We were actually, more broadly, speaking about the pros and cons of distance learning (i.e. the use of video chat technology like Zoom to replace or supplement in-person learning). Maybe I’m just stubbornly old-fashioned in this regard, but as good as video chat technology is, it’s no replacement for the in-person experience.
Of course, the Metaverse is essentially Zoom for every day life. By that I mean, it’s more than a video call, it’s virtual reality. I’ve never tried VR myself, and sure, it sounds neat, but living in VR sounds not only super unhealthy from a social standpoint, but also, it sounds like an existential nightmare. I mean, I’ve never actually watched the Matrix trilogy, but I know enough to see the parallels and it makes me uncomfortable. The idea of spending most (or all) of your waking time in, essentially, a fake universe sounds scary. What happens when people become hopelessly dependent on their new “environment” and then the servers go down? Will people become so caught up in their VR world that they forget the real universe exists and freak out when they are unexpectedly reminded of the virtual nature of their reality? I realize that sounds extreme and borderline “boomer” of me, but these are real possibilities to consider.
How can I tie this to education? Well I guess for starters, students need to be able to critically think about technology – who they interact with online, “where” they go online, and the potential dangers that come with immersive technologies. Does that mean that video technology like Zoom does not belong in the classroom? Absolutely not. That is a very useful tool! Should it replace in-person classes? No, I don’t think that would be a net positive for education. What about the Metaverse? Can VR technology be useful in the classroom or in the work place? Sure – I bet there are many ways they could be used and I’m cautiously optimistic to see what kinds of creative ideas educators come up with in the future to use this technology.
I’m not sure platforms like the Metaverse will really take off like they Meta hopes it will, however, similar predictions were made about the video game industry in the early 1980s, and look where we are with that now. Anything could happen. But I honestly kind of hope the world doesn’t do a full transition to a virtual reality anytime soon.
Where to even begin with this one? Outsider music is a bit of a tricky genre—if you can even really call it that—of music. Broadly speaking, outsider music is any kind of music that is clumsy and weird but sincere and serious in the eye of the artist. Often the outsider musician lacks a level of self-consciousness about their art that the average artist would have[1]. This creates an interesting off-shoot of music where the artist is not necessarily making a conscious effort to be experimental for the sake of creating something wildly unique, but rather they often think what they are doing is just normal when to most listeners, it is anything but “normal”.
Of course, it is safe to assume that, by this definition, outsider musicians have been creating music ever since music itself was invented—certainly the term itself[2]— however once home recording equipment became more accessible, the scales began to tip so that even he most amateur of musicians could record and distribute their music without access to a professional studio[3]. The rise of the amateur musician saw a particular boom in the 1980s[4]. Of course, the ever-increasing accessibility of audio recording has brought many previously unknown artists into the mainstream in the 2010s and the 2020s[5], but in the 1980s, this was truly a realm of untapped potential finally being unlocked for the world.
“But there are countless “unintentional renegades,” performers who lack Cage’s overt self-consciousness about their art. As far as they’re concerned, what they’re doing is “normal.” And despite paltry incomes and dismal record sales, they’re happy to be in the same line of work as Celine Dion and Andrew Lloyd Webber.”
Irwin Chusid, Songs in the Key of Z (2000)[1]
II. Notable Artists
Some notable musicians who contributed to outsider music are outlined in the following section. As in the previous entries, my goal is to focus primarily on underrepresented, diverse musicians who were largely overlooked—or are still largely overlooked in western culture for one reason or another.
Daniel Johnston truly was something special. He grew up in Cumberland, West Virginia and began writing and recording music on a relatively cheap boombox playing piano and chord organ[6]. He started recording his music around the time he went to college in the early 1980s; he first spent a couple weeks at Abilene Christian University in West Texas, but dropped out due to intense mental struggles after living away from home for the first time. Shortly thereafter, he attended Kent State University at East Liverpool, Ohio where he recorded his first album as a cassette tape: ‘Songs of Pain‘ (1981)[6]. In 1984, Johnston started working at McDonalds where he would physically hand out his tapes to people in the store[7]. This continued as he moved to Austin, Texas. As he continued handing out his music, word began to spread of a weird kid who made weird music tapes. Eventually, he’d become enough of a local celebrity that he was featured on the the MTV program, The Cutting Edge which showcased up-and-coming artists from Austin’s New Sincerity scene in 1985[8]. Despite Johnston’s local success, his lasting impact on lo-fi and alternative music scenes, and direct endorsement by big names like Kurt Cobain in the early 1990s[8], Johnston’s music continues to exist in relative obscurity. Johnston’s music is known for its childlike innocence and its detailed descriptions of his struggles with bipolar disorder, which he was diagnosed with[9]. One quintessential song from his early career that captures the sound of Johnston’s innocence, the lo-fi nature of his music, his struggles with mental health, and the lack of acceptance from his family he experienced early in his career is 1982’s ‘The Story of an Artist‘ (see video below)[10]. Johnston’s mental health would deteriorate by the late 1980s and through much of the 1990s including a manic psychotic episode in 1990[11]. While Johnston’s mental and physical health would slowly bounce back through years of medical and psychiatric intervention, he sadly passed away in 2019 due to a suspected heart attack[6].
