Concert Reviews

Friday 18th February

February 19, 2011

TimAngThe Holywell Music Room in Oxford is said to be the oldest purpose-built music space in Europe. the sound in there is amazing, the half circle-shaped high walls behind the musicians naturally amplifying even the smallest sounds. Attending a concert of very quiet music in this space then, was in theory a great idea, but it turned out that the resonant qualities of the hall only succeeded in bring a whole lot of other unwanted noise into the equation.

I was there last night for the second of the three nights that make up the Audiograft Festival, with this particular evening curated by the SET Ensemble, a loose collective of musicians formed to realise contemporary music scores. The theme of the evening was Wandelweiser and Fluxus, and so the night was split between realisations of works from these two somewhat amorphous composer collectives. The SET Ensemble last night were Patrick Farmer, (percussion and acoustic guitar, yes guitar!) Bruno Guastalla, (cello) Sarah Hughes, (autoharp) Dominic Lash, (double bass) David Stent (guitar) and Paul Whitty (accordion). They were then augmented by the visiting trio of Rhodri and Angharad Davies (electronic harp and violin respectively) and Tim Parkinson (piano).

I had worked all day before the concert, and drove the two miles from work to the venue at breakneck speed, throwing the car into the first available parking space and running to the Holywell so as to not miss too much of the opening performance of the night, the full group playing Radu Malfatti’s Heikou, a recent composition that I don’t think has been performed before, though I may be wrong. So I think I missed about the first five or six minutes of the piece, and when I did arrive I was stood at the back catching my breath, cursing the bad luck that meant that having waited so long for good music to be made in my home city I couldn’t be there right from the start. The performance was lovely though, a succession of warm, dry chords held perfectly by the group, interspersed with characteristic Malfatti silences. The thing is, the silences were somewhat ruined by the shuffles, fidgets, whispers and (admittedly difficult to stop) creaking of the old wooden seating. The pleasingly sizeable audience seemed to be made up of a fair number of young students that had come along en masse, and, without being too patronising towards them, it seemed a fair number either had no idea what to expect from such a concert, or simply found the need to sit quietly just too much of an ask. The amount of audience noise was a little embarrassing really, but the piece still sounding thoroughly beautiful.

I then made it down to a comfortable seat, successfully slowed my heart rate enough to concentrate, and watched the core members of the set ensemble perform the first of three Fluxus works, Bengt af Klintberg’s Orange Event Number 24. This piece saw each of the group sit amongst the audience with a pair of nutcrackers and a single nut. The score asked the musicians to simply crack the nut somewhere amidst the silence. This piece worked reasonably well, although there were enough small crashes coming from the audience that I had to keep checking to see if a nut had been broken or not. It was nice to sit in the quiet though and watch these matter-of-fact little events taken place. One or two of the musicians might need a few tips on how to crack a nut rather than propel it halfway across the room, but still a nice performance.

There followed a realisation of Sarah Hughes’ score For Rilke, which consists of a single line of rather beautiful text. It was performed here by the duo of Rhodri Davies and Dominic Lash. I don’t remember the precise instruction, but the score asked for one sound to be made, and then responded to, enveloped by another. Last night there was a very long silence at the start of the piece, maybe ten minutes in length, during which the audience played their part again, but then a slow eBowed not from Davies was heard, which wrapped its way around a plucked string from Lash. This was the first of two incredibly simple and equally beautiful pieces of minimal yet powerful structure last night, a fantastic little moment in which something beautiful was crafted from very little.

IMG_0507There followed a further Fluxus piece before the interval, this time a solo performance by Patrick farmer of George Brecht’s For a drummer, fluxus version 2. The score asks the performer to; “drum with sticks over a leaking feather pillow making the feathers escape the pillow.” This is precisely what Farmer did, stood in the centre of the space, he drummed a series of fast rhythmic patterns into a plump, but split open pillow, that slowly began to spew out its innards into clouds that flew into the air before settling on the floor around his feet. The spectacle was equally hilarious and impressive, absurd and aesthetically pleasing. That this old, distinguished building was the venue for such a performance somehow made it all the more powerful. As well as being fun to watch, it was actually quite sonically pleasing as well, Farmer’s drum skills actually creating some really nice patterns of dull thuds that changed in impact as the pillow became increasingly depleted. After the set ewas finished, the pile of feathers was left int he centre of the hall for the remainder of the performance, which was in itself a nice touch.

