Notation in the Works of Luciano Berioby William Andrew Burnson

The rendering of any piece of music in notation by a composer, like a fingerprint, allows

us to infer many things about the composer through the manner of its distinctions. A composition

can not exist without a notation to communicate the composition. Arguably, all composition is

notation.

We often isolate the content of the music from the notation containing it, yet as a

sculpture presents its form both through what it is and what it is not, not simply an object

occupying space, but a form contrasting the emptiness around it, notation defines a composition

through the subtraction of an otherwise limitless musical space, giving with each symbol a more

finite existence to the music. All musical compositions are obviously subsets of the language

they employ. For example, no piece uses every feature of all forms of musical language

expression (yet!). Taken in the other direction, all musical compositions are also supersets of any

notation in that the manner in which the notation is used is specific to the piece. The

combinations, the patterns, the congruity of composition is just as much an expression of musical

unity as it is notational unity.

That seemingly tautological argument is not necessarily so. The purpose of any study in

notation should not be to find the most superficially interesting, visually-striking elements but to

identify the parameters that allow the notation to contain music. Most of these we take for

granted. The idea of a sixteenth note actually has no single notational equivalent. We could argue

for the sake of practicality that the graphical symbol x is a sixteenth note, much the way we

could argue that T is a letter of the alphabet. Yet, only in the context of pitch, dynamics,

articulation, tempo, staff lines, instruments, systems, pages, and all the surrounding musical

material does a sixteenth note express anything at all. If we then place another sixteenth note

next to the first x x and observe the two otherwise identical graphical objects, we see that they

each take on different roles in the composition: perhaps an antecedant-consequent relationship,

or the establishment of a pulse, or perhaps the creation of an iamb or a trochee. Similarly, as a

painter who places a single red dot on an otherwise empty canvas instantly changes the

relationship of an otherwise abstract dot to an otherwise abstract canvas, a second dot, instantly

defines a relationship between the dot and dot, and the two dots to the canvas.

Another useful analogy to bring to the relationship between notation and composition:

consider again the letter T. We think we see just two features: a long stroke up forming a stem,

and a horizontal plank crossing the top of the stem. Now consider the significance of the

following graphic: T (and imagine having drawn it with black not white ink). Without an extra

thought, we again see the same letter, albeit through the guise of an inverted scheme of

foreground and background colors. Could it be that our understanding of the construction of this

shape (composition) is inextricably tied to the space (notation) containing the letter's form

(music)?

The subject of Luciano Berio and his use of notation, a vastly underexplored aspect of his

music, provides tantalizing insights into the construction and composition of his works. Several

of these works as published today remain in the hand of the composer, allowing us to catch

glimpse of the skillful negotiation between the composer's musical intentions and their

corresponding execution on the page. Berio's innovations in notation run the full gamut of

musical expression, from tinkering with and embellishing features of the Western music lexicon

to manipulating performance structure and the very foundation of the music. Through the lens of

such precisely notated music, as document of the ephemeral moments in between the pen and the

paper, the commitment of the grand scheme to individual notes and other symbols, a careful

examination of the composer's choices in notation may bring telling clues regarding the

processes of composition.

Many composers will say that notation is secondary to their composition. Berio said in

interview: “Usually, I'm not concerned with notation itself. When I'm concerned, that means

there's a problem. The issue of notation comes out, at least in my own musical perspective, when

there is a dilemma, when there is a problem to be solved. And that pushes me to find solutions

that maybe I was never pushed to find before.”1 Clearly, Berio uses notation regardless of

whether or not he is concerned with it. Let us instead test this hypothesis: if composition is

simply the execution of notation, then can we also say that Berio's innovative compositional

techniques are reflected by equally innovative notation?

A simpler question might prove more profound: what things comprise musical notation?

A musical score, cover to cover may contain a title page, a list of instruments, remarks by the

composer, a stage setup, a set of performance directions, and other information—all of which are

not usually considered to be examples of musical notation. Consider a literary example: the

preface. Many manuscripts include one for the purposes of introducing a subject to a reader,

sometimes to introduce terms, prerequisites, corrections, or even justifications for the text that

follows. In theory, the manuscript stands on its own without an introduction. Yet, in light of the

preface, is it the same work? In many pieces of modern music, some prefatory remarks are

essential to the proper performance and comprehension of the work. Especially when in the

music of Berio, “commentary” is itself a vehicle for musical expression, we should not accept a

1 Benedict Weisser, “Notational Practice in Contemporary Music: A Critique of Three Compositional Models(Luciano Berio, John Cage, and Brian Ferneyhough)”. Ph.D., Composition, City University of New York, 1998.Appendix A, p. 1.

narrow definition of notation.