Reflection on ‘The Story of an Artist’ (1982) by Daniel Johnston:
I admit, I knew I had to talk about Daniel Johnston when I started writing this week’s post. He’s one of my all-time favourite artists and a personal source of inspiration. This particular song of his is such a beautiful song that I can relate to as someone who has faced a lack of support from family in my creative endeavors over the years. Of course I can’t claim to have suffered like Daniel, but still, I feel a connection to him when I listen to this song. Honestly, I’m just so sad I’ll never get the chance to meet Daniel. I just want to give him a big hug. I know we both could’ve used one. Any way, what really strikes me about this song musically, is the main piano melody. It’s simplistic yet endlessly mournful. It perfectly compliments Daniel’s childlike voice, his heartfelt lyrics, and the overall lo-fi quality of the recording. I also love how the song starts with a super lo-fi recording of some sort of conversation, as many of his early recordings did. I think this song sums up what it means to be an outsider music perfectly with its main refrain. Just a heartbreakingly beautiful song by an artist we never really deserved.
Divine was the stage name of Harris Glenn Milstead, an American actor, singer, and drag queen, who was known for his legendary but trashy performances in drag, theatre, filmography, and music[12]. Milstead was born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland to a conservative, middle-class family and developed an interest in drag while working as a women’s hairdresser. By the mid 1960s, he had become involved in Baltimore’s counterculture scene[13]. It was there that he met and befriended filmmaker John Waters. Waters gave Milstead the stage name Divine and even a tagline: “The most beautiful woman in the world …almost”[14]. Divine would become somewhat of a cult superstar member of Waters’ acting group the Dreamlanders[13]. Divine really rose to fame with the release of the infamous 1972 black comedy film, ‘Pink Flamingos‘, which Water directed and wrote[13]. As a musician, however, Divine had had several years of experience working in gay bars and clubs as a performer, but in the early 1980s, he partnered with composer, Bobby Orlando, who would go on to write a number of Hi-NRG (a sub-genre of disco music) tracks for him to record[15]. These early singles ended up being a success in discos around the world. To help market his music, Divine would go on various television shows, such as Good Morning America, where he would perform various outlandish comedy acts where he would play up the “trashy” stereotype[16]. One of the most successful of these early singles was his 1983 song ‘Love Reaction” (see video below). Divine would go on to work in music and film throughout the 1980s until her untimely death by heart failure in 1988[12]. Divine’s brand of trashy and crass makes for some of the more unique outsider music of the 1980s.
Reflection on ‘Love Reaction’ by Divine (1983):
This song is immediately so different from Daniel Johnston’s ‘The Story of an Artist’ but that’s just the beauty of the broadness of sounds that come out of the outsider music world. This one is a bit more “dated”, I suppose, as it’s essentially an 80’s new wave-sounding disco track. Still, I think it’s really charming with its airy synths, the reverb-laden drum machine, and Divine’s almost hypnotic vocals. I do think the intro for this one is a little long as it takes up nearly half the run-time of the song, but it’s still a good enough instrumental. I think Divine’s vocals really steal the show overall though. I love how his vocals are gravelly, brash, and almost a little clumsy. It’s just so charming. In some parts of the song, the vocals are almost yelled, which created a bit of an interesting contrast between the robotic nature of the 80s electronic instrumentation and Divine’s raw energy. I could totally see myself having the time of my life to this in a disco in the 80s, but I imagine those kinds of experiences would be few and far between to come by in the 2020s to say the least.
Frances Cannon – Frances Cannon and the Extraterrestrials (1944 – 2009)
If you thought Daniel Johnston was quirky or Divine was a bit off the beaten path, then oh boy have I got a treat for you. Frances Baskerville, better known by her moniker Frances Cannon, is hard to find much information on. She might be the first artist covered here that doesn’t have at least a Wikipedia page of some sort. There is virtually none of her music available on YouTube, even less so on streaming services, and a few sparse blog posts here and there that talk about her. Well strap in, cause this is a wild one. I was only made aware of her by an outsider musician “iceberg“[18] which lists her as one of the more obscure outsider musicians known. But based on this little information, Baskerville was from Dallas, Texas and was in a severe accident where an eighteen-wheeler logging truck backed into her vehicle nearly killing her. She had an out-of-body experience as a result and claimed to have psychic abilities[19]. Apparently she made a prediction on The Howard Stern Show in 1997 that the body of Patrick McNeil, a university student who had gone missing in February the same year, would be found 100 yards from his home in Port Chester, New York—miraculously, his body was found floating off a pier in Brookyn, New York (only around 20 km away from his home) a few months later[19,20]. Baskerville used these supposed psychic abilities to work as a licensed private investigator who would specialize in finding lost children; she called herself “Frances Baskerville: The World’s Only Singing Psychic” and headed the the Baskerville Foundation for Psychical Research (also sometimes called the Baskerville Sherlock Holmes Detective Investigation Co.) in Dallas, Texas[19]. She claimed, at one point, to have found as many as 5,000 missing children[21]. Going back to her name, for a moment, you’ll notice she was the “singing” psychic. That’s right, instead of merely making predictions, she decided to sing them[21]. One such prediction can be found in her song ‘Star’s Ghost’ (see video below)[22] from her second album ‘The Singing Psychic’ (1987) released under the name Frances Cannon and The Extraterrestrials. Actually, the album version of this song is re-titled to ‘Heaven’s Highway’ for whatever reason[21].