After the interval we were treated to a rare performance of a score by Tim Parkinson, his Violin and piano piece (2009) which he played alongside Angharad Davies. Parkinson’s composition is really quite remarkable in that it sounds like nothing else I can think of. If listening to last night’s performance I kept thinking I heard reference points in the music then they were very quickly blown away by whatever came next. I just don’t know how to describe his work. There are no easy genre types or handy categories into which his music can be placed. This piece involved a strong sense of the mathematical, as often clockwork like rhythms of the two instruments were heard, but just as you settled into the two note patterns that seemed to start the piece then we heard romantic violin solos and abrupt starts and stops, pounding chords and thoroughly melodic duo parts. Listening, it felt as if Parkinson had set out inspired by a Beethoven sonata, only for a loud ambulance to pass, influencing the music dramatically so the rich melody shifted to a ‘nee-nah, nee nah’ metronomic before changing tack again. I enjoyed the performance a great deal and felt constantly challenged and inspired throughout. Parkinson is a true original, writing music that will frustrate people that want everything to be easily categorisable. There is plenty of humour in there alongside little puzzles and glimpses of chamber music’s history. In places I was reminded of Webern, elsewhere Beethoven, Tom Johnson and Nono. If that mix of references isn’t enough to point out that this music just doesn’t fit into any neat little hole then I don’t know what is. Wonderful stuff.

There followed a performance of Ben Patterson’s Paper Piece from 1960, the score of which can be viewed here. This realisation was made by Lash, Rhodri Davies, Stent, Guastalla and Whitty. I’ve seen this piece performed once or twice before, and always enjoyed it, but last night’s set was somehow nicer from a sonic perspective than I have heard in the past. At the interval, a good number of the audience’s student population had taken the opportunity to leave, so the room had fallen quite a bit more silent than it had previously been, though now sounds had begun to creep in from outside. The quieter atmosphere in the hall though meant that closing my eyes and listening to the sound of paper torn, rustled, blown up and popped was thoroughly enjoyable to listen to. Slowly the musicians exhausted their piles of paper, leaving just Guastalla to finish the performance with an oddly rhythmic set of sounds and leave the room full of torn up paper to blend with the mass of feathers and the occasional fragment of walnut shell.

IMG_0517Annoyingly, and it really was frustrating last night, the final performance of Stefan Thut’s beautifully simple score Many 1-4 was completely ruined for me by the emergence of what appeared to be a party of drunk men singing along badly to music played somewhere outside. The hall seemed to suck this sound in from somewhere, probably from the nearby Wadham College, and as the very very quiet performance progressed the sound of drunken toffs singing along to Enrique Inglesias songs seemed to dominate the entire space. There was a degree of humour in all of this, but for once I found myself quite saddened by the intrusion. It wasn’t that external sounds were present as much as precisely which external sounds. It seemed as if this little group of musicians, and the few of us watching were a little bubble of calm and consideration in a world full of ugly, vociferous crudeness. It wasn’t too difficult to bring myself to bear on the contributions of the musicians and try and zone out the intrusions, but for a while at least this fifteen minute or so experience seemed to sum up so much of what I feel about modern life.

The actual piece played was another example of beautiful music, beautiful space created with just the barest of means. The score asks the performers to choose one of four notes, which they should sound once, according to a very simple framework, and then each make one noise as well. So the performance was full of silence, pockmarked here and there by soft tones, grey textures and similar sounds that could be categorised as noise. Again the simplicity of the music was everything, a kind of musical haiku in many ways, so much taken from so few gestures.

Thut’s piece was the perfect evening to a concert that was marred by unwanted sounds, but still managed to create a beautiful thoughtful space. The music of the Wandelweiser composers and their followers has really begun to be performed much more often over recent months, and it is very heartening to have been able to spend time so close to some of the most talented and inspired performers of the music over that time. The juxtaposition of the Wandelweiser related composition to the Fluxus works last night was a great idea. everything worked very well together, all of the music complemented what took place around it and it all came together to create a single unified atmosphere, charged with a mixture of relaxed charm, humour and tense, minimal beauty. A wonderful evening.

Comments (16)

  • Brian Olewnick

    February 19, 2011 at 12:22 pm

    Thanks, Richard, well done.

