italian Futurists and Russolo’s 1913 Art of Noise manifesto in which he expounded a ground-zero for classical music with its future based on modernity and violent progress rather than a continuation of musical dialogues based on a romanticised view of the past and the classic world. As a counter-point, and no less revelatory about signposting new possibilities for classical music, there were composers who sought solace from the increasingly rapid pace of change by celebrating the prosaic, the quiet spaces and a kind of pastoral nostalgia through their interpretation of folk songs, sea shanties and common prayer. Culturally many European nations were beginning to subsume sounds from the colonies of their Empires with Asian and African musical influences influencing many of the first wave of modern 20th Century composers and their aberrations of the chromatic scale. So many new influences were available but the mood of the world was one of discordance; war and confrontation were the norm and for the first half of the 20th century that mood reflected the way changes to classical music were often assessed and represented publicly. Conciliatory ideas such as fusion and synthesis needed a different kind of ideological, political and cultural environment that was not available until the latter decades of the 20th Century.
All of these influences – some violent like the Futurists', some subtle like Satie’s - were causing classical music to be deconstructed and reconstructed in often dramatically contrasting forms. At the heart of these contrasting and sometimes conflicting reactions to Modernism was an increasing acceptance by composers of individual autonomy and personal space as both a ballast against the tides of change and as a tipping-point to agitate and to precipitate change. Composers, like Paul Hindemith, would consciously deconstruct the orchestra, using new musical ideas in new and unusual arrangements of 3 or 4 instruments to accentuate the differences to the traditional musical motifs that had come before. Hindemith famously wove his music in and out of discordance and consonance using the contrast to promote his own compositional ideas. As composers became more malleable to new ideas and sounds classical music could function in ways that had previously been unexplored, as a salve and as a weapon in the prevailing atmosphere of doubt and uncertainty that came with living in an ever more modern and forward-looking world. Its scope and modes of expression were rapidly expanding; it could project doubt, humour, irony and even a conscious and wilful “fuck you”. It could reflect or generate a specific mood or atmosphere no matter how idiosyncratic, elusive or intangible it might be; an impression or a memory without a fixed source or reason for existing could be as captivating to the listener as music designed to reflect a specific event or based on a specific source of influence. However like Wagner’s Tristan chord there was no obvious resolution to what Modernism had unleashed and even today we are still living in that uncertain state as is music.
The concept of individual autonomy became a key theme in defining Modernism. It became a significant factor in shaping classical music both for the composer and the consumer. The invention of and access to affordable recorded music contributed to the changes that at times besieged classical music throughout the century. The evolution of recorded music – how it’s made and the devices that play it , from the turntable to the MP3 player – created a new audience of listeners who could break free of prescribed modes of musical experience and understanding that previously would have been the preserve of a small elite group of composers, performers, critics and devotees. Many composers, such as Aaron Copland, consciously adopted a populist perspective to their music, to take full advantage of the accumulative effect music could have on the masses; his 1942 Fanfare for the Common Man being the most obvious example. In turn a new language and basis for discussing and appreciating music was established that broke the monopoly of classical music as something for the formally trained and the affluent. The net result was that the listening experience became an ever more important influence on how music was made. No longer was it just for the grand setting of a theatre and concert hall, it was also something that could be kept and played over and over again in the comfort of one’s own home and mind. Composers increasingly became aware of the new possibilities for music that this new domestic environment created. It was liberating for many composers that they had alternatives to the concert hall to help them in their efforts to find and engage and audience with their ideas. This revolutionary approach to composition and performance would converge in musique concrète, a style that allowed music to be derived from any source and which incorporated the recording medium as an integral component of its composition and performance.
It’s easy to fall into the trap of considering such radical ideas as the preserve of a young man or woman until one considers that Edgard Varèse’s ground-breaking Poème électronique from 1958 was musically concreted at the ripe old age of 74 and was performed over a period of weeks to some 2 million visitors to the very forward-looking Brussels World Fair; for decades Varèse had worked through his ideas in various orchestral settings, waiting for technology to catch up with him and his ideas. His is a great example of how radicalism in classical music often predated the tools to express and perform those radical ideas to the satisfaction of the composer. It’s also sobering to note that arguably the most radical piece of music ever created by a composer had been consumed by more listeners in one place than any other piece of music performed before. Modernist composers were only too willing to latch onto the new popular public spaces such as World Fairs and exhibitions as a means of promoting their ideas.