Reflection on ‘Star’s Ghost’ by Frances Cannon and The Extraterrestrials (1987):
This song sounds so much older to me than the others on this list. Daniel Johnston sounds timeless, and Divine sounds of his time, but somehow this track sounds like a 1960s karaoke track. Not only that but, despite having a pretty decent voice, Frances’ vocals have waaaay too much reverb and echo on them making her sound muddy and washed-out. But hey, it still comes across as charming enough and that’s the nature of super obscure, amateur music from the 80s. I want to focus in on the lyrics here though: I think this is another one of Frances’ supposed psychic predictions. Here she seems to be predicting that the late, great Marvin Gaye will come back from the dead to forgive his father for shooting him? I dunno man, it’s a little wack and probably in poor taste… but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t at least captivating as a song concept. Also, I think she’s predicting that Gaye will bring Martin Luther King with him?? I also heard something about Louie Armstrong? I don’t really know what this song is even about anymore. This is just so weird and clumsy but I can’t help but like it for how bafflingly enigmatic it is. The slightly concerning part of this whole thing is Frances was fully convinced of her powers and therefore had full confidence in her predictions, so this music is 100% authentic in her eyes. I don’t know what it’s about and I can barely find any info on Frances Cannon or her other music but I just needed to share this with the world. Frances Cannon is the definition of outsider music.
“The Outsider Musicians Iceberg” Posted on r/IcebergCharts on Reddit.com by siegeldgwkeyoqhens (c. 2021)[18].
Dub music, also referred to as dub reggae, is a sub-genre of reggae that developed soon after reggae itself in Jamaica in the late 1960s and early 1970s[1]. Where reggae music is a form of Jamaican dance music characterized by its off-beat rhythm and unique counterpoint between the bass and down beat of the drum[2], dub music takes pre-existing recordings and heavily modifies them using various studio technique; Often, the recordings would have reverb or echo added to them or even be dubbed with instrumental or vocal samples from the original recording—hence the name “dub music“[1]. In many ways, dub music can be seen as one of the earliest styles of music to experiment with remixing[3].
Most people point to an event in 1968 in Kingston, Jamaica where Rudolph “Ruddy” Redwood went to a studio owned by Duke Reid to record a cover of ‘On the Beach‘ by the Paragons. When one of the engineers pressed the record, he accidentally forgot to add the vocal track leaving the track as an instrumental[3]. Redwood ended up playing this at a party shortly thereafter while his deejay, Wassy toasted (essentially rapped) over the instrumental. The result was a massive success with the party-goers and over the next couple years, dub music exploded throughout Jamaica[4].
II. Notable Artists
Some notable musicians who contributed to dub music are outlined in the following section. As in the previous entries, my goal is to focus primarily on underrepresented, diverse musicians who were largely overlooked—or still are largely overlooked in western culture.
Lee “Scratch” Perry (1936 – 2021)
Perry started out as a record seller at Clement Coxsone Dodd’ssound system in the late 1950s. Perry would record several dozen songs for Dodd’s record label Studio One[5] before he and Dodd had a falling out resulting in Perry leaving the studio to pursue his musical career elsewhere. Perry career his career briefly working with Joe Gibbs in his label, Amalgamated Records[5]. After that relationship eventually soured too, Perry finally formed his own label, Upsetter Records, in 1968; from then until 1972 he would record with his band appropriately named the Upsetters[5]. Perry started to make a name for himself around this time being especially known for his unique approach to music production[6]. While he collaborated with and produced for many other artists throughout his careers, one of the early tracks he produced which perfectly showcases his unique, experimental production style is the 1971 track ‘Mr. Brown‘ by Bob Marley and the Wailers (see video below)[7]. While the Marley has managed to penetrated the western zeitgeist with his countless beloved contributions to reggae and the music world at large, songs like ‘Mr. Brown’ were surely augmented by endlessly innovative dub production techniques by producers like Lee “Scratch” Perry[8].