  • Antony Eagle

    February 20, 2011 at 7:48 pm

    I was at this concert too, and overall had a similar reaction. I found the Fluxus-style pieces much more satisfying than the others (the feather pillow piece being a highlight). Perhaps the more explicit performative aspects made them easier to engage with. There will always be a difficulty with pieces which are score-focussed, particularly very minimal pieces, because it is often difficult to appreciate exactly what is happening without knowledge of the score. Two silences can sound very different when you know the reasons they exist; without knowledge of those governing principles it is rather more difficult to distinguish one stretch of silence from another.

    For example, I thought Hughes’ piece worked quite poorly in this context (though I appreciate the idea, and think there would be other contexts in which it could work very well). There was just too little going on sonically to engage thought, and without knowledge of the score, even the musical events which did occur were foreign and ungraspable—there was too little data for us to be able to figure out what what was going on, and too little sound to be able to appreciate it for its own sake. I felt something similar with the Thut piece, though at least there I more or less figured out the principle that was governing the musician’s contributions.

    In general I felt that an evening entitled ‘Concept as Score’ could have done more on drawing the audience’s attention to the role and nature of the scores involved, and a bit less focus on what it sounds like when those scores are performed. I think it would have helped all those noisy students make better sense of what was happening—I did see a lot of note taking from my side, but most of it I suspect was of the puzzled “I’m not quite sure what’s going on here” variety.

    That said, I still felt it was a satisfying evening—it was great to have some music like this in Oxford, and I love the Holywell music room as a space. (Pity it is surrounded on all sides by Wadham, though I confess I did find the contributions of their rowers/rugby players much more amusing than saddening.)

  • Richard Pinnell

    February 20, 2011 at 11:19 pm

    Hi Anthony, and thanks for your perspective.

    The problem is, the music of the Wandelweiser composers, to which the quieter scores you mention are related, just doesn’t lend itself that well to close consideration of the actual score, at least not in a concert situation. Although I agree that a few notes on each piece, or perhaps an overview of what to expect might have been helpful given the number of people present that may have been unfamiliar with this area of music, the scores used here are meant more as enabling elements to create musical/environmental scenarios.

    I am probably in the wrong to speak for the composers in such a general way, but the focus is generally placed more on the “what it sounds like when the scores are performed” end of things. As a generalisation the scores tend to be used to set up parameters within which events may happen. For instance Sarah Hughes’ score, which is really quite beautiful, could be performed in many different ways by different instruments and sound quite different each time. The external sounds, or the accidental/deliberate contributions of the audience all form part of the listening experience, which is roughly “framed” by the performance and the placement of sounds within it. Maybe a paragraph on the programme notes explaining some of this could have helped, but I also think that the blind experience may be the best way to hear this music for the first time, so allowing listeners to take from it what they wish.

    Your comment that:

    Two silences can sound very different when you know the reasons they exist; without knowledge of those governing principles it is rather more difficult to distinguish one stretch of silence from another.

    is really interesting for me. I certainly agree that two silences can sound, or feel very different to each other, but I am not so sure that any “reasons” for this could be gleaned from the scores any more than from the experience of the music heard live. A silence placed between two sounds will be coloured by those sounds, it may feel tense or calm, depending on the sounds around it. The environment in which the music is performed will also change silences as well. I am constantly interested in why some sounds are “acceptable” to me in these situations and others are not. Loud traffic, or emergency sirens right outside would have been no issue at all, for instance. Perhaps the rowers/rugby players might have been more acceptable and less depressing to me if I had heard them in any other city. The obvious links between those sounds heard in Oxford and the current government may well have had a partly subconscious impact on me.

  • Richard Pinnell

    February 20, 2011 at 11:49 pm

    A nice, long review of this concert, including some discussion of my words above can be found here at David Grundy’s excellent blog.

  • Antony Eagle

    February 23, 2011 at 6:21 pm

    Interesting thoughts as always Richard. When I talked of ‘reasons’ for silences sounding different, I wasn’t thinking of the kinds of things you mention: ways in which context influences sound perception. E.g., most obviously, when one 5 second stretch of silence is preceded by an ear-splittingly loud noise, and another intrinsically similar 5 second stretch of silence is preceded by silence—the auditory ‘afterimage’ certainly affects the perception of the first stretch, just as a visual afterimage caused by presentation of a bright light affects the perception of a blank wall.