As a preliminary example, Recital I (for Cathy) contains at the score's beginning three

large pages of detailed staging directions by Berio indicating humorous stunts: the soprano

initially walks on stage and, having no accompanist, flies into a rage going backstage to nag; or:

the soprano is instructed to sing standing in the nook of the piano (though without a piano player

actually present) as in traditional performance practice, thereby interrupting her otherwise

operatic role, hence juxtposing two essentially incompatible modes of concert. These directions

are clearly notational.

Another thought experiment: could something outside the bound music score, such as a

program note written by the composer, or a composer interview regarding a particular piece also

notate the music? (Perhaps annotate would be a telling substitution here.) Many composers

reluctantly discuss their music, neither for lack of certainty or shyness, but to avoid cheapening

it. If notation is likened to the subtraction of musical possibilities, then we might also say that

discussing one's music is a subtractive (and thus notational or annotational) process, by which a

piece of music is made more definite and therefore more narrow, something that for some

composers might be akin to revising the work simply through its discussion or annotation.

Continuing our gedanken with an altogether different composer, Terry Riley, we might

ask if the notational simplicity of In C yields a music that is more all-encompassing (and perhaps

that it is why some minimalists might prefer the term totalist) than, say, a sonata of the same

length since In C subtracts much less from the realm of all musical possibilities. Stravinsky in his

Poetics of Music2 lectures at Harvard, spoke of the importance of “limits” in music. So let us put

forth the following relationship: notation, as the ultimate arbiter of limits, can encompass

2 Igor Stravinsky. The Poetics of Music. Revised edition. Boston: Harvard University Press, 1993. Chapter Four:“The Composition of Music,” p. 45.

anything that defines a piece of music more narrowly.

With a working definition of notation in reach, we proceed to attempt the previous

inquiry regarding the dual nature of compositional and notational innovation. Considering the

above example, In C, a single page of music representing up to an hour of performed music is in

indeed a feat of both composition and notation. In fact, that composition requires the notation it

was given. Riley's magnum opus is an equal innovation in both composition and notation.

Or, consider serial music. If we insist on a narrow view of notation, then it would appear

that the process of the music is independent of the graphical notes that express it. Yet such an

argument fails to explain the sets, rows, hexachordal combinatoriality, etc., all of which owe

most of their popularity to the easy of which they are notated. (Think: [0 1 4] is itself merely a

notation, and say, F-sharp, G, and A-sharp is one possibility for notating this set in music.) The

mapping of any external concept into music, is inescapably an issue of notation, even when no

new graphical symbols must be invented to represent the new mapping. The notation of serial

music could therefore be considered just as innovative as the underlying composition (since

composition is, under this hypothesis, equivalent to notation).

In the following investigation of Berio's use of notation, we will consider aspects that

limit or define the music in some way that are beyond the norm. There are a number of

enterprising notations serving hugely different musical functions ranging from performance

considerations to compositional considerations—basic extensions to the nominal language,

rendering a particular passage in a more graphically convenient way; extensions to instrumental

technique; rhythmic translations for multilingual texts; optional passages, alternative passages;

randomness, aleatory; cueing; stage directions, commentary; metastructures such as mirror

compositions. Due to the large number of full-page illustrations, see the Appendix for the

musical examples.

Beginning with Sequenza VI for Cello Solo, we see examples of extensions to the

nominal language of notation. In several passages, Berio indicates a quadruple stop tremelo in

which accidentals change quasi-contrapuntally across the gesture's duration. They are indicated

by their relative placement (an embedded use of proportional notation, for one) and changing

accidental marks. Visually, such passages look like clouds of accidentals (though they are of

course interpreted linearly):

When we examine the purpose of the notation, we see that it has some interesting properties. For

example, the pitches change by small amounts, always within a half-step of the original note.

This is important for performance in that the cellist, given a quadruple stop with no open strings

will have all four fingers down on the neck and will only be able to adjust them by a minute

amount. When we consider the historical purpose of the accidental as an inflection of a pitch that

belongs to, say, a mode, we see that Berio has cleverly remapped the etymological purpose of the

accidental onto, instead of a mode, a hand position.