Reflection on ‘Mr. Brown‘ by Bob Marley and the Wailers (1971):
Pretty much immediately as the song starts and the weird organ-like drone comes in and I hear the laid-back but wacky chord progression overlaid by the static-hiss, I know I’m in for a good time. But once the Wailers and Bob Marley’s vocals come in, I know I’ve found a song I guarantee I’m going to be coming back to. Thinking specifically about the production, I notice that it’s relatively sparce – there’s not a lot going on at one time: you have a single track of organ laying the foundation with decorative piano twinkling overtop. There is little to no percussion present from what I can hear. The song is carried by it’s relaxed vocal melodies by the band but the chord’s played by the organ are slightly unsettling making for a pleasantly unsettling experience. I’ve listened to Bob Marley before, of course, but now, with the context of Lee “Scratch” Perry’s production, at least on this track, I can appreciate what is going on here even more.
Best known for his music production work in from the late 1960s through the 1970s, Chin-Loy is a Chinese Jamaican who is another pivotal figure in the dub music scene in Jamaica[9]. He started in the music industry by working for his half-brother, Lloyd A. Chin-Loy, at his record store in Half Way Tree, Kingston, Jamaica in the late ’60s. While he started out in a business role at the record store, he soon developed an interest in music production[10]. In his first new years as a producer, he collaborated with many local reggae artists such as Horace Swaby (AKA Augustus Pablo) who is himself a big name in the history of reggae and dub music in Jamaica. In 1973, Chin-Loy would record and release what is often called one of the first dub albums ever in ‘Aquarius Dub‘[11]; the first track of which, ‘Heavy Duty’, is highlighted below (see video below)[12].
Reflection on ‘Heavy Duty‘ by Herman Chin Loy (1973)
The opening seconds here are instantly engaging with the interesting use of echo and reverb on the vocal sample saying the word “heavy”. As the song goes on, it progresses into one of the smoothest guitar and bass driven instrumentals I have ever heard. It’s distinctly reggae, of course, but there seems to be an emphasis on the bass here as it is very prominent. There is a little more percussion, at least in some parts of the song, than in ‘Mr. Brown’, but the emphasis really seems to be on the bass. Towards the end of the song, some brass comes in for a little flare, but otherwise, this is, like ‘Mr. Brown’, a surprisingly minimalist track in terms of how many layers of instrumentation you hear at one time. It would be interesting to listen to the original recording that was dubbed and edited in-studio and compare it to ‘Heavy Duty’ directly.
Osbourne “King Tubby” Ruddock (1941 – 1989)
Said to essentially be the inventor of the remix[13], Ruddock, often refered to by his moniker King Tubby, is truly an influential figure in many styles of modern of music production—especially most forms of dance and electronic music[14]. While King Tubby would have a successful career as a mixing engineer, his innovative use of dubbing and other electronic studio techniques were as experimental as it gets. He found his way into the Jamaican music scene in the late 1950s as a talented radio repairman and radio repair shop owner in Kingston, Jamaica. He started working for Duke Reid in 1968 as a disc cutter[15]. In Jamaica at the time, it was common for musical artists to record singles with the main track on the a-side of the 45 RPM disc and an instrumental cut of the track on the b-side. As a disc cutter, this meant that King Tubby would have to “dub out” the vocals of the song to create the instrumental-only version[15]. Through experimentation with faders and other studio techniques, King Tubby found that he could accentuate different frequency ranges over others and use other effects of drastically change the sound of the record[16]. Into the 1970s, King Tubby became one of the most well-known music producers in Jamaica. One of his most well-known works—and one of the best known examples of dub music in general—is the 1974 track ‘King Tubby Meets Rockers Uptown‘ by King Tubby and Augustus Pablo (see video below)[17].
Reflection on ‘King Tubby Meets Rockers Uptown‘ by King Tubby and Augustus Pablo (1974):
Of the three tracks here, this one might be my personal favourite just for the percussion. The beat is relentlessly chugging along like a train at full throttle and the fills, done with what sound to be some sort of metalic drum (not quite steel drum, I don’t think), are such a neat touch that almost make those sections a little noisy. I also love the reverb / delay effects applied to the harmonica and vocal samples interspersed throughout the track. Speaking of the vocals, I can totally see how this is an early version of what we now call a “remix”. I can very clearly hear how this track was made from an original track and parts were dubbed out and various effects were added to make something totally new. It’s simply a remix that was way ahead of its time. I’ll definitely be coming back to King Tubby’s work in the future.
Unfortunately, I was feeling pretty under the weather this week, so I wasn’t able to attend class. I emailed Guillaume and got caught up on what I’d missed – sounds like the majority of the class time was dedicated to hands-on lab work and exploring a few new resources including a couple AI image generating cites.
While, by nature of not being able to be in class, I do not have as much to reflect on this week as in past weeks, I was able to make some progress on my inquiry project: namely, I had a really good conversation with a friend of mine who has a background in music composition and it also very interested in experimental music and music history. I specifically asked if they had any good ideas of genres or movements in music that were prominent in the 1970s that I could address in this week’s blog post. A few things they brought to my attention were the cross-genre explosion of music in Iceland when they suddenly gained access to the world of music, from classical to rock music, all at once. While that sounds, interesting, I need to check whether or not that occurred in the 70s to see if it would be relevant for this week. What really stood out to me, however, is the development of dub reggae in Jamaica in the 1970s. Obviously, I’m writing this before starting my research for this week’s inquiry post, so we’ll see what I end up going with but I am getting excited about the music I am discovering throughout my inquiry project!