The advent of film and popular cinema also created a new medium and audience for which music could be composed and arranged. In turn the genre of ‘soundtrack music’ was established; its growth and development as a musical art-form has been influenced by and an influence upon classical music and perceptions of what classical music ‘is’. Films often had a contemporary setting and therefore they required a contemporary soundtrack to accompany them. Listening to the rhythmic propulsions of a Bernard Herrmann score – 1959’s North by Northwest or even as late as 1978’s Taxi Driver – and it’s impossible not to think back to Stravinski causing a riot in 1913 with his premier of his "demanding attention with menaces" The Rites of Spring. And yes, they did riot at that one.
Movie makers, in addition to commissioning classical composers and borrowing from the existing classical music, also created opportunities for new musical forms – jazz, blues, music hall – to be used to help create the right atmosphere and in turn these genres influenced and cross-fertilised with classical music and with the choice of instruments and technologies used to play the music in the recording studio; one need only think of Anton Karas’ zither in The Third Man, Larry Adler’s harmonica in Genevieve or Samuel Hoffman’s theremin in Spellbound. Placing untypical instruments in a new environment and context helped to break down preconceptions of what classical music should sound like and with what instruments it could or should be played.
One of the most significant soundtracks and conjunction points in the world of classical and electronic music is the 1963 Oskar Sala and Remi Gassman score to Hitchcock’s The Birds. The score was created on the Mixtur-Trautonium, It used wires pressed by the finger to play a sound. Below the wire was a plate which when touched by the wire would close a circuit and send electricity to a neon-tube oscillator, producing a tone.
By the time rock ‘n’ roll and then pop and rock music came along electronica had already established itself; bands like The Beatles were able to behave like kids in a sweetshop when it came to electronic experimentation although by today's standards they were still comparatively labour-intensive. It’s interesting to note that jazz, despite being a genre noted for experimentation, resisted the temptations of electronica until the latter half of the 1960s. Perhaps, as a genre, it had been too preoccupied with breaking down other barriers and, like most other musical genres, had to wait for the technology to become more affordable. Folk seems to have been the last genre to give in to electronica and to line up behind John Adam’s prophecy of ‘no genres’.
The 1960s and 1970s continued classical music’s exploration of electronica but by this stage the computer and synthesiser were leading the way, helping composers further refine and define their ideas. Polyphonic, as opposed to monophonic, playing and arrangements were now easier to achieve; as many notes as desired could be played, as many layers of sound as wanted could be included, the extremities were seemingly boundless, limited only by human senses and imagination rather than by the capabilities of the machine. Interesting then that Minimalism should have become the major force, reflecting once again that the over-riding theme of classical music and electronica in Modernism has been the autonomy of the individual, looking within rather than without; the same can be said for the English novel.
It is also interesting how the progress of classical music and electronica mirrors the great advances of science. As classical music was being deconstructed scientists were breaking down the building blocks of life and splitting the atom. In the same way that electronica promised a new world for music science promised new worlds and places to go in the vastness of space. Today scientists are now looking in places and with techniques we can’t actually see or understand, telling us that the atom is now some kind of super-structure to be sub-divided even more where before we thought it was the smallest part of the universe. Perhaps Minimalism and the collapse of musical genres is the perfect soundtrack to that exploration of the scientifically invisible and indeterminate; mathematics, after all, is the common language of science and music. Scientists also tell us that by breaking things down even further we will be better equipped at building wonderful new things in the future. Perhaps the comparable wonderful things will be made in music; Delia Derbyshire certainly believed it.
