EXAMINING FRANÇOIS ROSSÉ’S JAPANESE-INFLUENCED CHAMBER MUSIC WITH
SAXOPHONE: HYBRIDITY, ORALITY, AND PRIMITIVISM AS A CONCEPTUAL
FRAMEWORK

Noa Even

A Dissertation

Submitted to the Graduate College of Bowling Green

State University in partial fulfillment of
the requirements for the degree of

DOCTOR OF MUSICAL ARTS

December 2014

Committee:

John Sampen, Advisor

Donald Callen
Graduate Faculty Representative

Conor Nelson

Marcus Zagorski
 © 2014

Noa Even

All Rights Reserved

 iii
ABSTRACT

John Sampen, Advisor

François Rossé (b. 1945) is a Bordeaux-based improvising pianist and prolific composer

who has received relatively little scholarly attention. He has written over one hundred works

involving the saxophone, and in many cases, featuring the saxophone, yet his music is not widely

studied or performed in North America. This document draws attention to Rossé’s music for

saxophone by tracing the application of hybridity, orality, and primitivism in Bear’s Trio, Nishi

Asakusa, and Orients, his Japanese-influenced chamber pieces with saxophone. These concepts

are presented within relevant discourses, as prominent features of Western art music history and

saxophone repertory, and as philosophically motivated practices that form the core of Rossé’s

approach to music-making and composition. An overview of relevant Japanese cultural elements,

such as history, art forms, aesthetics, and spirituality, provides the necessary groundwork for

identifying the manifestations of Japanese influence in Bear’s Trio, Nishi Asakusa, and Orients.

By surveying Rossé’s incorporation of Japanese tradition and spirituality through the tripartite

theoretical lens of hybridity, orality, and primitivism, this document offers a valid and useful

schema for experiencing and interpreting his music.

 iv

This document is dedicated to the memory of my grandmothers, Malka and Marion

 v
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to acknowledge the many individuals whose efforts went into the making of

this document.

Thanks to my committee members, Don Callen, Conor Nelson, and Marcus Zagorski, for

contributing to my growth as a musician and scholar during my time at BGSU. I would like to

extend my sincere appreciation to John Sampen for his instruction, mentorship, and dedication.

His guidance, both musical and otherwise, has been incredibly valuable. A huge thanks to

Marilyn Shrude, my advisor, for her advice and dedication throughout the degree program.

Thanks go to Susannah Cleveland, Mary Natvig, and Zach Pfau for offering their

expertise and time at various stages of the process.

I would like to acknowledge Marie-Bernadette Charrier, Jean-Michel Goury, and Jean-

Marie Londeix for their willingness to correspond. They have tremendously enriched this

document by sharing their experiences. I am extremely thankful for the participation of François

Rossé, without whom this document would not have been possible. I appreciate the care, passion,

and thoroughness he invested in the project.

I truly appreciate the warmth and encouragement that the Klunks have demonstrated;

they have provided me with a home away from home. I feel very fortunate to have the love and

support of my siblings, grandparents, and extended family, near and far. My parents, Jenny and

Motti, receive my deepest gratitude for their love, resilience, and devotion to my musical

endeavors over the years.

Lastly, I would like to give a special thanks to Stephen for his love, confidence, and

companionship.
 vi
TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page

INTRODUCTION………………………………………………………………………..... 1

CHAPTER 1. FRANÇOIS ROSSÉ ....................................................................................... 5

Rossé’s Early Musical Development, Education, and Career ................................... 5

Olivier Messiaen ........................................................................................................ 6

Rossé’s Musical Approach ........................................................................................ 9

Jean-Marie Londeix and Le Frêne égaré................................................................... 14

CHAPTER 2. HYBRIDITY .................................................................................................. 22

‘Hybridity’ in Culture Theory.................................................................................... 22

Hybridity in Western Art Music History ................................................................... 25

Hybridity in Saxophone Repertoire ........................................................................... 30

Hybridity in Rossé’s Approach.................................................................................. 32

Hybridity in Rossé’s Music for Saxophone ............................................................... 36

CHAPTER 3. ORALITY....................................................................................................... 38

‘Orality’ in Culture Theory........................................................................................ 38

Orality in Western Art Music History ....................................................................... 41

Orality in Saxophone Repertoire and Performance ................................................... 53

Orality in Rossé’s Approach...................................................................................... 54

Orality in Rossé’s Music for Saxophone ................................................................... 57

CHAPTER 4. PRIMITIVISM ............................................................................................... 59

‘Primitivism’ in Philosophical Theory ...................................................................... 59

Primitivism in Ethnological Museums, Modern Art, and Postcolonial

France………………………………………………………………………………. 64
 vii
Primitivism in Western Art Music History................................................................ 70

Primitivism in Saxophone Literature ......................................................................... 80

Primitivism in Rossé’s Approach .............................................................................. 82

Primitivism in Rossé’s Music for Saxophone............................................................ 86

CHAPTER 5. JAPANESE CULTURE ................................................................................. 88

Music History of Japan .............................................................................................. 88

Japanese Religions and Spirituality ........................................................................... 91

Shinto and Buddhist Music........................................................................................ 97

Gagaku……………………………………………………………………………... 99

Nohgaku and Noh Drama........................................................................................... 103

Taiko Drumming........................................................................................................ 107

Aesthetics of Japanese Music .................................................................................... 109

Orality in Pedagogy and Performance ....................................................................... 111

CHAPTER 6. EXAMINING THE MUSIC........................................................................... 115

Background of Bear’s Trio ........................................................................................ 115

Hybridity in Bear’s Trio ............................................................................................ 116

Orality in Bear’s Trio ................................................................................................ 127

Primitivism in Bear’s Trio......................................................................................... 130

Background of Nishi Asakusa.................................................................................... 132

Hybridity in Nishi Asakusa ........................................................................................ 134

Orality in Nishi Asakusa ............................................................................................ 142

Primitivism in Nishi Asakusa..................................................................................... 143

Background of Orients............................................................................................... 145

Hybridity in Orients................................................................................................... 146

 viii
Orality in Orients ....................................................................................................... 157

Primitivism in Orients ............................................................................................... 159

Conclusion………………………………………………………………………… . 161

BIBLIOGRAPHY………………………………………………………………………….. 163

APPENDIX A. TRANSLATED EMAIL INTERVIEWS .................................................... 174

Email Interview with François Rossé (response received April 19, 2013) ............... 174

Email Interview with Marie-Bernadette Charrier

(response received June 11, 2013) ............................................................................. 177

Email Interview with Jean-Michel Goury (response received June 26, 2013) .......... 178

Email Interview with Jean-Marie Londeix (response received April 13, 2013)........ 182

APPENDIX B. EMAIL INTERVIEWS IN FRENCH .......................................................... 184

Email Interview with François Rossé (response received April 19, 2013) ............... 184

Email Interview with Marie-Bernadette Charrier

(response received June 11, 2013) ............................................................................. 187

Email Interview with Jean-Michel Goury (response received June 26, 2013) .......... 188

Email Interview with Jean-Marie Londeix (response received April 13, 2013)........ 192

APPENDIX C. HSRB INFORMED CONSENT LETTER .................................................. 195

APPENDIX D. CPEA AUTHORIZATION LETTER.......................................................... 196

 ix
LIST OF EXAMPLES/FIGURES

Example Page

1 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page one, line one .................................................................... 118

2 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page five, line one .................................................................... 119

3 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page eight, line two through page nine, line one ..................... 120

4 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page ten, line two ..................................................................... 121

5 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page twelve, line one ............................................................... 122

6 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page thirteen, line one .............................................................. 123

7 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page fourteen, line one............................................................. 123

8 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page fifteen .............................................................................. 124

9 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page seventeen, line one .......................................................... 125

10 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page nineteen ........................................................................... 126

11 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page twenty, line one ............................................................... 127

12 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, page one, line one ................................................................ 135

13 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, page five, lines two and three .............................................. 137

14 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, page six, line three ............................................................... 138

15 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, page seven, lines two and three ........................................... 139

16 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, page nine, line one ............................................................... 140

17 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, page ten, line one ................................................................. 141

18 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, page eleven, line three ......................................................... 141

19 Rossé’s Orients, page one, line one ........................................................................... 147

20 Rossé’s Orients, page five, line one .......................................................................... 148

21 Rossé’s Orients, page eight, line one......................................................................... 149

22 Rossé’s Orients, page eleven, line one ...................................................................... 150

 x
23 Rossé’s Orients, page twelve..................................................................................... 152

24 Rossé’s Orients, page sixteen, line two ..................................................................... 153

25 Rossé’s Orients, page seventeen, line one ................................................................. 153

26 Rossé’s Orients, page twenty, line one...................................................................... 154

27 Rossé’s Orients, page twenty-two ............................................................................. 155

28 Rossé’s Orients, page twenty-four, line one.............................................................. 156

29 Rossé’s Orients, page twenty-five, line two .............................................................. 156

30 Rossé’s Orients, page twenty-six, line two................................................................ 157

Figure Page

1 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, performance notes................................................................ 136

2 Rossé’s Orients, instructions, page eleven ................................................................ 151

   1

INTRODUCTION

François Rossé (b. 1945) is a prolific French composer and active improvising pianist

who has contributed significantly to the saxophone’s repertoire for over three decades; however,

much of his music remains unexplored by North American saxophonists. By publishing through

small companies in Paris, Rossé’s works are not always easily accessible outside of Europe.

Another factor may be the aesthetic divide between Rossé’s multifaceted approach, which

combines non-Western tradition, avant-garde, and polystylism, and the general preference of

American saxophonists for pop-derived, post-minimal, neoclassical/neoromantic, and jazz-

infused music. Like many iconic postwar composers, Rossé has constructed a unique style, or

“language,” that requires mastery and artistic application of extended techniques. By addressing

the conceptual challenges his music presents, this document provides saxophonists with a deeper

understanding of Rossé and his rich collection of music for saxophone.

Relatively few academic publications have been devoted to the study of Rossé’s music.

The co-written book Être Musicale: un Rencontre avec François Rossé by Alain Fayolle and

Rossé was published in 1998. It covers the composer’s ideas regarding a vast number of topics,

such as improvisation, collaboration, aesthetics, and culture. Musical examples are referenced

throughout the book to supplement the discussion. Unfortunately, this valuable book is no longer

in print and was never translated from French. Since the publication, Rossé’s collection of

saxophone music has grown substantially. Adam Estes’ dissertation, “Unaccompanied

Saxophone Music by François Rossé,” is a more readily available source. Published in 2008, the

document offers analyses and suggested pedagogical methods of two specific pieces, Le Frêne

égaré and Sonates en Arcs. Also included are a biographical sketch and general review of
   2

Rossé’s aesthetic principles. The breadth of Rossé’s oeuvre undoubtedly warrants further

scholarly attention.

This document delves into Rossé’s recent contribution to saxophone repertoire by

examining his application of hybridity, orality, and primitivism in Bear’s Trio (2003), Nishi

Asakusa (2004), and Orients (2002). Introduced within various musical, cultural, and discursive

contexts, these concepts serve as a theoretical framework through which Rossé’s Japanese-

influenced works can be explored.

Chapter 1 provides general biographical information regarding Rossé’s early musical

development, education, and career. Olivier Messiaen (1908-1992) is introduced as an influential

teacher who continues to impact Rossé’s musical endeavors. A brief overview of Messiaen’s

music highlights the various ideas gleaned by Rossé during his studies at the Conservatoire

National Supérieur de Musique de Paris (CNSM) in the 1970s. This is followed by a discussion

of Rossé’s highly philosophical approach to music-making and composition. Lastly, Chapter 1

tells the story of the historic collaboration between Rossé and world-renowned saxophonist and

scholar Jean-Marie Londeix (b. 1932) in the late 1970s. Their project resulted in Le Frêne égaré

(1979) for unaccompanied alto saxophone, Rossé’s first piece for the instrument and an early

example of his developing approach.

Chapter 2 begins by contextualizing the term ‘hybridity’ within the discourse of culture

theory, and presenting its manifestations throughout Western art music history and within

contemporary saxophone repertoire. ‘Hybridity’ refers to the condition of being hybrid,

“anything derived from heterogeneous sources, or composed of different or incongruous

elements.”1 As both a composer and pianist, Rossé has established himself as a hybridist who

                                                                                                               
1
OED Online, v.p. "hybrid, n. and adj.,” accessed September 2014, http://0-
www.oed.com.maurice.bgsu.edu/view /Entry/89809 (accessed September 12, 2014).
   3

seamlessly melds material from early Western art music, non-Western sources, and other genres.

His activities as a collaborating musician and world traveler continue to reinforce his interest in

exploring diverse cultures. Chapter 2 concludes with a discussion of hybridity within Rossé’s

music and more specifically, his works for saxophone.

The following chapter similarly delineates the term ‘orality’ within orality-literacy

studies, a branch of culture theory, and its role throughout Western art music history and in the

saxophone’s contemporary repertoire. ‘Orality’ refers to that which is orally transmitted rather

than written. Orality is involved in various aspects of music-making, such as pedagogical

method, facial expression, physical gesture, performance practice, and improvisation. Chapter 3

also demonstrates the prominence of orality across Rossé’s writings and music.

Chapter 4 examines the place of ‘primitivism’ within the discursive narrative of

philosophical theory and the concept’s role in ethnological museum history, postcolonial France,

modern art, and Western art music history. Primitivism is the notion that a simple way of life is

better than a sophisticated one. Chapter 4 summarizes how the meaning and application of the

term has changed over time and between contexts. Rossé’s understanding and use of

‘primitivism’ is thoroughly evaluated, along with how the concept is demonstrated in his music

for saxophone.

Chapter 5 provides a general review of relevant aspects of Japanese traditions and

spirituality. These include a brief history of Japan’s music within the broader context of the

country’s history, spirituality, specific art forms, aesthetics, and traditional pedagogy and

performance practice. This information lays the groundwork for identifying the Japanese cultural

elements at work in Bear’s Trio, Nishi Asakusa, and Orients.

   4

Finally, Chapter 6 examines these pieces through the theoretical lens of hybridity, orality,

and primitivism. Bear’s Trio, Nishi Asakusa, and Orients are explored through musical examples

that reflect these salient concepts. The chapter focuses on how Rossé’s musical approach can be

used as a point of departure for experiencing and interpreting his Japanese-influenced works.

An evaluation of these representative pieces will familiarize a larger audience with

Rossé’s music and render his music more approachable to saxophonists and musicians

previously unfamiliar with his aesthetic.

   5

CHAPTER 1.

FRANÇOIS ROSSÉ

Rossé’s Early Musical Development, Education, and Career

François Rossé was born on June 16, 1945 in Alsace, an eastern region of France along

the German border. When they were young, Rossé and his three older siblings were introduced

to classical music by their father, a businessman and amateur cornet player. Rossé was ten when

his oldest brother began taking piano lessons. Rather than wait his turn, Rossé taught himself to

play piano by ear. In 1962, at the age of seventeen, he finally began formal training with a

teacher at the Conservatoire de Strasbourg.2

After three years there, Rossé moved to Nancy to pursue an academic path. Although he

dreamed of attending the Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique de Paris (CNSM), he

knew that further preparation was necessary in order to gain acceptance. Wishing to receive

appropriate training for auditions at the CNSM, Rossé entered the École Normale de Musique in

Paris in 1967 where he studied piano until 1969.3 With the help of his teacher, Jeannine

Bonjean, he realized that his primary interest in improvisation was not a practical career path on

its own. He thus decided to add composition as an area of concentration.4

In 1970, Rossé finally began his studies at the CNSM, where he earned Premiers Prixs in

harmony, counterpoint, analysis, and fugue in 1976, and composition in 1979. While studying

                                                                                                               
2
Adam Estes, “Unaccompanied Saxophone Music by François Rossé: A Guide for Pedagogy and
Performance,” (D.M.A. Document, University of South Carolina, 2008), 6-7.
3
Ibid., 6-7.
4
Alain Fayolle and François Rossé, Être Musicale: Une Rencontre avec François Rossé. Courlay (France:
J.M. Fuzeau, 1998), 8.
   6

with his primary teachers, Olivier Messiaen and Betsy Jolas, Rossé also enjoyed additional

lessons with Ivo Malec and Iannis Xenakis.5

In 1974, Rossé accepted the position of Professor of Analysis at the Conservatoire

National de Region de Bordeaux, which he managed to balance while continuing his studies at

the CNSM. In 1979, he was finally able to move to Bordeaux, where he continued teaching until

1985. That year, he became Principal Inspector of Music for French Ministry of Culture, a

position involving the cultural development of southern France through education, community

events, and fundraising. When he left the job in 2000, he resumed teaching near Marseilles at the

Aubogne School, a pedagogical institution that prepared musicians for teaching careers. Since

his retirement in 2007, Rossé has been concertizing, conducting workshops, and teaching master

classes around the world.6

Rossé’s oeuvre of over seven hundred works includes music for solo instrument, duo,

trio, quartet, mixed chamber ensemble, choir, large ensemble, theater, video, site-specific

community spectacles, and many other combinations.7 The saxophone is involved in more than

one hundred of his pieces, and in many cases, as a featured voice. Rossé’s commitment to the

instrument and its performers has only grown stronger over the years.

Olivier Messiaen

Studying with Olivier Messiaen strongly impacted Rossé’s compositional career and

musical activity, and Rossé continues to treasure the lessons, influences, and inspiration he

gained from this master teacher and composer. Consequently, a brief portrait of Messiaen is

                                                                                                               
5
Estes, 7.
6
Ibid., 8.
7
“Biographie,” François Rossé, accessed June 2, 2014, http://francois.rosse2.pagesperso-orange.fr/index
.html#anchor-biographie.
   7

appropriate for examining the origins of Rossé’s compositional philosophy and his interest in

hybridity, orality, and primitivism.

Messiaen’s early compositional output demonstrated his inclination toward non-Western

music, medieval tonal systems, and orality. His Esquisse modale (1927) for organ is an early

example foreshadowing his more extensive work with modes of limited transposition. Rather

than borrow directly from plainchant melodies, Messiaen developed modern modes with

restricted possibilities for transposition. These modes provided a systematic basis for Messiaen’s

improvisations and in turn, his composition.8

In 1928, Messiaen’s Le Banquet céleste for organ was his first published work. It

represents his struggle to reconcile the eternal nature of God’s existence with the mortality of

human beings, a theme that resonates through much of Messiaen’s music. Pointing to the

primitivistic elements in the piece, Christopher Dingle explains, “Rather than the evolution and

progression conventionally expected of a musical work, Le Banquet céleste just is. At the age of

nineteen, Messiaen was challenging the established perception of the function of music and

hence the entirety of the Western art music tradition since the Renaissance.”9 The seemingly

simplistic piece involves sustained chords that progress in a non-teleological manner.

In 1945, Messiaen completed an hour-long song cycle titled Harawi, one of his only

pieces “containing discernible, though modified, quotations from folk music.”10 It is the first

larger work of what became the Tristan triptych, a collection composed in response to his wife’s

deteriorating mental health. The final component, Cinq Rechants (1948-49) for twelve voices

was inspired by Peruvian folklore, which Messiaen paired with “surrealist French and semi-

                                                                                                               
8
Christopher Dingle, The Life of Messiaen (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 13-16.
9
Ibid., 12.
10
Ibid., 103-104.
   8

invented words.”11 His incorporation of folk elements demonstrates primitivistic tendencies in

Messiaen’s approach. Cinq Rechants also marked the beginning of a new compositional style

involving birdsong.

Commissioned by the small orchestral group Domaine Musical, Messiaen combined his

love for non-Western culture with his fascination with birdsong to create Oiseaux exotique

(“Exotic birds”) in 1956. Messiaen layered various harmonies and unpitched percussion sounds

with material from recordings of North and South American, Chinese, Malaysian, and Indian

birds:

Just as an artist, however realistic or naturalistic, is seeking to portray their subject in a

way that conveys something more than, or at least different from, a photograph,
Messiaen’s transcriptions are not attempting the same thing as a recording, however
closely the composer tried to come to capturing the notes and timbre of each species.12

After completing the piece, he began his next bird-inspired project, Catalogue d’oiseaux (1958),

a cycle of piano pieces. Featuring birds located in rural areas, such as Sologne, Provence, and

Brittany, Messiaen’s Catalogue d’oiseaux and his general incorporation of birdsong served as

way of navigating the aesthetic demands of the mid-20th century.13 Taruskin posits that

Messiaen’s attraction to birdsong might have gone beyond the composer’s faith in God. “Not

only theological tradition, but many of the world’s ancient folk traditions as well, regarded birds

as messengers from the au-delà.”14 Symbolic across cultural and historical boundaries, birdsong

is another sign of Messiaen’s primitivism.

His attraction to birdsong was soon coupled with a deep interest in Japanese culture,

landscape, and wildlife, to which he was introduced during his month-long trip to Japan in the

                                                                                                               
11
Ibid., 109.
12
Ibid., 145.
13
Peter Bannister, “Messiaen as a Preacher and Evangelist in the Context of European Modernism,” in
Messiaen the Theologian, ed. Andrew Shenton (Farnham, England: Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2010), 36.
14
Richard Taruskin, The Danger of Music and Other Anti-Utopian Essays (Berkeley, CA: University of
California Press, 2009), 296. Au-delà means “beyond.”
   9

summer of 1962.15 In response to his travels, Messiaen wrote Sept Haïkaï for piano and

orchestra, a programmatic work depicting the various sites he visited, as well as Japanese

birdsong. He also included references to gagaku, the imperial court music of Japan. In the central

movement, “Gagaku,” Messiaen evokes the style and sound of the sho, a Japanese mouth organ,

by scoring eight violins to sustain different pitches without vibrato. The combination of Japanese

influences with elements from other sources, such as Greek rhythms, French birdsong, and

chorales, is evidence of Messiaen’s hybridity.16

While in Japan, Messiaen strived to live like the Japanese. He paid close attention to their

customs and habits, ate Japanese food, and walked about in slippers rather than shoes. Messiaen

soaked in the sounds and sites as fully and deeply as he could when attending performances of

traditional Japanese music and theater.17 He was able to continue learning about Japanese culture

over the years through his numerous Japanese students at the CNSM. Their presence and

participation in Messiaen’s class also exposed Rossé to Japanese culture, an interest that has

since become a strong force in his music and personal life. However, it will shortly become clear

that for Rossé, those are one and the same.