    Rather, I was thinking of ‘reason’ in the intentional sense: as a rationalisation of a person’s behaviour. And after all that is what we were seeing: people performing, according to some rather non-specific but nevertheless distinctive instructions. Understanding what those instructions are clearly can rationalise the behaviour, and in different ways even if the behaviour (e.g., sitting quietly for a while then playing something) could also have been produced by other instructions. The instructions aren’t specific enough to predict on the basis of the score what the resulting sounds will be, for they leave a lot up to the individual musician. I think this ‘indeterminacy’ in the sound of the work is a very interesting feature of this kind of music. But I’m reluctant to think that somehow we couldn’t understand the intentional activity going on in front of us in a richer way if we knew what the musicians were intending to do, and what the composer intended for the musicians to do (even if what the composer intended them to do is left rather indeterminate).

    In general this is why I find these kind of sound environments interesting: while sonically there exists “what it sounds like when the scores are performed”, that can be quite minimal and environment dependent—indeed, there could be a stretch of accidental noises that were qualitatively indistinguishable from a performance. Nevertheless, the performance would be more interesting, since it (as opposed to the accidental sequence of noises) would be the product of intentional action, and will have been shaped by certain more or less conscious decisions of the composer or musicians. That ‘agentive’ element is harder to figure out in some of these very minimal pieces (no one would ever think that someone might play Mozart by chance—the presence of composerly intention is clear just from hearing it), which is why I was thinking that more of a clue as to what intentions the composer had for the musicians would have been very helpful to the audience.

    But now I seem to be fixating on what was in reality a relatively minor aspect of the performance, and I don’t want these remarks to overshadow the fact that I very much enjoyed many of the pieces, even those I found rather more perplexing than others. So let me stop here.

  • Richard Pinnell

    February 23, 2011 at 9:30 pm

    in many ways I agree completely Antony. I personally like to understand scores as best I can, and have collected a lot of them down the years, but we differ in that I prefer to experience the music “blind” first and then try and understand what I have experienced after. I like the puzzle element, the element of surprise that is borne out of my love of improvised music.

    The problem with much of this area of composition however, is that there often isn’t much to “explain” in quite the same way as might exist in a Mozart piece. Sarah Hughes’ score for instance consists of a single line of text. I don’t have the text to hand and am reliant on what Sarah told me after the concert, but the line basically asks for a couple of sounds to be made, one (I think) responding to the other. Apart fromt he fat she worded it far more beautifully, thats about it, no timings or instructions otherwise. (Sarah, correct me if I’m wrong here?) The score is obviously dedicated to Rilke, and so the single line of text, and its instruction is probably (I am guessing) inspired by elements of Rilke’s poetry, but beyond this, I’m not sure there is much more intent to control what the musicians do further than this.

    Now, I think i am right in saying that for Sarah’s piece, (and guys, please correct me if I’ve got this wrong) the two musicians did talk briefly about how they might realise the score, and they agreed in advance that the first sound would come from Dom Lash. Now in the actual performance, if you watched Rhodri Davies, his gaze was fixed on Dom, waiting for him to do something, but it didn’t happen, so Rhodri actually made the first sound, and Dom responded. This change in “plan” was realised mid-performance and was a response to how the musicians were feeling in the room, how the environment was affecting them etc… I think it is very important to note that of the nine musicians performing last week, at least seven of them are better known as improvisers, one of them does improvise from time to time, and the ninth (Whitty) I don’t know about. The act of improvisation is often encouraged in these scores, and the freedom they provide attracts improvisers to play them.

    So in short, there often seems to be a disconnect between any “reason” the composer may have had for asking for something to happen and the actions of the musicians themselves in a given performance, so making it difficult to say why, outside of the basic framework the scores might provide, a particular musician chose to make a particular sound at a particular time. It is maybe this uncertainty and flexibility that also attracts me.

    Interesting discussion anyway! Great to think about…

  • Richard Pinnell

    February 24, 2011 at 12:17 am

    OK, so this is the entire content of Sarah’s score:

    Play one note. and another that stands guard over the solitude of the other

    So maybe there is some more to extract from that line than purely an instruction to make a couple of sounds, but how the score is realised is likely to be quite different from performance to performance, and the placement of sounds is very much down to to the way the musician(s) choose to interpret the words. Certainly though, knowing the content of the score throws a new light on the performance.

