Commissioned by the Binghamton Philharmonic with generous support from the New York State Music Fund.
I think of...Ex Machina as a sort of eight-movement circus act that reflects on a number of artworks I greatly admire, notably the kinetic sculptures of Arthur Ganson. The piece employs a menagerie of “technological” devices (in the case of my music, these are rhythmic and structurally “imperfect” mechanisms) that, while precisely engineered, also seem to be realized with a high degree of precariousness. These movements are single-minded and multifaceted; simple, yet intricate. Like the best circus acts, they also attempt to be a bit funny. But, most importantly, they try to be very dangerous!
I first heard of Jean Tinguely, the Swiss builder of dadaist mechanical sculptures, through a friend who loved Tinguely’s work but was particularly amused by the fact that many of his self-destroying machines actually...failed to self-destruct. What could be more dadaistic than that?
Genghis is a wobbly, six-legged robot built in 1989 by the Australian Scientist Rodney Brooks (Director of the MIT Artificial Intelligence Lab) which, upon being switched on,doesn’t vacuum one’s floors or builds the newest Chevrolet. Instead, it simply “does what is in its nature”.
Mandala Tequila was inspired by the installation piece “Mandalas para la vida moderna” (“Mandalas for Modern Life”) by Mexican artist Iván Puig, where an endless mechanical mallet weaves a mantric melody when hitting a collection of Don Julio tequila bottles arranged in a circle. Thanks to a small light bulb installed on the mallet, a series of cogwheel-like shadows are projected onto the walls, creating a perpetual counterpoint of light, sound and movement.
Machine with Chinese Fan, Machine with Wishbone, Machine with Artichoke Petals and Tinguely in Moscow compelled me to reflect musically on the universe of American artist Arthur Ganson—a self-described cross between a mechanical engineer and a choreographer. Ganson’s awesome machines are simple and profound, quiet and eloquent, high-tech and low-tech, finite and eternal.
Music is full of unpredictable ”machines” whose systematic—yet often imperfect—behavior is what provides us with that elusive thing we call drama. That is precisely what I find in Paul Klee’s small painting Twittering Machine.
Things that Go... dreams about the world of Swiss artists Peter Fischli and David Weiss, specifically their masterful film “The Way Things Go”: a sort of perpetual cycle where fire, air, gravity and corrosive liquids make it possible for mops, buckets, wood planks and old bottles to stage a carefully choreographed dance that is part chain-reaction, part acrobatic performance.
...Ex Machina is an homage to the work of artists who, like Italo Calvino, prefer to “... raise themselves above the weight of the world, showing that with all their gravity they have the secret of lightness...” It is also a tribute to the courageous musicians who, like Makoto Nakura, Cristina Valdes and Jose Luis Novo, revel on the excitement provided by walking on a musical tight rope.
And, finally, ...Ex Machina just feels like an old—and possibly very funny—joke: “A Mexican, two Americans, an Australian, and four Swiss guys walk into a bar...”
'...Ex Machina' a bold success for Binghamton Philharmonic
By Sarah D'Esti Miller
Press & Sun-Bulletin
The Binghamton Philharmonic wrapped up its final classical concert of the 2007-2008 season with something rarely experienced in this area: a world premiere, namely "...Ex Machina," with pianist Cristina Valdés and marimbist Makoto Nakura, as part of "Great Composers: World Premiere."
Composers don't come much greater than Beethoven and it was with the moody and brooding Egmont Overture that the orchestra, under the baton of José-Luis Novo, began the program, riding out the sturm und drang to the piece's triumphant finish. Mirroring the Egmont's grandeur was the majestic Brahms Symphony No. 2 in D Major.
While most symphony-goers would immediately recognize Beethoven or Brahms, they are perhaps not as familiar with Carlos Sánchez-Gutiérrez, who has been a composer in residence with the Philharmonic since the season began.
He was commissioned to write the piece "...Ex Machina," which was inspired by a number of robotic artworks and/or installations, primarily the whimsical, humorous yet oddly intriguing machines of Arthur Ganson.
Although video of them was shown before the show, it isn't entirely going out on a limb to say that one's enjoyment of "...Ex Machina" is directly related to one's familiarity to Ganson's work and the other pieces, such as Peter Fischli and David Weiss's Rube Goldberg-esque "The Way Things Go," which is the inspiration for "...Ex Machina's" eighth and final movement. You can almost hear the opening notes of that cartoon stalwart "Powerhouse" hidden within.
The final plodding notes of the piano in the seventh movement take on a new meaning when you have actually seen "Machine with Artichoke Petal" and witnessed the sisyphusian frog march of that sad little section of thistle at the hands of Ganson's creation.
And make no mistake -- Ganson's machines and all of the other works that influenced this piece have an element of humor to them, making the playful, animated sound of the marimba a natural choice.
Just as Sánchez-Gutiérrez can capture the melancholy monotony of "Mandalas para la vida moderna" with repetitive, throbbing notes, he also uses silence as much as he uses sound, unleashing fortes out of total silence, often to unsettling effect.
"...Ex Machina" may not become what you listen to at home, but it doesn't aim to be, any more than paintings are created to match living rooms -- that's a job better suitedto Sherwin Williams and Benjamin Moore than to Claude Monet or Wassily Kandinsky.
The composer has said that this commission was a bold move for the Philharmonic, and it was -- but it is one of which they can be proud.
Videos
[Click on each title below to see a movie or picture of the artwork that originated each movement of "...Ex Machina". Use the "Back" button to return to this page.]
Tinguely [after Arthur Ganson’s Tinguely in Moscow]