Rossé’s Musical Approach

As a student in Rossé’s music analysis class in 1980, Jean-Michel Goury made the

following observation of Messiaen’s impact on Rossé: “This young man was still impregnated

by ‘Messiaenity.’”18 It is clear from this account that Rossé spoke often of Messiaen in hopes of

                                                                                                               
15
Dingle, 159-161.
16
Cheong Wai Ling, “Buddhist Temple, Shinto Shrine and the Invisible God of Sept Haïkaï,” in Messiaen
the Theologian, ed. Andrew Shenton (Farnham, UK: Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2010), 241-248, 261.
17
Peter Hill and Nigel Simeone, Messiaen (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005), 249-250.
18
Jean-Michel Goury, email interview with the author, June 26, 2013. All translations are my own in
collaboration with Zach Pfau. See Appendix B for original text, 189-190.
   10

passing along what he had learned from his mentor. In his co-written book Être musicale: Une

Rencontre avec François Rossé of 1998, Rossé briefly mentions his application of Messiaen’s

compositional techniques in Virgile (1978), one of his first works for piano. References to his

former teacher surface regularly in Rossé’s writing.

‘The strength of the work lies in the strength of the musical thought’; these words of
Olivier Messiaen resonate permanently…knowing that this thought is certainly musical,
it is beyond the scope of crafts, art itself, to negotiate at all levels of human
consciousness, it is thus placed at the level of biology, politics, etc…it resists somewhat
the strictly cultural foci...it is an impertinence...but it is still relatively simple and
uncompromising.19

Rossé’s path to achieving “strength of musical thought” is through human interaction and

meaningful relationships. That is to say, cultural exploration yields musical depth.

Messiaen was not the first to convey such ideas to Rossé, who recalls:

My piano teacher at the Conservatory of Strasbourg, Alphonse Foehr, proceeded from an

extrapolated pedagogy that I willingly received in a humanistic dimension. It interlocked,
in a tangible way, music, German and French poetry (double Alsatian culture) and
gastronomy (the art of taste). Then considered the “classical” studies at the Conservatoire
National Supérieure de Musique de Paris, crafts that have taught me the sportsmanship
of writing.20

From early in his career, Rossé was aware of these extra-musical aspects and their potential to

inform his musical practice.

By the end of his studies with Messiaen at the CNSM, Rossé’s cultural questions and

considerations were made manifest in his music. He was primarily concerned with the

                                                                                                               
19
The original reads: “‘La force de l'oeuvre réside dans la force de la pensée musicales’; ces mots d'Olivier
Messiaen résonnent en permanence... à savoir que cette pensée est certes musicale, elle dépasse le cadre de
l'artisanat, de l'art lui-même, pour se négocier à tous les niveaux de conscience humaine, elle se place donc au
niveau biologique, politique, etc. elle résiste quelque peu aux focalisations strictement culturelles... elle est une
impertinence... mais elle est toujours relativement simple et intransigeante.” Fayolle and Rossé, 8.
20
The original reads: “Mon professeur de piano au conservatoire de Strasbourg, Alphonse Foehr, procédait
d'une pédagogie extrapolante que je percevais volontiers dans une dimension humaniste. Il imbriquait, de manière
tangible, musique, poésie allemande et française (culture double de l'alsacien) et gastronomie (l'art du goût). Puis
furent abordées les études "classiques" au conservatoire national supérieur de musique de Paris, artisanat qui m'aura
appris la sportivité de l'écriture (qu'exigent les mises en loge).” Fayolle and Rossé, 7.
   11

physicality involved in music-making, the evolution of human nature, the effects of

globalization, and the juxtapositional relationship between orality and literacy.

My reflection of my music is not a musical reflection – it is a general reflection. It is

biological. What is my philosophy? It is not an aesthetic philosophy. It is a moral
question, a philosophical question. For me, it is better to have a contemporary thinking of
music than to think of contemporary music. The question we should ask is – how is the
world today?21

Rossé considers music to be a direct reflection of cultural experience, the condition of today’s

world. He is committed to attaining such insight by meeting people of diverse backgrounds,

learning about different parts of the world, and remaining open and flexible to new artistic

experiences.

Rossé acknowledges the interconnectedness of composition and cultural awareness in his

musical process.

The composer engaged in broader initiatives (who supposes a thought beyond the strict
framework of writing), sometimes at high risk (the gamble stimulating engagement)
seems able to access fertile or potentially fertile land. Creative situations multiply,
opening themselves to professional demands, demands involving music schools, urban
sites, various cultural confrontations (my state as an improvising pianist undoubtedly
facilitates certain exchanges). Mobility in my creative processes provides me a concept of
existence placing man and his craft in osmosis. Creation is thus an integral part of my
biological metabolism in some way. A certain number of experiences have led me to
conduct practically and musically the realization, on stage, to renegotiate forms of very
engaged “pedagogy.”22

He believes that any artist informed by his or her surroundings cannot separate experience from

creativity.

                                                                                                               
21
Estes, 102.
22
The original reads: “Le compositeur engagé dans des initiatives plus larges (ce qui suppose une pensée
dépassant le strict cadre de l'écriture), parfois à haut risque (le pari stimulant l'engagement) semble pouvoir accéder
à des terres fertiles ou fertilisables. Les situations créatives se multiplient, elles s'ouvrent sur des demandes
professionelles, des demandes impliquant des écoles de musique, des sites urbains, des confrontations culturelles
diverses (mon état de pianiste improvisateur facilite sans aucun doute certaines rencontres). La mobilité dans mes
démarches créatives m'autorise un concept d'existence mettant en osmose l'homme et son artisanat. La création fait
ainsi intégralement partie de mon métabolisme biologique en quelque sorte. Un certain nombre d'expériences m'ont
amené à conduire pragmatiquement et musicalement la réalisation, de monter sur scène donc, de renégocier des
formes de ‘pédagogie’ très engagées (ce point est abordé dans cet ouvrage).” Fayolle and Rossé, 75.
   12

Rossé’s interaction with his Japanese colleagues at the CNSM is a prominent example of

how human relationships have influenced his musical endeavors.

The active starting point of my relationship with Japan was, in particular, the class of
Olivier Messiaen (1976-78). Messiaen was in Japan and very much liked the country, the
result of which was that many Japanese came to study in his class. I befriended Susumu
Yoshida, a Japanese composer living in France, allowing me to go to Japan in 2004 for
the first time. Very impressive in its traditions, this country was not without influence in
my conception of music and its forms of energy and therefore instrumental from the
beginning. I was in Japan a second time recently, returning yesterday from Tokyo, in duo
with dancer Shiro Daïmon, master of Nô and Kabuki.23

The last decade of Rossé’s musical activity has been particularly Japanese-influenced, as

demonstrated by numerous collaborations with Daïmon and Mieko Miyazaki, in addition to

many compositions incorporating elements of traditional Japanese culture.

For Rossé, human connection is the strongest impetus for making music. His interactions

and relationships with the people in his life have been integral to his compositional process.

If the analysis and composition classes seemed important to me (in the methodological
research and in the sphere of exchange they bring about), I very quickly learned to live
outside of channeled circuits; the individual interactions and their extensions have
maintained and still intensely maintain my activity as a composer.24

Rossé cites his friendships with Messiaen and Daïmon as fulfilling both personally and

musically.

It is important to occasionally meet personalities apt to give meaning to our artistic

practice (I was myself happy to have lived with Olivier Messiaen who inspired a great
moral energy); I am very happy to be complicit in this moment with powerful
personalities like Shiro Daïmon, it is also part of my lifelong learning and not theorizing
in pedagogies absent of all strong spiritual dimensions, without which instrumental
practice would be limited to a simple exercise of integrated style in a static culture.25

He recognizes the importance of surrounding oneself with inspirational people.

                                                                                                               
23
François Rossé, email interview with the author, April 19, 2013. See Appendix B for original text, 185.
24
The original reads: “Si les classes d'analyse et de composition m'ont paru importantes (dans la recherche
méthodologique et dans la sphère d'échanges qu'elles provoquent), j'ai très rapidement appris à vivre hors des
circuits canalisés; ce sont les rencontres individuelles et leurs extensions qui ont maintenu et maintiennent encore
intensément mon activité de compositeur.” Fayolle and Rossé, 7.
25
Rossé, email interview, April 19, 2013. See Appendix B, 187.
   13

Rossé’s commitment to forming strong relationships is well known by those around him,

especially his collaborators. As emphasized by Goury, “The importance of human exchange with

the interpreter is essential to him.”26 Marie-Bernadette Charrier also attests to Rossé’s

collaborative nature.

During my music studies, I met him several times to work on interpretations of his works,
but a true artistic collaboration began after my studies twenty or so years ago. This
performer/composer exchange was steady and still exists today on various projects like a
kind of apprenticeship.27

It is clear that Rossé’s colleagues are mutually committed to the long-term relationships they

have formed.

Rossé has undoubtedly been influential and inspiring to his colleagues and collaborators.

Goury fondly recalls the impressions he formed of Rossé as his student in Bordeaux (1980-

1982). Rossé “seemed eccentric, quirky, very smiling, brightening the atmosphere” of the

conservatory that seemed to Goury “very morose and conventional.”28 He continues by

observing that Rossé “was as rigorous in his work as he was warm in his human relationships.

This professor, bright, clairvoyant, was for me a great catalyst of creative energy.”29 The two of

them spent Tuesday evenings together listening to and discussing contemporary music long after

other students had gone home. Having been inspired by the collaboration of Rossé and Londeix,

both his mentors in Bordeaux, Goury recalls, “The educational pair Londeix-Rossé was

explosive!”30

                                                                                                               
26
Goury, email interview. See Appendix B, 192.
27
Marie-Bernadette Charrier, email interview with the author, June 11, 2014. See Appendix B for original
text, 188.
28
Goury, email interview. See Appendix B, 190.
29
Goury, email interview. See Appendix B, 190.
30
Goury, email interview. See Appendix B, 190.
   14

Jean-Marie Londeix and Le Frêne égaré

Before retiring from his performance career in 1996, Jean-Marie Londeix dedicated his

life to bringing the saxophone to the forefront of concert music, and later, contemporary music.

As one of the leading scholars of saxophone history, pedagogy, and literature, he remains active

as a researcher, lecturer, adjudicator, and advocate. Following the early saxophone virtuosos,

such as Marcel Mule and Sigurd Rascher, Londeix traveled extensively as a recitalist in hopes of

engaging new audiences.31 In the 1970s, Londeix realized that contemporary music was the best

way to create a unique voice for the saxophone, a truly modern instrument. Since then, he has

been committed to building an extensive and diverse repertoire of serious, contemporary pieces

that continues to grow exponentially each year.32 According to Londeix, “The universal

saxophone repertoire regarded as “classical” is currently at more than 30,000 pieces. In 2012, I

catalogued more than 3,000 new titles, which means 8 new works every day!”33

In 1946, Londeix won Premier Prix at the National Conservatory of Bordeaux, the same

year that he had his first lesson with Marcel Mule, professor of saxophone at the CNSM.

Although Londeix went to trade school for several years, he remained committed to becoming a

professional saxophonist. He moved to Paris in 1951 to complete watch-making school and to

begin taking lessons regularly with Mule. Londeix was admitted into the CNSM’s exclusive

class of twelve saxophonists in October of that year. In 1953, just two years later, he won the

Premier Prix and the Prix d’Honneur du Conservatoire, a special award given by the director of

the conservatory, Claude Delvincourt. Londeix also won the Premiere medaille in solfège, a

                                                                                                               
31
James C. Umble, Jean-Marie Londeix: Master of the Modern Saxophone Maître du Saxophone
Moderne (Glenmore, PA: Northeastern Music Publications, Inc., 2000), 57.
32
Ibid., 63.
33
Jean-Marie Londeix, email interview with the author, April 13, 2013. See Appendix B, 193.
   15

challenging course of study in ear training.34 Londeix’ subsequent recitals and concerto

performances took him around the world. Although solo woodwind recitals were still rare in

Europe, Londeix succeeded in capturing audiences through the presentation of new works.35

In addition to his active performance career, Londeix was dedicated to solidifying a

standard pedagogical approach to saxophone playing. He wrote and published books that are still

used today by saxophone students, teachers, and professionals alike. These resources were some

of the earliest to establish methods of approaching the instrument and are helpful to saxophonists

of various skills levels. Among the first was the four-volume set entitled Le Saxophone en jouant

(“Playing the Saxophone”), published between 1962 and 1971. This collection was intended as a

guide to technique, rhythm, practice techniques, style, phrasing and interpretation. Other early

publications include Exercices Mécaniques (“Mechanical Exercises”)(1960-65), Le Détaché

(“The Staccato”)(1967), and Méthode de Rhythm (“Rhythmic Methods”)(1972). As a guide to

contemporary music techniques, Londeix later published Hello, Mr. Sax! (1989). He also

published a book of challenging etudes called Nouvelles Études Variées (1983). Londeix’ newest

comprehensive bibliographies are 150 Years of Music for Saxophone (1994) and Londeix Guide

to the Saxophone Repertoire, 1844-2012 (2012).36

In 1971, Londeix accepted the position of Professor of Saxophone at the National

Conservatory of Bordeaux. He “recognized the period 1968-1972 as the beginning of a

significant break with his past, especially regarding the musical repertoire that interested him.”37

While he still loved performing the kind of traditional and new virtuosic works he had been

programming for many years, Londeix became musically dissatisfied.

                                                                                                               
34
Umble, 42-46.
35
Ibid., 60-65.
36
Ibid., 80-82.
37
Ibid., 93.
   16

From a purely musical point of view I was frustrated and when I moved beyond the taste
for sheer virtuosity in the early 1970s this music was no longer of interest to me…with
the move to Bordeaux my personality, and my taste, evolved significantly.38

The catalyst for this change was Edison Denisov’s Sonate for alto saxophone and piano, which

was written for Londeix in 1970 after his concert tour in Russia. Londeix provided Denisov with

a tape he recorded of various saxophone sounds, both traditional and unconventional. Later that

year, Londeix premiered the piece in Chicago. He considers Sonate the earliest avant-garde piece

for saxophone and thus, a “turning point” for the instrument. Demonstrating serialism, jazz

influence, and microtonality the piece explores extended techniques, such as multiphonics,

quarter tones, altissimo, and slap tongue. Enthusiastically received, it quickly became a landmark

piece for the saxophone. Its success led Londeix on a quest to expand the instrument’s repertoire

with substantive contemporary works idiomatic to the saxophone.39

Londeix primarily targeted young composers, like Denisov, for collaboration. This

younger generation of composers had the energy to explore the instrument and was enthusiastic

about forming long-lasting relationships with both the saxophone and its performers.40

Rossé’s move to Bordeaux in the late 1970s coincided with Londeix’ initial projects with

young Bordelais composers. Alongside Étienne Rolin, Christian Lauba, Thierry Alla, Christophe

Havel, and several others committed to “avant-garde saxophone composition,” Rossé was

involved in what came to be known as the Bordeaux School.41 This group of composers was

dedicated to understanding the saxophone and grew to appreciate it as a “privileged mode of

expression for serious art music.”42 Composers of the Bordeaux School are largely responsible

                                                                                                               
38
Ibid., 93.
39
Ibid., 101-103; Michael Ibrahim, “New Aesthetics in Contemporary Saxophone Music” (DMA diss.,
Manhattan School of Music. 2009), 30-33.
40
Umble, 103-106.
41
Ibid., 104.
42
Jean-Marie Londeix, “Le Frêne Égaré,” in Jean-Marie Londeix: Master of the Modern Saxophone Maître
du Saxophone Moderne, by James C. Umble (Glenmore, PA: Northeastern Music Publications, Inc., 2000), 277-278.
   17

for establishing the saxophone’s identity as a legitimate contemporary voice and have been

contributing to its repertoire significantly for over three decades. Some of their earliest projects

involved Londeix’ student group, the Ensemble International de Saxophones de Bordeaux,

established in 1977.43

Rossé and Londeix met on September 9, 1977 at the Bordeaux Conservatory restaurant.

Londeix recalls, “We immediately hit it off,” and so began a camaraderie and colleagueship that

has lasted ever since. Londeix’ original idea of publishing saxophone arrangements of spirituals

was abandoned and the concept for an unaccompanied alto saxophone piece took form. Londeix

provided Rossé with the same recordings of saxophone techniques that he had sent to Denisov.44

Rossé describes the collaborative process with Londeix as absolutely necessary to

gaining proper knowledge of the saxophone.

It was in 1977, while I was still a student in the class of Olivier Messiaen at the Paris
Conservatory, that Jean-Marie first asked me to compose for the saxophone. I knew little
about the instrument prior to this undertaking, and my first saxophone piece…resulted
from a long period of gestation. Working together with Jean-Marie Londeix was
essential, both in learning about writing for the instrument and about the intricacies of
performing.45

Although he had just finished Virgile, Rossé considers Le Frêne égaré his Opus 1. It was the first

piece that forced him to search beyond his training as an improvising performer.

Rossé completed Le Frêne égaré (“The Fallen Ash Tree”) on March 21, 1979, and

Londeix premiered it shortly thereafter on June 30, 1979 at the World Saxophone Congress in

Chicago. The title came from the emblematic ash tree in Richard Wagner’s opera Tristan und

Isolde, a work that Rossé studied in Messiaen’s analysis class during the 1978-1979 academic

year. While other unaccompanied pieces for saxophone had been published, Le Frêne égaré was

                                                                                                               
43
Umble., 63.
44
Londeix, email interview. See Appendix B, 193.
45
Umble, 106.
   18

the first idiomatic solo piece to demand fluency in extended techniques and the ability to

interpret abstract musical ideas.46

Le Frêne égaré shows that hybridity, orality, and primitivism were established early in

Rossé’s compositional career as core principles. The material for the piece is a patchwork of

elements from non-Western traditions, older styles of Western art music, and contemporary

techniques weaved together seamlessly. Rossé explains that “influences from the Orient,

northern Africa, and Greece are evident. I was influenced by Messiaen’s neumatic principle

originating from Gregorian chant—in other words, by the melodic principle of writing using

small groups of notes. It’s a sort of image or gesture.”47 Rossé’s implementation of such varied

influences is reflective of the hybridity dominating much of Messiaen’s work.

The neumatic style is also a demonstration of orality. It can be described as highly

gestural, speech-like, and repetitive. Rossé often reiterates short ideas or figures in an

unsystematic way that resembles improvisation. Examples of this style in his Japanese-

influenced works are examined more specifically in Chapter 6.

The score of Le Frêne égaré is typical of Rossé’s notation in its juxtaposition of orality

and literacy. By combining metric, spatial, and graphic symbols, he allows the performer

freedom to shape gestures and phrases in a personal way without forfeiting complete control. As

Londeix explains, Le Frêne égaré is neither aleatoric nor metronomic.48 A careful balance

between orality and literacy is evident throughout his work.

                                                                                                               
46
Jean-Marie Londeix, Chapter 1-2, “François Rossé (b. 1945), et Le Frêne Égaré,” Disc 3, The Londeix
Lectures, verbal translation by William H. Street, produced by Shelley Jagow and Matthew Beck (Dayton, OH:
Wright State University, 2011), DVD.
47
Londeix, “Le Frêne Égaré,” in Umble, Londeix, 278-279.
48
Londeix, Chapter 11, “François Rossé,” Disc 3, The Londeix Lectures, DVD.
   19

Londeix describes how the collaborative process began. “Musically, we were stripped of

all of our protective layers” with “no agenda” or “a priori ideas.”49 Finding that neo-classical

writing for saxophone gave “the appearance of a hippopotamus dressed in a pink skirt with

lace,”50 Rossé divorced himself from any preexisting “cultural framework” and explored the

saxophone’s inherent sonorous qualities. His research, which he describes as “expansive,”

involved studying the acoustic vocabulary of the instrument, the technical gestures of the

instrumentalists for whom he writes, and the saxophone’s relationship to the environment or

surroundings.51 Goury describes Rossé’s command of the saxophone enthusiastically.

François is also one of the most prolific French composers of his generation and takes a
place in the center of the creation of contemporary art, because he is still active
(overflowing) as composer, performer, improviser and poet. His music is human,
emotional, carnal and intelligent. He possesses a most effective compositional technique.
Never taking the easy route of “effect” he knows with ease to excite the sonorous
material of an instrument, remaining an ingenious innovator. His understanding of our
instrument is always limitless. Like all the “greats,” he feels he knows, and he does. For
all this, disregarding my friendship, objectively, he remains for me one of the greatest
French composers born since World War II.52

Goury’s statement points to Rossé’s undying energy and drive to continue learning.

According to Londeix, Rossé made the saxophone “an instrument necessary for the music

he initiated…This attitude (generally possessed by the greatest composers for the instruments

they used) is now accepted. We seek less and less to disguise the saxophone.”53 Goury adds,

“François forces the interpreter to question his own faculties of knowing how to ‘sound’ the

instrument. He senses what is possible then organizes his writing scheme based on the vernacular

potential of the instrument.”54 The term “vernacular” is applied in this context to represent the

                                                                                                               
49
Umble, 106.
50
The original reads: “donne à notre instrument l'allure d'un hipopotame habillé d'une jupe rose avec des
dentelles.” Fayolle and Rossé, 47.
51
Ibid., 43-44.
52
Goury, email interview. See Appendix B, 191.
53
Londeix, email interview. See Appendix B, 194.
54
Goury, email interview. See Appendix B, 192.
   20

unique, native language of the saxophone.55 By embracing the instrument’s “vernacular

potential,” Rossé and the Bordeaux School composers were the first to write music that could

only be realized on the saxophone. In so doing, they provided the saxophone with its own

irreplaceable voice in Western art music.56

Rossé’s return to the fundamental elements of saxophone playing can be found in the

refrain material of Le Frêne égaré. Air, sound, and harmony are represented by breath, long tone,

and multiphonic. Later in the piece, expression and virtuosity are added to the refrain in the form

of vibrato and trill respectively. Although the refrain is reiterated differently each time, it always

emphasizes the specific physical demands of playing the saxophone.57 Rossé believes that this

visceral aspect of performance more effectively engages the player with the music while also

encouraging a stronger connection between the performer and audience. By exploiting the

saxophone’s inherent qualities to enhance the performer’s physicality, Rossé demonstrates

primitivism.

