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Good morning, my dear friends.

I'm not Ioana Ostafi-Dancu. I'm Ruxandra Garofeanu,

and I'll take on the difficult task

of walking toward the future via music.

I say "difficult" because even if you have an extensive musical knowledge,

what's being created today, in my opinion, is hard to comprehend.

At least for me.

I have two companions here, two qualified people on my left and right.

I'll start with Ana-Maria Avram, who's a composer,

and on my right is Iancu Dumitrescu, an old friend of mine.

Why do you torture the instruments so badly?

Because...

Because all the juice has to come out of the sounds.

Didn't they sound good enough in other centuries?

They sounded good for other centuries.

Pa-pa-pa-pa!

Do you realize what this means?

You conduct it like this:

pa-pa-pa-pa!

Right now, I did it very...

Pa-pa-pa-pa!

It's a fabulous energy! It's an explosion!

The first one goes like this: pa-pa-pa-pa!

The second explosion: pa-pa-pa-pa!

The third explosion!

The fourth one:

ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta!

From here on, it evolves, but it's the same thing: pa-pa-pa-pa,

pa-pa-pa-pa...

So,

I am...

In any case, in the context

of Romanian culture, I'm probably the only one who...

I'm not bragging.

I have to be rational about this.

But I'm explaining myself because you incited me

to reveal something.

I'm involved in this.

My whole life is an explosion.

But this explosion was beneficial to me.

It was also beneficial to Romanian culture.

It was generated by me, and even multiplied.

To think that Ana-Maria Avram also took some

of this explosive material and cultivated it in her genre

and in the forms she developed

through her talent.

I had this improbable

idea

of being inside a tree,

devouring and penetrating it

with my teeth, forging a path within.

A secret path, unknown,

unfollowed,

that defines me with all my powers of expression

and my rather minor, insignificant abilities.

The thing is,

in the very insignificance of being, that of every human being,

we can discover the truth.

And

we can do that through introspection, by exploring our own truth.

I dug deep within myself.

It's been a long process.

I don't want to compete with him, so I'll be polite.

Upon approaching this piece,

he's confronted with a depth of issues

not so common

in the West.

They live within form. We live within content.

We know how to cry. So, what is this content?

I don't pretend to cry. I don't pretend to laugh.

I yell if I have something to say.

I can pick up a rock and throw it at you because I know what it means to be true.

What does it mean? It means to be essentially free.

To have no obstructions, no criteria, no exaggerated criteria.

These are the issues of art.

The confrontation with sound is something extremely delicate.

This is permanence, the continuum.

Obviously, it's transforming. It has to become dynamic.

This type of Romanian music doesn't let you fall asleep.

It always has something to say.

What does he do? He makes a fuss.

He affirms something, whereas I say something.

There's a huge difference.

He and I are complementary. He's my brother.

He puts me in a universal light.

But I want to show you the Romanian way.

We approach an issue and we exist within it.

I can keep you engaged for two hours using only this sound.

Before writing the score of this piece,

I played all the instruments for hours, like a madman.

Now I'm imitating him.

He inserts these hiatuses as if due to impotence.

But it’s not impotence.

He's trying to...

He wants to isolate this break, to give it a meaning.

Have you noticed? Sometimes his bow stops around here.

It's called al tallone, an Italian term.

He wants to stop something.

But this act of stopping only makes sense if you do it once.

If you do it more than once, it becomes a system.

It starts following a certain logic.

When I play my music in the US,

in France, or in England, it's like talking to animals.

I mean, I'm addressing the animal side of the human being

from England, Norway, Sweden, Ireland, the US, and Italy.

Music strikes chords and vibrations close to the navel

and essential to the human being.

It's extraordinary what it can do.

Through art, we can reach these obscure, unknown dimensions.

Music is something unknown.

It's a dialogue between me and you.

Like this rambling I sometimes engage in, to the point of exhaustion.

Can you play the sad version for finishing?

Right now?

Thank you. It's to you.

It's your instrument.

There's no treble, for fuck's sake!

The Romanians of Iancu's generation were already speaking about the spectrum

and the radiant force of the sound,

having no idea what the young French were doing.

