Journal articles on the topic 'Aural music theory'

In the past six years, more than 40,000 students have failed the AP Music Theory Exam. Students have struggled especially when sight-singing or taking melodic dictation in compound meter and minor tonality. Research has shown that students can improve these specific aural skills through learning pitch and rhythm patterns, improvisation activities, and learning from musical literature. This article includes research-based practical applications for helping students improve their aural skills for the AP Music Theory Exam.

In this study approaches to teaching melodic dictation skills used by Advanced Placement (AP) Music Theory teachers were examined. Twelve high school teachers from four states were interviewed. Four themes emerged from the interview transcripts: cognitive frameworks, processing strategies, rhythm, and course design. Participants generally confirmed established understandings of aural skills pedagogy, particularly in areas of pattern instruction, connecting aural and written theory, connecting sight-singing and dictation, incorporating scale degree function, targeting melodic “bookends,” focusing on the big picture, sequencing curricula, and incorporating familiar melodies. Unique to the findings of this study were participants’ positive attitudes toward a standardized test and their concern for the students’ psychological barriers inherent in learning aural skills. A general indifference to rhythm counting systems and a common acknowledgment of students’ difficulties with rhythmic notation also were found. Recommendations for further research include a large-scale survey of melodic dictation strategies taught by AP Music Theory teachers, empirical investigation of the efficacy of specific counting systems, comparison of students’ reported dictation strategies and their success with dictation on the AP exam, and exploration of the influence of psychological fortitude on the dictation process.

Entrance examinations and auditions are common admission procedures for college music programs, yet few researchers have attempted to look at the long-term predictive validity of such selection processes. In this study, archival data from 93 student records of a German music academy were used to predict development of musicianship skills over the course of a 4-year program. Audition grades for the principal instrument, aural skills, and basic knowledge of music theory were correlated with similar data available for the final exams. Final high school grades also were available. Results indicated moderate correlations between entrance and final grades for aural skills ( r = .69) and music theory (.45). Piano majors did better at aural skills and music theory than other candidates. A positive influence of keyboard proficiency also was found for the nonpiano majors. The correlation between initial and final grade on the principal instrument was dependent on the instrument category: piano (.64), followed by voice (.55), winds (.24), and strings (.05). Stronger academic performance prior to college was associated with superior performance in academic subjects in college, whereas no influence was found for academic strength on students’ principal instrument performance.

The purpose of this exploratory study was to examine the role aural imitation ability, jazz theory knowledge, and personal background variables play in the development of jazz improvisation achievement. Participants ( N = 70) included 26 high school and 44 college instrumentalists with varying degrees of jazz improvisation experience. Data were collected using four researcher-designed instruments: (a) Participant Improvisation Experience Survey (PIES), (b) Improvisation Achievement Performance Measure (IAPM), (c) Aural Imitation Measure (AIM), and (d) the Jazz Theory Measure (JTM). Results indicate that aural imitation ability and technical facility are fundamental skills supporting jazz improvisation achievement. Other contributing factors include improvisation experience, jazz experience, practicing improvisation, perceived self-confidence, self-assessment, and jazz theory knowledge. Further analysis of results led to improvisation being viewed from a developmental perspective and achievement levels being distinguished on a developmental continuum (i.e., novice, intermediate, advanced) based on performance evaluations within musical categories (i.e., rhythm/time feel, harmony, melody/rhythmic development, style, expressivity, and creativity).

The primary purposes of this study were to identify factors underlying instrumental jazz improvisation achievement and to examine the extent to which knowledge of jazz theory, aural skills, aural imitation, and selected background variables predict achievement in instrumental jazz improvisation. Subjects were 73 undergraduate wind players enrolled in college jazz ensembles at five midwestern universities in the United States. Results indicated that objective measurement of instrumental jazz improvisation is possible on expressive as well as technical dimensions. Factor analysis revealed only one factor, suggesting that instrumental jazz improvisation is a single construct. Stepwise multiple regression revealed self evaluation of improvisation as the single best predictor of achievement in instrumental jazz improvisation with aural imitation ability as the second best predictor.

In this study, we investigated the use of digital technology for aural skills instruction in Advanced Placement Music Theory (APMT) classes in the United States. Our research questions focused on which technologies teachers use for aural skills, how they incorporate them, and what influences their decisions to use them. We created, piloted, and distributed a survey electronically to a stratified sample by state of 866 instructors. Participants who completed the survey ( N = 317, response rate = 36%) were current APMT teachers representing 48 states. Of the 91% of respondents who used digital technologies for teaching aural skills, 93% used websites, 47% used software programs, and 38% used mobile apps. Participants incorporated technology for student practice outside class (93%) and during class (78%), and to present new material during class (55%). Of those who did not use technologies ( n = 29), 41% cited lack of funds and 34% cited lack of class time. Participants noted that technology can provide extra practice for students and customization for their needs, but that students’ lack of access and limitations of the programs may temper these benefits. Implications for pedagogical practice and music teacher training are discussed.

The purpose of this study was to identify pedagogical approaches to melodic dictation used by college music theory instructors at National Association of Schools of Music accredited institutions. Instructors ( N = 270) from 45 states responded to an online survey targeting melodic dictation instruction in their freshman theory courses. Results indicated that instructors: Chose pitch systems that emphasized scale degree function and rhythm systems that emphasized the meter, acknowledged the difficulty of compound meter for students, and advocated listening to a dictation completely before beginning to write. Respondents also listed the textbooks, software programs, and Web sites they used to supplement instruction and the types of music they chose for dictation assessments. Their replies to free-response questions highlighted several challenges of teaching dictation and aural skills in general. Knowledge of these instructional trends could be helpful when evaluating K–12 music curricula, especially for students who plan to major in music in college. The results of this study may benefit both college instructors and K–12 music educators in that their students face similar challenges and seek corresponding solutions.

This article examines popular music listening in light of recent research in auditory perception and spatial experience, record production, and virtual reality, while considering parallel developments in digital pop music production practice. The discussion begins by considering theories of listening and embodiment by Brandon LaBelle, Eric Clarke, Salomè Voegelin and Linda Salter, examining relations between listening subjects and aural environments, conceptualising listening as a process of environmental ‘inhabiting’, and considering auditory experience as the real-time construction of ‘reality’. These ideas are discussed in relation to recent research on popular music production and perception, with a focus on matters of spatial sound design, the virtual ‘staging’ of music performances and performing bodies, digital editing methods and effects, and on shifting relations between musical spatiality, singer-persona, audio technologies, and listener. Writings on music and virtual space by Martin Knakkergaard, Allan Moore, Ragnhild Brøvig-Hanssen & Anne Danielsen, Denis Smalley, Dale Chapman, Kodwo Eshun and Holger Schulze are discussed, before being related to conceptions of VR sound and user experience by Jaron Lanier, Rolf Nordahl & Niels Nilsson, Mel Slater, Tom Garner and Frances Dyson. This critical framework informs three short aural analyses of digital pop tracks released during the last 10 years - Titanium (Guetta & Sia 2010), Ultralight Beam (West 2016) and 2099 (Charli XCX 2019) - presented in the form of autoethnographic ‘listening notes’. Through this discussion on personal popular music listening and virtual spatiality, a theory of pop listening as embodied inhabiting of simulated narrative space, or virtual story-world, with reference to ‘aural-dominant realities’ (Salter), ‘sonic possible worlds’ (Voegelin), and ‘sonic fictions’ (Eshun), is developed. By examining personal music listening in relation to VR user experience, this study proposes listening to pop music in the 21st century as a mode of immersive, embodied ‘storyliving’, or ‘storydoing’ (Allen & Tucker).

This article focuses on the analysis of computer music, that is, music which uses programming languages so that what the listener hears is the result of computer code. One key point in this article is that this music exists with some writing, that is, the computer code. I note that this key point has not been addressed in the latest theories for analysing computer music. Indeed, we often see this music as part of the electroacoustic field, where the audio signal is essential, and where we usually read that those musics are non-written music. After an introduction on this topic, in the second section I will make a distinction between ‘before the signal’ and ‘from the signal’ to organise the theories to analyse electroacoustic music. In the third section, I will focus on computer music and I will show the historical difficulty in considering ‘code’ in musical analysis, mainly with an important exchange between two pioneers, Marco Stroppa and Jean-Claude Risset. In the fourth section I will explain with Jean-Claude Risset and Horacio Vaggione the specificity of computer music: this music is written. Finally, I will look into a recent analysis theory, the Interactive Aural Analysis by Michael Clarke, which seems to fit with the latter specificity.

Abstract Jeffrey T. Nealon proposes that “twenty-first-century American biopolitical subjectivity” has as its “overarching logic” an arrangement in which being for something signifies a content-less affirmation: “I’m not like everyone else.” For Nealon, this “excorporative” logic grows out of, coincides with, and exhausts rock music’s discourses of authenticity from the second half of the twentieth century. Today, an endlessly interconnected network emerges in which old forms of cultural “individualism” become ever-interchangeable modes of “hip commodity consumption,” indexing a neoliberal regime that renders “everybody” into “prosumers” (producers-consumers). This review-essay considers the extent and limits of this proposal, querying Nealon’s understanding of listening and aurality and indicating the challenges presented by bypassing the mesopolitical in an effort to outline the macropolitics of consumption and the micropolitics of individuality.

AbstractThis article explores the mobilisation of Indian popular music in the Tata-AIG life insurance company television advertisement ‘Tree of Love’ (2004). I address ways in which music representing different periods of Hindi film, along with visual representations of Indian material culture, have been integrated into an advertising narrative that alludes to India's technological and economic development. I suggest that a range of aural and visual signs subtly complement each other in creating a narrative that not only marks the passage of time, but reframes past social and economic debates into contemporary terms. I contextualise this advertisement – and the signs that it uses – within the field of the Indian insurance industry, as well as within the social-historical context of modern India. Then, utilising elements of Peircean semiotic theory, I closely analyse the aural representations of the passage of time and different eras of Indian musical culture. The analysis ties together the interactions of musical and non-musical signs with the cultural memories that the commercial is designed to evoke. Ultimately, I argue that musical meaning in this advertising context emerges from the complex interaction of these aural and visual signs, and produces memory as much as it reflects it.