After writing Le Frêne égaré, Rossé suggests that his “production for saxophone has

diversified, attracted by possibilities resulting from having performers approach their instruments

in new ways.”58 He seems eager to learn from new experiences and continues to emphasize the

                                                                                                               
55
In his thesis on hybridity in Christian Lauba’s saxophone music, Zachary Pfau develops the conceptual
relevance of the vernacular within contemporary music discourse by drawing from literary theorist Mikhail Bakhtin
and the postcolonial critique of Homi Bhabha. As colonizers impose their own vehicular language to assert power,
the persistence of the vernacular represents resistance and solidarity of the other. Therefore, the saxophone’s
vernacular celebrates its roots as an instrument of popular music and jazz, and includes the unique sonic possibilities
of the saxophone used to express the ideas of the composer and ultimately, the performer. The concept of the
vernacular provides a certain depth not found in the term “idiom” and perhaps more accurately represents the
saxophone’s uneasy and ambiguous position in the Western classical tradition. Zachary Pfau, “L’esthétique hybride
de l’oeuvre pour saxophone de Christian Lauba,” Master’s Thesis (Université de Paris IV, Paris-Sorbonne, 2012),
29-32.
56
Umble, 107.
57
Londeix, Chapter 6-9, “François Rossé,” Disc 3, The Londeix Lectures, DVD.
58
Umble, 107.
   21

indispensability of the interpreter throughout the collaborative process, which he refers to as an

interpreter-composer synthesis.59

The presence of hybridity, orality, and primitivism in Le Frêne égaré proves that Rossé

established a philosophical path from the very beginning of his compositional career, a creative

journey that began with the saxophone. After more than thirty-five years, Rossé is still a major

contributor to the saxophone’s growing repertoire. He continues to follow the same guiding

principles, each of which is explored in the following three chapters.

                                                                                                               
59
Fayolle and Rossé, 48, 50-53.
   22

CHAPTER 2.

HYBRIDITY

This section is devoted to unpacking the term ‘hybridity’ within the contexts of culture

theory, music history, saxophone literature, and Rossé’s music. While Rossé does not

specifically refer to hybridity in his own writings, the concept appropriately represents his

eclectic style and more relevantly, his incorporation of non-Western elements. The following

overview offers clarification of the term’s origin in scholarly discourse and the justification for

applying ‘hybridity’ to Rossé’s compositional approach.

‘Hybridity’ in Culture Theory

Scholars in postcolonial studies and cultural criticism initially adopted the term

‘hybridity’ to represent “degrees of cultural exchange between race, ethnicity, gender and

class.”60 As Apollo Amoko explains, the field of postcolonial studies represents “an effort by

scholars in such diverse disciplines as literature, cultural studies, history and anthropology to

come to terms, from a global perspective, with the legacy of European colonialism.”61

Established in the 1970s, this broad field examines the ongoing political, social, economic, and

cultural effects of colonialism on both the colonized and colonizing groups.62

Cultural theorist Homi Bhabha argues, “The postcolonial perspective resists the attempt

at holistic forms of social explanation. It forces a recognition of the more complex cultural and

political boundaries that exist on the cusp of these often opposed political spheres.”63 He believes

                                                                                                               
60
David Beard and Kenneth Gloag, Musicology: The Key Concepts (London: Routledge, 2005), 84.
61
Apollo Amoko, “Race and Postcoloniality,” in The Routledge Companion to Critical and Cultural
Theory, 2nd ed., ed. Simon Malpas and Paul Wake (New York: Routledge, 2013), 136.
62
Beard and Gloag, 137; Amoko, 132.
63
Homi Bhabha, Location of Culture, (New York: Routledge, 1994), 173.
   23

that contained within cultural exchange is a “Third Space,”64 or “in-between space,” which

“carries the burden of the meaning of culture.”65 The Third Space is where hybridity dwells and

serves as the bridge between ‘Self’ and ‘Other.’66 It demonstrates that the “hierarchical claims to

the inherent originality or ‘purity’ of cultures are untenable.”67 In other words, “this interstitial

passage between fixed identifications opens up the possibility of a cultural hybridity that

entertains difference without an assumed or imposed hierarchy.”68

Paul Gilroy, a British sociologist, also argues against “ethnic absolutism”69 in The Black

Atlantic (1993). While his discussion focuses on the culture of the African and Caribbean

diaspora in the Western world, his general ideas about race and politics can be applied

universally. He claims, “The history of the black Atlantic yields a course of lessons as to the

instability and mutability of identities which are always unfinished, always being remade.”70

Gilroy employs the term ‘hybridity’ to describe the constant transformation of culture and

blurring of cultural boundaries.71

According to Annie E. Coombes and Avtar Brah, “The phenomenon that the term

‘hybridity’ seeks to address produces varied responses. At times it has resulted in an uncritical

celebration of the traces of cultural syncretism which assumes a symbiotic relationship without

paying adequate attention to economic, political, and social inequalities.”72 Coombes and Brah

insist that ‘hybridity’ must always be considered alongside “the geopolitical contexts in which

                                                                                                               
64
Ibid., 36.
65
Ibid., 38.
66
The term “Other” is used in many disciplines to denote those who are different from a dominating group.
In the case of colonization, the Other is the colonized group.
67
Ibid., 37.
68
Ibid., 4.
69
Paul Gilroy, The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 1993), 2.
70
Ibid., xi.
71
Ibid., 2.
72
Avtar Brah and Annie E. Coombes, “Introduction: The Conundrum of ‘Mixing’” in Hybridity and its
Discontents: Politics, Science, Culture, ed. Avtar Brah and Annie E. Coombes (London: Routledge, 2000), 1.
   24

the terms of the debate circulate.”73 That is, hybridity should not, and effectively cannot, be

isolated as a solely cultural phenomenon. Their collection, Hybridity and its Discontents:

Politics, Science, Culture, aims to ground the term ‘hybridity’ by standardizing its application

across disciplines.

George Lipsitz and John Hutnyk argue that in many cases of intentional hybridity,

inequality is consequentially emphasized and perpetuated. Lipsitz discusses the musical trend of

white artists who invite minority performers to collaborate and subsequently categorize the

culminating product as ‘world music.’74 This type of phony multiculturalism exploits minority

cultures for commercial gain. Hutnyk also argues that the term ‘world music’ dangerously

promotes a false sense of multiculturalism by covering up ethnic differences and ignoring

underlying political conflict.75

Despite the term’s controversy within postcolonial studies and beyond, scholars continue

to implement the term ‘hybridity’ across disciplines. Among them is Marwan M. Kraidy, who

finds the term to be extremely useful when applied thoughtfully. In accordance with Coombes

and Brah, he explains that it is “imperative to situate every analysis of hybridity in a specific

context where the conditions that shape hybridities are addressed.”76 That is, hybridity should not

be presented as a one-dimensional description of culture. Kraidy also explains, “Hybridity is one

of the emblematic notions of our era. It captures the spirit of the times with its obligatory

celebration of cultural difference and fusion, and it resonates with the globalization mantra of

unfettered economic exchanges and the supposedly inevitable transformation of all cultures.”77

                                                                                                               
73
Ibid., 2.
74
Beard and Gloag 85.
75
Ibid., 86.
76
Marwan M Kraidy, Hybridity: Or the Cultural Logic of Globalization (Philadelphia: Temple University
Press, 2005), vi.
77
Ibid., 1.
   25

This serves as a justification for applying the concept of ‘hybridity’ and embodies the essence of

Rossé’s attitude and musical approach.

Hybridity in Western Art Music History

Hybridity has been an essential characteristic of Western art music from its very

beginning. According to Richard Taruskin, “New styles and genres do not actually replace or

supplant the old in the real world; this happens only in history books. In the real world the new

takes its place alongside the old, and, during the period of their coexistence, the two are always

fair game for cross-fertilization and hybridization.”78 Performers and composers have repeatedly

borrowed from various genres, music of the past, and cultural traditions other than their own.

During the Renaissance period, composers began to travel more regularly and

consequently became acutely aware of international styles. They emulated each other by

appropriating and combining ideas in hopes of arriving at something unique and refreshing.79

The Baroque period demonstrated further hybridization through stylistic borrowings of

international musical elements, a practice that was becoming integral in the development of

Western art music.80 J.S. Bach (1685-1750) is a prominent figure who contributed to this trend.

Although he never left Germany, he was able to seamlessly weave together elements of English,

French, Italian, and German styles.81 Rather than simply imitate these characteristics, Bach

fashioned them into an organic, innovative conglomeration.82

                                                                                                               
78
Christopher H. Gibbs and Richard Taruskin, The Oxford History of Western Music (College Edition.
New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 322.
79
Ibid., 145.
80
Beard and Gloag, 86.
81
Richard Taruskin, The Oxford History of Western Music, vol. 2, The Mid-Eighteenth Century to the Late
Nineteenth Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 258-259.
82
Ibid., 285.
   26

In the early 19th century, hybridity was a result of the commemoration, emulation, and

reworking of past styles. As Taruskin describes, “A sense of heirship, of tradition, of obligation

to illustrious forebears and their great works becomes in the nineteenth century a stronger force

in the history of musical composition than ever before.”83 As public concerts became the primary

venue for performance, significant works from earlier generations were retroactively recognized

as masterpieces. Thus, the venerated canon of Western art music was established.84

Prior to the mid-19th century, musical hybridity appeared as a cross-cultural exploration

and a renewal of past ideals. At the turn of the 20th century, hybridity was the product of

increased implementation of folk music, non-Western traditions, popular genres and music of the

past. These various borrowings are precisely what characterize Rossé’s music.

Béla Bartók (1881-1945) was highly successful in blending a Western approach with folk

music of central and eastern Europe to create an original style. He and his colleague, Zoltán

Kodály (1882-1967), conducted fieldwork throughout this region from 1906 to 1918.85 They

systematically collected, transcribed, and studied folk songs, thus instigating the field of

ethnomusicology. Bartók’s extensive communication with peasants provided him with a deep

understanding of their music. By incorporating folk music, he was able to masterfully create a

unique hybrid style.86

Many composers throughout the 20th century were interested in music of cultures other

than their own. French composer Claude Debussy (1862-1918) was particularly innovative with

                                                                                                               
83
Ibid., 637-638.
84
Ibid., 638-639.
85
Julie Brown,“Bartók, the Gypsies, and Hybridity” in Western Music and its Others: Difference,
Representation, and Appropriation in Music, ed. Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 2000), 130.
86
Robert D. Wilder, Twentieth-century Music (Dubuque, IA: WM. C. Brown Company Publishers, 1969),
61.
   27

his incorporations of Russian and Southeast Asian elements.87 He captured the non-teleological

quality of Asian philosophies by constructing static parallel chord progressions, and

implementing whole tone, pentatonic, and modal tonalities.88

In the mid-20th century, Asian traditions increasingly appealed to Western composers. As

an admirer of Debussy and student of Messiaen, Pierre Boulez (b. 1925) extended the French

tradition of implementing Asian and African characteristics. Boulez’ Marteau sans maître (1953-

1955) and Répons (1981) demonstrate his interest in African drumming, Balinese gamelan, and

the Japanese koto.89 Deeply involved with rhythmic mechanisms, American composer Elliott

Carter (1908-2012) is recognized for innovative transformation of tempo known as metric

modulation. Indian, Arabic, Balinese, and West African music, as well as post-war jazz styles,

inspired his polyrhythmic complexity.90 Like many intellectuals of the postwar era, American

Experimentalist John Cage (1912-1992) explored Asian and Indian philosophies, and most

particularly Zen Buddhism. Cage applied his philosophical and spiritual studies conceptually

rather than sonically. In hopes of achieving the irrational, while completely eliminating the

impact of desire and preference, he adopted radical chance procedures involving the ancient

Chinese I Ching, or “Book of Changes,” coin-tossing, and other randomizing methods.91

                                                                                                               
87
Gibbs and Taruskin, 826-828.
88
Wilder, 18-21.
89
Philippe Albèra, “Les Leçons de l’Exotisme,” Cahiers de Musiques Traditionelles 9 (1996): 72, doi:
10.2307/40240593.
90
Gibbs and Taruskin, 1046-1049.
91
Gibbs and Taruskin, 1025-1027. Cage used coin-tossing techniques as a compositional method as a way
of relinquishing control and intention. His monumental 4’33” of 1952 requires an instrumentalist to perform three
movements, all marked “tacet.” Ibrahim explains: “By instructing the performer to remain silent for the duration of
the work, and thus embracing the spontaneous sounds of the performrance setting, Cage’s work questioned the
existing definitions of concert music. This epitome of aleatoric music not only introduced a new palette of sounds,
noises, and silences to contemporary composition, but reframed concert music. In such conceptual works, the frame
around the work is often of a greater importance than its content, and in some cases, the frame can be said to be the
ework’s content.” Ibrahim, 41.
   28

Since the 1960s and 70s, boundaries between musical genres have become blurred and

indistinct as a result of globalization.92 Advances in technology and media have led to fast and

widespread dissemination of information.93 As Taruskin summarizes, “This access naturally

spurred eclecticism as well as attempts at fusion.”94 American conductor, composer, and

historian Gunther Schuller (b. 1925) pioneered Third Stream, a conglomerate genre of jazz and

art music. A blend of oral and literate traditions, Schuller envisioned Third Stream as “a global

concept which allows the world’s musics—written, improvised, handed-down, traditional,

experimental—to come together, to learn from one another, to reflect human diversity and

pluralism.”95

Minimalism is another contemporary style that perpetuated hybridity. In conjunction with

the minimalist art movement of the 1960s, minimalist music is generally characterized by

simplicity of material, transparency, rhythmic repetition, and gradual change over time. An early

example is La Monte Young’s (b. 1935) Composition 1960 #7, consisting solely of a perfect fifth

“to be held for a long time.”96 Another important minimalist work is Terry Riley’s (b. 1935) In C

(1964), a construction of short musical ideas that can be repeated for up to several hours,

depending on the performance. Both composers were influenced by the spirituality of Eastern

philosophies.97

Steve Reich (b. 1936) and Philip Glass (b. 1937) also studied Eastern traditions and

specifically implemented Asian and Indian rhythmic elements. Many of Reich’s rhythmic ideas

were inspired by his extensive study of West African drumming and Balinese gamelan.98

                                                                                                               
92
Beard, 42.
93
Gibbs and Taruskin, 1067.
94
Ibid., 1094.
95
Ibid., 1065.
96
Ibid., 1068.
97
Ibid., 1082.
98
John Corbett, “Experimental Oriental: New Music and Other Others,” in Western Music and its
   29

Collaborations with Indian sitarist Ravi Shankar inspired Glass to structure his music through

rhythmic progression rather than harmony.99

Many composers today borrow and rework material from various cultures, eras, and

genres to create intertextual webs that defy categorization. For example, Osvaldo Golijov (b.

1960) developed an eclectic style that stems from his heritage and upbringing. A native of

Argentina, he was raised in an eastern European Jewish household where music was an essential

component of family life.100 In 2000, the premiere of Golijov’s La Pasión según San Marcos

(also known as St. Mark Passion) commemorated J.S. Bach’s 250th birthday. This monstrous 87-

minute spectacle, involving vocal soloists, an Afro-Cuban dancer, a Capoeira dancer, a choir,

bermimbau, accordion, brass, strings and percussion, demonstrates Golijov’s love for klezmer,

classical, and South American music.101

John Adams (b. 1947) emphasizes his nationality through the implementation of various

American genres. His Saxophone Concerto (2013) stems from his “life-long exposure to the

great jazz saxophonists, from the swing era through the likes of Coltrane, Eric Dolphy and

Wayne Shorter.”102 His fascination with jazz can also be heard in City Noir (2009), a symphonic

work featuring the alto saxophone in a bluesy style. Having played the clarinet in his earlier

years, Adams refers to his personal memories with the instrument in Gnarly Buttons (1996) for

                                                                                                               
Others: Difference, Representation, and Appropriation in Music, ed. Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), 173-174.
99
Gibbs and Taruskin, 1077-1078.
100
Osvaldo Golijov, “Biography,” Osvaldogolijov.com, modified March 2013, http://www.osvaldogolijov
.com/bio.htm.
101
Osvaldo Golijov, “La Pasión según San Marcos (2000),” Osvaldogolijov.com, accessed September 6,
2014,  http://www.osvaldogolijov.com/wd1.htm
102
John Adams, “Saxophone Concerto,” John Adams, last modified July 2013, http://www.earbox.com
/other-ensemble-works/saxophone-concerto-2013.
   30

clarinet and chamber ensemble. Many influences contributed to the piece, including Benny

Goodman and marching band.103

Hybridity in Saxophone Repertoire

Over the last few decades, hybridity has been a definitive characteristic of saxophone

literature. Many pieces demonstrate the influence of jazz, such as the third movement of

Denisov’s Sonate (1970), which resembles a jazz trio. The lower voice of the piano acts as a

walking bass line while the upper voice produces melodic riffs and chordal accompaniment. The

saxophone is featured as a virtuosic soloist.104 The “Mad Dance” in Sonata (1984) for alto

saxophone and piano by William Albright (1944-1998) is dominated by a bebop style. The

saxophone part exhibits characteristic gestures and inflection, and the piano imitates a pizzicato

bass line.105 In Dream in a Bar (1992) for baritone saxophone and percussion, Christian Lauba

(b. 1952) evokes the atmosphere of a bar. By featuring the drum kit, incorporating the blues

scale, and providing performers with opportunities to improvise, Dream in a Bar exhibits the

integration of jazz.106

Non-Western influence is also a salient feature of many late 20th and 21st century

saxophone works. Florent Schmitt’s (1870-1958) Légende, Op. 66 (1918) for alto saxophone and

orchestra demonstrates the composer’s fascination with “the Orient” through “beautifully muted

                                                                                                               
103
John Adams, “Gnarly Buttons,” John Adams, accessed July 2013, http://www.earbox.com/chamber-
music/gnarly-buttons.  
104
Londeix, “Sonate,” in Jean-Marie Londeix: Master of the Modern Saxophone Maître du Saxophone
Moderne, by James C. Umble (Glenmore, PA: Northeastern Music Publications, Inc., 2000), 224-225.
105
Kirk O’Riordan, “William Albright’s Sonata for Alto Saxophone and Piano: A Study in Stylistic
Contrast” (DMA document, Arizona State University, 2003), 24,  http://www.kirkoriordan.com/writings
/AlbrightSonata.pdf.
106
Jabra Latham, “Observations of Form in Christian Lauba’s Dream in a Bar,” Honours exegis, The
University of Tasmania, 1999), 21-27; “Christian Lauba, Dream in a Bar (1992),” Yesaroun’ Duo, http://yesaroun
.com/notes/lauba.html.
   31

colors” and its “evocative, passionate character.”107 Piet Swerts’ (b. 1960) Kotekan (2006) for

alto saxophone and piano imitates the kotekan technique of Balinese gamelan music, which can

be described as fast interlocking parts that collectively build a phrase.108 The third movement of

Darius Milhaud’s (1892-1974) Scaramouche, (1937) entitled “Brazileira,” contains syncopated

rhythms that clearly demonstrate the influence of Brazilian dance music.109 The first movement

of Concertante (1978) for alto saxophone and orchestra by Romanian-born composer Marius

Constant (1925-2004) depicts the improvisatory style and mood of an Indian raga.110 111

Contemporary saxophone repertoire often borrows from music of the past. David

Maslanka’s saxophone quartets, Mountain Roads (1997) and Recitation Book (2006), recall

Bach’s chorale and cantata writing and are loosely reminiscent of his style.112 Henri Pousseur

incorporates a 17th century song by Samuel Scheidt in the middle of his saxophone quartet, Vue

sur les Jardins Interdits (1973). This section is largely comprised of major chords, and sounds

similar to vocal and dance music of that era.113 Lauba’s Ars (1992-1994) for two soprano

saxophones presents styles such as Ars Antiqua and Ars Nova from the Middle Ages in a

contemporary setting.114 Marilyn Shrude references Niccolo Pagaini’s 24th Caprice for violin in

                                                                                                               
107
Londeix, “Légende, Op. 66,” in Jean-Marie Londeix: Master of the Modern Saxophone Maître du
Saxophone Moderne, by James C. Umble (Glenmore, PA: Northeastern Music Publications, Inc., 2000), 290-291.
108
Benjamin Cold, “Analysis of a Recital: A Report on Piet Swerts’ Klonos and Ingolf Dahl’s Concerto for
Alto Saxophone and Wind Orchestra” (Master’s thesis, Kansas State University, 2012), 2.
109
Londeix, “Scaramouche,” in Jean-Marie Londeix: Master of the Modern Saxophone Maître du
Saxophone Moderne, by James C. Umble (Glenmore, PA: Northeastern Music Publications, Inc., 2000), 269-270.
110
A Raga is a “Mode in Indian music. In addition to a scale, the concept may include notions of pitch
ranking, characteristic ascent and descent patterns, motives, use of ornaments, performance time, and emotional
character.” The Harvard Concise Dictionary of Music and Musicians, s.v. “raga.”
111
Londeix, “Concertante,” in Jean-Marie Londeix: Master of the Modern Saxophone Maître du
Saxophone Moderne, by James C. Umble (Glenmore, PA: Northeastern Music Publications, Inc., 2000), 204.
112
David Maslanka, “Recitation Book,” David Maslanka, accessed September 13, 2014,
http://davidmaslanka.com/works/recitation-book-2006-20/?portfolioID=4629; J.W. Pepper, “Mountain Roads,”
accessed, September 13, 2014, http://www.jwpepper.com/Mountain-Roads/10085326.item#.VBSao-dfE40.
113
Londeix, “Vue sur les Jardins Interdits,” in Jean-Marie Londeix: Master of the Modern Saxophone
Maître du Saxophone Moderne, by James C. Umble (Glenmore, PA: Northeastern Music Publications, Inc., 2000),
272.
114
Londeix, “Neuf Études,” in Jean-Marie Londeix: Master of the Modern Saxophone Maître du
Saxophone Moderne, by James C. Umble (Glenmore, PA: Northeastern Music Publications, Inc., 2000), 259.
   32

Renewing the Myth (1988) for alto saxophone and piano. She also inserts short motives from

other standard works for saxophone, such as Jacques Ibert’s Concertino da Camera (1935).115

Hybridity in Rossé’s Approach

The biography on Rossé’s website describes the role of hybridity in his music as follows:

“His activity is consistent between engagements as improvising pianist and composer, both close

to the tradition of historical Western music and in tune with the artistic dynamics in the current

global environment.”116 As discussed in the previous chapter, Rossé considers exposure to non-

Western traditions paramount to his identity as a musician.