In this same Sequenza (and in some of the other Sequenzas) we also see Berio writing

detours which the performer is allowed to choose between, usually labeled A) and B).

Traditionally, editors use ossia staves to indicate the simplification of a texture in case the

performer is unable to execute a particularly difficult passage. Berio takes the idea one step

further by recomposing passages (composed editorializing), allowing the performer to take the

detour that is most appropriate.

All of the Sequenzas contain, in total, dozens of extended instrumental techniques for

which Berio invents notation symbols to describe. The composer uses new symbols on an as-

needed basis according to his sentiment, “The issue of notation comes out, at least in my own

musical perspective, when there is a dilemma, when there is a problem to be solved.” When

Berio refers to notation, he seems to be speaking more to the synthesis of graphical symbols and

not to the general use of notation in all of its guises which we examine here. However, the

incredible detail to which Berio usually defines these symbols often results in notational prefaces

which are longer than the pages of music itself (for example, the Sequenza III for Voice contains

a three and a half page preface for three pages of music!) begging the question, are definitions of

notation also notation and part of the music?

Another example of Berio extending notation to “solve a problem” would be Opus

Number Zoo in which members of the woodwind quintet alternate playing and speaking. The text

has been translated into English, German, and Italian. Since the number of syllables required and

the stress varies, Berio writes two rhythmic lines to precisely place the syllables regardless of the

language. In this piece, Berio makes use of two different types of narration notation: a

rhythmically specified notation and freely spoken text. For eighth and sixteenth notes, he uses

beams with headless stems; for quarter notes he uses single headless stems.

Extending idioms even further, in the solo piano piece “Feuerklavier” from Echoing

Curves, also in concerto form in Concerto II, Berio writes deliberate pedal markings for all three

pedals. Interestingly, the sostenuto pedal is given the marking “(random)” indicating that it

should be fluttered over the course of several measures. This has the effect of catching some of

the dampers (and due to the speed of the notated figurations, it is not possible to tell exactly

which will be held) resulting in unpredictable resonances. This notation is also an example of

controlled aleatory.

A more prominent example of aleatory occurs in the Concerto Per Due Pianoforti e

Orchestra. Berio indicates a set of notes, treated like a chord over time, in which the performer

iterates and reiterates through the set of notes at a specified tempo. There are + O and –

markings to indicate “very even”, “somewhat uneven”, and “very uneven” respectively, or, in

other words, the relative steadiness of the pulse at any point in the sequence. The notation is

highly inventive, musical, and effective.

Gesti (1966) for Alto Recorder is a charismatic and energetic piece comprised of three

notationally distinct sections. The first two sections are written with strikingly percussion-like

symbols using one staff to dictate changes in embrouchere, and the second to indicate the

position of the fingers on the fingerholes. The last section is written out more or less

traditionally. All of the sections use numbers 1 to 7 for dynamics.

In the first section, the performer is instructed by the preface to, “finger one or two

measures, continuously repeated, at the correct tempo, from the Allegro (Giga) of the D minor

Sonata for Blockflote and Continuo by G. P. Telemann (from 'Esercizi Musici'). Or he can finger

– as fast as possible – something like the following pattern: or, any other

pattern assuring rich harmonics.” Clearly, this is a prime example of Berio's use of commentary,

but the directions also serve to notate the music. This notation, occuring in the performance

directions, lends more credence to the idea that notation does not simply involve the elements on

pages with the music (as traditionally referred to) and can incorporate anything that limits or

more precisely defines the composition.

The first section, since it incorporates this ostinato, has nothing written for the fingers on

the second staff line. The second section drops the ostinato and indicates points along the

fingerholes between which the fingers slide. In the third section, Berio drops the non-standard

notation all together finishing the piece with music that is based largely on pitch classes and

written in traditional notation. The juxtaposition of these three different styles of notation with

this piece, at the same time indicates a juxtaposition of compositional techniques (and this

juxtaposition is, even without the Telemann, a form of commentary).