Concert halls are designed for attentively listening to music. To guarantee that the listening experience mediated by these buildings is acoustically correct, architects rely upon math- ematical formulas to measure and predict how a building will sound. Armed with these formulas, they are able to experiment with unconventional concert hall designs without compromising the acoustics. The achievements of modern architectural acoustics are a valorisa- tion of the mathematical formulas used to predict acoustics. Indeed, the development of a predictive theory of architectural acoustics by Wallace Sabine in 1900 has been celebrated as the beginning of a new era of understanding sound and acoustic design. However, overlooked in this scientific triumphalism are the aesthetic standards that shape the acoustic design of buildings for music. Sabine’s formula transformed our understanding of how music behaves in an enclosed space, but it did not change our understanding of how music should sound in these spaces. In this paper I explore these points through a history of the acoustic design of Amsterdam’s Concertgebouw, which opened in 1888. Through an examination of the history of the acoustic design of the Concertgebouw, I describe the process of acoustic design prior to Sabine as a process of aural imitation. With this concept I reconceptualise the history of acoustic architecture to better recognise, first, how Sabine’s theory is simply a more effective form of aural imitation, and second, how the quantification of sound has led to a subjective idea of good sound becoming fixed as an objective measure of what good sound should be.

Opera is considered by its devotees to be the highest form of art. Grand opera, to give the art form its more venerable name, is so praised because it represents an especially vibrant intersection of words, music, and stagecraft. In theory then, opera becomes a natural artistic medium to present to gifted students, since it offers an opportunity to introduce them to an intricately visual and aural experience, which will considerably broaden their awareness of how artful words joined with powerful music can enrich their world. The problem then is to transform this grand pedagogical and aesthetic idea into practical reality.

This study evaluated the design of a teaching method to improve aural identification of harmonic intervals (m2–P8). Three groups of first-year professional-grade music theory students aged 11–13 ( N = 25) at the Girona Music Conservatory (Catalonia, Spain) were given 20 lessons. All groups were taught using the same method. Observational methodology was used, with teachers acting as participant observers who systematically registered their observations in field diaries and were then interviewed at the end of the experiment. Assessments confirmed that the proposal was generally effective, as the design allowed students to improve. However, the experiment highlighted the fact that difficulties lie mainly in the aural identification of the TT, m6, M6, m7 and M7 intervals. The relationship between this general difficulty and other, more specific patterns observed during this study suggests that the design of the teaching method requires more flexibility to be adaptable to the different nature of each interval and the way in which the intervals tend to be perceived and processed. Knowledge of the most difficult aspects of the teaching proposal that was tested may guide us in designing what, how and when to teach.

Based on relevant literature and recent qualitative findings, the purpose of this survey research was to identify pedagogical approaches to melodic dictation employed by Advanced Placement (AP) Music Theory teachers across the United States. The researcher-designed survey questions focused on pitch and rhythm skills, instructional resources, dictation strategies, test-taking skills, and characteristics of successful dictation students. The survey was distributed online to a stratified random sample of 875 AP Music Theory teachers across the United States. Of these recipients, 398 participants from 49 states and the District of Columbia completed the survey, yielding a 45.5% return rate. Results indicated that teachers preferred pitch systems that emphasized scale degree function and rhythm systems that emphasized the meter. Participants also reported the influence of the AP exam on their dictation teaching and described their need for additional instructional time and better preparation for teaching aural skills. Suggestions for further research include similar studies of other populations, including high school teachers of other theory courses and college theory instructors.

This study investigates the psychometric characteristics of Gordon’s Advanced Measures of Music Audiation (AMMA) in a region with strong non-Western music tradition. It also examines the possibility of measuring audiation with the modern psychometric theory. The AMMA test was administered to 513 students in the city of Ioannina and a number of villages in the region of Epirus in northwestern Greece. Nonlinear factor analysis based on tetrachoric correlation coefficients confirmed a tone and rhythm structure in AMMA according to the theory of Gordon. Cronbach’s alpha coefficients for the tone and rhythm factor scores were .70 and .61 correspondingly. The Kuder and Richardson’s (KR-20) reliability coefficient for the 30 items was .55. A Rasch measurement model has a good fit. The analysis of the Rasch residuals has showed that the dimensions of AMMA do not distort the estimation of Rasch parameters. Further analysis of the 30 AMMA items has shown that they can be ordered in 10 levels of difficulty. The authors present items’ difficulty and persons’ level of audiation on the same interval scale and discuss the usefulness of the music ability tests that are based on aural stimuli.

Roysten Abel's The Manganiyar Seduction is perhaps the most popular performance of Indian folk music on the global festival market today. This performance of Rajasthani folk music is an apt exemplification of an auto-exoticism framed as cultural commodity. Its mise en scène of musicians framed, literally, by illuminated red square boxes ‘theatricalizes’ Rajasthan's folk culture of orality and gives the performance a quality of strangeness that borders on theatre and music, contemporary and traditional. The ‘dazzling’ union of the Manganiyars' music and the scenography of Amsterdam's red-light district engendered an exotic seduction that garnered rave reviews on its global tour. This paper examines the production's performative interstices: the in-betweenness of sound and sight where aural tradition is ‘spectacularized’. It will also analyse the shifting convergences of tradition and cultural consumption and further interrogates the role of reception in the construction of such ‘exotic’ spectacles.

This study investigates how a class of university music students who engaged in a ‘lived’ experience of informal learning adopted methods and strategies to complete a self-learning ‘aural copying’ performance assignment in a musicianship class in Hong Kong. Data were collected from observations of the performances and the students’ written reflections. The findings showed that they used the methods of intensive listening, using technology, and collaborative learning, as well as the strategies of putting their knowledge of music theory into practice, substitution of instruments, and learning a new instrument in order to emulate the sounds of various instruments. They found this an interesting task that gave them opportunities to improve their musicianship, and they became more sensitive to different voice parts.

This article uses Zbikowski’s theory of ‘musical grammar’ to analyse Radiohead’s song ‘Paranoid Android’ from their 1997 album OK Computer. Invoking the close structural and compositional parallels between language and music, Zbikowski’s approach appropriates some of the core elements of cognitive linguistics to provide a means of ‘translating’ music into meaning-bearing conceptual structures via the construction of ‘sonic analogues’, which are a type of conceptual construct formed when incoming perceptual information is compared to existing cognitive knowledge stored as image schemas. The result is an analysis of the interactions between the linguistic and aural constructions of a multimodal text that not only sheds new light on the text’s meaning-making devices, but also endeavours to unlock the strategies through which such distinctive semiotic modes act and interact within texts to create meaning potential.

Russian modernist experiments in sensory communication include the interplay of sound and light in Alexander Scriabin’s symphonic mysteries as well as colored sounds in Wassily Kandinsky’s stage compositions. Inspired by various philosophical principles and creative methodologies, these artists explored the dialogue between the aural and the visual and its potential to influence the creative process and impact audience perception. This article seeks to assess the role of music and sound in synesthetic experiments of Scriabin and Kandinsky and place their theory and practice within the larger philosophical, artistic, and scientific contexts of their period and beyond.

The power of music to bring people across newly established national borders even during the ethnic conflict and dissolution of socialist Yugoslavia has been particularly appealing to scholars. Reflecting on the complex relationship between the affective, the aural, and the political, this issue points out the limits of existing interpretative discourses of music and memory in post-Yugoslav spaces, which underplay the lived intensity of the sensory experiences, emotional investment, and the affective technologies of remembering the past. The authors here argue that the emphasis on the social and political production of affect embedded in the experience of music might be beneficial for shedding new light on memory politics in a post-Yugoslav context. Examining why and how music matters for post-Yugoslav memory practices, the articles in this issue strive to fashion new readings that go beyond the dichotomies commonly drawn between political/nostalgic, commercial/engaged, and escapist/emancipatory. The issue thus argues that the sensorial politics of music can serve as a conceptual framework that provides an important base for new theorizations of Yugoslav cultural memories, which is done by focusing on the politics of sentimentalism and the politics of joy. Accordingly, the goal of this issue is to raise productive questions that resonate with a multiplicity of interpretational and theoretical dilemmas and gaps by mobilizing the tools of affect theory primarily to open a space and spur further criticism and theory.

This article provides the first sustained overview and analysis of the reception of Ovid's “Metamorphoses” in sixteenth-century English ballad culture. It highlights a significant tradition of translating materials from this ancient Roman source into the stuff of vernacular song—a phenomenon that can be traced back as far as 1552. Positing that popular music must have played a crucial role in shaping Tudor ideas about the “Metamorphoses,” this study draws attention to the textual, visual, aural, and kinetic dimensions of the Ovidiana that was regularly read, seen, heard, sung, and even danced to by early modern consumers of mythological ballads.

This article explores the perceived disconnect between informal and formal musical knowledge, through a focused case study which aligned students’ informal knowledge with aspects of the formal curriculum. The upper high school or senior secondary student participants had a background in the creation and performance of popular and contemporary music, and already possessed well-developed informal and aural-based learning skills. Using a latter phase of Green’s (2008) informal learning research as a starting point, the students completed two written tasks: a scoring or transcription exercise, and an analysis report using the music “elements” or “concepts” framework of the syllabus. Legitimation Code Theory (LCT), was utilised in the theoretical appraisal of themes emerging from the study. Employing one LCT dimension known as Semantics, which explores the context-dependence and complexity of knowledge, a range of knowledge types were observed. These made visible points of connection and disconnection between the students’ informal knowledge and the formal knowledge required to complete the tasks. The study highlights the limitations of informal knowledge as a sole basis for formal knowledge construction, but equally unveils points of connection between the two, important in informing teacher facilitation, and, much needed in curriculum reform.

Sixty years on from Pierre Schaeffer’s call for ‘primacy of the ear’ (primauté de l’oreille), this article asks an ostensibly simple question: whose ear/aural perception is being referred to when we talk of and compose under this guiding principle? Is there a tacit preselected audiometric norm or even a pair of golden ears, at its core? The article will problematise the uncompromising modernist notion espoused by Babbitt of a ‘suitably equipped receptor’ (Babbitt 1958), and posit examples of well-known composers whose hearing markedly diverged from the otologically normal, an acoustics standard from which A-weighted decibels is predicated (ISO 226:2003). In conclusion the concept of auraldiverse hearing is proposed and creative strategies that eschew or problematise auraltypical archetypes in sonic arts practice and theory wherever they may lie are encouraged.