Although he does not use the term ‘hybridity’ himself, Rossé characterizes contemporary

music as a prominently hybrid genre.

In Europe today, the standard of music has been much more impacted by Jazz, and not
what came from Schoenberg. For thirty years or so, I would say it was Schoenberg that
impacted the direction of art music, but today, in 2008, it is the tradition of Jazz and
improvisation that drives music. What we have now is the mixing between oral and
writing traditions of music. This has come about because we now live in a global world.
It is a great time for music and art because finally, it is possible to meet other cultures.117

Rossé finds the shift away from strict methodologies, like serialism, liberating. He promotes and

strives toward pluralism by freely borrowing from other styles and encouraging broad cultural

awareness. “A work is, for me, a society of sounds whose relationships are defined by codes that

slyly connive with broader human and social aspirations.”118 Rossé asserts that there remains no

linearity in Western music, no over-riding narrative that guides artistic expression. However, he
                                                                                                               
115
Marilyn Shrude, “Notes,” Renewing the Myth (Paris: Editions Henry Lemoine, 1988), n.p.
116
Original text reads: “Son activité s’harmonise entre ses engagements comme pianiste improvisateur et
comme compositeur, à la fois proche de la tradition musicale occidentale historique et en phase avec les dynamiques
artistiques dans l’environnement planétaire actuel.” Rossé, “Biographie,” François Rossé, accessed September 6,
2014, http://francois rosse2.pagesperso-orange.fr/index.html#anchor-biographie.
117
Estes, 100.
118
Original text reads: “Une oeuvre est, pour moi, une société de sons dont les rapports sont définis par des
codes qui, sournoisement, sont en connivence avec des aspirations humaines et sociales plus générales.” Fayolle and
Rossé, 16.
   33

does admit that serialism, spectralism, and other systematic or research-oriented methods were

necessary in the mid- to late 20th century, because they ultimately served to revitalize our culture

within the realm of Western art music.119

While Rossé is particularly enthusiastic about globalization and the accessibility of other

cultures, he recognizes the potential danger of hybridity. “The issue of the world going global is

both fantastic and troubling at the same time. In the twentieth century I saw the end of Europe.

Europe is finished!...Now, the question is what is social, and what is political—that is the most

important question.”120 On the one hand, globalization yields cultural exchange, but it can also

lead to cultural dissonance, or even dissolution.

Despite his concerns, Rossé is grateful for cross-cultural collaborations, an activity he

asserts is normal, or in his terms, ‘natural.’ Ease of travel and speedy access to information have

made cultural exchange an integral aspect of modern society. He proposes an analogy between

cross-cultural intersections and sexuality. “I want the possibility to live with my music in active

meetings of other music; meeting different cultures—a marriage of cultures. It is natural, right.

What is sexuality? As humans, we have the obligation to meet others—it is true nature.” He goes

on,

But incest, as practiced by some cultures throughout history, does not promote this
particular type of diverse interaction. It is the same with culture—you must meet others
and have contact—it is like producing a child of blended cultures. The musical result of
this blend of cultures is very exciting! Just think of the wealth of new music that could
result from these contacts?121

Rossé suggests that isolating art from cultural influences might harm society and oppose the

course in which culture is evolving. Instead, he believes artists should branch out, converge

ideas, and promote hybridity.

                                                                                                               
119
Fayolle and Rossé, 13-14.
120
Estes, 101.
121
Estes, 102.
   34

According to Rossé, collaboration is always a learning process that simultaneously breaks

down barriers, bringing everyone involved to common ground. The following statement by

Rossé is a description of his work with Mieko Miyazaki, Japanese koto player and singer, from a

2008 interview. He reiterates the importance of human connection discussed in the first chapter.

I also have a duo that I have formed with a Japanese singer. As you can see in this video,
we are both improvising. She is singing while I am playing the piano. She also plays the
Koto (Japanese stringed-instrument) during this particular improvisation. For me, this
kind of social interaction is what I am most interested in – the blending of cultures and
the social contact with others. We are creating something together, marrying our cultures
and musical languages in a way that is very special.122

Building relationships with people of other backgrounds represents the most important aspect of

Rossé’s musical process. From his perspective, the bonds established with other artists through

the exchange of ideas and collaboration yields valuable results.

In 1989, one of Rossé’s projects took him to Réunion, an island to the east of

Madagascar. As an overseas department of France, it functions under the French government.

Rossé was fascinated by his new discovery of Creole culture on the island.

Ultimately, I just went down to the island and met these people without telling them who
I was and what I was doing there. When I first arrived, without even meeting them, I
began to play – to improvise. They quieted down and then, all of the sudden they joined
me in playing – percussion, guitar, and people were singing. Afterwards, we were
drinking and eating together – we had become friends!

I went down there to create human contact – to try to get an understanding of their
culture. It was three or four days later that I finally told them who I was and what I was
doing there. However, it was too late for them to judge me because we had already
become friends! More important than the musical experience is the human experience.123

This is just one example of Rossé’s many projects involving new people of unfamiliar places and

cultures. The culmination of his seven visits to Réunion over the span of two years was an hour-

long piece, Baiser de Terre (“Kiss the Ground”). Since the majority of performers were unable to

                                                                                                               
122
Estes, 107.
123
Estes, 104.
   35

read musical notation, the piece was taught and performed orally.

Rossé’s music also exhibits hybridity through his references to works written or

performed by other musicians. By combining borrowed ideas with other influences, he continues

to develop his own voice and discover new possibilities.

Paying homage to other composers in my works is very important to me. You must take
the borrowed material and use it differently though. You must mix it and then mix it
some more. If my compositions were only my ideas, then I would be done. Drawing from
others and from other languages is very important me.124

In this way, Rossé is able to enrich his music while shedding new light on existing works.

Traditional Japanese culture has also factored significantly into Rossé’s hybridity. He

explains, “Very impressive in its traditions, this country was not without influence in my

conception of music and its forms of energy and therefore instrumental from the beginning.”125

Rossé’s second and most recent visit to Japan (April 2013) involved collaborations with Daïmon.

As a Paris resident since 1976, Daïmon is known for contemporary and traditional Japanese

dance styles, such as those used in noh and kabuki. Daïmon and Rossé have collaborated in hour-

long improvised performances since 2006.126 In addition, Rossé has worked extensively with

Miyazaki, another collaborative artist who continues to influence his work.

Rossé describes his projects with these Japanese artists as a fusion of traditional and

contemporary genres:

Nontheless with Shiro Daïmon and Mieko Miyazaki we are with musicians and dancers
who have a strong impregnation of tradition but are open to contemporaneity. This is the
paradox of Japan visible in architecture, the environment, where old beautiful temples
can be found next to extremely modern buildings. They are both very open to new
technologies and steeped in secular tradition that gives them a sort of rigor and an

                                                                                                               
124
Estes, 106.
125
Rossé, email interview. See Appendix B, 183.
126
Shiro Daïmon, “Accueil,” Shiro Daïmon, accessed September 13, 2014, http://www.shirodaimon.fr
/accueil.html; Daïmon, “Biographie,” Daïmon, accessed September 13, 2014, http://www.shirodaimon.fr/biographie
.html.
   36

aesthetic sense in all of the things in life (the way of eating, the ritual of tea and ikebana
in the flower arrangements…etc).127

By collaborating with such versatile artists experienced in both contemporary Western and

Japanese performance, Rossé stays active and engaged as both a performer and composer.

Hybridity in Rossé’s Music for Saxophone

As mentioned in Chapter 1, Le Frêne Égaré is an early example of hybridity in Rossé’s

repertoire. It is safe to say that a significant number of Rossé’s compositions exhibit hybridity in

one way or another.

In an email to saxophonist Allison Balcetis on March 8, 2006, Rossé explains that the

melodic development of …sur un ilôt de la rivière… (2005) for soprano saxophone was

influenced by a Confucian text. Written for Chinese saxophonist Tong Yang, it is “a piece that

proposes a space where different cultures can intersect or merge.”128 The music was inspired by

Chinese ritual; it incorporates text and multiphonics that represent metal percussion instruments.

Rossé borrows from himself in …sur un ilôt de la rivière… by replicating a section from Le

Frêne Égaré.

In 2011, Rossé composed Kreuzung, a double concerto for baritone saxophone and piano

with orchestra. The saxophone part is notated while the pianist improvises. On Vimeo, a video

sharing website, Rossé posted a performance of Kreuzung with background information and a

general description of his musical approach. After briefly mentioning the Haydn-esque themes in

Kreuzung, Rossé emphasizes the diversification within contemporary music in an ever-

globalizing world. The connections between Western and non-Western, old and new, are “the

                                                                                                               
127
Rossé, email interview. See Appendix B, 187.
128
Original text reads: “Une oeuvre qui propose un espace où les cultures aussi différentes peuvent se
croiser, voire fusionner.” Rossé, email to Balcetis, March 8, 2006.
   37

mental connections that cause the active and creative space of the imagination to explode.”129

Shanaï (1990), for three high saxophones (sopraninos, sopranos, or altos) consists of six

short etudes. These include “Aka,” which is “dedicated to Bibayak Pygmies in Africa,” and

“West Orient,” “an etude on the ornamentation of note beginnings and releases as well as

melodic flexibility.”130

In Être Musicale, Rossé designates the 1990s as his era commemorating “our cultural

heritage,” or Western art music.131 On the list of works in this category is Ost-Atem (1992) for

tenor saxophone and tape, a tribute to Rossini.

Like many musicians throughout history, Rossé implements borrowing and intertextuality

as tools to create original and personal work. His career of interdisciplinary and cross-cultural

collaboration as both performer and composer is guided by his hybridity. Rossé’s thirst for

strong human connections and cultural exploration is evidenced vividly in his pursuits with

Daïmon and Miyazaki, and carry over to his Japanese-influenced chamber works.

                                                                                                               
129
Original text reads: “les connections mentales qui font exploser l'espace de l'imagination active et
creative.” Rossé, “Kreuzung François Rossé” Vimeo video, 19:13, recorded May 18, 2012, posted 2013,
http://vimeo.com /50797333.
130
Londeix, “Shanaï,” in Jean-Marie Londeix: Master of the Modern Saxophone Maître du Saxophone
Moderne, by James C. Umble (Glenmore, PA: Northeastern Music Publications, Inc., 2000), 282.
131
Original text reads: “notre patrimoine culturel.” Fayolle and Rossé, 78.
   38

CHAPTER 3.

ORALITY

Central to Rossé’s musical background and compositional approach, ‘orality’ is a concept

that consistently makes its way into his interviews, unpublished essays, and facebook posts. This

section contextualizes orality within the discipline of orality-literacy studies, a branch of culture

theory that examines human thought and communication in relation to learning, psychology,

socialization and culture.132 Aspects of orality in music will be traced through music history,

saxophone literature, and Rossé’s music for saxophone.

‘Orality’ in Culture Theory

Walter Ong (1912-2003), one of the most notable scholars of the 20th century, helped

solidify the field of orality-literacy studies, a branch of media theory. In Orality and Literacy:

The Technologizing of the Word (1982), Ong synthesizes and extends existing multidisciplinary

research on the effects of spoken versus written word on human consciousness, communication,

and culture.

By studying primary oral cultures, “cultures with no knowledge at all of writing,”133 Ong

has determined some of the ways in which literacy has affected human thought and how orality

relates to literacy.

A deeper understanding of pristine or primary orality enables us better to understand the

new world of writing, what it truly is, and what functionally literate human beings really
are: beings whose thought processes do not grow out of simply natural powers but out of
those powers as structured, directly or indirectly, by the technology of writing. Without
writing, the literate mind would not and could not think as it does, not only when engaged
                                                                                                               
132
Lance Strate, forward to An Ong Reader: Challenges for Further Inquiry, by Walter Ong, ed. Thomas J.
Farrell and Paul A. Soukup (Cresskill, NJ: Hampton Press, Inc., 2002.), x.
133
Walter J. Ong, Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word, 30th Anniversary ed. (London:
Routledge Taylor & Francis Group, 2012), 1.
   39

in writing but normally even when it is composing its thoughts in oral form. More than
any other single invention, writing has transformed human consciousness.134

Orality and literacy rely on each other, forming a symbiotic relationship.

Ontogenetically and phylogenetically, it is the oral word that first illuminates

consciousness with articulate language, that first divides subject and predicate and then
relates them to one another, and that ties human beings to one another in society. Writing
introduces division and alienation, but a higher unity as well. It intensifies the sense of
self and fosters more conscious interaction between persons. Writing is consciousness-
raising.135

Therefore, in literate societies, orality and literacy inherently coexist.

One of the major differences between orality and literacy is the way in which each relates

to the physical world. While orality involves the extrasemantic characteristics of gesture,

inflection, and facial expression, writing is detached from the physical world. In literate settings,

meaning is derived solely from the words, which have been carefully chosen and indelibly fixed

by the author.136 Ong argues that sound, a fundamental element of all language, is the common

thread that links orality and literacy. He explains, “Some non-oral communication is exceedingly

rich – gesture, for example. Yet in a deep sense language, articulated sound, is paramount. Not

only communication, but thought itself relates in an altogether special way to sound.”137

Print holds further implications regarding the affect of literacy on consciousness. For

example, books encourage silent reading, a private act that establishes distance.

By removing words from the world of sound where they had first had their origin in
active human interchange and relegating them definitively to visual surface, and by
otherwise exploiting visual space for the management of knowledge, print encouraged
human beings to think of their own interior conscious and unconscious resources as more
and more thing-like, impersonal and religiously neutral. Print encouraged the mind to
sense that its possessions were held in some sort of inert mental space.138

                                                                                                               
134
Ibid., 77.
135
Ibid., 175.
136
Ibid., 103.
137
Ibid., 7.
138
Ibid., 129.
   40

Unlike printed works, which are permanently fixed, manuscripts “remained closer to the give-

and-take of oral expression. The readers of manuscripts are less removed from the author, less

absent, than are the readers of those writing for print.”139 Interestingly, many of Rossé’s works

are published in manuscript form, including the pieces examined in Chapter 6.

Throughout his discussion, Ong draws on the existing research of other scholars. As one

of the major precursors to orality-literacy studies, Milman Parry was an influential figure to Ong

and many others in the field. He pioneered research on Homer, claiming that the epic poet orally

composed the Iliad and Odyssey by applying existing thematic and formulaic methods of oral

composition.140 Alongside his student, Albert Lord, Parry expanded his research in the mid-

1930s by observing and archiving performances of Yugoslavian epic singers, which he argued

were composed in a method similar to that of Homer’s epics.141 In The Singer of Tales, Lord

explains that the purpose of Parry’s study was to compare oral and written story poetry by

observing singers who traditionally learned and practiced through oral transmission.142 These

studies, along with Lord’s subsequent research, laid the foundation for orality-literacy studies.

Eric A. Havelock’s Preface to Plato (1963) expands upon Parry and Lord’s findings by

illustrating the integral role that memory plays in human consciousness in pre-literate Greece.

Particularly central to Havelock’s research is the use of mnemonic device as a tool to stimulate

memory.143 Similarly to Havelock, Jack Goody and Ian Watt study how memory establishes and

maintains social practices and behaviors in primary oral cultures.

What the individual remembers tends to be what is of critical importance in his

                                                                                                               
139
Ibid., 130.
140
Albert Lord, The Singer of Tales, 2nd ed., ed. Stephen Mitchell and Gregory Nagy (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 2000), 141.
141
John Miles Foley, ed., Comparative Research on Oral Traditions: A Memorial for Milman Parry
(Columbus, OH: Slavica Publishers, Inc., 1987), 18.
142
Lord, 3.
143
Eric A. Havelock, Preface to Plato (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1963),
291.
   41

experience of the main social relationships. In each generation, therefore, the individual
memory will mediate the cultural heritage…The social function of memory – and of
forgetting – can thus be seen as the final stage of what may be called the homeostatic
organization of the cultural tradition in non-literate society.144

Goody and Watt also discuss the importance of mnemonic devices and the active nature of

spoken word (i.e. physical gesture, vocal inflection). They clarify that mythologies and

genealogies are established by oral cultures as “‘charters’ of present social institutions rather

than faithful historical records of times past.”145 In other words, they are used as social pillars

and moral codes rather than literal depictions of historical events.

By exploring the differences between spoken and written word, scholars have reached

conclusions regarding human consciousness, communication, and therefore, culture. Only in

recent years have music scholars, performers, and composers been committed to examining the

relationship between orality and literacy in the areas of music composition, performance,

interpretation, and perception.

Orality in Western Art Music History

Music began as an oral practice, just as spoken word preceded writing. While many

cultures maintain musical orality, the Western art tradition has become overwhelmingly literate

due to the development of standardized notation. This gradual shift from orality to literacy

involved changes in performance practice, particularly improvisation. In recent decades,

comparative research exploring the role of improvisation across cultures and through history has

illuminated some of the implications of the orality-literacy relationship on music performance

and perception. As ethnomusicologist Bruno Nettl explains, “The perspective afforded by a look

                                                                                                               
144
Jack Goody and Ian Watt, “The Consequences of Literacy,” Comparative Studies in Society and History
5, no. 3 (April 1963): 308, http://www.jstor.org/stable/177651.
145
Ibid., 310.
   42

at improvisation in many kinds of music can actually uncover a number of things about music

making across various traditions that might otherwise not come to the surface.”146 The following

overview focuses on orality in Western art music history.

In its earliest form, sacred music for the Catholic Church was orally transmitted. By A.D.

300, Christian liturgy diverged into various strands, including the Roman rite in Latin.147 For

centuries, traveling church musicians disseminated music by rote teaching, which contributed to

a diversity of local traditions. Aspiring to gain authority through standardization of religious

practice, Charlemagne (ca. 742-814), ruler of the Carolingian Empire, allied with the Roman

Catholic Church in the 8th century.148 By establishing a system of music notation for liturgical

use, he hoped to promote a more consistent religious practice among the population.149

Named after Pope Gregory I (590-604), Gregorian Chant is the monophonic, vocal music

developed by the Roman Catholic Church.150 Neumatic notation of chant melodies came into

practice either during Charlemagne’s rule or closer to 900.151 In the early 11th century, Guido

d’Arezzo (c. 1000-1050) introduced the four-line staff on which neumes were placed.152 While

the staff improved the effectiveness of notation as a memory aid, it was far from sufficient as a

learning tool. Kenneth Levy describes the role of notation during its early stages of development

in Gregorian Chant and the Carolingians.

Memory is essential, because the neumes are inadequate as to pitch; still, the neumatic
memory aids enhance memory’s sharpness; they make verbatim recall possible. That
initial memory-neume relationship evolved during centuries to come. As the staffless
                                                                                                               
146
Gabriel Solis, introduction to In the Course of Performance: Studies in the World of Musical
Improvisation, ed. Bruno Nettl and Gabriel Solis (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1998), 3.
147
Richard H. Hoppin, Medieval Music: A Norton Introduction to Music History (New York: W.W. Norton
& Company, 1978), 39.
148
Gibbs and Taruskin, 7-8.
149
Ibid., 8.
150
Hoppin, 42.
151
Neumes are signs based on speech patterns that were placed above text to indicate contour and gesture;
Kenneth Levy, Gregorian Chant and the Carolingians (Princeton, NJ: University of Princeton Press, 1998), 17.
152
Hoppin, 57-60.
   43

neumes were turned into pitched signs heightened precisely on the lined staff, memory
came to have a lesser role. Yet it remained a stabilizing force, usually supporting the
mainline transmission, though at times it became a vehicle for perpetuating local variants;
other variants arose from fresh stylistic initiatives.153

The “memory-neume relationship” supports research regarding the use of formulaic patterns and

mnemonic devices as memory aids. The implementation of neumes initially served to stimulate

memory rather than eliminate its use altogether. Scholars still speculate about the extent to which

plainchant was improvised, approximated, and altered to represent certain local styles.154

The first theoretical treatises from the 9th century outline the rules of organum (early

forms of polyphony). These texts indicate that polyphony had already been a well-established

method of embellishing plainchant melody.155 Before organum was notated, singers harmonized

extemporaneously during performance by following certain rules.156 By the end of the 12th

century, musicians of Notre Dame Cathedral developed rhythmic modes by differentiating

between long and short values. In modal rhythm, the duration of each gesture, or ligature,

depended on the context in which it was placed.157 Franco of Cologne developed rhythmic

specificity further in the late 13th century with mensural notation. His new system allowed for a

wider variety of subdivisions and single notes were assigned value.158

The rise of polyphony and simultaneous strides in notation gave way to the notion of

‘composer’ in both sacred and secular realms.159 Mensural notation was a significant step toward

modern day notation, allowing composers to combine more complicated elements with clarity

                                                                                                               
153
Levy, 16.
154
Ibid., 10.
155
Hoppin, 188.
156
Organum is the earliest form of polyphony in Western art music, or, as Hoppin would have it, the
“unwritten accompaniment of plainchant” (188); Hoppin, 187-188.  
157
Hoppin, 221.
158
Ibid., 334.
159
Gibbs and Taruskin, 88.
   44

and create detailed scores for performers to follow.160 By the 15th century, composers felt a more

definitive sense of ownership over their music and they became increasingly competitive with

one another. Meanwhile, untouched by the musical developments among elite circles, oral

traditions evolved within non-literate communities.161

The advent of music printing in 1501 led to wider dissemination of notated music, and

consequently, increased music literacy among the broader population.162 Sold within large

collections, much of the earliest printed music was vernacular song arranged without text for

instrumental performance. Stemming from a tradition of improvisatory fiddling, these

arrangements led composers to write original works for instrumental chamber ensemble. Music

printing catalyzed the transition from orality to literacy by popularizing music-reading skills and

solidifying the concepts of a musical ‘work’ and ‘composer.’ This development brought Western

art music that much closer to its current state of extreme literacy.163

During the 17th and 18th centuries, improvisation remained an integral component of

performance. Musicians “decorated the given melody” over a “harmonic foundation”164 with fast

gestures in stepwise motion, such as trills, mordents, and appoggiaturas. They were also

expected to improvise freely at cadential points, and within certain forms, such as unmeasured

preludes and fantasias. In ensemble settings, keyboardists had the additional responsibility of

realizing accompaniments notated as figured bass, shorthand notation indicating harmony.165

                                                                                                               
160
Ibid., 82-83.
161
Ibid., 145.
162
Ibid., 120.
163
Ibid., 163-165.
164
Lydia Hailparn, “Exploring Cadenzas to Beethoven’s Piano Concertos,” College Music Symposium 21,
no. 1 (October 1981): 52, http://www.jstor.org/stable/40375160.
165
Charlotte Mattax Moersch, “Keyboard Improvisation in the Baroque Period,” Musical Improvisation:
Art, Education, and Society, ed. Bruno Nettl and Gabriel Solis (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1998),
150.
   45

Method books, ornament tables, and other primary sources served as guides for distinguishing

French from Italian styles.166

Charlotte Mattax Moersch states, “In the keyboard music of the Baroque, the performer’s

role rivaled or even exceeded that of the composer. Composers often provided only a skeletal

framework to be elaborated upon ad libitum by the performer.”167 She also points out how

“players relied on standard flourishes and figuration patterns, passed down from teacher to

student.”168 For example, scholars found similarities within the notated improvisations of J.S.