The Romanians were in a way more

radical, I can say, and more

courageous.

I mean, trying to build with the spectral sound, with those

transitory sounds, which are multiphonics,

which are harmonic sounds, overtones, and so on.

All kinds of fragile sounds, which to be put in music and to

build a composition with those kinds of sounds

you need to revolutionize the structure of the music

because you have to reiterate the music to be similar with itself in a way.

But in which way? So, you have to find a form,

you have to find a way to put those sounds into music,

and the possibility of transcending the sound.

What is transcending the sound? It's not a mystical thing.

It doesn't mean we go to God.

Not at all.

It just means that the sound itself becomes music.

So, you find a metaphor by which sound is transformed into music.

It's going into space, where it's not only the material thing,

but the meaning of the thing.

So, Iancu tried to approximate those electronic sounds

with instrumental sources,

to find a way where instruments were sounding different

than normal instruments are sounding, and this is a long approach to

different techniques which were more or less unknown and very unorthodox.

And techniques of playing,

I mean, diagonal techniques as he loved to call them.

And he made, like, electronic music, but with instruments.

With double basses, with prepared piano, and so on.

-What the hell do I do with these? -What was that?

-What do we do with these scores? -Give them to me.

-No, but... -If they're valuable, put them here.

-They're not valuable, but I want to... -Well, yeah.

-Though they're valuable for... -OK.

I don't know where the hell to put them.

Do something about that fucking noise!

Doesn't it bother you?

Have you all become modernists?

You like noise music?

What about these?

We'll put them someplace where we...

OK, let's clear out that drawer before the cleaning lady arrives.

What about these film strips?

They could be important.

Wait, I'll get a bag.

Here.

You want to keep that passport?

-Should I throw it away? -Yes, it's expired.

-OK, but it's something. -Then keep it.

Raise your head.

Damn it!

What is it?

That's it.

-Use this to loosen the grip. -OK.

You know how you can do this?

-You make all sorts of facial expressions. -Lean back.

-And then select the stills. -Look over there.

Turn your head toward Ghiță.

Turn your head toward Ghiță.

Do you really think I can see your finger?

Toward Ghiță.

I can't do that unless Ghiță moves.

Move a little, Ghiță, because this cow doesn't get it.

Why did you call me a cow?

-How could you? -"Why did he call me a cow?"

Moo!

You could try this in the other room as well.

I don't think that's a good idea, Ghiță.

That room is cluttered.

The stills would look awful.

Move your hand around your lips.

Cover your face, or something. We’re just playing.

You don’t have to pose.

You just have to change your facial expression once every...

-But it’s hard to do that. -Once every five seconds.

-Explain something to Ghiță. -What can I explain to Ghiță?

Something about music.

Dear Ghiță, what can I explain to you about music?

Let me show you something.

-Go over there, Ghiță. -No, thank you.

You won't be in the frame with my wife. I'll make sure of that.

Stop it. It's in the frame.

-Stop it. -Relax, it won't end up on the internet.

Who knows?

Will you stop that?

Careful, Ghiță.

I paid for this.

Come on, woman!

No, that's enough.

I want to see myself first, see if I like anything.

-Can I see it? -You can watch it on your TV.

Can't we watch it on the camera?

You can't. It's recorded on the videotape.

Yes, you can.

Let me turn it off.

Let's lift it up a bit.

There.

Watch your feet.

OK, let go of it.

Perfect.

Wait a minute.

Steady, steady, steady.

One of you get out of there.

That's it.

Don't drop it.

Steady, steady.

Steady.

That's it.

That's it.

Give him a hand, George. It's heavy.

Steady.

Let's put it down.

Put it down.

Steady.

Let's turn it over.

Let go of it.

Good job.

Those books need to be sorted out.

-What was that? -You want to keep all those books?

Only these ones over here.

There were many more, stacked up to the ceiling.

-And I threw them away. -So, you'll only keep these.

I'll keep these, yeah.

If not for you, I'd burn them all.

You know what I mean? It was you who told me to keep them.

-Just now, you told me to... -I told you to sort them out.

And I did exactly that.

OK, but you're keeping these, which were on the balcony.