Berio's translation in and out of proportional notation has been previously described by

Weisser, especially with regard to Sequenza I (1958) and its transformations from rational to

proportional and back to rational notation. Berio, however, first notated Sequenza VII for Oboe

(1971) with proportional notation. In this Sequenza, Berio implements a curious temporal grid

structure: 13 staves each with 13 sections, the length of the sections decreasing monotonically

according to the following progression: 3'', 2.7'', 2'', 2'', 2'', 2'', 1.8'', 1.5'', 1.3'', 1.3'', 1'', 1'', 1''

equivalent to 22.6 units per staff. (When Berio renotates the score from the original proportional

version, he uses tempo q = 60, thus: 3/4, 11/16, 2/4, etc. keeping the structure intact.) The

sections are denoted by dashed lines clearly running down the page, with encircled durations

such as 3'' given at the top and the middle of the large score.

But are they just durations? When you get out the ruler, you see that 3'' corresponds not

just to 3 seconds, but also to 3 inches. (This clever scheme eluded me at first—too obvious!)

This simple fact has remarkable implications in that Berio not only composed into a temporal

grid, but onto a spatial one as well. You can imagine then that the size of the page, the medium

itself, determined the length of the score. And then an interesting dilemma in the relationship

between temporal and spatial structure arises: fermatas capriciously buried within the score add

value to the temporal structure (3'', 4'', 6'', etc.) but not to the spatial structure. These fermatas are

not of the usual type, lengthening a note by an unprescribed amount to be determined at the

whim of the performer; they are given specific durations that the performer must adhere to. The

fermatas, in a sense, provide for strange deformations in the piece's time-space fabric. Again,

what first appears in Sequenza VII to be merely an innovation in composition, is in fact at its

heart, an innovation in notation.

Another example of manipulating the space of the page would be the “mirror music” in

Rounds for Harpsichord. Berio cleverly writes out a single page score (again, accompanied by a

preface of the same length) such that it can be reversed and played backwards. Directions are

given as to when this occurs. In order to reverse accidentals, Berio opts for a square-circle

notation in which square shaped notes indicate raising the pitch a half-step like a sharp, and

circle shaped notes are played as though they were given no accidentals. (One wonders whether

the performer would have appreciated something else besides the shape of the notehead as an

indicator of accidental.) Mirror music also occurs in one of the movements to Duetti per Due

Violini, in “Mauricio”. In this case, one violin plays forwards, the other backwards. For

performance, the score could be laid out horizontally on a platform between two performers

facing each other and they could read the same score properly, each from their own vantage

point. Here, Berio adds accidentals above the notes for both directions of reading, and this is

probably a clearer notation than the one implemented in Rounds.

Circles provides some of the most elusive notation to come out of Berio. The score

provides only a partial explanation for the lines that sweep across parts that are intended to act as

cues between performers. Its strangely undocumented thick boxy lines that encapsulate various

fragments appear to have an abstract purpose. Some lines are also thickened, and the meaning of

this device is unknown. In the Postscript to his book Music Notation, Gardner Read features a

lone passage from Circles to serve as an example of what composers should not do: “If notation

—the written vehicle of musical expression—is to become so detached from all known frames of

reference that it offers no key to the composer's ideas, what useful purpose can it serve? What

musical communication can arise from such an enigma as this excerpt from a score that gives no

clue to the meaning of its format or to most of its new symbols? That both symbols and format

have by now become familiar to those who play and study avant-garde music does not alter the

fact that no explanation for the non-specialist is offered by the composer in his score.”

Read is of course referring to the fact the Berio in this case leaves several aspects of the

notation undefined. He makes the assumption that Berio intended to communicate performance-

related aspects in this notation, but his argument would not easily reconcile the complex

relationship between notation and ambiguity that could be found in the works of John Cage.

(And in fact, once again, the compositional innovations of Cage are also simultaneously

notational.)

Berio usually provides elaborate descriptions of his notational devices, so Read has

certainly singled out a piece that is on the fringe of this composer's use of notation, but it might

be worth asking anyway whether or not notational ambiguities deferred to the whims of the

performer might also be veritable innovations in notation as well. Berio never wrote any purely

“conceptual” music (i.e. music that consists only of performance directions, “ 4'33'' ”, “Danger

Music” and the like), but the proportions of his prefaces in relationship to the music do indicate

that concept often took high priority.

Regardless of whether we are willing to accept the premise that notation is simply the

container to the content of a composition, it should be readily apparent that many of Berio's

compositional innovations correspond, arguably, to equally interesting innovations in notation.