Bach, his students, and his son, Carl Emanuel Bach, pointing to a formulaic approach.169 By

developing a bank of musical ideas and a personal vocabulary, musicians were able to improvise

lengthy passages and even entire works that functioned within stylistic constraints.

By the early 19th century, composed works provided few opportunities for improvisation.

Music scholar Lydia Goehr explains, “Musical production was now seen as the use of musical

material resulting in complete and discrete, original and fixed, personally owned units. The units

were musical works.”170 This was a dawning era in which composers were recognized as artistic

creators rather than employees in service to nobility or aristocracy. New copyright laws

transferred rights from publishers to composers, whose “music came to be seen as a product of a

free person’s labour.”171 Along with the establishment of orchestras and public concerts, these

new laws allowed some composers, such as Beethoven, to earn a living solely from

commissions, public engagements, and publications.172

                                                                                                               
166
Ibid., 150-153.
167
Ibid., 167.
168
Ibid., 168.
169
Ibid., 162.
170
Lydia Goehr, The Imaginary Museum of Musical Works: An Essay in the Philosophy of Music (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2007), 206.
171
Ibid., 218.
172
Ibid., 210.
   46

The transition of music from a malleable art form to a fixed, permanent product solidified

literacy as the prominent modality of Western art music. According to Goehr, “Music soon

acquired a kind of untouchability which, translated into concrete terms, meant that persons could

no longer tamper with composers’ works.”173 Originality became a priority for composers, who

were protected from plagiarism under new laws. Composers submitted precise, detailed scores to

publishers, and demanded that they be printed accurately. Notation was further improved at the

turn of the 19th century to accommodate such requests and to ensure specificity of musical

scores. For the first time, composers indicated metronome markings, dynamics, and

instrumentation.174

Alongside the notion of a fixed ‘work’ came the distinction between the musical score

and realizations of the score. Composers embraced this division as protection against inaccurate

performances. Ultimately, however, composers relied on performers to bring the musical works

to life.175 As Goehr explains, “The comparable duty of performers was to show allegiance to the

works of the composers. To certify that their performances be of specific works, they had to

comply as perfectly as possible with the scores composers provided.”176 The ideal interpretation

of a musical work was that which adhered most strictly to the composer’s markings. Not only did

this leave the performer with far less room for freedom, but it also rendered improvisation an

unnecessary skill.

While Goehr reiterates that early 19th century improvisation and composition existed in

“strict opposition,” musicologist William Kinderman points to evidence in Beethoven’s

manuscripts that suggests a compositional approach stemming from improvisations at the

                                                                                                               
173
Ibid., 220.
174
Ibid., 224
175
Ibid., 227-232.
176
Ibid., 231.
   47

piano.177 “Interdependence of freedom and determination reminds us of the need to qualify the

nature of what Beethoven would have regarded as successful improvisation.”178 Beethoven

believed that skillful improvisation was always guided by intuition. However, while total

freedom might otherwise lead to chaos, notation provided balance through structure and

cohesion.179 Kinderman’s research demonstrates that improvisation was still integral to the

writing process for composers, even though for performance, it was no longer a necessary skill.

Music scholar Robert S. Hatten finds similar signs of improvisatory compositional

methods in the works of Robert Schumann and Frédéric Chopin, and argues that improvisation

has contributed to the overall appreciation of their music by audiences.180 He explains,

“Competent listeners in a musical style may value spontaneous creativity within that style not

only for its artistic melodic, harmonic, or formal results, but also for its potential to suggest

immediate, personal, authentic, and thus intimate disclosure on the part of a performer who

embodies those sonic gestures.”181 Improvisatory characteristics in a composed work free the

music from the so-called “canonic museum.”182 This notion coincides with Rossé’s idea that

orality promotes communication between performer and listener.

Within the realm of performance, Franz Liszt (1811-86) and Clara Schumann (1819-96),

both accomplished pianists and composers, worked to sustain an otherwise fading oral tradition.

During her recitals, Schumann improvised preludes and interludes as transitions between

composed works. These short segments were meant to guide the audience seamlessly from one

                                                                                                               
177
William Kinderman, “Improvisation in Beethoven’s Creative Process,” in Musical Improvisation: Art,
Education, and Society, ed. Bruno Nettl and Gabriel Solis (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2009), 296.
178
Ibid., 308.
179
Ibid., 309.
180
Robert S. Hatten, “Inscribed Values in Works by Schumann and Chopin,” in Musical Improvisation:
Art, Education, and Society, ed. Bruno Nettl and Gabriel Solis (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2009), 281-
295.
181
Ibid., 291.
182
Ibid., 291.
   48

piece to the next while Schumann showed off her own virtuosity.183 In pioneering the solo

recital, Liszt curated extravagant programs of original works alongside arrangements of

symphonies, song cycles, and opera excerpts. Like Schumann, he weaved pieces together

through improvisation, but also elaborated works with spontaneous modifications.184

By the late 19th century, improvisation was no longer an inherent component of

performance in the Western tradition. John Cage was one of the first to reintroduce

improvisatory techniques during the 1930s and others soon followed in various ways. George

Lewis explains this phenomenon in “Improvised Music after 1950: Afrological and Eurological

Perspectives.”

After 1950 composers began to experiment with open forms and with more personally
expressive systems of notation. Moreover, these composers began to designate salient
aspects of a composition as performer-supplied rather than composer-specified, thereby
renewing an interest in the generation of musical structure in real time as a formal aspect
of a composed work.185

Although much of Cage’s early improvisatory music did not survive, a few examples are

preserved. For instance, the first movement of Quest (1935) for amplified toy instruments and

found objects is an improvisation without a score.186 Elements of jazz improvisation are also

evident in Cage’s music from the early 1940s (e.g. Third Construction (1941), Credo in Us

(1942), Ad Lib (1942) and Jazz Study (ca. 1942)).

                                                                                                               
183
Valerie Woodring Goertzen, “Setting the Stage: Clara Schumann’s Preludes,” in the Course of
Performance: Studies in the World of Musical Improvisation, ed. Nettl and Melinda Russell (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1998), 237-238.
184
Gibbs and Taruskin, 572-573.
185
George Lewis, “Improvised Music after 1950: Afrological and Eurological Perspectives,” Black Music
Research Journal 16, no. 1 (1996): 91, doi: 10.2307/779379.
186
Sabine M. Feisst, “John Cage and Improvisation: An Unresolved Relationship,” in Musical
Improvsation: Art, Education, and Society, ed. Bruno Nettl and Gabriel Solis (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois
Press, 2009), 38.
   49

Cage temporarily rejected both jazz and improvisation in the 1950s, but he regained

interest in the 1970s. Sabine M. Feisst summarizes Cage’s motivations in the conclusion of

“John Cage and Improvisation: An Unresolved Relationship,” as follows:

Cage rejected improvisation because many of its implied meanings contradict his
aesthetic principles. These connotations include intuition, self-expression, memory and
taste-based utterances, discursiveness, predictability, and repetition. He embraced solely
one rarely achieved and often illusory etymological meaning of improvisation: to do
something unforeseeable. He undoubtedly created a greater awareness of the implications
of improvisation and shed light on the challenges and illusions of improvisation.187

Cage spent his entire career challenging the concept of a fixed musical work by surrendering

control as a composer. Improvisation was one method he implemented in his quest for

unpredictability.

Cage and his contemporaries employed graphic notation in order to elicit spontaneity and

freedom on the part of the performer. For example, December (1952) by Earle Brown (1926-

2002) allows performers to freely interpret the seemingly sporadic lines and shapes covering the

page. Beginning in the early 1950s, Cage organized “happenings” for like-minded musicians,

actors, writers, and dancers interested in exploring “purposeful purposelessness.” Inspired by a

similar interest in exploring experimental performance practices, composer Cornelius Cardew

(1936-81) co-founded the England-based Scratch Orchestra in 1969.188

As mentioned in the previous chapter, the music scene reached its pinnacle of

diversification by the late 1960s, particularly in the United States. Gunther Schuller’s Third

Stream effort of blending art music with jazz and other genres was a significant move to inject

orality into a primarily literate tradition.

It was during this explosion of eclecticism that musicologists adopted a more contextual,

integrative approach by shifting their attention from the score to its interpretation and realization.
                                                                                                               
187
Ibid., 48-49.
188
Gibbs and Taruskin, 1028-29.
   50

In Music and Discourse, musicologist Jean-Jacques Nattiez takes a semiotic approach to

answering questions regarding the nature of music.189

This book is based upon a hypothesis that I shall immediately state: the musical work is
not merely what we used to call the “text”; it is not merely a whole composed of
“structures” (I prefer, in any case, to write “configurations”). Rather, the work is also
constituted by the procedures that have engendered it (acts of composition), and the
procedures to which it gives rise: acts of interpretation and perception.190

According to Nattiez’ semiotic model, music has meaning at all phases of its development,

including the oral stage of performance.

The increased hybridity in recent decades also accentuated the need for more extensive

research on improvisation. Musicologists and ethnomusicologists alike have been chipping away

more rigorously at the vast topic in recent years. Ethnomusicologist Bruno Nettl emphasizes the

extreme variability of improvisation between and within cultural traditions in his research and

collections.

There is, clearly, in the world at large and even in the culture of certain small societies, a
wide spectrum of improvisation—a continuum of everything from oral composition
without notation and the improvisation of cadenzas whose structures explicitly contradict
the formal principles of the rest of the piece, to the ability to improvise works whose
forms follow the explicit requirements of highly specialized genres such as fugues, and to
pieces whose structure is predicated on choices made by the composer at the beginning of
a musical statement.191

He argues that “musicological neglect of improvisation” results from negative regard for

minority, non-Western, and folk cultures with which improvisation is often associated. A

common misconception is that improvisation lacks planning and preparation, and is therefore

unworthy of serious scholarship. In hopes of repairing the damage done by such misconceptions,
                                                                                                               
189
“Semiotics involves the study notonlyof what we refer to as ‘signs’ in everyday speech, but of anything
which ‘stands for’ something else. In a semiotic sense, signs take the form of words, images, sounds, gestures and
objects. Contemporary semioticians study signs not in isolation but as part of semiotic ‘sign-systems’ (such as a
medium or genre). They study how meanings are made and how reality is represented.” Daniel Chandler, Semiotics:
The Basics, 2nd ed., (London: Routledge, 2002), 2.
190
Jean-Jacques Nattiez, Music and Discourse: Toward a Semiology of Music (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press, 1990) ix.
191
Nettl, “Introduction,” in In the Course of Performance, ed. Nettl and Russell, 6.
   51

Nettl illuminates the diversity of improvisation worldwide and its function within various

musical cultures.192

Improvisation varies drastically from one culture to another, encompassing an array of

practices throughout history. Nettl provides a general list of characteristics to describe its role

within Western art music:

(1) something definitely distinct from performance and precomposition, (2) imitation of
precomposition with the helping hand of notation withdrawn, (3) the essence of
composition where there is aural transmission, (4) an art which the great composers
particularly excelled, (5) a craft but not an art, (6) something to be evaluated along the
same lines as composition, (7) a process that cannot be explained or analyzed, and (8) a
kind of music making that sets apart the musical cultures outside the Western art music
establishment.193

Nettl emphasizes that improvisation commonly involves a “point of departure.” Often,

performers improvise within certain parameters or are restricted by stylistic boundaries, such as

specific chord progressions, themes, or forms. In this manner, improvisation requires a balancing

act between stylistic propriety and creative license. Along the lines of Nattiez’ perspective, Nettl

explains, “We may wish to reexamine the significance of paper and notation as diagnostic

features of true music, and to stop thinking that the mark of a true work of art is the time devoted

to its explicit preparation.”194 Nettl’s view is directly in line with Rossé’s beliefs outlined further

in this chapter.

In the latter half of the 20th century, free-form improvisation was instigated as a type of

performance unassociated with any specific idiom. William L. Cahn describes free improvisation

as “the most widely open and accessible type of improvisation for musicians.” He continues, “In

this kind of music virtually all of the musical elements are subject to the performer’s real-time

selection…In its purest form, performers are completely free to play whatever they wish
                                                                                                               
192
Ibid., 6-7.
193
Ibid., 12.
194
Ibid., 16.
   52

however they wish, with virtually no external restrictions imposed.”195 Rossé’s activities as an

improvising pianist fall under this category. While he improvises with musicians trained within

specific cultural traditions, he is free to improvise without restrictions.

Broadly speaking, the communal aspect of group improvisation requires a balance

between individuality and adaptation. Lewis argues,

Working as an improviser in the field of improvised music emphasizes not only

technique by individual life choices as well as cultural, ethnic, and personal location. In
performances of improvised music, the possibility of internalizing alternative value
systems is implicit from the start. The focus of musical discourse suddenly shifts from the
individual, autonomous creator to the collective—the individual as a part of global
humanity.196

In this setting, each performer is forced to adapt instantaneously to the given context of

performers, audience, location and other variables. It requires pure instinct, the highest level of

communication, and cultural exchange, which are precisely the qualities Rossé emphasizes with

his compositions.

The growing body of research on improvisation indicates increasingly widespread

acknowledgement of its relevance in Western art music. However, as Francesca R. Sborgi

Lawson argues, “The link between the visual technology of notation and its effect on the oral-

aural processing of music” needs to be examined more extensively.197 She advocates for a

collaborative approach that would unite experts from relevant disciplines to learn more about the

relationship between orality and literacy in music.

                                                                                                               
195
William L. Cahn, Creative Music Making (New York: Routledge, 2005), 27.
196
Lewis, 110.
197
Francesca R. Sborgi Lawson, “Rethinking the Orality-Literacy Paradigm in Musicology,” Oral
Tradition 25, no. 2 (2010): 429, http://journal.oraltradition.org/issues/25ii/lawson.
   53

Orality in Saxophone Repertoire and Performance

Many contemporary works for saxophone incorporate orality in various ways. Influenced

by his native Japanese culture as well as contemporary French music, Ryo Noda (b. 1948) has

employed a combination of standard and graphic notation in his works for saxophone, which are

widely studied and frequently performed. In his Improvisation I for unaccompanied alto

saxophone, Noda mimics gestures of the shakuhachi, a traditional Japanese flute, leaving the

performer relatively free to determine pacing.198 The piece includes a short section designated for

improvisation that restricts the performer to specific pitch content.

The first movement of William Albright’s Sonata (1984) has several improvisatory

sections marked “Cadenza,” “Cadenza, ad libitum” and “senza misura.” The general structure,

dynamics, and pitch content of the improvisatory gestures are specified, but pacing, shaping, and

intensity are left to the performer’s discretion. These freer moments provide a flexible space for

increased expressivity and individuality in contrast to the surrounding sections, all of which are

precisely notated and in strict time.199

Tre Pezzi (1956), a three-movement work for soprano (or tenor) saxophone or bass

trumpet by Giacinto Scelsi (1905-1988), originated as an improvisation by the composer on the

ondiola, a keyboard instrument with pedals, dials and keys for producing glissandi, quarter-tones,

vibrato, dynamic contrast, octave transpositions, and predetermined timbres. Scelsi’s

improvisations were part of his planning process for larger works and were transcribed for a

                                                                                                               
198
James Bunte, “A Player’s Guide to the Music of Ryo Noda: Performance and Preparation of
Improvisation I and Mai” (DMA document. University of Cincinnati, 2010), 3.
199
William Albright, “Two-Part Invention,” Sonata (New York: C.F. Peters Corporation, 1990), 1-11.
   54

wide variety of instruments.200 The use of drones indicates the influence of Greek, Egyptian,

Syrian, and Arabian modes, and Byzantium pitch groupings.201

Numerous saxophonists present improvised music under the broad category of the avant-

garde. While they are most commonly considered jazz musicians, these saxophonists create

music that bridges the gap between genres. For example, John Zorn (b. 1953) has incorporated

Klezmer, Japanese music, and punk into his improvised works and recordings. He is also known

for composing open form pieces, such as Cobra (1984), under the category of “game pieces,”

which are guided improvisations for open instrumentation. Other saxophonist-improvisers

integral to the avant-garde scene include Steve Lacy, Evan Parker, and Anthony Braxton.202 The

saxophone has long been a prominent voice in the avant-garde scene and improvised music.

Orality in Rossé’s Approach

Rossé uses the term ‘orality’ in reference to all aspects of music outside the realm of

music notation. The most explicit examples of orality in his music are free-form improvisation

and non-Western oral practices, which are often combined in his activities as an improvising

pianist (e.g. collaborations with Daïmon and Miyazaki). Orality also includes all extra-semantic

or unwritten aspects of performance, such as physical gesture or facial expression. Rossé’s

training as an improviser from a young age coupled with his interest in exploring new cultures

through collaboration renders orality an intrinsic condition of his music.

Similar to George Lewis’ ideas presented earlier in this chapter, Rossé argues that

improvisation requires performers to listen more carefully and closely engage with other

                                                                                                               
200
Frances-Marie Uitti, “Preserving the Scelsi Improvisations,” Tempo (New Series), 194 (October 1995):
12, doi:10.1017/S0040298200004484.; Fancher, Susan, Liner Notes, She Sings, She Screams: Music for Saxophone,
Susan Fancher (saxophone), Yoko Yamada (piano), Innova B0038TWMLK, 2002, CD.
201
Ibrahim, 47.
202
Ibid., 99-103.
   55

musicians, the audience, space, and sound itself. Unlike the process of performing written music,

improvising is always active, present, and dependent on the given situation. Rossé views

improvisation as an attitude above all else, because it requires one to actively confront life within

the frame of culture.203

Rossé often references Bach, Mozart, and general performance practice of the Baroque

and Classical periods, a time when musicians improvised regularly. He finds it unfortunate that

so many performers and composers have become restricted by literacy, which results in a lack of

cultural exchange and detachment from reality.204 Instead, Rossé advocates for a comprehensive

approach involving orality, thus encouraging awareness of today’s social and political situation.

As cultures transform through globalization, the arts are responsible for addressing change by

confronting the question of cultural identity, an aspect that is always in flux.205

Rossé finds that the need to balance literacy and orality is just as relevant to music

composition as it is to performance. He uses the term ‘orality’ to delineate any aspects of

spontaneity, freedom, improvisation and non-Western oral traditions. “Of course, the relationship

between writing and orality, which is not limited to improvisation, is a very balanced relationship

between living gesture, physical, even choreographed sound, and a more speculative mental

approach connected to writing. Music, art of sound?”206 This complements the points Ong

presents; orality connects people to each other while literacy reinforces this connection by

providing a means for analysis. Rossé acknowledges the benefit of fostering orality and literacy

in the same musical space.

                                                                                                               
203
François Rossé, “Trois questions à François Rossé,” Unpublished typescript sent to author by Rossé,
n.d., Microsoft Word file, 4-6.
204
Ibid., 6.
205
Ibid., 1.
206
Original text reads: “Bien entendu, la relation entre l’écriture et l’oralité qui ne se limite pas qu’à
l’improvisation, est une relation très équilibrante entre le vécu gestuel, physique voire chorégraphique du son, et une
démarche d’esprit plus spéculative liée à l’écriture. La musique art du son?” Ibid., 4.
   56

While some composers accomplish this equilibrium through aleatory or graphic notation,

Rossé tends to use spatial and proportional notation. As introduced during the discussion of Le

Frêne égaré in Chapter 1, his scores are neither strict nor free. He notates ideas in such a way

that allows flexibility and demands intuition on the part of the performer. Even though his works

are not necessarily the direct result of improvisation, Rossé’s unsystematic repetition and

constant transformation of short musical figures sound improvisatory. Specific examples will be

explored in greater detail in Chapter 6.

Rossé explains his approach in a short description of Bachflüssgeit (1985), a chamber

orchestra work written in commemoration of Bach’s 300th birthday.

This piece is important because the performers must rely on the ears and listen
attentively to each other. It is written out, yes, but there is also some flexibility here. The
score is written in a graphic notation where the melody is connected by lines throughout
the score…It is essentially chamber music for fifteen performers. I really like the type of
social situations this work demands of the performers. A little bit of improvisation is
included…Again, during this piece, I am combining oral traditions and written traditions
– an important part of my compositional aesthetic.207

In describing Waaij (1999) for saxophone soloist, piano improviser and chamber ensemble,

Rossé raises the same point. “I like this social situation very much. This is active music! Correct

energy is very important throughout this work. It is a physical experience for the players.”208

Parallels can certainly be drawn between orality and hybridity within Rossé’s music and

musical discourse more broadly. The seemingly disparate elements he combines to form hybrids

often contain aspects of non-Western oral traditions and free-form improvisation. Rossé’s

relentless concern with cultural exchange and human connection forms a link between orality

and hybridity. That is, his application of the concept ‘orality’ and his implementation of orality

in practice tend to occupy the same space as his hybridity.

                                                                                                               
207
Estes, 106.
208
Ibid., 107.
   57

Orality in Rossé’s Music for Saxophone

Rossé’s saxophone repertoire offers many examples of orality. In Scriu numele tàu

(1992), a three-minute piece for solo soprano saxophone, Rossé uses a combination of standard

and spatial notation. The lack of bar lines and meter throughout the piece provide freedom for

the performer. As Londeix mentions in a brief essay on the piece, “The notation is not metered,

but the rhythm is defined. This allows for greater flexibility in performance.”209 Scriu numele tàu

“is essentially based on the fluctuations of speech [for example, the agogic movements that are

present in speech, evident when one speaks easily understood words and ideas more quickly than

words conveying more abstract concepts.]”210 The spontaneous, speech-like manner of the Scriu

numele tàu results from Rossé’s loosely-repeated ideas. For example, he organizes short

groupings of pitches that alter slightly with each reiteration so that the ideas transform gradually

and unsystematically. Although segmented, the piece is cohesive through continuity of pitch

content, ornamental gesture, and rhythm. The same improvisatory style is evident in his

Japanese-influenced works.