We examined the relationship between interval identification skill and error detection skill in preservice teachers, accounting for timbral differences by including piano and vocal stimuli. The interval identification test was comprised of 33 items spanning from C2 to B5. Fifteen error detection items were monophonic melodies, two measures long, in 4/4 meter, and included one pitch error. Music education majors ( N = 50) completed both tests in vocal and piano timbres during one individual study session. Interval identification performance was significantly correlated with error detection performance, r = .75. Additionally, interval identification score was a significant predictor for error detection when also accounting for variance from numbers of semesters of enrollment and theory/aural skills courses. Response times for correct responses of interval identification were faster than for incorrect responses. We found no main effects or interactions between primary performance area and timbre of test item. The results suggest interval identification skill generally can be used to predict error detection, reinforcing the importance of developing interval identification as a basic musical skill.

Written in 1802, Beethoven’s “Tempest” piano sonata is the iconic work of the “wirklich ganz neue Manier” the composer announced right after his traumatic seclusion in Heiligenstadt. Suffused with asymmetries and contradictions, the sonata’s first movement has long attracted the attention of scholars concerned with the epistemic soundness of sonata form theories. Most conspicuously, the absence in the recapitulation of what seems to be on first hearing the main theme generates a formal paradox that challenges the theoretical models devised to analyze sonata forms. This article reinterprets that paradox through the prism of Friedrich Schlegel’s theory of form, formulated in his critique of modern art and literature. In doing so, it recasts Beethoven’s “Tempest” sonata and Schlegel’s theory in the light of what I call the paradox of mediated immediacy. It further suggests a genealogical homology between the novel and sonata form to advance a historicized model of musical form that contemplates the material conditions accompanying the consolidation of print culture around 1800. Situated in this context, the “Tempest” sonata serves as a case study for exploring how Beethoven’s reinvention of the piano sonata reconfigured the interface between form and medium, deploying self-referential strategies that both rendered apparent and resignified the mediations entailed by the compositional practices instituted with the classical style. As a result, Beethoven’s piano sonatas came to operate as technologies of the self that became integral to the fashioning of romantic subjectivities. My reading emphasizes the aural experience induced by the form’s asymmetries, and contends that the absence delivered at its structural crux complicates sonata form practices to afford an experience of immediacy that captures in the medium of piano music the paradoxical condition Schlegel reckoned immanent to the modern self.

Boris Eikhenbaum’s daring study of verse intonation, The Melodics of the Russian Lyric Verse [Melodika russkogo liricheskogo stikha], published by OPOIAZ in 1922, was a landmark text in Eikhenbaum’s biography and the history of Russian Formalism. This retrospective review-essay sets Melodics in multiple contexts. These include the “phonocentrism” of early 20th-century Russian culture, the interest in Germano-American Ohrenphilologie (aural or acoustic philology) shared by scholars of the Institute of the Living Word; Eikhenbaum’s estrangement from both the linguistics of Eduard Sievers and the circumspect academicism represented by his friend Viktor Zhirmunsky; his attraction to the early Formalist concepts of Viktor Shklovsky and Osip Brik; and even, despite his initial revulsion for Futurism, his acceptance in verse-study methodology of a Futurist concept of considerably desemanticized poetic language. A methodological critique of Melodics and related articles correlates Eikhenbaum’s interest in verse declamation with the concept of osmyslennaia intonatsiia [“meaningful or conceptualized intonation”] then being developed by the musicologist Boris Asafyev. Eikhenbaum, a serious student of the violin and piano, and the composer-theorist Asafyev noted one another’s work on speech intonation with great sympathy. They shared an interest in Mussorgsky’s conscious derivation of melos from speech, but their models of intonation, it is argued here, proved incompatible, even antithetical. A review of logical conundrums in Melodics, partly supported by Zhirmunsky’s contemporary review, focuses on a contradictory relationship to a causative model of linguistics and “technical” empiricism, and a fundamental petitio principii in Eikhenbaum’s presumption that in verses of “the melodious type” “the melodic use of speech intonation is the fundamental factor in their composition” (Melodics 17). What remains of permanent value in Melodics is a body of brilliant syntactical observations on Zhukovsky, Pushkin, Lermontov, Tiutchev, and Fet. As Eikhenbaum himself argued: “theories perish or change, but the facts discovered and established with their help remain” (Melodics 195).

This essay argues that Beckett's examination of media forms, rather than being eclipsed by, culminated in the return to prose around 1980, and that Beckett's long-term preoccupation with silence, incoherence and ‘the unword’ manifests in the relational nature of nostalgia in his later texts. Attending to a particular moment of Beckett's work on television and late prose – his directing the teleplay Geistertrio (Ghost Trio) at Süddeutscher Rundfunk (SDR) and his simultaneous composition of the novella Company – compels examination of the reconfiguration of some of Beckett's earlier concerns with form and media in his late aesthetics. The use of separate recording processes for the audio track and visual footage in the production of Geistertrio is reflected in the disunity of visual and aural forms of expression in Company and later works. While Beckett still incorporates antagonistic relations figuratively in Company, the separate positioning of descriptions of sound and sight allows for a prominent tone of longing and affection, if also mixed with subtle irony. In this late phase of Beckett's work, the sense of disunity inherent to Beckett's conceptions of remembering and imagining operates through the combined separation of visual and aural expression. The haunting character of the affective and compositional structure of these late works connects to the function of Beethoven's piano trio ‘Geistertrio’ in Beckett's eponymous teleplay. At this point Beckett takes an interest in silence that occurs through the interplay of instrumental parts in Beethoven's music. Among Beckett's earlier formulations of the tension between form and incoherence, his juxtaposition of form with the chaos and distress of history anticipates the way in which Beckett uses formal disunity to let a path through the past be imagined in Company. The analysis which follows brings together Beckett's recently published letters, recollections from his colleagues of 1976 and 1977 and close textual study.

Abstract This essay examines Tyehimba Jess’s Pulitzer Prize-winning poetry collection Olio (2016) and Jeffery Renard Allen’s acclaimed novel Song of the Shank (2014), focusing specifically on their creative recuperations of “Blind Tom,” a famed pianist who remained in bondage throughout a performance career that spanned the antebellum and postbellum periods. Citing and interpolating archival documents about “Blind Tom,” Olio and Song of the Shank denaturalize what Jennifer Stoever terms the “sonic color line,” whereby music and other forms of aural production became inextricably bound up with racial stratification. Through contrapuntal persona poems, which may be read vertically, horizontally, and diagonally, Jess also pays tribute to Tom’s musical dexterity while implying the myriad possible interpretations of the musician’s life and art. Alternatively, Allen’s nonlinear novel makes use of free indirect discourse, not to reimagine Tom’s interiority but instead to focalize the largely undocumented interior thoughts of those who controlled Tom’s life, underscoring the famed musician’s lack of agency and self-determination. Not purporting to recover the “real” Tom, Allen and Jess employ distinct but decidedly self-reflexive methodologies, suggesting the ways in which historical accounts are similarly constructed to emphasize particular perspectives and silence others. As they advance counternarratives to archival accounts of “Blind Tom,” Jess’s Olio and Allen’s Song of the Shank also elucidate cultural through-lines between the nineteenth century and our own time, especially unsettling teleological readings of the nation’s steady progress toward racial equality.

Abstract The present work consists of a statistical study of the monaural (lateral-reflection fractions and level) and binaural acoustic parameters (inter-aural cross-correlation coefficients) that evaluate the amount of early and late lateral acoustic energy encountered in 9 performance halls in Andalusia (southern Spain). Hall volumes range between 6,163 m3 and 34,594 m3 and all enclosures are used for presentations of symphonic concerts and other music performances. The majority of these venues are located in provincial capitals of the community and often constitute the only premises in the city where symphonic concerts can be held. The acoustic parameters under study here were derived from impulse responses analyses using a sine-sweep signals which were generated and processed by WinMLS 2004 software in the octave- band frequency centred from 125 to 4 kHz, and all parameters were spectrally averaged according to the ISO 3382-1 standard. A comparison is presented of monaural experimental results as a function of source- receiver distance with the prediction of Barron’s revised theory for concert halls, and the analyses of the acoustic parameter results are carried out in terms of their respective just noticeable differences: at the many microphone positions for the two source positions on stage, for the spatial distribution of seats in the audience zone relative to the central axis (for left- and right-hand sides) of the rooms, and for the presence of the orchestra shell on stage. Results reveal that the orchestra shell propitiates a perceptible decrement in the values of the early lateral energy fraction and an increment in the late lateral level at the audience seats. In addition, a regression study reveals that the two kinds of measures of laterality, monaural and binaural, are correlated when the hall-average data is considered, but they remain uncorrelated when all individual positions are used. Likewise, the ranges of variation of the acoustic parameters found in these halls are narrower than those specified in the ISO 3382-1. The paper concludes with a discussion on the relationships of hall-average data of the five parameters with eight geometric and acoustic variables.

The worldwide renowned Slovenian industrial alternative music group Laibach, which was also a member of the multimedia artists’ collective called NSK, has been a subject of many professional discussions. This article attempts to analyse Laibach’s conception of a uniform according to the theory of anti-fashion. As one of the most recognizable elements expressing a mythical, totalitarian aura, inseparably linked with the performers’ distant and constrained attitude, Laibach’s uniform can be erroneously comprehended as anti-fashion clothing, expressing fixed and rigid social environments. The analysis of Laibach’s television interview from 1983, in which the band is directly imitating the ruling ideological language, shows that the strategy of over-identification and subversion represent dominant principles of Laibach’s actions, combining them with the retro-method of using symbols and images of various cultural traditions and periods, as seen in their diversity of clothing worn, including the Yugoslav military uniform, miner and hunting uniforms, jeans and shirts, and even fashionable items. With the performative dimension in the ideological ritual and by emphasizing totalitarian tendencies in contemporary society, Laibach endeavours to show that all changeable multiform clothes are uniforms – timeless, universal and deprived of semiological meaning and thus surpasses the distinction of fashion and anti-fashion or fixed and modish costume. Nearly forty years after the establishment of the group, Laibach is conventionally dressed in regular clothes, nevertheless providing a sentiment of wearing a collective’s uniform.