  • Dominic Lash

    February 24, 2011 at 9:45 am

    Great to read all the discussion about this gig here and on David Grundy’s blog! On the factual point – no, Rhodri and I had agreed that he’d play a long note and I’d play a short one sometime during it, so all went according to plan (I think!). I completely agree that the quick decision-making abilities of improvisers can by quite useful playing this music.

    More generally though, I think I agree with Anthony that more information about the way the different piece were scored could have helped on this gig. Normally I’d prefer to give that information after playing to those who are interested, but in this case we didn’t really pay enough heed to the fact that a large proportion of the audience was likely to be totally new to this kind of thing. Sometimes this information can give one structural clues that can really help focus one’s listening. For example, the Radu Malfatti piece we played consisted of six pages. Each page began with a certain number of chords played together by the whole group (starting and ending at the same time), though the chosen pitches are completely free. This is then followed by each individual player, independently, playing a number of long notes equal to the number of chords that we played. (So if a given page begins with four chords, after that each player plays four long notes.) This is the kind of thing which can be perfectly audible if you’re “in the know” and can help to focus one’s listening, but would probably be very difficult simply to pick up from listening to the piece.

  • Richard Pinnell

    February 24, 2011 at 10:32 am

    Oh- well my apologies then, I clearly misunderstood the details of how you played the piece Dom.

    I understand what you are saying when you say that advance information can “focus the listening” Dom, and I agree that it does, but in my experience, this is often (not always) not as fulfilling an experience as listening “blind” and then coming to understand the work later. Its for similar reasons I have mostly stopped reading press releases until after I have heard a CD a few times. Listening to music is, for me personally, an adventure, and if I can, I like to experience it with as few preconceptions as I can, though as I get older and more cynical this gets harder every day…

  • Dominic Lash

    February 24, 2011 at 10:58 am

    Hi Richard – you might want to check with Rhodri as it’s entirely possible we misunderstood each other, but I think all went according to plan!

    Sorry for the typos and over-use of the phrase “focus one’s listening” in my post above!

    I think this might be a difference in the ways we tend to listen to music, Richard – although of course it is a matter of degree rather than anything hard and fast. I think it is possible to make a distinction between preconceptions (“X’s music is always like this”) and knowledge about the nuts and bolts of something.

    When one does know a bit of that it can render audible things which, realistically, would be nigh-on impossible to spot later – and conversely can help put certain things in the background so one can focus on more important details. Knowing a bit about how chord sequences work can help to put that into the background when listening to jazz, for example, so one doesn’t have to expend too much effort tracking when the structure is repeating itself. Or knowing a bit about sonata form can help you to track where you are in the structure of a Beethoven quartet movement.

    Of course the reverse of this can also be true… to which the only solution is lots and lots of repeated listening. I suppose all I’d say is that given limited time, I tend to the view that a little bit of technical or structural knowledge (not, I reiterate, the same as knowing what other people think about something aesthetically) helps arrange listening perspectives in a way that is usually illuminating rather than reductive of one’s possible range of responses.

  • Dominic Lash

    February 24, 2011 at 11:16 am

    I realise, reading over that last post of mine, that my examples both came from the use of what one might call “traditional” forms, which one might expect a community to be familiar with – and hence able to have games played with their expectations. This cannot happen to a listener unable to form such expectations, hence something particular is lost by not having some such familiarity with the forms.

    The situation with music that does not use any such forms is of course a little different, and here my preferred situation would be to hear “blind” first time, then find out a little more before a second listening. But a second listening is not always possible, so I would still stand by the last sentence in my previous post.

  • Richard Pinnell

    February 24, 2011 at 12:18 pm

    Thanks Dom. I think I was talking about something more specific to individual pieces though than the technicalities of sonata form, chord changes etc… I agree that knowing something overarching about a piece of music is a good starting point, and I agree with you and Antony that some basic information about what to expect from the performances would have been beneficial to last week’s concert- A little history of Wandelweiser and Fluxus maybe, and a warning that some of the music could be very quiet, sparse, indeed would probably have prepared this particular audience better.