These are valuable books, which I would miss.

There were valuable books on the balcony.

-Should we put that in the closet too? -Yes.

It was you who told me not to throw them away.

What about these on the floor?

What do we do with these?

You throw them away.

Go get some garbage bags and throw them away.

This is a historical recording from fifty years ago.

-Remastered, it wouldn't be the same. -Yes, but there are...

I mean, it's doable.

Of course, it's doable, but it would lose its historical quality.

It would sound like I made it the day before yesterday.

But some things can't be faked.

It would be just an act of re-listening and proper mastering.

You have no idea what we were going through back then.

The lack of equipment, the lack of sound engineers...

I made this at my own expense, as it were.

Out of extreme idealism,

I invested my entire life in microphones,

tape recorders, and other stuff on which I had to improvise.

Did you notice the percussionist?

He was at the highest level,

like Stockhausen had in Germany, or others had in Paris.

We had no instruments.

These were gathered from all the pubs and restaurants in Bucharest.

Places like Athénée Palace and what have you.

For a price, I'd get a couple of tom-toms and other stuff.

But things are different now.

I know, but I'm talking about what I did back then.

I mean, we could use these recordings and update them to our time.

Yeah, but...

-I mean, we could improve... -I get it: the sound.

No, the sound is good.

But they need a proper release.

If they're solely on your computer, it's not enough.

I see the nostalgic side of things.

OK, let's pick up where we left off.

-Let's continue, yes. -Your collaboration with...

The Hyperion Ensemble was very famous

although it wasn't accepted as such by everyone in that era.

On the contrary,

there were both latent and open conflicts

with the authorities.

Even our professors at the Conservatory, as well as other people,

found this music unprofessional, a total disaster.

But they had no idea whatsoever what real music was.

Besides, there was political pressure.

Of course, it wasn't the same pressure Iancu Dumitrescu experienced

in his training years. Things were somewhat different then.

In Iancu's time, for decadent, formalist,

courageous, and experimental music,

you risked going to jail, or at least flirting with it.

In our time, what you risked was being dismissed, being poor...

You mean in the eighties.

In the eighties, yes.

83, 84...

And it was worse before that. Sorry to interrupt.

-It wasn't just the eighties. -They won't be able to...

The risk of going to prison was before that, but I wasn’t...

-So, in our time... -Stop it.

You can start now.

When I was in college, we didn't risk going to jail anymore,

not even close.

What we risked was rejection, poverty, the lack of perspectives,

total exclusion from the official musical milieu.

After all, there was no underground scene,

at least not for, let's say, experimental classical music.

We didn't have the outlets

genres such as jazz and rock still had.

In those days, there was no underground contemporary music scene in Romania.

So, there was still a tough fight going on.

It was tough and there was nothing...

The officials didn't encourage us to participate

in this artistic and intellectual movement.

It wasn't like that at all! It was like an atom bomb!

This is what it means not to have been involved in real situations.

What do you mean?

Every minute was like an atom bomb, but now's not the time to get into this.

Every minute we were between life and death!

Well, you, yes.

And where were you?!

I wasn't in this situation yet, in this bomb.

OK, but you knew about these things, that people die for this!

When your professor told you...

That stupid motherfucker!

He told you I was an idiot who could set the double bass on fire!

OK, I'll mention that.

-Make smoke come out of it! -Please stop.

-Imagine the audience's reaction! -I know, I know.

-What a... -I'll mention it.

-No, but you're creating... -Will you stop?!

I will, but you're creating an idyllic picture,

as if everything were fine.

It's not idyllic at all.

-OK, you talk then. -From my point of view, it was terrifying!

-Why don't you talk instead? -My wife is my accomplice

in all there was and all there will be. But you make it sound like...

No, I don’t.

-If I’m being polite it doesn’t mean... -Forget about being polite!

Be dramatic!

And not only dramatic but more accurate!

As she transcended, going to that place where she is now...

You know what I mean?

There's nothing left of her

that could make a phone call, write an e-mail, or whatever.

Her music follows a different path, a path specific only to her.

And

it would seem crass if I tried to attach myself

to her destiny.