Sonates en arcs, written for Daniel Kientzy in 1982, requires an individual saxophonist to

play the soprano and alto saxophones simultaneously for certain sections. The baritone or bass

saxophones, although not played simultaneously, are used for the remainder of the piece. Sonates

en arcs is in an open-form structure that forces the performer to decide upon its overall design.

The specific musical material is provided along with a map of possibilities. In a 2008 interview,

Rossé explains the work. “Sonates is really the only piece of mine that is set up in this type of

global form. It is truly an open form, but with specific solutions. It is not aleatoric. I like this
                                                                                                               
209
Londeix, “Scriu numele tàu,” in Jean-Marie Londeix: Master of the Modern Saxophone Maître du
Saxophone Moderne, by James C. Umble (Glenmore, PA: Northeastern Music Publications, Inc., 2000), 281.
210
Ibid., 281.
   58

open situation very much, but it takes a very intelligent musician to make this work.”211

Although the material is written out, there is flexibility within each musical episode as well.

Thus, the saxophonist has some freedom on both micro and macro levels of interpretation.

Musical orality has been a dominating component of Rossé’s music due to his

background as a self-taught pianist. He has made significant strides toward reintegrating orality

into Western art music by creating situations in which notation is downplayed and interpreters

are given greater agency. Cultures maintaining oral traditions have been instrumental in Rossé’s

endeavors; this aspect points to the overlap between hybridity and orality in his approach.

Rossé’s turn toward the traditions and music of Japan resulted from his studies with Messiaen.

The overwhelming orality within Japanese culture has informed his own integration of orality, as

evidenced in Bear’s Trio, Nishi Asakusa, and Orients.

                                                                                                               
211
Estes, 17.
   59

CHAPTER 4.

PRIMITIVISM

Due to its complex history and discursive baggage, the term ‘primitivism’ carries with it

a plethora of implications. It has been transformed over the centuries, accumulating layers of

meaning as it evolved. Examining the concept of ‘primitivism’ and its manifestations within

philosophical theory, art history, and European colonialism enables a grounded discussion of its

relevance in musicology, saxophone repertoire, and Rossé’s music. As a term frequently used by

Rossé to describe his approach, primitivism will also be explored from his perspective.

‘Primitivism’ in Philosophical Theory

Some of the first scholars to theorize about the term were philosophers Arthur Lovejoy

and George Boas. Their 1935 book, Primitivism and Related Ideas in Antiquity, remains a

valuable resource for many disciplines. The book traces “man’s reflection upon the general

course of his own history and upon the value of those achievements of his which have been most

distinctive of that history.”212 By introducing and analyzing ancient texts, Boas and Lovejoy

demonstrate that humans have always questioned the “value of the outcome of civilization so

far,” a behavior equated with primitivism.213

Boas and Lovejoy specify two types of primitivism that demonstrate overlapping

features. The first is ‘chronological primitivism,’

One of the many answers which may be and have been given to the question: What is the
temporal distribution of good, or value, in the history of mankind, or, more generally, in
the entire history of the world? It is, in short, a kind of philosophy of history, a theory, or
a customary assumption, as to the time—past or present or future—at which the most
                                                                                                               
212
George Boas and Arthur O. Lovejoy, Primitivism and Related Ideas in Antiquity (New York: Octagon
Books, Inc, 1965), ix.
213
Ibid., xi.
   60

excellent condition of human life, or the best state of the world in general, must be
supposed to occur.214

Theories of chronological primitivism question the widely accepted ‘idea of progress,’ “a

tendency inherent in nature or in man to pass through a regular sequence of stages of

development in past, present and future, the later stages being – with perhaps occasional

retardations or minor retrogressions – superior to the earlier.”215 If progress is assumed, then past

patterns offer predictions of what lies ahead. However, chronological primitivism indicates

“nothing better is to be anticipated than a recovery of what has been lost,” an ultimately

“backward-looking habit of mind.”216

As defined by Boas and Lovejoy, the other type is ‘cultural primitivism,’ “the discontent

of the civilized with civilization, or with some conspicuous and characteristic feature of it.”217

The cultural primitivist’s general belief is “that the simpler life of which he has dreamed has

been somewhere, at some time, actually lived by human beings.”218 Boas and Lovejoy refer to

people of primary oral cultures as living examples.

These contemporary embodiments of this ideal have usually been found among races not
intimately known to, and existing at some considerable distance from, the people to
whom the preacher of primitivism commends them as examples to be followed, or
exhibits them as more fortunate branches of our species whose state is to be envied.219

Cultural primitivism is also characterized by a “love of strangeness and the revolt against the

familiar,” often referred to as ‘exoticism.’220 There is a certain nostalgia that has historically

driven this type of primitivism.

                                                                                                               
214
Ibid., 1.
215
Ibid., 6.
216
Ibid., 7.
217
Ibid., 7.
218
Ibid., 8.
219
Ibid., 8.
220
Ibid., 8.
   61

Cultural primitivism can be divided into two categories: ‘soft’ and ‘hard.’ The first

depicts the “primitive” lifestyle as easy and simple compared with that which is modern and

developed. It presents people of oral cultures as fortunate to be unburdened by technology,

complex social structures, or moral codes. Hard primitivism views oral populations as

courageous for overcoming risk, confronting extreme physical challenge, and managing without

the aid of technology. Both perspectives romanticize oral cultures, upholding them as superior to

so-called “civilization.”221

Boas and Lovejoy emphasize the central role and application of the term ‘nature’ in

relation to primitivism.

The history of primitivism is in great part a phase of a larger historic tendency which is
one of the strangest, most potent and most persistent factors in Western thought – the use
of the term ‘nature’ to express the standard of human values, the identification of the
good with that which is ‘natural’ or ‘according to nature.’222

The concept of ‘nature’ has acquired a variety of meanings, many of which are ambiguous and

contradictory. Boas and Lovejoy describe it as “probably the most equivocal in the vocabulary of

the European peoples.”223

The phrase ‘state of nature’ is similarly problematic, because it assumes a standard to

which humanity should be compared at any given time. “The primitive condition of mankind, or

the life of ‘savage’ peoples, has usually been extolled because it has been supposed to constitute

‘the state of nature.’”224 Boas and Lovejoy place the term into seven categories, including its

most general form, ‘the temporal state of nature,’ defined as “the original condition of things,

                                                                                                               
221
Ibid., 10.
222
Ibid., 11-12.
223
Ibid., 12.
224
Ibid., 12.
   62

and especially the state of man as nature first made him, whatever this condition may be

supposed to have been.”225

Philosopher and composer Jean-Jacques Rousseau, an important intellectual figure of the

18th century, devoted much of his attention to theorizing about the ‘state of nature.’226 Rousseau

describes the essence of the ‘savage man’ in his Discourse on the Origin of Inequality, published

in 1755:

His imagination portrays nothing; his heart yearns for nothing; his modest needs are
easily within reach; and he is so far from having sufficient knowledge to wish to acquire
even more that he can have neither foresight nor curiosity. Nature’s spectacle becomes so
familiar that it leaves him indifferent. There is always the same pattern, there are always
the same revolutions.227

While incapable of self-reflection in the state of nature, humans gradually transformed

themselves as they learned to adapt through the use of tools.228 “Man’s effort to struggle actively

with the world resulted in psychological changes. The faculty of comparison made him capable

of rudimentary reflection: he began to perceive the differences between things.”229 When man

discovered his superiority to animals, he felt a sense of pride. The distinction between ‘self’ and

‘other’ was born. Although returning to the state of nature would be impossible, Rousseau

believed that the attempt to recreate its essence would improve society.

The skepticism exhibited by Rousseau during the Age of Enlightenment extended

through the 19th century and peaked in the early 20th century. In the midst of colonialism,

industrialism, and destructive world wars, Westerners craved the naïveté and simplicity of a

bygone era. In Primitivism and Modern Art (1994), Colin Rhodes’ explains, “Whereas the

                                                                                                               
225
Ibid., 14-15.
226
Robert J. Morrissey, introduction to Jean-Jacques Rousseau: Transparency and Obstruction, by Jean
Starobinski (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1971), xiv.
227
Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Discourse on the Origin of Inequality, ed. Patrick Coleman, trans. Franklin
Philip (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), 35.
228
Jean Starobinski, Rousseau, 25-26.
229
Ibid., 27.
   63

conventional Western viewpoint at the turn of the century imposed itself as superior to the

primitive, the Primitivist questioned the validity of that assumption, and used those same ideas as

a means of challenging or subverting his or her own culture, or aspects of it.”230

Marshall McLuhan, Walter Ong’s teacher and mentor, claimed in The Gutenberg Galaxy

(1962) that “the tribal state was the normal condition of humanity and that that condition had

been disrupted in the West by the invention of the phonetic alphabet, a radical technology unique

to the West.”231 According to McLuhan, the “tribal state” was characterized by its orality. Print

led to visualization of knowledge, which subsequently resulted in rationalization, and ultimately,

“mechanistic science and industry, capitalism, nationalism, and so on.”232 The rise of literacy is

therefore responsible for leading to general attitudes of primitivism, or the desire to return to

orality.

Scholarly discourse continues to question the appropriateness of the term ‘primitive.’ In

the 1950s and 60s, anthropologists who studied the application of ‘primitive’ deemed its general

use in scholarly writing “ambiguous, inconsistent, and demeaning:”

From a terminological perspective, it was argued that it names a category of cultures that
do not in fact exist, that do not have characteristics that are not shared by all other
cultures and peoples, and that therefore is of very little intellectual or analytical
advantage. Thus the use of the term can be justified neither empirically nor
theoretically.233

The common connotations of ‘primitive,’ such as simple, inferior or lacking intelligence, are

generally negative as compared with ‘civilized,’ a term that enjoys associations with that which

is cultivated, sophisticated, or modern. For this reason, Ong suggests replacing ‘primitive’ with

the term ‘oral,’ in hopes of highlighting differences in culture without assigning negative

                                                                                                               
230
Rhodes, 13.
231
Philip Marchand, Marshall McLuhan: The Medium and the Messenger (Toronto: Vintage Books, 1989),
165.
232
Ibid., 165.
233
Geertz, 51.
   64

implications.234 Other scholars have adjusted their vocabulary by using more specific terms, such

as ‘indigenous,’ ‘tribal’ or ‘native.’ However, these alternatives have also been deemed

pejorative and are not necessarily improvements.

In The Neo-Primitivist Turn: Critical Reflections on Alterity, Culture, and Modernity

(2006) cultural theorist Victor Li argues that “the avoidance of the word ‘primitive,’ far from

signifying a complete rejection of primitivism, represents primitivism’s transmutation into the

liberal creed of multiculturalism, the preservation of cultural diversity in the age of

globalization.”235 In his book, Li explores neo-primitivism, an “anti-primitivist primitivism that

simultaneously disavows and reinscribes the primitive.” He justifies using ‘primitive’ in this

context because the term “still seems to serve a useful theoretical function, though it is now

conceptualized as a regulative ideal rather than as an actuality.”236 Li argues that running away

from the terms ‘primitive’ and ‘primitivism’ is unhelpful even within neo-primitivism, because

“primitivist logic” persists under other guises. For this reason, he warns those dealing with

primitivism that “an equally unending critical vigilance and reflexivity on our part” is

required.237

Primitivism in Ethnological Museums, Modern Art, and Postcolonial France

In French Primitivism and the Ends of Empire, 1945-1975 (2011), Daniel J. Sherman

reiterates Li’s remark: “A productive use of primitivism in historical study demands a flexible

conceptualization that takes into account its multiple valences at particular moments.”238 This is

                                                                                                               
234
Ong, Orality and Literacy. 171.
235
Victor Li, The Neo-Primitivist Turn: Critical Reflections on Alterity, Culture, and Modernity (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 2006), viii.
236
Ibid., ix.
237
Ibid., x.
238
Daniel J. Sherman, French Primitivism and the Ends of Empire, 1945-1975 (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 2011), 5.
   65

especially useful in tracing primitivism through the emergence of ethnological museums and

early modern visual arts movements, both of which are direct consequences of colonialism.

Given Paris’ role as the center of these events, and coincidentally, the city in which Rossé

completed his musical training, the ensuing narrative focuses on French culture. As Sherman’s

research indicates, primitivism continued to evolve after decolonization and is still a part of

French culture today.

As early as the 15th century, explorers brought objects from colonized lands in Africa

and Oceania back to Europe. However, it was not until the mid-1800s that Europeans began

preserving and studying these artifacts. They did so to gain deeper understanding of colonized

peoples in hopes of forming more effective trade agreements. The acquired objects were initially

placed in museums of Berlin, London, and Rome alongside antiquities until ethnological exhibits

were established. In 1878, the Trocadéro became the first ethnological museum in Paris, housing

objects from America, Mexico, Colombia, Africa’s Canary Islands, and Oceania.239

Ethnologists were initially unappreciative of artifacts from oral cultures due to the

influence of dominating evolutionary theories. They crammed imported objects into display

cases without bothering to classify them by region. It was not until visual artists and collectors

demonstrated an inclination for these objects that ethnologists gained new perspective on the

value of their collections. Following World War I, museums began to designate certain items as

aesthetically superior by displaying them as art. For example, the collection at the Trocadéro was

reorganized in 1928 and again in 1937-39 when it was moved to the Musée de l’Homme. Art

historian Robert Goldwater notes, “‘Excellent’ objects continued to be singled out for their

                                                                                                               
239
Robert Goldwater, Primitivism in Modern Art (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1986), 4-7.
   66

aesthetic qualities at the same time as their use and meaning were carefully explained.”240

Cultural context began to play a more significant role in the life of these artifacts.

As patrons and champions of these museums, many visual artists acquired an affinity for

the aesthetic qualities of what came to be called “primitive art.” Goldwater was one of the first to

trace this phenomenon in Primitivism in Modern Art:

Far from being the cause of any ‘primitive’ qualities that may be found in modern art,
primitive art only served as a kind of stimulating focus, a catalytic which, though not
itself used or borrowed from, still helped the artists to formulate their own aims because
they could attribute to it the qualities they themselves sought to attain.241

He argues that in addition to appreciating the formal aspects of primitive art, visual artists were

drawn to the expression of basic human emotion they found these objects to possess.242

In“Primitivism” in 20th century Art, Will Rubin asserts that primitive art appealed to modern

artists “as a countercultural battering ram,” with which they could challenge “prevailing aesthetic

canon.”243 He adds, “Artists such as Picasso, Matisse, Braque, and Brancusi were aware of the

conceptual complexity and aesthetic subtlety of the best tribal art, which is only simple in the

sense of its reductiveness—and not, as was popularly believed, in the sense of

simplemindedness.”244

Pablo Picasso is a fitting example of what Rhodes calls ‘stylistic’ primitivism. He refers

to a transformation in Picasso’s painting style between 1907 and 1909 that clearly demonstrates

influences from African sculpture. Rhodes deduces that these changes resulted from Picasso’s

exposure to African artifacts at the Trocadéro. His Nude with Raised Arms (The Dancer of

Avignon) of 1907 shares obvious similarities in form and texture with Kota reliquary figures.

                                                                                                               
240
Ibid., 8-11.
241
Ibid., 252.
242
Ibid., 252-255.
243
William Rubin, ed., “Primitivism” in 20th Century Art: Affinity of the Tribal and the Modern,
vol. 1 (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 1984), 6-7.
244
Ibid., 7.
   67

Beyond the stylistic features of these artifacts, Picasso was interested in the “magical” qualities

he found in African sculpture and sought to capture the same expressivity in his work.245 These

influences were integrated into Picasso’s existing style to create a hybrid approach.

Certain ethnologists, such as Joseph Maes and Ernst Vatter considered it problematic that

artifacts were extracted from their original context and placed in the ‘art’ category by

Westerners.246 Fred Myers addresses this concern in “‘Primitivism,’ Anthropology, and the

Category of ‘Primitive Art:’”

Objects do not exist as ‘primitive art’. This is a category created for their circulation,
exhibition and consumption outside their original habitats. To be framed as ‘primitive art’
is to be resignified – as both ‘primitive’ and as ‘art’ – acts that require considerable social
and cultural work, and critical analysis of these processes has fundamentally transformed
the study of art.247

Scholars have been challenging the notion that art and aesthetics are universal concepts by

demonstrating that the concept of ‘art’ itself has changed significantly since ancient times.248

Myer argues that assigning universal aesthetic value to appropriated primitive objects strips them

of their “meaning, context, and intention,”249 raising the issue of ethnocentrism.

Meanwhile, at the forefront of romantic-exotic primitivism was Paul Gauguin, a French

artist who “has been made a symbol for the throwing off of the stifling superfluities of the

hothouse culture of Europe in favor of return to that more natural way of life of which Rousseau

is the generally accepted advocate.”250 Gauguin spent extended periods of time in peasant

communities around France in the late 19th century and later moved to the Caribbean, Tahiti, and

Marquesas Islands to experience the so-called simple life on these colonized islands.
                                                                                                               
245
Rhodes, 115-116.
246
Goldwater, 38-39.
247
Fred Myers, “‘Primitivism’, Anthropology, and the Category of ‘Primitive Art,’” in Handbook of
Material Culture, ed. Chris Tilley, Susanne Kuechler, Michael Rowlands, Webb Keane and Patricia Spyer (London:
Sage Press, 2006), 267.
248
Ibid., 275.
249
Ibid., 272.
250
Goldwater, 63.
   68

His was an exoticism which thought that happiness was elsewhere but which at the same
time—and this is what is characteristic of his part in a new tendency—sought not the
luxurious and intricately exotic of the earlier nineteenth century, but the native and the
simple.251

The only direct influence of primitive art on Gauguin’s work is evident in his woodcuts. The

thematic and technical aspects of these pieces demonstrate borrowings from Marquesan wood

and bone carving, such as figures and facial expressions of Tahitian idols.252 The images of

Gauguin’s paintings, on the other hand, reflect the artist’s glorification of Tahitian culture in a

conceptual manner.

Primitivist trends in the visual arts and elevation of primitive art by ethnological

museums hold serious cultural implications regarding colonization. In the 1930s, ethnological

museums in Paris claimed to “promote a nonracist appreciation of human diversity using

scientific research made possible by the admittedly imperfect political system of colonialism.”253

Sherman argues that instead, the actions of these museums “served at once to reinscribe and to

erase the colonial entanglements with which they began.”254 The many artifacts that museums

had confiscated from colonized lands and rural France for research purposes were “material

traces of the traditions it simultaneously celebrated, mourned, and displaced.”255

Sherman finds that primitivism is still a “live force” in French culture and “remains

entwined with colonial and postcolonial relationships, with market forces, and with the changing

politics of difference.”256 Relatively recent controversial events regarding museums in Paris

demonstrate the complexity and longevity of the decolonization process. In 1996, newly elected

president Jacques Chirac announced the idea for the Musée du Quai Branly. Receiving much

                                                                                                               
251
Ibid., 65.
252
Ibid., 71-72.
253
Sherman, 21.
254
Ibid., 23.
255
Ibid., 25.
256
Ibid., 192.
   69

media attention and scholarly criticism in its planning phase, the museum finally opened in 2006

as home to an enormous collection of non-Western objects.

Against the backdrop of a newly intensified debate over the French empire, including a
short-lived provision in a 2005 law calling for public schools to teach the “positive
effects” of French colonialism, the Quai Branly project prompted criticism for its lack of
sufficient attention to the country’s—and its collections’—colonial past.257

Sherman presents the predominance of today’s French primitivism, a condition that cannot be

regarded merely as a distant attitude or artistic approach.

In her “Introduction” to From Fetish to Subject: Race, Modernism, and Primitivism,

1919-1935, Carole Sweeney offers an alternative perspective of cultural primitivism in France

that can be expanded beyond the interwar years. Sweeney illustrates the complexity of

primitivism and its manifestations in literature, music, and the visual arts with Paris as her focus.

Rather than place examples of primitivism on a spectrum of racism, Sweeney prefers to approach

situations of primitivism in a holistic manner. “In other words, the inequities of the colonial

situation itself do not account for nor precisely reproduce aesthetic and cultural engagements that

may occur as a result of this underlying subjugation.”258 Sweeney argues that through

primitivism, avant-gardists were able to open up a dialogue, thus uprooting hierarchies imposed

prior to the First World War. “This dialogism by its very nature was a space in which not one but

many voices could be heard; it was a multivocal space that was by turns oppositional,

internationalist, and nonhierarchical.”259 She presents the possibility of moving past a

primitivism that is “conflated with a brutishly uncaring aesthetic modernism or as a simple act of

ruthless appropriation” and arrives at “a complex aesthetic and poetical occurrence.”260

                                                                                                               
257
Ibid., 200.
258
Carole Sweeney, From Fetish to Subject: Race, Modernism, and Primitivism, 1919-1935 (London:
Praeger Publishers, 2004), 33.
259
Ibid., 7.
260
Ibid., 8.
   70

Like Sweeney, Kwame Anthony Appiah argues that colonial and postcolonial discourses

tend to boil down primitivism and the relationships between its actors too rigidly. The Other is

too often silenced through objectivity rather than given a subjective voice. Appiah believes

intellectuals and artists should be allowed more freedom to create without being labeled as

“otherness machines.” He states, “Perhaps the predicament of the postcolonial intellectual is

simply that as intellectuals…we are, indeed, always at the risk of becoming otherness machines,

with the manufacture of alterity as our principal role.”261 Rather than worry about the

implications of a work or its intended audience, “what we should learn from is the imagination

that produced it.”262 Appiah focuses on postcolonial Africa, claiming “the contemporary cultural

production of many African societies, and the many traditions whose evidences so vigorously

remain, is an antidote to the dark vision of the postcolonial novelist.”263 Despite Africa’s ongoing

political and cultural problems, “there are those who will not see themselves as Other.”264

The perspectives offered by Sweeney and Appiah place primitivism in a more flexible

space without denouncing the negative consequences of colonization and the difficulties

experienced by those recovering from it.