Some French humanist poets betray a keen awareness of the intrinsic fragility that affects the cultural dynamics of the Renaissance. Marot and Du Bellay express its inchoate nature, even when addressing the King. While celebrating the times they live in, they rarely greet the renewal as an ongoing event. Qualifiers and other linguistic structures make it a virtual reality in their verse. To explain this paradox, this article will first examine the temporal and moral ambivalence affecting humanist poets’ relation to Antiquity. The analysis will then turn to conditional and negative turns of phrase that can be interpreted as oblique warnings to the Prince (“If you do not… then be careful”). Despite the obvious expectation of a budding renaissance, hopes that a French Virgil will emerge are fraught with doubt and virtual wording. Finally, the reluctance toward the epic reveals issues that displace the end of the Renaissance, and perhaps pave the way, if not for a true political renaissance, for a poetics of renaissance as a process.

There is in the words “a beautiful Jewess” a very special sexual signification, one quite different from that contained in the words “beautiful Rumanian,” “beautiful Greek,” or “beautiful American,” for example. This phrase carries an aura of rape and massacre with it. The “beautiful Jewess” is she whom the cossacks under the czars dragged by her hair through the streets of her burning village. And the special works which are given over to accounts of flagellation reserve a place of honor for the Jewess. But it is not necessary to look into esoteric literature. From the Rebecca of Ivanhoe up to the Jewess of “Gilles” … the Jewess has a well-defined function in even the most serious novels. Frequently violated or beaten, she sometimes succeeds in escaping dishonor by means of death, but that is a form of justice; and those who keep their virtue are docile servants or humiliated women in love with indifferent Christians who marry Aryan women. I think nothing more is needed to indicate the place the Jewess holds as a sexual symbol in folklore.

Poésie maniériste? Baroque? Le mespris de la vie et consolation contre la mort (1594) peut-être le résultat de multiples influences, et chaque situation d'énonciation de ce recueil comporte sa manière propre de structurer les courants idéologiques de l'époque à laquelle il a été écrit, et ce, dans un but didactique d'illustration, comme le précise d'ailleurs la "Preface au lecteur." Les Essais sont sûrement l'une de ces influences. Toutefois, alors que chez Montaigne le moi constitue "une médiation pour connaître le monde," chez Chassignet, le "je" est au service de l'illustration. On aura beau chercher à tort et à travers la "mélancolie de Chassignet" ou l'expression de son "moi clivé," le seul affect qu'il est possible de reconstituer à la lecture du recueil est celui du sujet partout dépeint comme la figure exemplaire du pécheur.

Addressing the disparate levels of aural skills that students may have acquired through their daily musical experiences prior to formal schooling can be difficult. Placement tests within the Western classical musical tradition typically involve structural decoding and formal concepts of elementary music theory. In this manuscript, we discuss the development of a music placement evaluation for beginner students ( N = 539) involved in the ear training and music theory classes of a university outreach program. The measure consisted of 12 aural skills tasks inspired by the principles of Serafine’s music development model that assessed knowledge acquired from daily music experiences without stressing the formal nomenclature of music theory. Stimuli were comprised of temporal (idiomatic construction and textural abstraction) and nontemporal processes (melodic closure, harmonic closure, transformation, and hierarchical levels) according to Serafine’s model. The comprehension of tempo, register, and melodic contours also was evaluated. The use of real music excerpts, some of which likely belonged to students’ own repertoires, may have helped the students to concentrate on the cognitive/aural tasks. The implications of this evaluation for music education are discussed.

Paney, A.S. & Buonviri, N.O. (2013). Teaching Melodic Dictation in Advanced Placement Music Theory. Journal of Research in Music Education, 61(4), 396–414. (Original DOI: 10.1177/0022429413508411 ) This article was published with an abstract containing errors made by the publisher during the production process. The abstract should read: In this study approaches to teaching melodic dictation skills used by Advanced Placement (AP) Music Theory teachers were examined. Twelve high school teachers from four states were interviewed. Four themes emerged from the interview transcripts: cognitive frameworks, processing strategies, rhythm, and course design. Participants generally confirmed established understandings of aural skills pedagogy, particularly in areas of pattern instruction, connecting aural and written theory, connecting sight-singing and dictation, incorporating scale degree function, targeting melodic “bookends,” focusing on the big picture, sequencing curricula, and incorporating familiar melodies. Unique to the findings of this study were participants’ positive attitudes toward a standardized test and their concern for the students’ psychological barriers inherent in learning aural skills. A general indifference to rhythm counting systems and a common acknowledgment of students’ difficulties with rhythmic notation also were found. Recommendations for further research include a large-scale survey of melodic dictation strategies taught by AP Music Theory teachers, empirical investigation of the efficacy of specific counting systems, comparison of students’ reported dictation strategies and their success with dictation on the AP exam, and exploration of the influence of psychological fortitude on the dictation process.

Music making at the keyboard can be of significant value to students learning music theory and aural skills, but an instructor must clear several logistical hurdles in order to integrate it fully into an undergraduate curriculum and capitalize on its aural, visual, and tactile advantages. Most music majors have only modest technical facility at the keyboard, and opportunities for individual coaching and assessment are often constrained by large class sizes, one-piano classrooms, and limited contact hours. This article describes a classroom-tested solution to these challenges in which students work outside of class at keyboards linked toSmartMusicsoftware, record snapshots of their work, and submit them online for immediate and detailed feedback. The software supports novel and interactive learning formats that give even non-keyboardists access to activities such as guided improvisation, play-along, echoing, sing-and-play, transposition, and fill-in-the-blanks. In addition to sharing samples of student work, the article also substantiates the effectiveness of this curricular intervention with qualitative and quantitative data collected during a formal impact study with 37 second-year undergraduates during fall 2013. Following research methodologies common in the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning, students participated confidentially in interviews, surveys, and practice journals that documented their experiences with this learning format. The results show powerful positive impacts on how, what, and how well students learned in the music theory course; to their attitudes about music theory; and to their ability to apply what they learned to their musical endeavors outside the theory classroom. Thus, this study offers both a practical method and a strong justification for placing hands-on music making at the center of students’ engagement with music theory.

As the field continues to imagine ways to increase representation in the music theory curriculum, this article offers one possible solution: a modular curriculum based on musical and critical thinking skills rather than a particular repertoire. In this design, students share a common grounding in music theory rooted in common practice, which cultivates notational fluency, aural awareness, and writing skills, before choosing upper-division music theory electives. The electives have the same skill-based learning objectives, which are general enough to be applied to various repertoires. A skill-centered music theory curriculum, as opposed to one that is repertoire-centered, grants students agency to practice analytical and interpretive skills in repertoires of their choosing, while creating a common academic experience for all music majors. This modular approach to the music theory core opens the curriculum to greater musical representation, without relying on tokenistic nods to diverse repertoires, and empowers students to make decisions about their education.

This article focuses on three “hacks” to the traditional model of music theory instruction:standards-based grading(SBG),just-in-time teaching(JiTT), andthe inverted classroom. In SBG, students receive multiple grades in reference to clearly defined learning objectives rather than a single grade that may mask weaknesses by averaging them with strengths. JiTT assesses students’ understanding before class so that the instructor can adjust the lesson plan according to their needs. In the inverted classroom, students acquire a basic understanding of the material outside of class so that class time may be used for active engagement rather than lecture. These tools and the technologies that support them have the potential to help strengthen curricula, increase the impact that an instructor can have on undergraduate theory students, and in some cases reduce the amount of time an instructor must devote to achieving that impact. Any one of these hacks can be incorporated within an otherwise traditional music theory course and can work together synergistically. Both their modularity and their compatibility give them potential to increase instructor efficiency and effectiveness in a wide range of class settings. After describing the scholarly literature surrounding the three hacks as they have been incorporated in a variety of academic disciplines, the authors present four testimonials describing how the three hacks have been incorporated into four diverse music programs: a traditional school of music within a large state university, a large private institution with a focus on jazz and commercial music, a department of music in a mid-sized university, and a small, private university with music classes that combine theory and aural skills.

Musicians who possess functional sight singing and dictation skills have unified into a single entity three discrete bodies of knowledge about music: iconography, nomenclature, and sound. Iconography refers to the visual representation of music. By nomenclature, I mean any labeling system for pitch, rhythm, and harmony. The third component—musical sound—is abstract, being invisible to human eyes and intangible to human touch. In this essay, I suggest approaches to unifying iconography, nomenclature, and sound into a "musical database," as well as propose a curricular reform in which aural skills precedes courses in written theory.

In her 1899 pedagogy manual Touch: Piano Instruction on the Basis of Physiology, the composer and pianist Marie Jaëll (1846–1925) describes pianistic touch as a ‘polyphony of sensations’, a synthesis of vibrations that is both physical and psychical. This article examines Jaëll's recourse to nineteenth-century experimental science, specifically experimental psychology, to develop a theory of pianistic touch. Touch, Jaëll contends, necessitates a pianist's attention to haptic and aural impulses in an elusive, ‘simultaneous and successive’ process that collates the pianist's tangible sensation of the keyboard and the ineffable mental impressions conjured by sound. This braided sense of musical touch can be cultivated in performers and transmitted to listeners. Jaëll makes this assertion using a novel kind of visual evidence: fingerprints. Fingerprinting her students before and after the execution of selected piano études and treating the prints as diagnostic documents, Jaëll posits that isolating and attending to minute variations in touch is akin to attuning to the aesthetic content of a musical work. Jaëll crystallized her methodology in a vibrant collaboration with Charles Féré (1852–1907), a criminologist and one-time student of Jean-Martin Charcot. More broadly, Jaëll's treatise is a striking exponent of the era's ‘graphical method’, pioneered by Étienne-Jules Marey, which sought to supplant scientific rhetoric with ‘objective’ truth, depicted as machine-generated wave forms. The ethos that motivated the creation of such representations, propagated by an array of influential scientists including Ernst Heinrich Weber and Hermann von Helmholtz, underscores a tendency to intertwine physiology and psychology in an enterprise that quantified sensation as a fact of mechanistic causes. Jaëll's emphasis on attention – how thought modifies touch and sound – sets her theory apart from experimental psychology's more determinist premises. In Jaëll's experimental apparatus, fingerprints are not objective; rather, they index the variable haptic and sonic sensations experienced by the pianist. As a nascent theory of embodied cognition, Jaëll's pedagogy bespeaks a fluid relationship between mind and body at the dawn of the twentieth century.