It’s October now. We’ve had three or four full weeks under our belt now and fall is starting to set in. Things are starting to settle finally.
Class this past week was good. I got acquainted with Screencastify and H5E and tried it out. I think I will try to incorporate an interactive video in a future inquiry blog post of mine, but I’ll have to think about how best to do that. For what it was, I felt like I understood how to use the plug-in and the in-class exercise went well.
As far as the inquiry blog post in general go, I am feeling really good about it all! I have been discovering some really cool music through my deep-dive into experimental music. Honestly, I wish I could spend more time just listening and discovering than I do researching artists to include in my posts, but I am enjoying learning about a wide range of artists I might never have listened to otherwise. Of the artists I have come across and discussed so far, I am most interested in Johanna Beyer and Delia Dervyshire as I am really interested in early electronic music production and technology. There have been many other artists I wished to talk about and listen to somewhere in this blog but I am trying to fulfil my original focus while also keeping the blog posts manageable. Some artists, off the top of my head, that I hope to come back to on my own time are Moondog and Sun Ra.
Popular music, often shortened to “pop music” is just that – music that is popular among the average consumer. By nature of being popular, it is easy to think of pop music as a one-dimensional catch-all genre that caters to the broadest of audiences. While this type of music can easily be lumped under the “pop” umbrella today, in the 1960s, pop music had not yet become about commercialisation and accessibility, though it was popular among teenagers and tended to lend itself well to dancing[1]. As such, much of the fondly-remembered pop music of the 60s was creative and whimsical (see the Beach Boys‘ ‘Pet Sounds‘)[2]. Between its inception in the 1950s through its creative peak in the mid-to-late 1960s, some artists took elements of popular music and mixed them with other genres and styles (such as electronic, rock and roll, and avant-garde) to take it beyond its generally radio-friendly limits[3]. Somewhat counterintuitively, artists such as these gave rise to a sub-genre of pop music known as experimental pop music which, despite being pop music, is otherwise hard to categorize[4].
Some notable musicians who contributed to experimental pop music are outlined in the following section. As in the previous entry, my goal is to focus primarily on underrepresented, diverse musicians who were largely overlooked—either in time or at the time.
Jackie Shane is notable for contributing to the sound of popular music in Toronto, ON in the 1960s and is often lauded as a pioneer transgender performer in north American pop music. She was born in Nashville, Tennessee but joined a travelling carnival which eventually brought her to Ontario in the 1959[5]. Shortly thereafter, she would meet Frank Motley with whom she would regularly collaborate with[6]. One of the tracks they recorded together was a cover of William Bell’s ‘Any Other Way’ in 1962 (see video below)[7]. The song became a top 10 hit in the local Toronto area and later charted in Canada[8]. Despite this success early into her career and a modest career throughout the rest of the decade, Shane would disappear from the public eye for decades around 1971[9]. Finally, in the early 2010s, various documentaries about Shane’s life and career as well as her influence on the LGBTQ+ community[6] were produced, but sadly Shane remains a relatively unknown figure in American pop music. In her version of ‘Any Other Way’, Shane flawlessly blends together elements of soul, R&B, and pop music to create something wholly unique and ahead of its time.
“One cannot choose where one is born, but you can choose your home”
Jackie Shane, CBC Interview (2019)[8]
Reflection on ‘Any Other Way‘ (1962) by Jackie Shane:
This is easily one of the smoothest pop songs that I’ve heard in a long time. I love Shane’s vocals in particular here – they’re both buttery smooth and playful. Of course, sonically, the track sounds of its time, but I think that’s mostly an artifact of the recording quality of the early 1960s. For a pop song, this strikes me as relatively harmless and accessible, especially compared to contemporary pop music, but I wonder how it would have come across at the time. Especially if you knew anything about Jackie Shane. I read in my research that the line “tell her that I’m gay” was originally written by William Bell to mean “happy”, its original definition, but Shane sneakily twisted it, without changing the wording at all, to its current meaning which was not widely accepted at the time. I am really looking forward to listening to more of her output from the 60s!
