Organicity as a musical necessity

Organicity as a musical necessity

Some time ago, I attended a concert by a highly esteemed colleague of mine, an electric guitarist. The recital, which lasted about an hour and featured new works for solo instrument, was followed by a moderated discussion that, starting from the specifics of the pieces performed, expanded into a broader discussion about the very nature of the instrument.

One of the topics raised by the moderator concerned the inextricable and often incomprehensible relationship—at least for an outside observer—between the electric guitar, the electronics, and the actual sonic result, emphasizing how the sound event can often appear entirely decoupled and independent from the manipulation of the instrument. This is a topic that is anything but trivial and poses significant challenges for both the performer and the composer who seeks to engage with electric guitar.

In this regard, the guitarist stated that his approach to the instrument and musical interpretation, as well as the perspective he offers to the composers he collaborates with, is to think of the electronics as an augmentation of the electric guitar—a fundamentally acoustic instrument, on which musical reflection should focus, and which can be augmented through electronic devices as needed. The use of these devices should therefore aim to enhance the qualities of the instrument and/or specific musical aspects of the composition.

Despite my firm disagreement with these statements, this viewpoint seems to be widely shared by many of my colleagues. At the beginning of my journey, I also aligned myself with this view—perhaps out of fear of accepting that the sound possibilities inherent to my instrument are endless, to avoid the fetishism of pedals, or to prevent composers from losing sight of the musical content in light of these factors. I am convinced that, deep down, these are still the reasons for many.

I find it concerning that this perspective continues to garner such widespread support, as, in my opinion, it can obstruct a deeper understanding of the instrument, limit critical thinking about its nature, and stifle openness to new technical and musical possibilities. This is why I felt compelled to write about it.

Instrument augmentation can be defined as a process in which a given instrument’s sonic capabilities are expanded by technological means, without jeopardizing the initial instrument’s playing, its sonic and expressive possibilities (Otso et al., 2010, p. 42). According to this definition, and staying within the perspective of understanding the electric guitar as an augmentable instrument, a natural question arises: what is an ‘unaugmented’ electric guitar? What is the instrument’s initial state? Is there a clear line of demarcation between the instrument and its augmentations?

The electric guitar was born in the 1930s essentially as an augmented acoustic guitar. Electromagnetic pickups were installed into the soundhole of acoustic guitars in order to capture the vibration of the strings and amplify it—a kind of integrated microphone. However, starting in the 1940s, the acoustic dimension quickly disappeared: solid-body guitars (lacking a resonant body) were introduced, and the focus shifted to signal processing, amplification, and diffusion technologies. The guitar became the first link in an electroacoustic chain, and its sound became synonymous with what is emitted by the speaker at the end of that chain. Although one could still argue that the ‘unaugmented’ electric guitar is, in essence, an acoustic sound source, it is clear that when discussing its sonic capabilities, one is not referring to the unpleasant acoustic rattle of questionable musical utility it would produce if isolated from the rest of the chain.

An ‘unaugmented’ electric guitar would, therefore, not be considered an electric guitar; augmentation is inherent to its organology. For this reason, I find it misleading to refer to an ‘augmented instrument.’ The separation between the electric guitar and the devices that process its signal does not exist. When discussing the musical instrument electric guitar, one cannot focus solely on the object itself. The electric guitar functions as a modular system, where multiple elements contribute to the creation of the sound phenomenon and are integral parts of the instrument. Modifying any link in this chain drastically alters the mechanisms of sound production, thereby changing the very nature of the instrument and the interaction instrument-performer. 

In order to utilize the full sonic range of the instrument, the musician must connect the guitar to an amplifier, de facto composing the timbre with an association of several modules and control zones such as the volume and tone potentiometers of the guitar itself and the various controls of the amplifier. […] Organologic research into the birth and the development of the electric guitar shows that modularity is intrinsic to its conception. (Otso et al., 2010, p. 38)


In this simplified model of the electroacoustic chain of an electric guitar (Otso et al., 2010, p. 40), various modules that connect the electric guitar to the output sound of the speaker are represented, along with two feedback pathways: one between sound and instrument, and, most importantly, one between sound and guitarist.

The performer cannot be reduced to a mere operator in this modular environment; rather, they are an integral part of the body-instrument. The signal chain is not unidirectional; the guitarist is not just the starting point, nor is the emitted sound merely the endpoint. The body-instrument functions as an organism, a complex, interconnected system where the various components interact dynamically. Investigating sound necessitates investigating the entire organism, and understanding the instrument as an organism places us in a radically different perspective regarding its components.

In my practice, I see organicity as a musical necessity—a condition in which the musical gesture and the sound event, along with its projection in space, are constantly correlated. This condition is inherent to classical instrumental practice, from which I come, but it does not belong to electroacoustic instrumental practice. Thus, it becomes a condition that must be created, constructed, and shaped on the electric guitar. And to do so, a critical and non-dogmatic stance toward the components and their relationships is needed, engaging in a continuous exercise of self-discovery and redefinition.

Non-dogmatic, as the guitar practice is heavily constrained by a very specific tradition regarding the use of machines, linked to a specific language, with musical needs that are radically different from those of art music. One can simply consider the differences between a rock concert on a large stage and an acoustic ensemble performance in a theater, in terms of volume management, sound diffusion, space, listening experience… yet, the organism ‘electric guitar’ has, for much of its history, been shaped by the demands of the former.

The electric guitar now finds itself in a new musical context, and within this context, it must be redefined to meet musical needs that have not concerned it until now. It thus becomes essential to understand what one’s own needs are, to act to satisfy them without compromise, to change one’s stance towards the instrument, and to question it. Only then can it fully manifest its expressive potential, allowing for a new language to emerge.

Cologne, 1/10/2024

 

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