While digital remix practices in music have been researched extensively in the last few years (see recently Jansen; Navas; Pinch and Athanasiades; Väkevä), the specific challenges and skills that are central to remixing are still not well understood (Borschke 90). As writers like Demers, Lessig, and Théberge argue, the fact that remixers rework already existing songs rather than building a track from scratch, often means they are perceived as musical thieves or parasites rather than creative artists. Moreover, as writers like Borschke and Rodgers argue, because remixers make use of digital audio workstations to produce and rework their sounds, their practices tend to be seen as highly automated, offering relatively little by way of musical and creative challenges, especially compared to more traditional (electro)acoustic forms of music-making. An underestimation of skill is problematic, however, because, as my own empirical research shows, creative skills and challenges are important to the way digital remixers themselves experience and value their practice. Drawing from virtual ethnographic research within the online remix communities of Indaba Music, this article argues that, not despite but because remixers start from already existing songs and because they rework these songs with the help of digital audio workstations, a particular set of creative abilities becomes foregrounded, namely: ‘fluency’ and ‘flexibility’ (Gouzouasis; Guilford, “Creativity Research”, Intelligence, “Measurement”). Fluency, the way the concept is used here, refers to the ability to respond to, and produce ideas for, a wide variety of musical source materials, quickly and easily. Flexibility refers to the ability to understand, and adapt these approaches to, the ‘musical affordances’ (Gibson; Windsor and De Bézenac) of the original song, that is: the different musical possibilities and constraints the source material provides. For remixers, fluency and flexibility are not only needed in order to be able to participate in these remix contests, they are also central to the way they value and evaluate each other’s work.Researching Online Remix ContestsAs part of a larger research project on online music practices, between 2011 and 2012, I spent eighteen months conducting virtual ethnographic research (Hine) within several remix competitions hosted on online music community Indaba Music. Indaba is not the only online community where creative works can be exchanged and discussed. For this research, however, I have chosen to focus on Indaba because, other than in a remix community like ccMixter for example, competitions are very much central to the Indaba community, thus making it a good place to investigate negotiations of skills and techniques. Also, unlike a community like ACIDplanet which is tied explicitly to Sony’s audio software program ACID Pro, Indaba is not connected to any particular audio workstation, thus providing an insight into a relatively broad variety of remix practices. During my research on Indaba, I monitored discussions between participants, listened to work that had been uploaded, and talked to remixers via personal messaging. In addition to my daily monitoring, I also talked to 21 remixers more extensively through Skype interviews. These interviews were semi-structured, and lasted between 50 minutes and 3.5 hours, sometimes spread over multiple sessions. During these interviews, remixers not only talked about their practices, they also shared work in progress with me by showing their remixes on screen or by directing a webcam to their instruments while they played, recorded, or mixed their material. All the remixers who participated in these interviews granted me permission to quote them and to use the original nicknames or personal names they use on Indaba in this publication. Besides the online observations and interviews, I also participated in three remix competitions myself, in order to gain a better understanding of what it means to be part of a remix community and to see what kind of challenges and abilities are involved. In the online remix contests of Indaba, professional artists invite remixers to rework a song and share and discuss these works within the community. For the purpose of these contests, artists provide separate audio files (so-called ‘stems’) for different musical elements such as voice, drums, bass, or guitar. Remixers can produce their tracks by rearranging these stems, or they can add new audio material, such as beats, chords, and rhythms, as long as this material is not copyrighted. Remixers generally comply with this rule. During the course of a contest, remixers upload their work to the website and discuss and share the results with other remixers. A typical remix contest draws between 200 or 300 participants. These participants are mostly amateur musicians or semi-professionals in the sense that they do not make a living with their creative practices, but rather participate in these contests as a hobby. A remix contest normally lasts for four or five weeks. After that time, the hosting artist chooses a winner and the remixers move on to another contest, hosted by a different artist and featuring a new song, sometimes from a completely different musical genre. It is partly because of this move from contest to contest that fluency and flexibility can be understood as central abilities within these remix practices. Fluency and flexibility are concepts adopted from the work of Joy Paul Guilford (“Creativity Research”, Intelligence, “Measurement”) who developed them in his creativity research from the 1950s onwards. For Guilford, fluency and flexibility are part of divergent-production abilities, those abilities we need in order to be able to deal with open questions or tasks, in which multiple solutions or answers are possible, in a quick and effective way. Within creativity research, divergent-production abilities have mainly been measured and evaluated quantitatively. In music related studies, for example, researchers have scored and assessed so-called fluency and flexibility factors in the music practices of children and adults and compared them to other creative abilities (Webster). For the purpose of this article, however, I do not wish to approach fluency and flexibility quantitatively. Rather, I would like to show that in online remix practices, fluency and flexibility, as creative abilities, become very much foregrounded. Gouzouasis already alludes to this possibility, pointing out that, in digital music practices, fluency might be more important than the ability to read and write traditional music notation. Gouzouasis’ argument, however, does not refer to a specific empirical case. Also, it does not reflect on how digital musicians themselves consider these abilities central to their own practices. Looking at online remix competitions, however, this last aspect becomes clear.FluencyFor Guilford, ‘fluency’ can be understood as the ability to produce a response, or multiple responses, to an open question or task quickly and easily (“Creativity Research”, Intelligence, “Measurement”). It is about making associations, finding different uses or purposes for certain source materials, and combining separate elements into organised phrases and patterns. Based on this definition, it is not difficult to see a link with remix competitions, in which remixers are asked to come up with a musical response to a given song within a limited time frame. Online remix contests are essentially a form of working on demand. It is the artist who invites the audience to remix a song. It is also the artist who decides which song can be remixed and which audio files can be used for that mix. Remixers who participate in these contests are usually not fans of these artists. Often they do not even know the song before they enter a competition. Instead, they travel from contest to contest, taking on many different remix opportunities. For every competition, then, remixers have to first familiarise themselves with the source material, and then try to come up with a creative response that is not only different from the original, but also different from all the other remixes that have already been uploaded. Remixers do not consider this a problem, but embrace it as a challenge. As Moritz Breit, one of the remixers, explained to me: “I like remixing [on Indaba] because it’s a challenge. You get something and have to make something different out of it, and later people will tell you how you did.” Or as hüpersonique put it: “It’s really a challenge. You hear a song and you say: ‘OK, it’s not my taste. But it’s good quality and if I could do something in my genre that would be very interesting’.” If these remixers consider the competitions to be a challenge, it is mainly because these contests provide an exercise of call and response. On Indaba, remixers apply different tempos, timbres, and sounds to a song, they upload and discuss work in progress, and they evaluate and compare the results by commenting on each other’s work. While remixers officially only need to develop one response, in practice they tend to create multiple ideas which they either combine in a single eclectic mix or otherwise include in different tracks which they upload separately. Remixers even have their own techniques in order to stimulate a variety of responses. Some remixers, for example, told me how they expose themselves to a large number of different songs and artists before they start remixing, in order to pick up different ideas and sounds. Others told me how they prefer not to listen to the original song, as it might diminish their ability to move away from it. Instead, they download only one or two of the original stems (usually the vocals) and start improvising around those sounds, without ever having heard the original song as a whole. As Ola Melander, one of the remixers, explained: “I never listen to it. I just load [the vocals] and the drum tracks. [....] I have to do it [in] my own style. [….] I don’t want that the original influences it, I want to make the chords myself, and figure out what it will sound like.” Or as Stretched Mind explained to me: “I listen to the vocal stem, only that, so no synths, no guitars, just pure vocal stems, nothing else. And I figure out what could fit with that.” On Indaba, being able to respond to, and associate around, the original track is considered to be more important than what Guilford calls ‘elaboration’ (“Measurement” 159). For Guilford, elaboration is the ability to turn a rough outline into a detailed and finished whole. It is basically a form of fine tuning. In the case of remixing, this fine tuning is called ‘mastering’ and it is all about getting exactly the right timbre, dynamics, volume, and balance in a track in order to create a ‘perfect’ sounding mix. On Indaba, only a select group of remixers is actually interested in such a professional form of elaboration. As Moritz Breit told me: “It’s not that you have like a huge bunch of perfectly mastered submissions. So nobody is really expecting that from you.” Indeed, in the comment section remixers tend to say less about audio fidelity than about how they like a certain approach. Even when a critical remark is made about the audio quality of a mix, these criticisms are often preceded or followed by encouraging comments which praise the idea behind the track or applaud the way a remixer has brought the song into a new direction. In short, the comments are often directed more towards fluency than towards elaboration, showing that for many of these remixers the idea of a response, any response, is more important than creating a professional or sellable track.Being able to produce a musical response is also more important on Indaba than having specific musical instrument skills. Most remixers work with digital audio workstations, such as Cubase, Logic Pro, and Pro Tools. These software programs make it possible to manipulate and produce sounds in ways that may include musical instruments, but do not necessarily involve them. As Hugill writes, with these programs “a sound source could be a recording, a live sound, an acoustic instrument, a synthesizer, the human body, etc. In fact, any sounding object can be a sound source” (128). As such, remix competitions tend to draw a large variety of different participants, with a wide range of musical backgrounds and instrument skills. Some remixers on Indaba create their remixes by making use of sample libraries and loops. Others, who have the ability, also add sounds with instruments such as drums, guitars, or violins, which they record with microphones or, in the case of electronic or digital instruments, plug directly into their personal computers. Remixers who are confident about their instrument skills improvise around the original tracks in real-time, while less confident players record short segments, which they then alter and correct afterwards with their audio programs. Within the logic of these digital audio workstation practices, these differences are not significant, as all audio input merely functions as a starting point, needing to be adjusted, layered, combined, and recombined afterwards in order to create the final mix. For the contestants themselves these differences are also not so significant, as contestants are still, in their own ways, involved in the challenge of responding to and associating around the original stems, regardless of the specific techniques or instruments used. The fact that remixers are open to different methods and techniques does not mean, however, that every submission is considered to be as valid as any other. Remixers do have strong opinions about what is a good remix and what is not. Looking at the comments contestants give on each other’s work, and the way they talk about their practices during interviews, it becomes clear that remixers find it important that a remix somehow fits the original source material. As hüpersonique explained: “A lot of [remixes] don’t really match the vocals (…) and then it sounds not that good.” From this perspective, remixers not only need to be fluent, they also need to be flexible towards their source material. FlexibilityFor Guilford, flexibility is the readiness to change direction or method (Intelligence, “Measurement”). It is, as Arnold writes, “facilitated by having a great many tricks in your bag, knowing lots of techniques, [and] having broad experience” (129). In music, flexibility can be understood as the ability to switch easily between different sounds, rhythms, and approaches, in order to achieve a desired musical effect. Guilford distinguishes between two forms of flexibility: ‘spontaneous flexibility’, when a subject chooses himself to switch between different approaches, and ‘adaptive flexibility’ when a switch in approach is necessary or preferred to fit a certain task (“Measurement” 158). While both forms of flexibility can be found on Indaba, adaptive flexibility is seen as a particularly important criterion of being a skilled remixer, as it shows that a remixer is able to understand, and react to, the musical affordances of the original track. The idea that music has affordances is not new. As Windsor and De Bézenac argue, building on Gibson’s original theory of affordances, even in the most free expressive jazz improvisations, there are certain cues that make us understand if a solo is “going with” or “going against” the shared context, and it is these cues that guide a musician through an improvisation (111). The same is true for remix practices. As Regelski argues, any form of music rearranging or appropriation “requires considerable understanding of music’s properties – and the different affordances of those properties” (38). Even when remixers only use one of the original stems, such as the vocals, they need to take into account, for example, the tempo of the song, the intensity of the voice, the chord patterns on which the vocals are based, and the mood or feeling the singer is trying to convey. A skilled remixer, then, builds his or her ideas on top of that so that they strengthen and not diminish these properties. On Indaba, ironic or humoristic remixers too are expected to consider at least some of the basic features of the original track, such as its key or its particular form of musical phrasing. Remixes in which these features are purposely ignored are often not appreciated by the community. As Tim Toz, one of the remixers, explained: “There’s only so much you can do, I think, in the context of a melody plus the way the song was originally sung. […] I hear guys trying to bend certain vocal cadences into other kinds of grooves, and it somehow doesn’t work […], it [begins] to sound unnatural.” On Indaba, remixers complement each other when they find the right approach to the original track. They also critique each other when an approach does not fit the original song, when it does not go along with the ‘feel’ of the track, or when it seem to be out of key or sync with the vocals. By discussing each other’s tracks, remixers not only collectively explore the limits and possibilities of a song, they also implicitly discuss their abilities to hear those possibilities and be able to act on them appropriately. What remixers need in order to be able to do this is what Hugill calls, ‘aural awareness’ (15): the ability to understand how sound works, both in a broad and in-depth way. While aural awareness is important for any musician, remixers are especially reliant on it, as their work is centred around the manipulation and extension of already existing sounds (Hugill). In order to be able to move from contest to contest, remixers need to have a broad understanding of how different musical styles work and the kind of possibilities they afford. At the same time they also need to know, at a more granular level, how sounds interact and how small alterations of chords, timbres, or rhythms can change the overall feel of a track. ConclusionRemix competitions draw participants with a wide variety of musical backgrounds who make use of a broad range of instruments and techniques. The reason such a diverse group is able to participate and compete together is not because these practices do not require musical skill, but rather because remix competitions draw on particular kinds of abilities which are not directly linked to specific methods or techniques. While it might not be necessary to produce a flawless track or to be able to play musical material in real-time, remixers do need to be able to respond to a wide variety of source materials, in a quick and effective way. Also, while it might not be necessary for remixers to be able to produce a song from scratch, they do need to be able to understand, and adapt to, the musical affordances different songs provide. In order to be able to move from contest to contest, as true musical chameleons, remixers need a broad and in-depth understanding of how sound works in different musical contexts and how particular musical responses can be achieved. As soon as remixers upload a track, it is mainly these abilities that will be judged, discussed, and evaluated by the community. In this way fluency and flexibility are not only central abilities in order to be able to participate in these remix competitions, they are also important yardsticks by which remixers measure and evaluate both their own work and the achievements of their peers.AcknowledgementsThe author would like to thank Renée van de Vall, Karin Wenz, and Dennis Kersten for their comments on early drafts of this article. Parts of this research have, in an earlier stage, been presented during the IASPM International Conference for the Study of Popular Music in Gijon, Spain 2013. 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Oxford: Oxford UP, 2011. 480–505.Regelski, Thomas A. “Amateuring in Music and its Rivals.” Action, Criticism, and Theory for Music Education 6. 3 (2007): 22–50. Rodgers, Tara. “On the Process and Aesthetics of Sampling in Electronic Music Production.” Organised Sound 8.3 (2003): 313–20. Théberge, Paul. “Technology, Creative Practice and Copyright.” Music and Copyright. Second Edition. Eds. Simon Frith and Lee Marshall. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 2004. 139–56. Väkevä, Lauri. “Garage Band or GarageBand®? Remixing Musical Futures.” British Journal of Music Education 27. 1 (2010): 59–70.Webster, Peter R. “Research on Creative Thinking in Music: The Assessment Literature.” Handbook of Research on Music Teaching and Learning. Ed. Richard Colwell. New York: Shirmer, 1992. 266–80. Windsor, W. Luke, and Christophe de Bézenac. “Music and Affordances.” Musicae Scientiae 16. 1 (2012): 102–20.