    I think (correct me if I’m wrong again please!) that what Antony was originally referring to was the more finite, individual reasoning behind the composers’ work, an advance understanding of their intentions for the pieces, in some perhaps loose way, rather than a general understanding of how Wandelweiser music might be widely considered, or how chords might progress etc..

    I think a good understanding of something like improvised or ‘Wandelweiser’ music, an experience with its various forms, and some technical understanding of how sounds may work when organised together (my failing) serves a listener well and will lead to a more informed understanding of a live performance, but advance warning of what musicians might intend to do, however vague, and why they, or the composer, might choose for them to do it, is something I would prefer to learn about later. That’s probably a more accurate way of expressing what I was trying to say a few comments up!

  • Dominic Lash

    February 24, 2011 at 12:53 pm

    I think we agree then, how boring. 😉

    I suppose I’d still want to make a distinction between “what musicians might intend to do, however vague, and why they, or the composer, might choose for them to do it”. I completely agree that, perhaps besides some general comments on the general area of music, I wouldn’t have wanted to be told the why, or instructed how to listen. But what I took Anthony to mean was that it might have been interesting to know something more about the “what”. I read his comments on “the reasons for someone’s behaviour” to refer not to why Radu might write the way he does, but why someone performing in his piece did what they did when they did: was timing and pitch specified, were either of them totally up to the player? (To refer only to the extreme possibilities).

    It might for example, have been nice to let the audience know that the Malfatti and Thut were scored very precisely in some ways but left open in others, while some of the other pieces were more descriptions of a process or, in Sarah’s case, texts that could have a vast number of possible methods of interpretation (far more than, for example, the Malfatti, even though on a minute scale that piece could obviously be performed in an infinite number of different ways). This might have given people something to reflect about while listening but hopefully wouldn’t have prejudged things too much.

  • Uroboros

    February 24, 2011 at 4:20 pm

    Nice to hear about the Malfatti piece – I wouldn’t have guessed the pitches were freely chosen, everything seemed to fit together perfectly to create those washes of sound. And this is the thing – it’s definitely nice to know the details of a score as it can enhance the listening experience. Especially so with music that is so diverse in the way scores are written/the ideas involved/the degrees of freedom given to the performers etc. – it’s a real joy for me to find out as much as I can (or as much as is comprehensible to me) about the scores, but as Dominic says it’s even better if this knowledge arrives after an initial, uninformed experience. For me, an unbiased first listening stimulates either imagination (putting my mind to work trying to identify sounds, patterns, some kind of inner logic) or abandon (letting myself be immersed in the music, surprised by its development etc.). Some music will invite both reactions simultaneously, but with the Malfatti piece it was definitely the latter for me – each new section (after a silence) making my mind sink deeper into its little universe, whose rules i did not understand. Any knowledge of the score would have made me focus on details and leave the “abandon” state, so I’m glad I didn’t. That said, it would definitely be great to hear it again knowing what to pay attention to in the musicians’ playing.

    And yeah, Sarah’s score is a really beautiful line, I wonder if that “standing guard over the solitude of the other” is actually a Rilke reference. Either way, the way that piece was performed had a curious effect on me, the silences felt more tense than any of the others during the evening, and the sounds themselves felt like an invitation to sleep while at the same time making me blush and feel really warm.

    I should also mention my favourite piece of the evening was probably Tim Parkinson’s, at least somewhat due to how unexpected it was given the context (way more “classical”). But I also found it to possess that certain elusive type of beauty that is just on the border of becoming too explicitly beautiful, but doesn’t, instead maintaining some sort of crystalline, glacial quality which makes it all the more effective. Not sure if this makes sense to anyone besides myself, but it felt to me like the same kind of “beauty” that I find in most Feldman I’ve listened to, or in the piano chord sequence in the second part of Pisaro’s July Mountain, or in Eva-Maria Houben’s piano works from last year’s disc. A rare quality that is perhaps a matter of personal perception, but something I am always happy to encounter.

  • Audiograft documentation online | SARU – Sonic Art Research Unit

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    […] In addition to these elements of documentation, two extremely interesting reviews of the “Concept as Score” event at the Holywell Music Rooms have been written by David Grundy and Richard Pinnell. […]

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    […] See the debate between myself, Richard Pinnell and others, surrounding the concert ‘Wandelweiser and Fluxus: Concept as Score’, held at the Holywell Music Room, Oxford, in February 2011 ( and…). […]

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