Primitivism in Western Art Music History

Primitivism has been an active force in Western art music for centuries. As early as the

Renaissance, philosophical discourse regarding the origins of music and its role in society

directly influenced compositional style. By turning to sources from classical antiquity, theorists

and musicians of the early Renaissance arrived at a new, humanistic approach to music

                                                                                                               
261
Kwame Anthony Appiah, “Is the Post- in Postmodernism the Post- in Postcolonial?,” Critical Inquiry
17, no. 2 (1991): 356, http://www.jstor.org/stable/1343840.356.
262
Ibid., 357.
263
Ibid., 356.
264
Ibid., 356.
   71

composition. Charles G. Nauert explains that Renaissance humanism was “conceived as ‘a new

philosophy of life’ or a glorification of human nature in secular terms.”265 Whereas ancient texts

had previously been upheld as authoritative sources, humanists acknowledged the transitory

nature of these writings and found them to be valuable sources for broader political and ethical

discussions: “Any debatable issue involves matters that can be determined only at the level of

probability. If absolute certainty could be obtained, then debate, discussion, and persuasion

would be preposterous.”266 Thus, humanists deemed the study of human nature, ethics, politics,

and rhetoric of utmost importance.

During the 16th century, Vincenzo Galilei hoped to illuminate music’s “powerful ethical

and emotional effects upon its listeners” by applying humanist ideals to the composition of vocal

music.267 Galilei aimed to more accurately capture the qualities of human nature in order to elicit

an emotional response from the audience. More specifically, he focused on the physical aspects

of speaking rather than the actual meaning of the words. It was therefore the manner of delivery

that possessed the potential rhetorical power required to move the listener, not the content of the

message. According to Galilei, the new stile rappresentativo, or “representational style,” would

be most successfully achieved through monody, a solo vocalist accompanied by lute.268

In “The Concept of the Baroque,” musicologist Tim Carter credits humanism with

providing the intellectual foundation upon which modern discourse on aesthetics has been

developed: “A shift from the whats and hows of musical creation to the whys and wherefores of

musical perception exposed the need for a poetics of music, of the art and craft of modern

                                                                                                               
265
Charles G. Nauert, Humanism and the Culture of Renaissance Europe, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, UK,
Cambridge University Press, 2006), 21.
266
Ibid., 16.
267
Tim Carter, “The Concept of the Baroque,” in European Music, 1520-1640, ed. James Haar
(Woodbridge, UK: Boydell Press, 2006), 50.
268
Richard Taruskin, The Earliest Notations to the Sixteenth Century, vol. 1, Oxford History (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2005), 801-802.
   72

musical expression, and thus for a critical language to explore notions of value in contemporary

musical art.”269

The Enlightenment borrowed humanist ideas from the Renaissance, including those

attributed to Aristotle. In his Poetics, Aristotle claimed that human passions could be

communicated in music through the imitation of human actions. In line with this approach,

Rousseau “believed music grew from the primal need to express human passions and melody’s

imitation of language is the best way to express these passions.”270 According to him, expression

is “not the mere representation of human emotions in the musical performance, but the

expression that allows the listener to experience them.” 271 As an inherent component of

imitation, expression “happens in the process of music’s imitation of a design in nature.”272

In his Essay on the Origins of Language of 1781, Rousseau states, “Music has its own

object and means of communication,” thus recognizing “the potential in music for the expression

of emotion as separate from language” and posits that music “surpasses language in its energy

and ability to express emotion.”273 Katherine Hirt summarizes Rousseau’s assertion:

Music as an art imitates language, but when language began to develop as a tool to
articulate ideas, it imitated melody as a form of expression. Music thus imitates this
‘original expression’ in linguistic utterances that relay feeling to the listener.274

Rousseau’s German contemporaries constructed similar theories of imitation that fell under the

umbrella of Affektenlehre, or “Theory of Affects.”

In response to Rousseau’s philosophy, Johann Gottfried von Herder (1744-1803)

developed a theory separating language from music: “Music and spoken language for Herder

                                                                                                               
269
Carter, 52.
270
Katherine Hirt, When Machines Play Chopin: Musical Spirit and Automation in Nineteenth-century
German Literature (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter GmbH & Co., 2010), 6.
271
Ibid., 7.
272
Ibid., 7.
273
Ibid.,12-13.
274
Ibid., 14.
   73

come from the same emotional outburst, or Urlaut (elemental sound), ‘Ach’ or ‘O,’ but Herder

describes language’s development as separate from music and a necessary means to articulate

feelings and experiences.”275 Both Rousseau and Herder “began to move toward thinking about

music as expression rather than imitation, for music as its own language became a tool used to

communicate emotions more immediately than words.”276

Around the turn of the 19th century, German philosophers such as Kant, Schlegel,

Schopenhauer, and Reichardt generally moved in this direction.277 E.T.A. Hoffman, a major

intellectual figure of the Romantic era, promoted instrumental music as the most expressive art

for its ability to penetrate “the inner spiritual world” without the means of representation.278

Since words and images by their very nature refer to the external world, Hoffman considered

vocal music inferior. Only instrumental music had the potential for direct expression.

Hoffman’s concept, known as “absolute” music, was the backbone of Romanticism. In

direct opposition with humanist notions, the idea of absolute music led aesthetics in a new

direction. Taruskin states, “The whole history of music, as Hoffmann viewed it, was one of

progressive emancipation of music from all bonds that compromised the autonomy and

absoluteness of expression that Hoffman took to be its essence.”279

Although seemingly contradictory, it was precisely this environment of the 19th century

that increasingly drew composers toward peasant and folk music. The motivation behind this

trend is evidenced in Herder’s theory that there is no universal human nature: “Each epoch of

human history, each and every human collectivity was a unique entity—and uniquely

                                                                                                               
275
Ibid.,14.
276
Ibid., 15.
277
Ibid., 31.
278
Taruskin, Music in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, vol. 2, Oxford History, 640-641.
279
Ibid., 642.
   74

valuable.”280 Herder used language as his springboard by claiming that it shapes the modes of

thought and personality of a given community, thus representing that community uniquely.

Extended to other aspects of culture, such as clothing, behavior, and art, this concept serves to

elevate local customs and folklore as an authentic representation of nationality. Once considered

‘low’ culture, peasant, vernacular, and folk customs became worthy of valuing.281

Nationalism, the “sense of a common, shared history, a concept that tends to cut across

local and individual differences,” was the driving force of mid-19th century primitivism.282 It

shares the mixed implications of the concept ‘nation,’ a “community’s terms of self-definition,

according to religion, ethnicity, race, language or culture, in which any act of inclusion is,

necessarily, an act of exclusion.”283 While the use of folk music is meant to represent and

empower one nation, it simultaneously cuts off Others within and outside of that nation.

The designation of folk music as the emblem of nationalism fulfilled the Romantic need

to produce absolute music. Taruskin points out that the supposedly simple and uncivilized nature

of folk culture provided an avenue for composers to achieve universal truth:

Belief that the qualities of technologically backward or chronologically early cultures are
superior to those of contemporary civilization, or more generally, that it is those things
that are least socialized, least civilized—children, peasants, ‘savages,’ raw emotion, plain
speech—that are closest to truth.284

In Germany, composers incorporated German dance songs that were composed in a medieval

style. Poets and musicians looked to the Dark Ages for themes that would authentically embody

Germany’s unique culture and simultaneously contribute to the achievement of musical

autonomy.

                                                                                                               
280
Taruskin, The Nineteenth Century, vol. 3, Oxford History, 121.
281
Ibid., 122.
282
Beard and Gloag, 117.
283
Ibid., 117.
284
Taruskin, The Nineteenth Century, vol. 3, Oxford History, 123.
   75

Under the broad umbrella of nationalism, primitivism remained a salient feature of art

music as Romanticism gave way to Modernism in the early 1900s. Richard Middleton describes

the irony of the situation, as follows:

There is located ‘below’ the sphere of meaning and reflexivity an image, or a kind of
memory, of musical immediacy—of prediscursive musical practices, or musics of nature,
often identified with a range of others (archaic, folk, popular, foreign, exotic), whose
musics are taken to really, authentically, belong to them. Ironically, it is the development
of elaborate alienating systems in the Western musical culture that makes possible the
depiction and annexation of these others: only when a sophisticated method of
manipulating (mediating) semiotic difference is in place can immediacy be portrayed.285

On the one hand, there is an “awareness of music’s expanding meaningfulness” and contrarily,

“a quest for its essential immediacy (sometimes manifesting itself in an unwillingness to shift

music as such out of a sphere of pure spontaneity).”286 Taruskin states, “Nostalgia is perhaps the

most modern and complicated—or in one word, the most modernist—of all emotions.”287 This is

the same nostalgia that permeated early modern visual arts movements.

An early Modernist example of this can be found in Mahler’s settings of Des Knaben

Wunderhorn (“The youth’s magic horn”), an anthology of German folk lyrics from 1887 to 1901.

Such pastoral themes often arise in modernist music as evidence of “the wistful irony of the

thoroughly modern, thoroughly urban spirit, conscious of its separation from the ‘natural’ world

and alienated by that consciousness from its own stressful environment.”288 This “nostalgic

obsession” reflected a pervading demand for authenticity and spontaneity. As illustrated in

Ulricht (“Primordial light”), the fourth movement of his Second Symphony, Mahler skillfully

                                                                                                               
285
Richard Middleton, “Musical Belongings: Western Music and Its Low-Other” in Western Music and Its
Others: Difference, Representation, and Appropriation in Music, ed. Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), 59.
286
Ibid., 60.
287
Taruskin, Music in the Early Twentieth Century, vol. 4, Oxford History, 21.
288
Ibid., 21.
   76

covers up his “melodic simplicity” with sophisticated harmony and orchestration that “lend an

air of ‘spontaneity’ to the performance.”289

In the first quarter of the 20th century, primitivism continued to thrive as a modernist tool

in ballet, which until then had been an unpopular idiom. Sergey Diaghilev (1872-1929), founder

of the Paris-based company Ballets Russes, popularized ballet by collaborating with composers

to depict themes of Russian folklore in an untraditional way. The young, inexperienced, yet

ambitious composer who seemed most appropriate for the job was Igor Stravinsky.290

Diaghilev’s first collaboration with Stravinsky was The Firebird (1910), titled after its

protagonist, a beautiful Slavic mythological creature.

Stravinsky’s next ballet for the Ballet Russes was Petrushka, premiered in 1911. Set in

pre-Christian antiquity, it contained “many attempts to foster…a new mythological age.”

Taruskin describes the approach as neoprimitivist, which he defines differently than Victor Li.

“Neoprimitivism, the quest for a modern style through evocations of prehistory, was the primary

engine then driving Russian artistic maximalism.”291 Stravinsky’s music was extremely simple

and diatonic compared with the “decadence of ‘Europe’” at the time, yet “with no hint of either

monotony or of unsophistication.”292

That same year, Stravinsky completed Rite of Spring, which was premiered in 1913.

While its first performance was a “riotous fiasco,” Stravinsky’s Rite soon became “the triumph

of his career.”293 The ballet depicts scenes from pagan Russia, but is meant to express much

more than that. As Nicholas Roerich explains, Rite of Spring is not simply a representation of

                                                                                                               
289
Ibid., 21.
290
Ibid., 151-152.
291
Ibid., 159.
292
Ibid., 161.
293
Taruskin, The Danger of Music, 421.
   77

Russian folklore or Russian nationalism, it “is more ancient and pan-human.”294 In 1935, Marc

Blitzstein claims that it marked the beginning of primitivism in music: “Early Primitivism is

violent, rhythmic, blunt…early Primitivism is intent upon short successive electric moments.”295

While Stravinsky denied any use of folksong in The Rite of Spring, save the opening

bassoon solo, sketches that were discovered later prove that he did indeed include transcribed

folk melodies throughout the piece. Many of them came from Rimsky-Korsakov’s 1877 folk-

music anthology, which Stravinsky had also used for Firebird and Petrushka. Unlike his Russian

contemporaries who used folk songs in a conventional manner, Stravinsky “was to use them as

part of his self-liberation from that artistic mainstream, and as things turned out, its downright

subversion.”296 Stravinsky’s style has been compared to Cubist painting. Both possess an

‘unfinished’ or fractured quality that comes across as rough and stark, seemingly ‘hand-made.’297

One of the early 20th century composers most associated with folk music is Béla Bartók.

As Nándor F. Dreisziger explains, Bartók’s incorporation of Hungarian folk music demonstrates

his “ability to transcend the ethnographic confines of his own ethnic group that makes his

patriotism different from that of most of his compatriats.”298 His intention was not to

superficially exploit Hungarian culture, but rather promote it through his compositions. Bartók’s

political involvement in the mid-20th century attests to his commitment to improving the post-

                                                                                                               
294
Ibid., 424.
295
Marc Blitzstein, “The Phenomenon of Stravinsky,” The Musical Quarterly 75, no. 4 (1991): 55, doi:
10.1093/mq/75.4.51.
296
Taruskin, “Russian Folk Melodies in ‘The Rite of Spring,’” Journal of the American
Musicological Society 33, no. 3 (1980): 543, http://www.jstor.org/stable/831304.
297
Jonathan Cross, “Modernism and Tradition, and the Traditions of Modernism,”
Muzikologija/Musicology: Journal of the Institute of Musicology of the Serbian Academy of Sciences and
Arts 6 (2006): 21, accessed on September 6, 2014, http://www.doiserbia.nb.rs/img/doi/1450-9814/2006/1450-
98140606019K, PDF file.
298
Nándor F. Dreisziger, “A Hungarian Patriot in American Exile: Béla Bartók and Émigré Politics,”
Journal of the Royal Musical Association 130, no. 2 (2005): 285, http://www.jstor.org/stable/3557474.
   78

war situation in Hungary and for building a more positive reputation for its culture.299 As Judit

Frigyesi describes, “Bartók’s search for a pure and integral peasant culture was not a sign of

naiveté. It reflected the social and artistic need to find some substance in Hungarian life behind

the façade of empty nationalism.”300

In turn, Bartók felt that peasant music would contribute to art music a “natural force

whose operation is unconscious.”301 As Julie Brown explains, he believed “contemporary art

music needs the ‘spirit’ of authentic folk music, that metaphysical aspect embracing the

supposedly spontaneous expression of the physical and spiritual life of the folk: it’s ‘throbbing

life.’”302 In other words, “even though new melodies inevitably come into contact with various

peasant musics” Bartók believed that “the ‘home’ music is capable of transforming the ‘new’

music into its own type.”303 While 19th century music displayed exoticism, modernist composers,

such as Ravel, Debussy, Stravinsky, and Kodály “have imbued their music with the true ‘spirit’

of folk music.” Ultimately, Bartók’s primitivism demonstrated his desire to create “a new

Hungarian art music” of modernist proportions.304

During the 1930s, composers in the United States increasingly reverted to the country’s

“low-others,” namely the African-American population, to establish an “American” style of

composition. An iconic example of this phenomenon is George Gerswhin’s opera Porgy and

Bess, which was premiered in 1935. Richard Middleton describes the conflicts at work within the

production.

                                                                                                               
299
Ibid., 299-301.
300
Judit Frigyesi, “Béla Bartók and the Concept of Nation and ‘Volk’ in Modern Hungary,” The
Musical Quarterly 78, no. 2 (1994): 278, http://www.jstor.org/stable/742543.
301
Julie Brown, “Bartók, the Gypsies, and Hybridity,” in Western Music and its Others: Difference,
Representation, and Appropriation in Music, ed. Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 2000), 128.
302
Ibid., 134.
303
Ibid., 134.
304
Ibid., 134-136.
   79

The relationship in the opera between the ‘folk’ world of Catfish Row—innocent and
arcadian—and the values of a modernizing America—grown-up, sophisticated, corrupt—
which are forever intruding can be linked to the central debates which have surrounded
the work, focusing as they do either on the question of exploitation (does Gershwin steal
from black music? Does he patronize his characters?) or on that of aesthetic status (does
the piece succeed in the grow-up world of opera?).305

Middleton points to musical examples of appropriation and exploitation, such as the

“pseudoprimitive drumming” in the chorus of “I Ain’t Got No Shame,” drones and osinatos in

the fishermen’s spiritual, and the cries and shouts of Serena. He suggests that Gershwin’s

production clearly illustrates primitivism:

Porgy’s minstrelized “I Got Plenty o’ Nuttin” draws on a different stereotype. But the
musical differences between its simple scalic tune, with rag-style syncopations and banjo-
strum accompaniment, and the pentatonics and blue notes of the other pieces mentioned
does not disguise the ideological link, which lies in the picturing of simplicity.306

Middleton concludes that Gershwin depictions represent “civilization’s parody of the

precultured.”307

American Experimentalism has also dabbled in primitivism, as evidenced in the music of

Henry Cowell. He wrote about the potential of microtonal scales as material for experimental

composition in New Music Resources, which was written during the 1910s, but went unpublished

until 1930. “Sliding tones, based on ever-changing values of pitch instead of steady pitches…are

very frequently used in primitive music, and often in Oriental music.”308 Cowell’s primitivism

parallels that of the early modern visual artists. According to John Corbett, Cowell, along with

Leo Ornstein and George Antheil, “were arguably the musical equivalents of Picasso in their

                                                                                                               
305
Middleton, 67.
306
Ibid., 68.
307
Ibid., 68.
308
Henry Cowell, New Music Resources (New York: Something Else Press, 1969), 18-19.
   80

overt use of primitivism.”309 They used aesthetic qualities of non-Western objects to create an

original hybrid.

Corbett brings attention to Cowell’s piano music of the 1910s and 20s as an example:

“Cowell’s early work…remains particularly interesting and valuable in its oblique use of non-

Western musics, the way that it tends to treat them as inspiration and catalyst rather than as

exotic, ‘savage’ incendiary devices to be thrown at polite concert conventions.”310 Cowell

applies techniques typically used on plucked instruments (e.g. Japanese koto) to the piano. By

“abstracting the major icon of Western art music,” the piano, he creates totally new techniques

and approaches. Corbett argues, “According to this model, non-Western musics provide a mirror

that allows Western music to reconsider itself.”311

His latter statement reiterates the concern posed by postcolonial theorists, such as

Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh, that hybridity “conceals domination and

inequality.”312 On the other hand, postmodernists find that the ever-increasing pluralism and

eclecticism of the postwar era negate universalism and hierarchical dominance of the West. In

grappling with the complexity of extreme hybridity, scholars of different camps have taken

vastly opposing views. Given the postcolonial implications attached to ‘primitivism,’ Rossé’s

use of the term and his musical application are a delicate matter to untangle.

Primitivism in Saxophone Repertoire

Many works for saxophone demonstrate the influence of primitivism, whether through

the depiction of ancient mythologies, imitation of older musics, or reference to oral traditions. In

                                                                                                               
309
Corbett, 167.
310
Ibid., 168.
311
Ibid.,169.
312
Georgine Born and David Hesmondhalgh, introduction to Western Music and its Others, 21.
   81

a short essay, Londeix points out the underlying primitivism behind André Jolivet’s Fantaisie-

Impromptu (1953). A short piece for alto saxophone and piano,

It illustrates a conception of religious art that is as far from intellectual art as it is from
entertaining art (‘religious’ being used in an etymological sense, that is ‘relier,’ ‘to link,
in direct relation with the universal cosmic system’…tied to the Spirit by the
spacialization of the sound material, and linked to creation by the freedom of the rhythms
and timbres).313

In the footnote of this passage, Londeix clarifies Jolivet’s perspective. “He sought to tie ancient

and contemporary art together, as well as ancient man and modern man. The ‘magic’ of primitive

man is, for Jolivet, similar to modern religions of today. It is in this sense that his music,

described above as ‘magical’ and ‘obsessional,’ is religious.”314 The music itself is lyrical,

dance-like, and clearly jazz-inspired.

The influence of mythological thought and zoomusicology are demonstrated in Aulodie

(1983) for soprano saxophone and fixed media by François-Bernard Mâche (b. 1935).315 In his

published book, Music, Myth, and Nature, or the Dolphins of Arion (1992), Mâche opposes the

modernist idea of progress in music, as carried out by Beethoven, Brahms, and Schoenberg,

emphasizing instead the relevance of mythology and nature. Given the recurrence of similar

themes among ancient mythologies, such as Japanese and Greek, Mâche believes that there must

be “certain universal laws of the human intellect, which reside in its imaginative activities such

as music, poetry, visual arts, dance, social ceremonies etc.”316 It is no surprise that as a former

student of Messiaen, Mâche analyzed and integrated birdsong. His belief that animals might also

make music affected his composition. “If it turns out that music is a wide spread phenomenon in

                                                                                                               
313
Londeix, “Fantaisie-Impromptu,” in Jean-Marie Londeix: Master of the Modern Saxophone Maître du
Saxophone Moderne, by James C. Umble (Glenmore, PA: Northeastern Music Publications, Inc., 2000), 251.
314
Ibid., 251.
315
Other versions of Aulodie exist for oboe and Bb clarinet.
316
François-Bernard Mâche, Music, Myth, and Nature, or the Dolphins of Arion, Contemporary Music
Studies, Volume 7), trans. Susan Delaney (Philadelphia: Harwood Academic Publishers, 1992), 2.
   82

several living species apart from man, this will very much call into question the definition of

music, and more widely that of man and his culture, as well as the idea we have of the animal

itself.”317 In reference to the aulos, an ancient Greek wind instrument, Aulodie represents the

struggle between technology and nature. Mâche’s expressivity lies in the juxtaposition between

vocal lyricism through monody and outbursts of machine-like sonorities.

Lee Hyla (1952-2014) reflects on the ancient Etruscan people in his bass clarinet and

baritone saxophone piece, We Speak Etruscan (1992). He depicts the Etruscans with his own

musical language, as described in the score’s performance notes. “The music’s jazz-like riffs

contrasting with moments of lyrical stillness provide a vehicle that is a tour de force for these

wind-instrument cousins.”318 Score markings, such as “Jagged, sustained, and honking,”

“Furiously,” and “Intense” accompany fast, rhythmic sections to create the primitiveness that

Hyla hoped to achieve.

Primitivism in Rossé’s Approach

There are several essential elements undergirding Rossé’s primitivism, such as the notion

of physicality. He argues that musicians must revive the animalistic rawness of the state of nature

in order to stay musically engaged and in turn, connected to the audience on a visceral level.