When Ray Winstone’s character in the film ‘Nil by Mouth’, uses an album cover as a portable work surface to prepare drugs, what is invariably being enunciated is a narrative of generational identity. The object status of the vinyl record with its sleeves, notes, and protective sheath, appends a broader trajectory of the ‘record collection’, ‘stereo’, ‘speakers and dials’. The series of operations performed upon these raw materials whether, collecting, listening to, trading or buying second hand, creates a unique cultural form, a series of unordered items/events, which Lev Manovich terms a ‘narrative’. A narrative can best be described as a series of developments within otherwise unrelated elements, which forms and/or sustains an identity for the group of people interacting with them. The culture of listening to commodified music, with its necessary hardware (vinyl/CD/cassette), collectively works to map methods of listening and modes of behaviour, which enable an album’s ritualistic consumption. However, the various digital translations of the traditional album cover, including the ‘album icon’, the ‘desktop’, the ‘playlist’, invert the narrative created by the traditional vinyl assemblage by their nature as discrete data. The paragraphs which follow examine the effects of New Media’s ‘transmissive’ rather than reflective aesthetics, producing alternate maps of the physical, aural, and cultural experience of data and narrative. The digital album ‘icon’, the transmissible ‘sign’ or ‘trace’ of a material object, functions as a complication to Manovich’s New Media narrative/database binary. The construction of database and narrative as natural enemies within New Media discourse highlighted by Manovich, is problematic when dealing with systems of operation characterised by their mutability. The traditional relationship between the album cover and its musical content, its remediation in digital format, serve to reveal that the two are not so mutually exclusive. Within popular discourse, it is acknowledged that the database – repositories of discrete information – is foregrounded by the digital apparatus, whereas the analogue apparatus is seen to foreground narrative – the processes performed upon information, from generation, to packaging, to transmission. The packaging, the physical dimensions and collectable attributes of the record, constructed a ritualistic narrative specific to the vinyl. The public face of the vinyl album in record stores and personal collections was a transitory stage, prolonging the inevitable ‘unwrapping’ in private. The promise of something untouched and unexplored beyond the removal of the ‘nylon stockings’ of the vinyl sleeve; the enticement to come into physical contact with the textured ridges of the LP in order to move the play head to a desired point from which the experience will begin, articulates the seductive, and culturally entrenched power of the narrative database, and its private use. While the vinyl object constructed a narrative able to oscillate between public and private modes, the encoding of sound into mp3 or wma, by its presence as naked data is both direct and indirect, and foreshadows the general role of technology universally – to standardise action into repetitive occurrences – producing residues of a direct action. The digital music file has already been “unwrapped”; it is a conversion, a singularity, the “animal” which enters into things, signalling a change of state (Deleuze and Guattari 27). What is being altered and reassembled in the translation from analogue to digital is not only the format of the data, but the surrounding assemblage/phylum. While the LP’s assemblage was a promise of unexplored territory, the less determinate assemblage encasing the digital file, if anything, presents a colonised terrain. It makes explicit the external party (the programmer/conversion software) having proceeded before you. Whether through a ‘peer-to-peer’ or ‘pay-per-download’ service, the digital file becomes the single object accessible to countless, subjects. It is not one, but a multitude of unaccountable ‘unwrappers’. The map, or indexed data, is the catalyst to narrative activity. Its elements are arranged attuned to a cultural sensitivity, in order for its contents to be understood and to be acted upon. Understanding the material album cover as a specific type of cartography – physically shepherding the consumer towards real material locations when examining its digital counterpart in the “icon”, reveals the fragmentary effects of the digital apparatus. The album icon does not merely signal the malleability of subject and object and the rupture of former equations of reality with embodied experience. More importantly, the presence of the icon whether on a webpage, iPod, or playlist, heralds an alteration in the relationship of sound to visuals, and the nature of navigation itself. Albums contained in main street stores and shopping complexes, like the music they reflect, carry – not entirely pejorative – connotations of being “tame”, “tidy” and “bland” (Shaughnessy 5). The search for more experimental music entails a step outside the consumerist domain of the mainstream record industry to “comb the hidden networks of labels releasing new and experimental music”. Labels such as Warp and Beggars Banquet signify their position on the fringe of the economy through album covers “fizzing with … incoherence, weirdness, techno-fetishism, anti-commercialism, anti-design, and visual promiscuity”. The material album cover provides a perceptive map with which to explore a territory. Conversely, the presence of the ‘album icon’ on a website, or alongside a playlist causes the navigator to enter a territory to explore its map. For if a ‘narrative’ is to be understood in Munster’s terms as a set of processes performed upon information, then New Media have the ability to foreground the ‘database’ over ‘narrative’ accounts for its transmissive, rather than reflective aesthetics. Unlike an album cover in its material form – be it vinyl or CD, the icon doesn’t bind a material space – it doesn’t ‘cover’ anything. It is not an object to be transmitted. It is a transmission. It occupies the intermediate ground between narrative and data. The icon, like hypertext, becomes interface, a series of movements through and across unfolding surfaces. It is a performative zone, acting to shepherd site visitors to a review of the album in question, or towards options for attaining its material presence via customised payment. The album icon fragments the conceived assemblage, not only in its foregoing of materiality (which the material presence of the computer would contradict), but through altered methods of navigation; ‘transmitted’ rather than ‘reflective’ topographies of image to genre are aesthetically understood. When every site online becomes equivalent to the next by means of its ‘addressability’ – where everything can be located by an address, and a discrete value, what was formerly the visual equivalent to the music, is now a smooth plateau of perception (Vanhanen). As stated by Novak, technology, or rather human interaction with technology has evolved to the point where the materials transmitted are signs of subjects (1997). The material presence of an LP/CD acted as a set of coordinates with which to circumnavigate and ‘become’ a popular identity. With the digital music file, the ‘seducer’ becomes the ‘seduced’; the package that once contained the LP or CD becomes externalised upon the physical space, its subsequent “wrapping”/“unwrapping” or consumption, contingent upon the ambience created by a particular soundtrack. When consumers enter a territory to explore a map, the binary between narrative and database is blurred. References Deleuze, G., and F. Guattari. Kafka. Trans. Cochran, T. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1986. Novak, M. “Transmitting Architecture.” In Kroker, Digital Delirium. New York: St Martin’s Press, 1997. Munster, A. “Compression and Intensification of Visual Information in Flash Aesthetics.” Fine Art Forum 24 May 2004 http://www.fineartforum.org/Backissues/Vol_17/faf_v17_n10/reviews/munster.html>. Shaughnessy, A. “Anti-Design, Playfulness and Techno-Futurism.” Introduction to Intro, Radical Album Cover Art Sampler 3. London: Laurence King Publishing, 2003. 5. Vanhanen, J. “Loving the Ghost in the Machine.” C-Theory 24 May 2002. http://www.ctheory.net/text_asp?pick=312>. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Tsarouhis, Patti. "Mapping the Narrative in a Digital Album Cover." M/C Journal 9.1 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0603/08-tsarouhis.php>. APA Style Tsarouhis, P. (Mar. 2006) "Mapping the Narrative in a Digital Album Cover," M/C Journal, 9(1). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0603/08-tsarouhis.php>.