Born in the south-west of Wales, Cale studied music at Goldsmiths College, University of London before moving to the United States in 1963. From a relatively young age, Cale had talent for the viola which he would go on to use throughout his career[10]. In 1964, Cale met Lou Reed with whom he would co-found the Velvet Underground. The two were joined by guitarist Sterling Morrison and drummer Maureen Ann “Moe” Tucker[11]. While Cale would only record two albums with the band before leaving, his use of electric viola drone instrumentation gave their first album, ‘The Velvet Underground & Nico‘ a distinctive sound[12] (see the track ‘Venus in Furs‘)[13]. While Reed was often the creative mind at the helm of the Velvet Underground in their earlier years, Cale co-wrote and co-created their second studio album, ‘White Light / White Heat‘ (1968)[14] and would provide lead vocals on a couple tracks for the first and only time, like on ‘Lady Godiva’s Operation‘ (1968) for instance (see video below)[15]. The Velvet Underground would go on to be considered one of the most influential rock bands of all time in the following decades, but in their time, their music was largely ignored[16]. While today many people know of the Velvet Underground and Lou Reed, John Cale goes comparatively under-appreciated as a contributor to experimental music despite a his successful six-decade career as of 2023.
“[White Light / White Heat is] a very rabid record . . . The first one had some gentility, some beauty. The second one was consciously anti-beauty”
John Cale, Peel slowly and see box set (1995) liner notes [14]
Reflection on ‘Lady Godiva’s Operation‘ (1968) by the Velvet Underground:
From the opening seconds, I can already hear Cale’s distinctive electric viola droning away in the background. It, mixed with Moe Tucker’s simple, laid back drumming and the distorted guitars by Morrison and/or Reed, gives the track a fairly noisy sound palette for the late 60s. I can’t help but focus on the instrumentation which is simultaneously simple in terms of chord progressions and riffs, but the microtonal, noisy droning and distortion really adds a lot of roughness which adds a chaotic complexity. The lyrics are also really interesting and evocative. I might have to look into the mythology of Lady Godiva to fully understand and appreciate them, but the use of vocal effects towards the end really sound like a noisy, steam-punk surgical procedure which adds a neat layer of immersion to the track. While I am admittedly fairly well-acquainted with the Velvet Underground’s music, I always find myself enjoying their early work for its interesting musical qualities and the unique chemistry between Cale and the other members.
At the age of only three of four, Derbyshire’s family was relocated from her birthplace, Coventry, to Preston, Lancashire in England as a result of the Coventry Blitz, a series of bombings on Coventry in WWII[17]. She studied mathematics and electricity at Girton College, Cambridge but then switched to study music a year later, graduating with a BA in music[17]. Wanting to find a job in the music field, when she applied for a position at Decca Records she was told that they did not hire women[18]. After being hired as a trainee assistant studio manager at the BBC a couple years later, she would go on to assist composer Luciano Berio with some electronic composition. One of her earliest compositions was the 1963 theme for the Doctor Who series—the first major television theme to be composed entirely electronically[17,18]. To add yet another landmark experimental music achievement under her belt, Derbyshire also went on to collaborate with another electronic musician, David Vorhaus, with whom she would co-found an experimental electronic band, White Noise. Their debut studio album, ‘An Electric Storm‘ (1969), in which Derbyshire played a large role in the electronic instrumentation, would go on to be an influential album in the history of experimental electronic music[19]. One track from this album, ‘Love Without Sound’ (see video below)[20] demonstrated the unique sounds Derbyshire helped capture in this weird, psychedelic record.
Reflection on ‘Love Without Sound‘ (1969) by White Noise:
This is one of the earliest fusions of electronic music from decades past with pop, rock, and psychedelia of the late 60s. Delia Derbyshire’s masterful electronic instrumentation and production on this track are mesmerizing and way ahead of their time. I can tell how this track and the rest of the album must have been immensely influential on many sub-genres of popular music going forward. I really love the use of vocal effects and interesting electronically-generated percussion-like sounds. The track sounds like it could easily fit into a sci-fi or even retro horror soundtrack with how eerie and abstract some of its sounds are – especially the feminine vocalizations interspersed throughout the latter half. While I have listened to the rest of the album, I am eager to listen to it more and check out the rest of Derbyshire (and White Noise)’s music
When it comes to major innovations in experimental (and mainstream) music, arguably none are more relevant today than the advent of electronic music.
Predating Luigi Russolo’s futurist manifesto, the Art of Noises (1913), a contemporary Itlaian composer, Ferruccio Busoni, predicted the use of machines in the future of music in his 1907 essay, Sketch of a New Esthetic of Music[1]. Sure enough, by the early 1920s, some composers were using record players to play short pre-recorded sounds during live performances[2]. After records, came tape music; the first accessible tape recorder was unveiled in 1935 in Berlin, Germany[3].
In the following decades, other well-known European and American composers and musicians would go on to become infamous for their contributions to musique concrète in the early 1940s in France and the emerging elektronische musik in Germany in the early 1950s[4].
‘Timeline of the Development of Electronic Music (1907 – early 1950s)’ by homebody10 using Canva
II. Notable artists
Some notable experimental musicians who contributed to electronic music are outlined in the following section. Recall, my goal is to focus primarily on underrepresented, diverse musicians who have been largely overlooked in time.