"Ana-Maria Avram, who was married to Iancu Dumitrescu,

has passed away," and so on.

We were two lovers,

two lovebirds,

two spouses, and two beings, together and...

-Separately. -And separately, yes.

This situation...

I'm extremely happy that in my secrecy, which I intend to keep...

You make me say more than I want to.

I'm happy to have created my own double.

There was a great unity

of artistic spirit between us,

a great love, and at the same time...

At the same time, we were two universes.

I apologize.

These things are beyond you.

And

it's such a joy to see someone

who lives artistically, who's independent.

Because you've created

an atmosphere

that allows this evolution to happen.

So,

to answer your question,

I think I'd be a profiteer...

After this tragedy, I'd be a profiteer to act

as if I had any contribution.

I think her destiny...

You can't do anything.

Just as I can't do anything for myself, she couldn't do anything for herself.

However,

what she and I created

is rooted in the legacy of this environment,

which is a natural legacy.

Of course, it took a lot of effort.

We had serious doubts.

But we were thoughtful.

So, in the time I have left,

if possible,

I altruistically want to generate a school. Not imitators.

A spectral music school.

This thing of ours wasn't only written and felt,

but also conceived as a musical system.

Earlier, you mentioned dodecaphonic and atonal music.

This history is written also

through conceptual sequences.

What is music actually? It’s a sound which evolves.

It's not the sound itself. Sound is not music.

It could be music. But in what conditions sound is music?

I mean, it's becoming music.

In the phenomenological conditions, because you can do phenomenology

as Monsieur Jourdain was doing, you know, grammar without knowing it,

and good musicians always do that...

Old musicians always did that, also in the past.

So, it's the way,

finding the direction where music itself needs to move.

I mean, the sonic material:

what in it...

You are going from a seed, from a very fragile seed,

a weak seed of sound, something that...

A small inspiration which can be like a small stone of sound.

And what do you do with that? This is the problem.

Where did this part of nothing, nothingness,

something so tiny wants to evolve into something?

And this is what phenomenology, as a method

and as a process of knowledge, can help us.

And so, is it that then...

So, we talk about the seed.

You have the seed of the idea, or the seed of the sound...

It's not the seed of the idea. It's the seed of something concrete.

-So, it's a sound-idea. -Or it could be an idea like...

Let's say it's a multiphonic on a bass clarinet.

-Exactly. -For example.

What are you doing?

What follows next?

Yeah, it's got a certain rattle,

it's got a certain kind of uneasiness, and then, I guess...

And the possibility to evolve or not to evolve.

-Right. -You realize that it has no...

It's a dead end, so...

Then you have to oppose it something else.

And that's why you need always to refer to the beginning.

Also in composition, and also when you play,

so when you teach to others how to enter into this music.

-Let's say it was perfect. -It's OK.

But it sounds whiny.

-Let's try again. -Stop stretching the note.

-You must synchronize your pedal with... -Stop it, please!

Just a moment.

See to me, see to me.

We are...

It's just the two of us.

Get ready.

Stop it!

-A single sound! -One hit.

Get ready!

You always have

to be on your mark.

Get ready.

-It's just two simultaneous moves. -Once more.

It's because I don't like how it sounds.

-No, it's fine. -No, listen to me:

your gesture is more important than your liking how it sounds.

You can be both an idiot

and ultra-extreme,

extraordinary!

Yeah, whatever. Cue one.

-Only one. -Come on!

One. Get ready.

Bravo! You've made great progress already.

Now two very short notes.

Get ready.

It's surprising, but extraordinary!

It's so simple!

Listen.

Louder now.

-Yes, because you... -It seems very complicated, but it's not.

It was the truth, you know what I mean?

Let's try again.

OK.

I'll resume with her. I apologize.

More verve.

It goes together with…

Don't be afraid. It's just a rehearsal.

The thing is to be tough. Life is full of misfortunes.

-When I do this... -Yes.

-You stop. -Yes.

More legno.

Now you're starting to babble. You have nothing to say.

The thing about our music is that we have to say something people need to hear.

As you can see, we're all phenomenologists here.

Philosophers, that is, but I prefer "phenomenologists".