A Site for the Study of Ambience Deep in Melbourne’s subterranean belly lies a long, dark space dedicated to screen-based art. Built along disused train platforms, it’s even possible to hear the ghostly rumblings and clatter of trains passing alongside the length of the gallery on quiet days. Upon descending the single staircase leading into this dimly-lit space, visitors encounter a distinctive sensory immersion. A flicker of screens dapple the windowless vastness ahead, perhaps briefly highlighting entrances into smaller rooms or the faintly-outlined profiles of visitors. This space often houses time-based moving image artworks. The optical flicker and aural stirrings of adjacent works distract, luring visitors’ attention towards an elsewhere. Yet on other occasions, this gallery’s art is bounded by walls, private enclosures which absorb perceptions of time into the surrounding darkness. Some works lie dormant awaiting visitors’ intervention, while others rotate on endless loops, cycling by unheeded, at times creating an environment of visual and aural collision. A weak haze of daylight falls from above mid-way through the space, marking the gallery’s only exit – an escalator fitted with low glowing lights. This is a space of thematic and physical reinvention. Movable walls and a retractable mezzanine enable the 110 metre long, 15 metre wide and almost 10 metre high space to be reformed with each exhibition, as evidenced by the many exhibitions that this Screen Gallery has hosted since opening as a part of the Australian for the Moving Image (ACMI) in 2002. ACMI endured controversial beginnings over the public funds dedicated to its gallery, cinemas, public editing and games labs, TV production studio, and screen education programs. As media interrogation of ACMI’s role and purpose intensified, several pressing critical and public policy questions surfaced as to how visitors were engaging with and valuing this institution and its spaces. In this context, I undertook the first, in depth qualitative study of visitation to ACMI, so as to address these issues and also the dearth of supporting literature into museum visitation (beyond broad, quantitative analyses). Of particular interest was ACMI’s Screen Gallery, for it appeared to represent something experientially unique and historically distinctive as compared to museums and galleries of the past. I therefore undertook an ethnographic study of museum visitation to codify the expression of ACMI’s institutional remit in light of the modalities of its visitors’ experiences in the Gallery. This rich empirical material formed the basis of my study and also this article, an ethnography of the Screen Gallery’s ambience. My study was undertaken across two exhibitions, World without End and White Noise (2005). While WWE was thematically linear in its charting of the dawn of time, globalisation and apocalypse, visitor interaction was highly non-linear. The moving image was presented in a variety of forms and spaces, from the isolation of works in rooms, the cohabitation of the very large to very small in the gallery proper, to enclosures created by multiple screens, laser-triggered interactivity and even plastic bowls with which visitors could ‘capture’ projections of light. Where heterogeneity was embraced in WWE, WN offered a smoother and less rapturous environment. It presented works by artists regarded as leaders of recent practices in the abstraction of the moving image. Rather than recreating the free exploratory movement of WWE, the WN visitor was guided along one main corridor. Each work was situated in a room or space situated to the right-hand side of the passageway. This isolation created a deep sense of immersion and intimacy with each work. Low-level white noise was even played across the Gallery so as to absorb the aural ‘bleed’ from neighbouring works. For my study, I used qualitative ethnographic techniques to gather phenomenological material, namely longitudinal participant observation and interviews. The observations were conducted on a fortnightly basis for seven months. I typically spent two to three hours shadowing visitors as they moved through the Gallery, detailing patterns of interaction; from gross physical movement and speech, to the very subtle modalities of encounter: a faint smile, a hesitation, or lapsing into complete stillness. I specifically recruited visitors for interviews immediately after their visit so as to probe further into these phenomenological moments while their effects were still fresh. I also endeavoured to capture a wide cross-sample of responses by recruiting on the basis of age, gender and reason for visitation. Ten in-depth interviews (between 45 minutes and one hour) were undertaken, enquiring into the factors influencing impressions of the Gallery, such as previous museum and art experiences, and opinions about media art and technology. In this article, I particularly draw upon my interviews with Steven, Fleur, Heidi, Sean, Trevor and Mathew. These visitors’ commentaries were selected as they reflect upon the overall ambience of the Gallery–intimate recollections of moving through darkness and projections of light–rather than engagement with individual works. When referring to ambience, I borrow from Brian Eno’s 1978 manifesto of Ambient Music, as it offers a useful analogy for assessing the complexity within subtle aesthetic experiences, and more specifically, in a spatial environment generated by electronic means. An ambience is defined as an atmosphere, or a surrounding influence: a tint…Whereas the extant canned music companies proceed from the basis of regularizing environments by blanketing their acoustic and atmospheric idiosyncrasies, Ambient Music is intended to enhance these. Whereas conventional background music is produced by stripping away all sense of doubt and uncertainty (and thus all genuine interest) from the music, Ambient Music retains these qualities. And whereas their intention is to ‘brighten’ the environment by adding stimulus to it… Ambient Music is intended to induce calm and a space to think…Ambient Music must be able to accommodate many levels of listening attention without enforcing one in particular; it must be as ignorable as it is interesting. (Eno, "Ambient Music")While Eno’s definition specifically discusses a listening space, it is comparable to the predominantly digital and visual gallery environment as it elicits similar states of attention, such as calm reflection, or even a peaceful emptying of thoughts. I propose that ACMI’s darkened Screen Gallery creates an exploratory space for such intimate, bodily, subjective experiences. I firstly locate this study within the genealogical context of visitor interaction in museum exhibition environments. We then follow the visitors through the Gallery. As the nuances of their journey are presented, I assess the significance of an alternate model for presenting art which encourages ‘active’ aesthetic experience by privileging ambiguity and subtlety–yet heightened interactivity–and is similar to the systemic complexity Eno accords his Ambient Music. Navigating Museums in the Past The first public museums appeared in the context of the emerging liberal democratic state as both a product and articulation of the early stages of modernity in the nineteenth century. Museum practitioners enforced boundaries by prescribing visitors’ routes architecturally, by presenting museum objects within firm knowledge categories, and by separating visitors from objects with glass cabinets. By making their objects publicly accessible and tightly governing visitors’ parameters of spatial interaction, museums could enforce a pedagogical regulation of moral codes, an expression of ‘governmentality’ which constituted the individual as both a subject and object of knowledge (Bennett "Birth", Culture; Hooper-Greenhill). The advent of high modernism in the mid-twentieth century enforced positivist doctrines through a firm direction of visitor movement, exemplified by Le Corbusier’s Musée à Croissance Illimitée (1939) and Frank Lloyd Wright’s Guggenheim Museum in New York (1959) (Davey 36). In more recent stages of modernity, architecture has attempted to reconcile the singular authority imposed by a building’s design. Robert Venturi, a key theorist of post-modern architecture, argued that the museum’s pedagogical failure to achieve social and political reforms was due to the purist and universalist values expressed within modern architecture. He proposed that post-modern architecture could challenge aesthetic modernism with a playful hybridity which emphasises symbolism and sculptural forms in architecture, and expresses a more diverse set of pluralist ideologies. Examples might include Hans Hollein’s Abteiberg Museum (1972-1982), or the National Museum of Australia in Canberra (2001). Contemporary attempts to design museum interactions reflect the aspirations of the ‘new museum.’ They similarly address a pluralist agenda, but mediate increasingly individualised forms of participation though highly interactive technological interfaces (Message). Commenting about art galleries, Lev Manovich greets this shift with some pessimism. He argues that the high art of the ‘white cube’ gallery is now confronting its ‘ideological enemy’, the ‘black box’, a historically ‘lower’ art form of cinema theatre (10). He claims that the history of spatial experimentation in art galleries is being reversed as much moving image art has been exhibited using a video projection in a darkened room, thereby limiting visitor participation to earlier, static forms of engagement. However, he proposes that new technologies could have an important presence and role in cultural institutions as an ‘augmented space’, in which layers of data overlay physical space. He queries whether this could create new possibilities for spatial interaction, such that cultural institutions might play a progressive role in exploring new futures (14). The Screen Gallery at ACMI embodies the characteristics of the ‘new museum’ as far as it demands multiple modalities of participation in a technological environment. It could perhaps also be regarded an experimental ‘black box’ in that it houses multiple screens, yet, as we shall see, elicits participation unbefitting of a cinema. We therefore turn now to examine visitors’ observations of the Gallery’s design, thereby garnering the experiential significance of passage through a moving image art space. Descending into Darkness Descending the staircase into the Gallery is a process of proceeding into shadows. The blackened cavity (fig. 1) therefore looms ahead as a clear visceral departure from the bustle of Federation Square above (fig. 2), and the clean brightness of ACMI’s foyer (fig. 3). Figure 1: Descent into ACMI's Screen Gallery Figure 2: ACMI at Federation Square, Melbourne Figure 3: ACMI’s foyer One visitor, Fleur, described this passage as a sense of going “deep underground,” where the affective power of darkness overwhelmed other sensory details: “I can’t picture it in my mind – sort of where the gallery finishes… And it’s perfect, it’s dark, and it’s… quiet-ish.” Many visitors found that an entrance softened by shadows added a trace of suspense to the