Most people think of names like Elvis Presley or Jerry Lee Louis when they think of the birth of rock n’ roll, but rock music would not be where it is today without Sister Rosetta Tharpe. While rock music is primarily guitar based, electric guitars generate electroacoustic sound as the guitar strings’ vibrations are electronically amplified[8]. Not only is Tharpe credited for her innovative marriage of gospel and “proto-rock” music, but also, she is celebrated as a massively influential queer woman of colour in music; she is believed to have had at least one relationship with another woman throughout her touring career[9]. One of her earliest recordings using the electric guitar is her 1938 cover of the gospel song ‘Denomination Blues‘ under the name ‘That’s All‘[10] (see video below).
Reflection on ‘That’s All‘ (1938) by Sister Rosetta Tharpe:
From the first few seconds, you can immediately hear the very clear connection this song has to rock music’s roots: the driving rhythm, the high energy, and of course, the electric guitar. It’s really neat that Tharpe was so quick to pick up on the potential uses for electronically amplified instruments before some of rock n’ roll’s biggest names. I can really how she essentially used this very new vessel for music to revamp a very well-established genre like gospel. It is really the essence of experimental music – taking what came before you and what lies on the cutting edge to make something that transcends contemporary art.
Johanna Beyer was a German-born composer who moved to the United States in the 1920’s. She was classically trained in piano and studied music at Deutscher Konservatorien and Musikseminare. In New York, in the 1930s, she worked with a group of fellow modernist composers[11]. Beyer is often considered to be one of the first female electronic music composers and was incredibly forward-thinking[12]. One of her most celebrated works was her 1938 composition ‘Music of the Spheres‘[13] (see video below). This recording of the composition was recorded by Electric Weasel Ensemble, 1977.
Reflection on ‘Music of the Spheres‘ (1938) by Johanna Beyer:
Even though this recording is from 1977 which is not *that* long ago, I can just tell that this piece would have been totally alien to someone in 1938. When I listen to this over 80 years after its initial conception, even now I am intrigued by its unique sound palette. If I were Beyer, I would have been so proud of having composed this when the world had never heard anything like it. I can really hear the influence this kind of electronic music likely had on film scores, particularly in the sci-fi genre.
Halim El-Dabh was an Egyptian-American composer and musician who is often credited as another early pioneer of electronic music[14]. One of his most groundbreaking and influential pieces is his 1944 recording ‘Wire Recorder Piece‘[15] (see video below) from his wider; this recording is one of the earliest known examples of electronic tape music or musique concrète. El-Dabh‘s work predates the work of hugely celebrated musique concrète composers sucha s Pierre Schaeffer[14]. Many years later, regarding this composition, El-Dabh told Egyptian indipendent online newpaper, Mada Masr:
“I wanted to find the inner sound, that vibration that’s always necessary for transcendence. I eliminated the fundamental tones of the harmony by changing the voltage — it changes the quality of the music, it seeks another quality in the voice, the hidden material, the inner part of the voice. That’s what the whole idea of electronic music is. You have a recording and you go inside the recording to find the hidden meaning”
Halim El-Dabh, Mada Masr Interview (2007)[14,16]
Reflection on ‘Wire Recorder Piece‘ (1944) by Halim El-Dabh:
The first word that comes to mind when I listen to this piece is haunting. I think I read somewhere in my research for this blog post that El-Dabh had recorded voices of women singing when recording this piece. I’d have to check that, but either way, I can totally hear ghostly wails of what sound like women singing. This sounds like it could be from an old Legend of Zelda game, honestly, and I mean that in a really good way. Like I said about Beyer’s piece above, I think if I’d heard this in the mid-1940s I would have been totally shocked—this is really something otherworldly.
Today’s class was interesting! We got into our pods which was cool! I managed to find a group where most of us were focusing on something music-related in for our inquiry blog posts. It was really good to start brainstorming what kind of ed. tech. resource we would focus on for our inquiry presentations down the road.
On the lecture:
After the initial brainstorming session, we talked a bit about how to design multi-media resources to be as engaging as possible for students; we watched a video on how to best present information which was somewhat interesting, but the guy who made the video seemed to violate his own rules. It was a little hypocritical, but hey, it was a great demonstration of what not to do I guess! Some things I learned a bit about is that words (text or verbal) are better when relevant visuals or imagery is supplemented. One thing that stood out and makes sense given my own personal experiences was the “principal of redundancy” which essentially says that when the exact same information is repeated too much – even in different modes – it can be counterproductive to learning. For instance, a teacher showing a slide show with text explaining a concept and reading verbatim from the lecture slides.
On the educational technology of the week:
I’m looking forward to playing around with Screencastify and Canva to see what kinds of additional modes I can bring to my future blog posts and maybe reflections.