There's this thing called the phenomenology of perception,

which is a phenomenology à l'inverse.

What does that mean? You have to see what follows next.

For example, when I go like this I propose something.

-Yes. -Likewise, when you play,

the audience needs to understand what it's listening to.

But what's there to understand if your playing is mechanical?

This is music no one needs.

In other words, much ado about nothing.

I was in the army, exhausted by certain situations

that were rough there.

All my life I had been a civilian.

I was a little too old for the army.

The recruitment service had forgotten about me.

I was about twenty-seven,

and it was difficult for me to obey military rules.

They were somewhat dehumanizing.

It just so happened that one night,

because of my insubordination,

I was sent on duty with my squad

somewhere outside the barracks, about ten kilometers away,

where the unit flag was posted.

At some point, because I couldn't stand anymore,

I sat on a couple of stairs and fell asleep.

And I had a dream:

a large piece of glass

hanging by thick ropes

next to a wall suddenly began to collapse,

falling on the cement and breaking.

In dream state, there's this possibility

of temporal expansion.

I stood up, but the sound in its fundamentals

was still screaming in my head.

These pieces of glass hitting the cement were jumping back up,

ringing out and collapsing again.

I was in a confusing situation.

I had clearly dreamed it all,

but the dream felt absolutely real, it was something from within me.

My brain was bursting

with these unimaginable sounds, with this cosmic explosion.

So, I picked up my rifle to fire.

But fire where?

Fire at whom?

Behold, an explosion had taken place inside of me

and I couldn't do anything about it.

I was merely an eunuch

with a gun.

I started sobbing.

So what if it's old? Old means valuable.

Stradivarius is three or four hundred years old.

Lift it up until we get across.

Can you do that? Grab it like that.

Up!

That's it, George.

Wait a minute.

That's it.

Steady.

Steady.

-That's it, George. -Careful.

-Don't worry, I won't shove you. -It's alright, I can manage.

-Can you? -Of course, I can.

Slowly. There's no hurry.

Would you like to join my orchestra and play that instrument?

Believe me, I'd like to, but I don't think it's for me.

I can only carry it for you.

-That's a big deal! -I know it is.

I've carried it until it broke my back.

It broke my back more times than I can remember.

How many times? Hundreds of times.

Don't worry. That's how music begins.

-That's it. -Yep.

Steady.

Can you manage by yourself? I can't get across.

Hold on to it.

Pull.

That's it.

They told me to bring back these newspapers.

-You could take it out on its side. -Right!

To your right.

Now turn it on its side.

That's it.

-Grab it by its legs. -OK.

The legs have to go out first.

-The other way around. -Exactly.

Bravo!

That's it.

Careful.

It takes a German some time to figure out these things.

Watch the legs.

Move as close to the door as possible.

-Wait, let me... -No, go back.

Now put it down on its side.

Steady.

-We could turn it upright and... -That's what I want, but...

-Hold on to it. -OK.

Take out the door.

-Yep, I'll take it out. -That's what I'm saying.

Bring me the crowbar, Pompiliu.

-Where is it? -It's in the bathroom or the hall.

This is how I imagined

the music of the spheres when I made this.

So, this is a contemplation. It's a...

It's a contemplation of the sky.

This is an external sound. It has no psychic elements.

I don't matter in this music.

What matters is only this external dimension.

I'm just an observer of various celestial phenomena.

What you're hearing is objective.

It's beyond the author's commentary.

Of course, it's artificial. It's something I've made.

But it pertains to objectivity.

This is an authentic phenomenological gesture.

It's a phenomenological reduction of the sky.

There's a lot going on: a stone falls every now and then, a plane flies by...

Here's a cry of the celestial

matter.

Our sky also suffers.

These are not my sufferings, you know what I mean?

Do you understand what I mean by depersonalizing the creative act?

It's the act itself.

It's the matter revealing itself.

The composer has no involvement. He's a photographer.

Time is eternal.

Years have passed

like morning haze.

From now on,

things are going to get tense.

You could say these are the composer's preconceptions.

I'm becoming lyrical.

What if something happened to our cosmos,

to these suns?

There's also the concept of timing.