beginnings of their journey. Heidi described how, “because it’s dark and you can’t actually see the people walking about… it’s a little bit more mysterious.” Fleur similarly remarked that “you’re not quite sure what you’re going to meet when you go around. And there’s a certain anticipation.” Steven found that the ambiguity surrounding the conventions of procedure through Gallery was “quite interesting, that experience of being a little bit unsure of where you’re going or not being able to see.” He attributed feelings of disorientation to the way the deep shadows of the Gallery routinely obscured measurement of time: “it’s that darkness that makes it a place where it’s like a time sync… You could spend hours in there… You sort of lose track of time… The darkness kind of contributes to that.” Multiple Pathways The ambiguity of the Gallery compelled visitors to actively engage with the space by developing their own rules for procedure. For example, Sean described how darkness and minimal use of signage generated multiple possibilities for passage: “you kind of need to wander through and guide yourself. It’s fairly dark as well and there aren’t any signs saying ‘Come this way,’ and it was only by sort of accident we found some of the spaces down the very back. Because, it’s very dark… We could very well have missed that.” Katrina similarly explained how she developed a participatory journey through movement: “when you first walk in, it just feels like empty space, and not exactly sure what’s going on and what to look at… and you think nothing is going on, so you have to kind of walk around and get a feel for it.” Steven used this participatory movement to navigate. He remarked that “there’s a kind of basic ‘what’s next?’… When you got down you could see maybe about four works immediately... There’s a kind of choice about ‘this is the one I’ll pay attention to first’, or ‘look, there’s this other one over there – that looks interesting, I might go and come back to this’. So, there’s a kind of charting of the trip through the exhibition.” Therefore while ambiguous rules for procedure undermine traditional forms of interaction in the museum, they prompted visitors to draw upon their sensory perception to construct a self-guided and exploratory path of engagement. However, mystery and ambiguity can also complicate visitors’ sense of self determination. Fleur noted how crossing the threshold into a space without clear conventions for procedure could challenge some visitors: “you have to commit yourself to go into a space like that, and I think the first time, when you’re not sure what’s down there… I think people going there for the first time would probably… find it difficult.” Trevor found this to be the case, objecting that “the part that doesn’t work, is that it doesn’t work as a space that’s easy to get around.” These comments suggest that an ‘unintended consequence’ (Beck) of relaxing contemporary museum conventions to encourage greater visitor autonomy, can be the contrary effect of making navigation more difficult. Visitors struggling to negotiate these conditions may find themselves subject to what Daniel Palmer terms the ‘paradox of user control’, in which contemporary forms of choice prove to be illusory, as they inhibit an individual’s freedom through ‘soft’ forms of domination. The ambiguity created by the Gallery’s darkness therefore brings two disparate – if not contradictory – tendencies together, as concluded by Fleur: “The darkness is – it’s both an advantage and a disadvantage… You can’t sort of see each other as well, but there’s also a bit of freedom in that. In that it sort of goes both ways.” A Journey of Subtle Cues Several strategies to ameliorate disorienting navigation experiences were employed in the Screen Gallery, attempting to create new possibilities for meaningful interaction. Some reflect typical curatorial conventions, such as mounting didactic panels along walls and strategically placing staff as guides. However, visitors frequently eschewed these markers and were instead drawn powerfully to affective conventions, including the shadings of light and sound. Sean noted how small beacons of light at foot level were prominent features, as they illuminated the entrances to rooms and corridors: “That’s your over-whelming impression, because it’s dark and there’s just these feature spotlights… and they’re an interesting device, because they sort of lead your eye through the space as well, and say ‘oh that’s where the next event is, there’s a spotlight over there’.” The luminescence of artworks served a similar purpose, for within “the darkness, the boundaries are less visible, and… you’re drawn to the light, you know, you’re drawn to those screens.” He found that directional sound above artworks also created a comparable effect: “I was aware of the fact that things were quiet until you approached the right spot and obviously it’s where the sound was focussed.” These conventions reflect what Trini Castelli calls ‘soft design’, by which space is made cohesively sensual (Glibb in Mitchell 87-88). The Gallery uses light and sound to fashions this visceral ‘feeling’ of spatial continuity, a seamless ambience. Paul described how this had a pleasurable effect, where the “atmosphere of the space” created “a very nice place to be… Lots of low lighting.” Fleur similarly recalled lasting somatic impressions: “It’s a bit like a cave, I suppose… The atmosphere is so different… it’s warm, I find it quite a relaxing place to be, I find it quite calm…Yeah, it has that feeling of private space to it.” Soft design therefore tempers the spatial severity of museums past through this sensuous ‘participatory environment.’ Interaction with art therefore becomes, as Steven enthused, “an exhibition experience” where “it’s as much (for me) the experience of moving between works as attending to the work itself… That seems really prominent in the experience, that it’s not these kind of isolated, individual works, they’re in relation to each other.” Disruptions to this experiential continuity – what Eno had described as a ‘stimulus’ – were subject to harsh judgement. When asked why he preferred to stand against the back wall of a room, rather than take a seat on the chairs provided, Matthew protested that “the spotlight was on those frigging couches, who wants to sit there? That would’ve been horrible.” Visitors clearly expressed a preference towards a form of spatial interaction in which curatorial conventions heighten, rather than detract from, the immersive dynamic of the museum environment. They showed how the feelings of ambiguity and suspense which absorbed them in the Gallery’s entrance gradually began to dissipate. In their place, a preference arose for conventions which maintained the Gallery’s immersive continuity, and where cues such as focused sound and footlights had a calming effect, and created a cohesive sensual journey through the dark. The Ambience of Art Space Visitors’ comments acquire an additional significance when examined in light of Eno’s earlier definition of what he called Ambient Music. He suggested that even in relative stillness, there exists a capacity for active forms of listening which create a “space to think” and generate a “quiet interest.” In addition, and perhaps most importantly, these active forms of listening are augmented by the “atmospheric idiosyncrasies” which are derived from conditions of uncertainty. As I have shown, the darkened Screen Gallery obscures the rules for visitor participation and consequently elicits doubt and hesitation. Visitors must self-navigate and be guided by sensory perception, responding to the kinaesthetic touch of light on skin and the subtle drifts of sound to constructing a journey through the enveloping darkness. This spatial ambience can therefore be understood as the specific condition which make the Gallery a fertile site for new exchanges between visitors, artworks and curation within the museum. Arjun Mulder defines this kind of dynamism in architectural space as a form of systemic interactivity, the “default state of any living system,” in the way that any system can be considered interactive if it links into, and affects change upon another (Mulder 332). Therefore while museums have historically been spaces for interaction, they have not always been interactive spaces in the sense described by Mulder, where visitor participation and processes of exchange are heightened by the conditions of ambience, and can compel self-determined journeys of visitor enquiry and feelings of relaxation and immersion. ACMI’s Screen Gallery has therefore come to define its practices by heightening these forms of encounter, and elevating the affective possibilities for interacting with art. Traditional museum conventions have been challenged by playing with experiential dynamics. These practices create an ambience which is particular to the gallery, and historically unlike the experiential ecologies of preceding forms of museum, gallery or moving space, be it the white cube or a simple ‘black box’ room for video projections. This perhaps signifies a distinctive moment in the genealogy of the museum, indicating how one instance of an art environment’s ambience can become a rubric for new forms of visitor interaction. References Beck, Ulrich. “The Reinvention of Politics: Towards a Theory of Reflexive Modernization.” Reflexive Modernization: Politics, Tradition and Aesthetics in the Modern Social Order. Eds. Ulrich Beck, Anthony Giddens, and Scott Lash. Cambridge: Politics, 1994. 1-55. Bennett, Tony. The Birth of the Museum: History, Theory, Politics. London; New York: Routledge. 1995. ———. “Culture and Governmentality.” Foucault, Cultural Studies and Governmentality. Eds. J.Z. Bratich, J. Packer, and C. McCarthy. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2003. 47-64. Davey, Peter. “Museums in an N-Dimensional World.” The Architectural Review 1242 (2000): 36-37. Eno, Brian. “Resonant Complexity.” Whole Earth Review (Summer 1994): 42-43. ———. “Ambient Music.” A Year with Swollen Appendices: The Diary of Brian Eno. London: Faber and Faber, 1996. 293-297. Hooper-Greenhill, Eileen. “Museums and Education for the 21st Century.” Museum and Gallery Education. London: Leicester University Press, 1991. 187-193. Manovich, Lev. “The Poetics of Augmented Space: Learning from Prada.” 27 April 2010 ‹http://creativetechnology.salford.ac.uk/fuchs/modules/creative_technology/architecture/manovich_augmented_space.pdf›. Message, Kylie. “The New Museum.” Theory, Culture and Society: Special Issue on Problematizing Global Knowledge. Eds. Mike Featherstone, Couze Venn, and Ryan Bishop, John Phillips. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2006. 603-606. Mitchell, T. C. Redefining Designing: From Form to Experience. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1993. Mulder, Arjun. “The Object of Interactivity.” NOX: Machining Architecture. London: Thames and Hudson, 2004. 332-340. Palmer, Daniel. “The Paradox of User Control.” Melbourne Digital Art and Culture 2003 Conference Proceedings. Melbourne: RMIT, 2003. 167-172. Venturi, Robert. Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture. New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1966.