The wide range of compositional techniques he employed seems to be a reflection of a similarly

wide notational gamut. Especially considering the volume of music he wrote, perhaps it would

be appropriate to call Berio not simply one of the great Composers of the modern times, but one

the twentieth century's great Notaters.

Bibliography

Berio, Luciano. Calmo per Mezzosoprano e 22 Strumenti. Wien: Universal Edition [UE 19478], 1989.

Berio, Luciano. Chemins I (sur Sequenza II) per Arpa Principale ed Orchestra. London: Universal Edition [UE 13720], 1970.

Berio, Luciano. Circles. Wien: Universal Edition [UE 13231], 1960.

Berio, Luciano. Concerto Per Due Pianoforti e Orchestra. Milan: Universal Edition [UE 15783],1973.

Berio, Luciano. Concerto II (Echoing Curves) per Pianoforte Solo e Due Gruppi Strumentali. Wien: Universal Edition [UE 19117], 1988.

Berio, Luciano. Cronaca Del Luogo: Azione musicale Testo di Talia P. Berio. Milan: BMG Ricordi Music Publishing, 1999.

Berio, Luciano. Duetti per Due Violini. Milan: Universal Edition [UE 17757], 1982.

Berio, Luciano. Encore per Orchestra. Milan: Universal Edition [UE 16821], 1981.

Berio, Luciano. Fa-Si for Organ (with Registration Assistants). Milan: Universal Edition[UE 16827], 1975.

Berio, Luciano. Gesti for Alto Recorder. London: Universal Edition [UE 13742], 1970.

Berio, Luciano. Opus Number Zoo (Partitura). London: Universal Edition [UE 15637], 1975.

Berio, Luciano. Recital I (for Cathy). London: Universal Edition [UE 13771], 1972.

Berio, Luciano. Rounds for Harspichord. London: Universal Edition [13716], 1966.

Berio, Luciano. Sequenza III per Voce Femminile. London: Universal Edition [UE 13723], 1968.

Berio, Luciano. Sequenza VI per Cello Solo. Wien: Universal Edition [UE 13726a], 1970.

Berio, Luciano. Sequenza VII for Oboe Solo. London: Universal Edition [UE 13754], 1971.

Berio, Luciano. Tempi Concertati per Flauto Principale, Violino, Due Pianoforti edAltri Strumenti. London: Universal Edition [13205], 1962.

Osmond-Smith, David. “Berio, Luciano.” In Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/02815 (accessed December 16, 2009).

Read, Gardner. Music Notation: A Manual of Modern Practice. 2nd Edition. New York: Taplinger Publishing, 1979.

Stravinsky, Igor. The Poetics of Music. Revised edition. Boston: Harvard University Press, 1993.

Weisser, Benedict. “Notational Practice in Contemporary Music: A Critique of Three Compositional Models (Luciano Berio, John Cage, and Brian Ferneyhough)”. Ph.D., Composition, City University of New York, 1998. xxi, 294 p.

Allowing the Performer to Choose a Different Route

Circles (for Harp, Percussion and Voice)

Advanced Pedaling Techniques and “Random” Sostenuto Pedal

Extensions to the Nominal Language

Extended Technique – Organ (in “Fa-Si”)

Removing the Blocks Later in “Fa-Si”

Extended Techniques – Gesti for Alto Recorder

Extended Techniques – Harp (Chemins I)

Notating Narrated Text (Opus Number Zoo, Mov't 1)

Other Ways of Specifying Rhythm in Narration (Opus Number Zoo, Mov't 3)

Extended Vocal Technique – Sequenza for Voice (excerpt from instructions)

Uses of Repeated Patterns

Uses of Notational Mirroring or Symmetry

Instructions to Rounds for Harpsichord

The Gamut of Berio's Use of Extended Notation

NOTATION AS PERFORMANCE PRACTICE

Basic extensions to the nominal language and convenience features

Extensions to instrumental techniques

Partially specified rhythm (for narration), specifying specific rhythms on a per-language basis

Allowing player to make choices between alternatives

Randomness (random pedaling, random continuation of a predefined set of notes)

Facilitation of cues between players (Circles)

Theatrical staging directions and commentary (i.e. Sinfonia, Recital I for Cathy)

Extensions that inform composition (i.e. mirroring in Rounds and Mauricio)[also, extensions that solve a problem caused by another notational choice]

NOTATION AS COMPOSITION