In his futurist manifesto, The Art of Noises (1913), Luigi Russolo outlines a rough timeline of the evolution of music from the invention of the first flute to conception of the triad. Following this, he makes the observation that, with the exception of natural disasters and relatively uncommon climatic phenomena, nature is quiet. Throughout the 19th century, with the emergence of steam engines and factories in Europe came a striking increase in anthropogenic sound – “noise”, as Russolo called it. The Art of Noises was addressed to Francesco Balilla Pratella, a composer of whose musica futurista (futurist music) Russolo had just heard a performance. In reaction to its revolutionary sound pallete, Russolo writes: “… I conceived a new art: The Art of Noises, the logical consequence of your marvellous innovations” (Russolo, 1913, p. 4)[1].
Experimentation within music can no doubt be traced back to the first monk who dared break off in a polyphonic rampage, but I think Russolo’s realization that industrial noise could be seen as muscical provides a good starting place for an exploration into over a century of musical exploration. It could be argued that the very fact that music has evolved over time supports Russolo’s claim that his new musical idea was a “logical consequence” of Balilla Pratella’s futuristic compositions; musical composers inevitably take what is already present and accepted at their time and make it something novel – as do artists with any other medium. And so, I tend to align myself with Russolo’s reaction to his confrontation with Balilla Pratella’s futurist music. Experimentation is only natural.
Photo: Instruments made by Russolo (Russolo, 1913, p. 13)[2]
But if experimentation is a logical step in the evolution of music, why bother discussing it? One interesting observation is that sometimes there is a lag period between when an artist first deviates from their contemporaries and when the deviation becomes accepted in the mainstream – if it ever does. Consider, for instance, the Velvet Underground, the namesake of this very blog; their first studio album (recorded alongside German singer, Nico and under the management of Andy Warhol), The Velvet Underground & Nico (1967) was not warmly received by mainstream radio channels and music critics upon its release to say the least. Johnson (2023)[3] cites a number of contributing factors to the album’s initial flop including bad timing and its unrestrained handling of taboo subject matter to name a few (more on this album in a future blog post). Yet, the album has gone on to be hailed as a modern classic and is hugely inspirational in all corners of the rock-adjacent music world. Acclaimed producer and composer, Brian Eno succinctly put this into perspective in a 1982 interview: “The first Velvet Underground album only sold 10,000 copies, but everyone who bought it formed a band” (Jones, 2021)[4]. This is one of countless examples of artists who innovated and saw little to no success at the time of their innovation. On the other hand, by the end of 1967 the Beatles were sailing on the success of one of their landmark releases, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967), despite Decca Records refusal to sign them in 1962 and executives saying that they “… have no future in show business” (The Beatles Anthology, 2000)[5]. We all know how that turned out not long into their career. This surface level observation shows that some degree of experimentation may be acceptable to the general public, but too much experimentation can spell critical and financial failure–at least in the short-term.
One final but very crucial point regarding experimental music that I want to be sure to focus on are the many diverse voices in music that tend to be overlooked or conveniently forgotten about; as with most industries and artforms, music history is laced with misogyny, racism, sexism, ablism, homophobia, transphobia, and colonialism; music history remembers, very fondly, hundreds of white, heterosexual, cis men in but comparatively few female artists, artists of colour, and queer artists have been remembered let alone celebrated by music historians. According to USC Annenberg School For Communication And Journalism (2023)[6] the Billboard Hot 100 Year-End Chart revealed that only 30% of the artists represented were women and that, of the women nominated for Grammy’s in the past 11 years 51.5% of them were white. It is easy to assume that these were issues of the past, but these recent statistics show us that they are still present as ever.
So with all of the above in mind, how is this blog going to look? My personal goal is to explore the world of experimental an avant garde music from the 20th and 21st century in a meaningful way: I aim to examine the general progressions throughout the decades from the early 1900s to the present with more focus on the individual decades spanning the 1940’s to the 2021’s. Many of the consequent posts will focus on a single decade at a time where I will seek out and listen to a variety of songs that experiment or deviate from contemporary music in some way. The bulk of the posts will include my own reflections on the music, briefly touch on any relevant context or history, and evaluate what makes it unique. My other focus here, as stated in the previous paragraph, is on diversity in experimental music. I want to reflect on how experimental and avant garde music has been pioneered by a diverse group of artists. I am also curious about whether experimental music can provide more of a platform for diverse artists simply by nature of being less widely accepted by the masses but so encouraged and celebrated by their fellow deviants.
Setting up a website through OpenEd proved more difficult and time consuming than I initially thought. Currently, I am waiting for the site to be set up – at least that’s what the window says when I try to open my website. It’s been about 10 minutes of waiting by my estimate. Rich says I might have to make a new website altogether.
(3:19 PM)
It’s been about another 10 minutes later; I was easily broken and made a new website. I’m still waiting on my email to even activate my site at this point. This does not feel promising.
(3:35 PM)
Once I finally get my site and blog up and running, I hope to document my experience with this course and use it as a resource for myself to keep track of all the educational technology I end up learning about in this course. This reflection, of course, will be uploaded retroactively, but I am documenting my experience in real time to keep record of these riveting events…
(3:47 PM)
I am looking forward to being able to access my site. Seeing how class ends in three minutes, I guess it will be next week. Stay tuned…