I'm playing with the tempos here.

They're either long...

It's an ongoing phenomenological process.

I photograph the situations I provoke.

But I let them be. I let them define themselves.

They're all noises, extensions, pretty similar things.

But since phenomenology is omnipresent...

Watch out! It's going to get louder now.

I personalize these sounds.

But the piece is unfolding on its own.

-But when he... -His music is...

-It's elitist. -Yes, absolutely.

But you can separate it from his discourse.

No, you can’t.

-Sure, I can. -OK, fine, you can.

But if I want to engage with him

I feel like I have to make a pact with his discourse.

-That's because... -This framing discourse.

Because that's the way you understand art.

The fact that you're so immersed in it renders these things inseparable.

-But for the connoisseur... -You know why he's doing it?

-Because he's self-referential. -He's eighty years old, for fuck's sake!

-And he's, like, all about himself! -I agree.

-It's only natural! -I'm not saying it isn't.

I mean, I like what he's doing. Without a doubt.

But when he goes into this framing discourse

he makes me want to take a step back and look at it differently.

I fancy him as a folk artist. I'm like...

The musicians have to look to the scores,

but in the same time look for cueing.

Because the music is made here and now.

This is another phenomenological principle it has,

and the score has to be adapted to the acoustical conditions,

to the people around...

-There's a lot of flexibility. - It's a lot of...

Actually,

they sound so much alike when you hear them from outside,

so there seems a lot of intervention in the music,

but the music is still so much obliged and so much written, I can say.

But there is a degree of liberty which is assumed by the conductor,

who has the perspective of the whole.

I mean, the whole thing, which a musician, in his place, cannot have.

And it's not a music for clerks.

I mean, you read the score and you play in four-four.

And this is, I mean, really the task of the conductor.

It's really important. It's really creative.

And sometimes it's really like a new creation in real time,

a new composition in real time

following the coordinates of the score.

But you also have to be wise enough and to accept from the musicians

what they propose when they are into the limits of the score.

Not to kill their spontaneity.

And also what you have to know in this transformational music

and in a phenomenological approach is that even a mistake,

something which cannot be assumed by...

For example, for the spectral French music,

a mistake is a mistake is a mistake is a mistake.

-They will edit it out of the recording. -So, it can shit everything.

-So, it can make the music broke. -Right.

And in a transformational

and phenomenological approach of music

a mistake can be transformed, struggling to it,

giving it sense and transforming it into a virtue.

Maybe not, but just giving it

viability, possibility, so...

The mistakes can be recuperated, you know, with very much...

I mean, with a spirit very open and very sharp in the same time.

In a living, very ardent way of living the music hic et nunc.

So, here and now.

I gab about energetic stuff,

purely energetic, not material.

I don't ejaculate matter from my mouth.

I ejaculate ideas.

So, on the one hand,

there's something oral, a vibration, an energy coming out of my throat,

but on the other hand there's matter.

So, this ambiguity

means something is and isn't at the same time.

This is what defines it.

Matter exists and it doesn't.

Life exists and it doesn't.

Simultaneously.

On an ultra-microscopic level and on a large scale.

Matter exists and it doesn't.

There's this synchronicity between being and not being.

To go even further: is there death or is there not?

An overwhelming question

people have been asking for a long time.

Death also is an act of transcendence.

Certain qualities are lost, the obvious ones,

but something remains,

which we bury or incinerate.

And even if it were incinerated, we'd still have a fistful of ashes.

Therefore,

we're alive and dead at the same time.

At least according to this theory of synchronicity,

which is absolutely real.

Conversely, you're dead but you're real.

It completely shatters

any kind of Manichaean attempt

to define things.

I'll say it again: the unseen is seen.

It exists.

I can elaborate even more on this nonsense,

which isn't nonsense at all:

Ana-Maria Avram Dumitrescu

isn't here anymore, but she's with me all the time.

It's overwhelming.

It's incomprehensible

to

the rational mind.

How does this apply to music?

Imagine making music only with matter.

Music doesn't exist. It's something that really doesn't exist.

Music can only become.

I mean, you can’t touch music.

"Give me music." You give me a piece of paper.

What could I do with it?