The following Spotify list is a primer. It's by no means exhaustive and there are many absentees on Spotify. It’s consciously male-dominated because I intend writing a feature on women and electronica for a later date. There is no logical order to the tracks chosen but they hopefully reflect where classical and electronic have converged and how one has fed off the other to create new sounds and possibilities for either genre over the decades. If we continue to believe in genres that is.
La Monte Young – For Brass
Kirsten Flagstad – Tristan und Isolde (2001 Digital Remaster), Act I: Prelude
Vladimir Ussachevsky – Metamorphosis
Igor Stravinsky – Le sacre du printemps (The Rite of Spring): Auguries of Spring (Dances of the Young Girls)
Bernard Herrmann (conductor), MGM Studio Orchestra – Overture
The Contemporary Chamber Ensemble – Edgard Varese: Ecuatorial (1934)
Aphex Twin – Phlange Phace
Philip Jeck – Demolition
Oskar Sala – ELEKTRONISCHE IMPRESSIONEN - NR. 2
Luigi Russolo – Risveglio di una Citta - Fragment, 1977 Recording
Vlado Perlemuter – Gaspard de la Nuit: Le Gibet
Nils Frahm – Kind
Erik Satie – Gnossiennes: No. 1 - Lent
Harold Budd – Foreshadowed - 2005 Digital Remaster
Otto Luening – Low speed
Edgard Varèse – Poème Électronique
DJ Spooky – Thoughts Like Rain
Karlheinz Stockhausen With Yvar Mykashoff, Rosalind Bevan & Ole Orsted – Mantra 4
Peter Schmalfuss – La Cathédrale Engloutie
Oskar Sala – Langsames Stück Und Rondo Für Trautonium
Paula Robison – The Viola in My Life: III
James Tenney – Ergodos II (for John Cage)
Basic Channel – Quadrant Dub I Edit
Halim El-Dabh – Wire Recorder Piece
György Ligeti – Atmospheres
Charles Ives – The Unanswered Question
Paul Hindemith – Kammermusik No.6, op.46/1, for Viola d'amore & Chamber Orchestra: 1. Mässig schnell, majestätisch -
DJ Shadow – Stem/Long Stem
John Adams – Grand Pianola Music: Part IB
Arnold Schoenberg – String Quartet No. 3, Op. 30: I. Moderato
Autechre – Rotar
Iannis Xenakis – Rebonds "B"
Philip Glass – Knee 1 from Einstein on the Beach
Orbital – I Wish I Had Duck Feet
Max Mathews – The Second Law
Steve Reich – Drumming: Part IV
Terry Riley – A Rainbow In Curved Air - Instrumental
Pink Floyd – On The Run - 2011 - Remaster
Aaron Copland – Fanfare for the Common Man
Michael Nyman – An Eye For Optical Theory - 2004 Digital Remaster
µ-Ziq – Scaling
Pierre Boulez – Anthèmes 2 (1997) pour violon et dispositif électronique: 2. Rapide, dynamique - II/III Libre
Raymond Scott – Nursery Rhyme
Morton Subotnick – Silver Apples Of The Moon - Part A
Leopold Stokowski – Prelude a L'Apres-midi d'un Faune - 2000 Digital Remaster
Slovak Radio Symphony Orchestra – Gambling Dream / Mad Proprietors Dream / Root-Top Dreams
Jon Appleton – Zoetrope (1974)
Boards of Canada – Zoetrope
John Cage – Williams Mix
Jonathan Harvey – Mortuos Plango, Vivos Voco
David Sylvian – A Brief Conversation Ending In Divorce - 2003 Digital Remaster
Heitor Villa-Lobos – Distribuicao de flores
Daphne Oram – Four Aspects
Toru Takemitsu – Star-Isle
Herbert Eimert – Klangstudies II
Arnold Schoenberg – Five Orchestral Pieces Op. 16: III. Farben (Colours) – Summer Morning By A Lake
Olivier Messiaen – Fêtes des belles eaux: 2. L'eau
Kaija Saariaho – Maa (Earth): I. Journey
Kaija Saariaho – Maa (Earth): II. Gates
Oskar Sala – The Birds Endtitles