I think that before you have culture, you must discover your animalistic qualities—your
physicality: your hands, your breathing, your voice, your posture, your mind, your soul.
All of my music is generally physical; it is not intended for a little player who is small in
his ideas and this is not engaging. Physical qualities are not only animalistic, they are
spiritual as well—it is all the same. You must think about it before you play—Zen-like—
totally engaged!319

                                                                                                               
317
Ibid., 95.
318
Lee Hyla, We Speak Etruscan (New York: Pembroke Music Co., 2002), 2.
319
Estes, 100.
   83

Rossé’s approach closely resembles humanism of the Renaissance while his mention of pre-

culture animalism echoes Enlightenment thinkers, such as Rousseau, as well as the Affektenlehre

concept asserted by his German contemporaries. The idea that rhetorical power is embodied by

extra-semantic aspects of delivery, such as physical gesture, facial expression, and inflection,

connects Rossé with earlier scholars.

Rossé finds that the process of making music highlights the otherwise unreachable inner

conscience of the creator.

Creation is an act bringing us somewhat closer to our animality, a curious intermingling

between our cultural and biological states. If creation were just a more or less learned
cultural act, it would be expressible in terms of an analytical compilation. But the cat
sneaks into the shade of our conscience...the work is not prey, it is a vital space where the
unspoken artistic emotion transgresses the laws of latent daily incommunicability… It
corroborates the place of man in the animal world, all while not excluding his cultural
states as varied as man’s laugh.320

By uncovering the pre-cultured self, creation can be considered a ‘primitive’ endeavor.

In this sense, Rossé’s general use of the term ‘primitive’ is literal as opposed to a

reflection of 20th century cultural trends. The Oxford English Dictionary’s definitions of

‘primitive’ as “anything from which something else is derived” and “original as opposed to

derivative” fit Rossé’s humanistic goals.321 His primitivism lies in the evocation of an

unrationalized self, a return to a pre-cultured existence or state of nature. It is a space where

human beings can connect with each other on a visceral level. The return to an animalistic

condition transcends all things tangible (e.g. culture) and unites those involved.

                                                                                                               
320
Original text reads: “La création est un acte nous rapprochant quelque peu de notre animalité, une
curieuse interpénétration entre nos états culturels et biologiques. Si la creation n’était qu’un acte de culture plus ou
moins savante, elle serait exprimable dans les termes d’une compilation analytique. Mais le félin se faufile à l’ombre
de notre conscience… l’oeuvre n’est pas une proie, elle est un espace vital ou le non-dit de l’émotion artistique
transgresse les lois de l’incommunicabilité latente journalière… Elle corrobore la place de l’homme dans la sphère
animale sans exclure pour autant ses états culturels aussi différenciés que les expressions du rire.” Fayolle and
Rossé, 138.
321
OED, s.v. “primitive.”
   84

To achieve these goals, Rossé always considers the nature of the instrument for which he

is composing and its relation to the performer. For instance, Rossé might find great potential for

percussive sounds in the body of a guitar. The compositional process for Le Frêne égaré is an

excellent example of Rossé’s tendency to avoid a priori conceptions. As discussed in Chapter 1,

he demonstrates a conscious refusal to extend preexisting traditions and is determined to

highlight an instrument’s inherent qualities in order to exploit its untapped potential. Rossé

explains his process as follows:

When I compose for piano, I think of what man is and how he establishes a relationship
with the piano. I think of the hands, the structure of the hands and what is possible with
the hands in the space of the piano. Then I examine the piano – what is it made of, how
does it feel, how does it smell? What does it feel like to touch a piano – the keys or the
strings? I am a pre-historic man! I ask these questions and I also ask what is possible with
the materials at hand. When I write for saxophone, I first examine that it is a tube made
out of brass. Then I ask myself, “What is possible for this instrument?”322

Rossé’s emphatic “I am a pre-historic man!” refers to the idea of starting from scratch just as a

pre-cultured person would fashion found objects into useful tools. In Le Frêne égaré, Rossé uses

the breath, an action required for the production of sound, as a prominent musical idea

throughout the piece. This is a basic example of how Rossé’s primitivism is manifested through

vernacular, or idiomatic, writing.

In his co-written autobiography, Rossé refers to a specific period in his career primarily

dedicated to primitivism.

I was caught in my primitivist period between the years 1984-1990, by the concerns
regarding relational patterns between musicians, the way in which I could sharpen
playing situations, to create a keen awareness of the musical act in the necessary
complicity between the protagonists, to incorporate a high level of technicality, with an
"educational" value, directly linking the human to the music.323

                                                                                                               
322
Estes, 102-103
323
Original text reads: “J'avais été happé, dans ma période primitiviste des années 1984-1990, par le
préoccupations touchant aux modes relationnels entre les musiciens, la maniere dont je pouvais aviver les situations
de jeu, de créer une conscience vive de l'acte musical dans sa nécessaire complicité entre les protagonistes, d'intégrer
   85

Rossé researched “forms, instrumental techniques (gestures), and the original behaviors of

musical practice” in cultures still maintaining oral musical traditions, primarily in Africa and

Asia.324 The orality practiced by such cultures yields the physicality and engagement that Rossé

seeks to highlight in his own improvisation and composition. The “keen awareness” and

“necessary complicity” among performers serves to eliminate boundaries and promote

communication rather than perpetuate ethnocentrism. Within Rossé’s compositional approach,

orality and primitivism are often directly related. From his experience, oral traditions require

physicality, spontaneity, and total mental engagement that is sometimes missing in the

preconceived, diligently rehearsed literacy of the West.

By acknowledging the positive and negative affects of globalization (see Chapter 2),

Rossé recognizes that oral traditions are not completely untouched by outside forces.

Nevertheless, he seeks inspiration from the orality that does still exist in hopes of maintaining a

healthy exchange. Rossé believes that penetrating boundaries through cultural exploration betters

society by increasing awareness.325 In response to the late 20th century explosion of pluralism,

Rossé was among the artists who chose to embrace an “active negotiation” between cultures

rather than avoid cultural references altogether.

                                                                                                               
à un haut niveau de technicité une valeur "pédagogique" reliant directement l'humain à la musique.” Fayolle and
Rossé, 49.
324
Original text reads: “les formes, les techniques instrumentales (gestes), les comportements originals de
la pratique musicale.” Ibid., 75.
325
Fayolle and Rossé, 150-152
   86

Primitivism in Rossé’s Music for Saxophone

In a 1995 interview with Londeix, Rossé described Mod’son 7 (1985) for saxophone

quartet as one of the most significant examples of his primitivist period. Londeix describes the

primitivistic elements at work as follows:

The polyphony here is composed of original sonorous material, but also draws on
influences from certain works of the Middle Ages (for example, motets). In Mod’son we
find contrasting dynamics, ranging from quasi-silence to the most explosive,
expressionistic fortes. This quartet is written in a flexible rhythmic style, and is
particularly successful at creating agogic relationships between the four voices.326

Extreme dynamic contrast and rhythmic vitality emphasize expressivity, and thus demonstrate

Rossé’s primitivism. The interplay among the parts creates a communal atmosphere.

Taken from Shanaï and adapted for piccolo flute and soprano saxophone, Aka (2003)

“refers somewhat to the interwoven polyphonies of the ‘Aka’ pygmies of Central Africa.”327 It

was composed for Le Duo Zéphyr, an ensemble formed by Jean-Michel Goury and his wife,

Sophie; they premiered the piece in 2005. When Aka was still published by J.M. Fuzeau as part

of the Nouveaux Horizons Collection, the score included the following short description by

Goury: “This attractive, unusual little duo (2’30”) is a jewel of precision and balance both in its

form and the material used. The delicate mixture of pp attacks (flute and soprano saxophone)

create a sound with exotic hints reinforced by polyrhythms reminiscent of certain primitive ritual

dances.”328

Rossé’s Etki en Droutzy (1986) for saxophones and percussion was dedicated to Daniel

Kientzy and Jean-Pierre Drouet. In three sections, the piece explores monody “in a homogenous

                                                                                                               
326
Londeix, “Mod’son 7,” in Jean-Marie Londeix: Master of the Modern Saxophone Maître du Saxophone
Moderne, by James C. Umble (Glenmore, PA: Northeastern Music Publications, Inc., 2000), 280.
327
It is now published by Christine Paquelet Edition Arts; “Aka,” Sheetmusicplus.com, accessed
September 12, 2014, http://www.sheetmusicplus.com/title/aka-sheetmusic/18462489.
328
Ibid.
   87

manner related to that of a raga,” airy timbre or “white sound,” and polyphony as the two

performers theatrically converse.329

One of Rossé’s larger primitivist pieces is Bachflüssgeit, a concerto grosso, for chamber

orchestra without conductor, which was written in celebration of Bach’s 300th birthday.

Although notated, the piece was intended to sound improvised, much like a game piece by John

Zorn. Rossé describes Bachflüssgeit as his “first attempt at a social primitive situation. It is

animalistic in character, and full of wild energy—there is a pre-historic quality about this piece.

This is a very important work for me.”330 He chose the recorder, “an ancient instrument with a

haunting timbre” to open the piece in order to achieve a primitive sound.331 The saxophone is

also scored as one of the fifteen instruments in the ensemble.

Rossé’s primitivism surpasses the nostalgic and stylistic primitivisms of the early 20th

century. By exploring his writings, it becomes clear that his primitivist tendencies stem from an

overwhelming curiosity and the need to connect with others, including his interpreters and their

audiences. Rossé has recently focused on the art forms and spirituality of Japanese culture; these

traditions reinforce the guiding principles of interconnectedness and viscerality that he

established years ago, while simultaneously inspiring new ideas.

                                                                                                               
329
Londeix, “Etki en Droutzy,” in Jean-Marie Londeix: Master of the Modern Saxophone Maître du
Saxophone Moderne, by James C. Umble (Glenmore, PA: Northeastern Music Publications, Inc., 2000), 274.
330
Estes,106.
331
Ibid.,106.
   88

CHAPTER 5.

JAPANESE CULTURE

The basic overview of Japanese history, religion, art forms, and aesthetics outlined in this

chapter provides information relevant to the study and performance of Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, Nishi

Asakusa, Orients, and other Japanese-influenced works for saxophone. The subsequent summary

highlights the many parallels between the hybridity, orality, and primitivism guiding Rossé’s

musical approach and the principles that undergird Japanese culture.

Music History of Japan

Many aspects of Japanese culture were adopted from China, India, and Korea. During the

Nara period (553-794), elements of Korean lifestyle, such as clothing and agriculture, were

gradually absorbed by the Japanese. Through the work of Japanese embassies in the early 600s,

values, rituals, artistic styles, music, and the Chinese writing system were transported from

China to Japan.332 Court musicians from Korea and China established a style of fine arts, and

ritual music was incorporated into dedication ceremonies for new temples and shrines. Similar to

early sacred music in the Western tradition, Buddhist music was primarily vocal. Instrumental

music was used to accompany dance.333 Japanese culture demonstrated hybridity through the

widespread integration of Chinese, Indian, and Korean elements.

During the Heian period (794-1185), Japanese culture began to develop independently

from outside influences. Although Chinese musical instruments were still in use, the number of

Japanese musicians increased and court music assumed qualities unique to Japan. The
                                                                                                               
332
Bonnie C. Wade, Music in Japan: Experiencing Music, Expressing Culture (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2005), 20-24.
333
William P. Malm, Japanese Music and Musical Instruments (Tokyo: Charles E. Tuttle Company,
1959), 26-27.
   89

relationship between storytelling and music strengthened during this era and has since become a

carefully preserved tradition. Also significant were Buddhist hymns and secular songs that

demonstrated a native Japanese style.334

The Kamakura period (1185-1333) marked the establishment of the shogunate, a military

dictatorship with elements of feudalism. Buddhism became more popular during this era,

particularly in the lower classes. Military life and Zen complemented each other; in fact, the

study of Zen was required of officer candidates until the onset of World War II. While court

music was declining in popularity, theatrical arts played an increasingly important role in courts

and the military. Meanwhile, secular and sacred styles intermingled.335

Although the Muromachi period (1333-1615) was marked by shifting power and warfare,

the gap between the court and merchant class shrank as trade improved. Family became central

to government and the general way of life. Many lower class citizens moved to Kyoto, now the

former capital of Japan, to experience upper class culture, such as tea ceremonies and theatrical

entertainment. By this point, the fine arts reflected a native Japanese style highly influenced by

Zen. The popularity of theatrical arts and dance-dramas paved the way for noh drama. A new

interest in instrument-making led to modifications of various instruments that had originated in

China (e.g. the shakuhachi, shamisen, and koto).336

During the Tokugawa or Edo period (1615-1868), the Japanese government instituted

isolationist policies. Edo was the political and economic center of the ruling Tokugawa family

while the former imperial leaders remained powerless in Kyoto. Amidst inner turmoil during the

mid-19th century, leaders made attempts to modernize Japanese society in hopes of avoiding

Western colonization. In 1868, the former emperor reassumed his position of power with the
                                                                                                               
334
Ibid., 29-30.
335
Ibid., 30-31.
336
Ibid., 32-34.
   90

help of regional feudal lords marking the beginning of the Meiji Period (1868-1912). Embassies

sent abroad to study various aspects of other societies were instrumental to the modernization

process. The economic shift from agriculture to industry led to the establishment of federally

funded universal education. Edo, which came to be called Tokyo, grew rapidly into Japan’s first

city and was designated as the new capital.337 Theatrical arts continued to flourish alongside the

ongoing modernization of Japanese instruments. Noh drama was accessible to the middle class

and the rowdier kabuki theater grew popular among the general public.338

The Meiji period was marked by Westernization and the fall of the shogunate.339 Western

music infiltrated Japan through the implementation of military bands, missionary work, and

public school systems. The Japanese government established a brass band of Western

instruments to support military efforts. Catalyzed by the work of Jesuit missionaries, Western

music circulated throughout the country. The missionaries also taught hymns and instrumental

music on imported wind instruments, strings, reed organs, and the occasional piano. Following

the example of a school district in Massachusetts, the Japanese government established a policy

requiring that music be taught as a core subject in public school. Traditional Japanese music was

impractical and inappropriate for classroom instruction. Intended for the court, it requires a large

stage, costumes, and pedagogical methods not conducive to the classroom format. Western

music, however, was logistically feasible and more appropriately served the government’s quest

to modernize Japan.340

The interwar years of the early 20th century brought further political transformation.

During the Taisho period (1912-26) until the early Showa period (1926-1989), leaders struggled

                                                                                                               
337
Wade, 8-10.
338
Malm, 35.
339
Ibid., 36.
340
Wade, 11-15.
   91

to choose between a traditional cultural climate and globalization. By the 1920s,

cosmopolitanism and consumerism reflected an increased influence from the United States and

Europe. Many Japanese musicians trained in the Western tradition were able to earn a living

performing while traditional Japanese musicians were less successful.341

Recognizing the decline in traditional culture in 1955, the Japanese government

instituted Living National Treasures awards to artists. In 1966, the National Theater of Japan was

established with the financial support from the government and has continued to produce

performances of traditional music, theater, and dance.342 The Japanese have been careful to

preserve traditions while simultaneously welcoming and incorporating outside influences. It is a

truly hybrid culture that takes part in ongoing cultural exchange.

Japanese Religions and Spirituality

Shinto and Buddhism intersect to form the religious foundation of Japanese culture, and

will therefore be the focus of the ensuing overview. These traditions combine with aspects from

Confucianism, Daoism, and folk religions. Until the 1960s, religion was more central in daily

life, but as the extended family system broke down into nuclear family units, religion became

more flexible. Japanese spirituality is centered on improving society for the living rather than

focusing on the afterlife. As Michiko Yusa explains, “Religious ceremonies and practices are

focused on the present—wishing for the benefit of individuals and the peace of the world.”343

Shinto involves worshipping kami, which are spirits of nature, deities within natural

objects, or supernatural powers representing ancestral spirits. The word ‘Shinto’ means “the way

of the kami.” In some cases, brave and gifted individuals are regarded as living kami. However,
                                                                                                               
341
Ibid., 18-19.
342
Ibid.,142-143.
343
Michiko Yusa, Japanese Religious Traditions (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall Inc., 2002), 18.
   92

kami do not always yield positive results; they can be constructive or destructive, good or evil.

This dichotomy reflects the understanding that life involves both consonance and dissonance.344

The earliest Shinto practitioners felt that everything on earth came from the kami, possessed the

power of kami, and was therefore interconnected.345

The ritualistic nature of Shinto worship and the focus of Shinto on ancestry are

characteristics that strongly correspond with aspects of Rossé’s primitivism. He strives to create

an environment in which his performers will strongly connect with the music, audience, and their

inner selves, by establishing an underlying spirituality similar to that of Shinto. The

interconnectedness Rossé finds between people, places, and objects reflects the principles of

Shinto. It is therefore unsurprising that Rossé is drawn to the all-encompassing spirituality of

Japanese culture, including the principles of Buddhism.

Siddhartha Gautama came to be known as Buddha when he discovered that meditation

was the path to enlightenment. He is recognized as the founding father of Buddhism in India.

The religion spread to China in the 1st century C.E., Korea in the 4th century C.E., and Japan in

538. Although initially met with significant opposition from several ruling families, Buddhism

was finally accepted by emperor Yomei as a Japanese religion alongside Shinto between 585 and

587. Buddhism was especially appealing to the ruling classes in East Asian countries, because it

teaches that pious leaders and the lands they oversee must be respected. Consequently, the

citizens of these countries also turned to Buddhism.346

The four noble truths and eightfold path are fundamental to the teaching of Buddha. As

outlined by Yusa,“(1) Life is full of suffering; (2) Suffering arises from craving; (3) Suffering

                                                                                                               
344
Ibid., 19.
345
John K. Nelson, A Year in the Life of a Shinto Shrine (Seattle: University of Washington Press,
1996), 27.
346
Yusa, 31, 35-37.
   93

can be stopped if craving is stopped; (4) The way to inner peace (nirvana) is to follow the

eightfold path.”347 The steps in the eightfold path include mindfulness, honesty, kindness, and

other positive elements of behavior and mentality. Overall, the process is intended to instill self-

evaluation and alleviate suffering. As Buddhism spread to different parts of India and throughout

Asia, local traditions became increasingly varied.

Meditation in the form of Zen is practiced within certain strands of Buddhism. The

Japanese word ‘Zen’ comes from the Chinese ‘Chan,’ a phonetic approximation of dhyāna, the

Sanskrit for “concentration meditation.”348 Zen sects account for roughly ten per cent of the

Japanese Buddhist population. Sitting meditation, called zazen, involves sitting cross-legged in a

“lotus position” and focusing on breathing. The goal of Zazen is to achieve enlightenment

(satori) through physical and mental concentration. Zen is meant to permeate Japanese lifestyle

beyond zazen and is an integral element in all the traditional art forms discussed in this

chapter.349 Rossé’s implementation of the concept in his Japanese-influenced works will be

examined in the following chapter.

One of the important historical figures to promote Zen in Japan was Eisai (1141-1215). In

his treatise, Propogation of Zen for the Protection of the Country (Kozen gokokuron) of 1198, he

argues that human consciousness is “limitless and contains everything on earth and in the

universe.”350 Zen rids practitioners of ego, allowing simplicity and purity to overtake, and in

turn, leads them to universal truth. Eisai asserted that the selflessness yielded from Zen would

protect and better society.

                                                                                                               
347
Ibid., 31-32.
348
Ibid., 52.
349
Ibid., 52-53.
350
Ibid., 54.
   94

Daisetz Teitaro Suzuki was one of the leading philosophers to write about Zen Buddhism.

In Essays in Zen Buddhism, he opens the discussion with the following:

Zen in its essence is an art of seeing into the nature of one’s own being, and it points the
way from bondage to freedom. By making us drink right from the fountain of life, it
liberates us from all the yokes under which we finite beings are usually suffering in this
world. We can say that Zen liberates all the energies properly and naturally stored in each
of us, which are in ordinary circumstances cramped and distorted so that they find no
adequate channel for activity.351

Zen is intended to free human beings from the mental suffering they experience in daily life. It

rids the mind of these obstacles and channels the inner self. This aspect of Zen reflects Rossé’s

desire to access the state of nature through performance, an element of his primitivism.

From the middle of the Heian period (794-1192) until the Meiji period (1868-1912),

Shinto and Buddhism coexisted. In the 10th century, honji-suijaku, the theory of “essence-

manifestation,” became a popular approach that designated kami as symbols of Buddhism.

Specific kami gradually came to represent particular Buddhas until every kami was assigned a

Buddhist origin.352

Confucianism made its way to Japan from China in the mid-500s along with Buddhism.

The two were considered interrelated for centuries based on their overlapping ideals.

Confucianism comes from the moral teachings of Confucius; it is a philosophy largely founded

on the practice of humaneness, the idea of treating others with kindness and compassion.

According to Confucianism, human beings are inherently good at birth, but become tainted by

evil in the world as they grow older. Hints of this concept appear in Suzuki’s description above

and are reminiscent of theories regarding the state of nature explored in Chapter 4.353

                                                                                                               
351
Deisetz Teitaro Suzuki, Essays in Zen Buddhism (New York: Grove Press, Inc., 1978), 13.
352
Yusa, 61.
353
John A. Tucker, “Japanese Confucian Philosophy,” in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall
2013 Edition), ed. Edward N. Zalta, last modified July 5, 2013, http://plato .stanford.edu/entries/japanese-
confucian/.
   95

The Meiji government hoped to salvage tradition during the modernization process by

elevating Shinto as the state religion. By the late 1800s, Shinto was so embedded in Buddhism

that the separation of the two caused major problems. In response to anti-Buddhist violence, the

government made a statement clarifying that the separation of Shinto from Buddhism was not

intended to destroy Buddhism.354 By the 1920s, Shinto worship became a patriotic act rather than

a purely religious one. As the ultimate symbol of Japanese nationalism, Shinto was used as a tool

by the totalitarian government to justify military actions during World War II.355

Art is strongly tied to religion in Japanese culture. For example, ancient poets were often

regarded as deities, because literacy is considered the gift of gods. Eventually, the act of

composing waka poetry was likened to religious meditation found in Buddhism. The same is true

for other art forms, such as the tea ceremony, flower arranging, and noh drama.356

Popular religious movements were initiated in the early 19th century when the Tokugawa

shogunate grew weaker. Often incorporating elements from Shinto and Buddhism, these new

practices were initiated by individuals who had unique spiritual experiences with shamanism, the

ability to heal. Popular religions also stem from Daoism, “which practiced the quest for longevity

and attainment of supernatural power,” according to Yusa.357 During the modernization process

of the Meiji period, the government banned folk and popular religions associated with

shamanism. Following World War II, Emperor Hirohito ended the eighty-year streak of State

Shinto, thus opening the doors to religious freedom. This change spurred a flood of new religious

                                                                                                               
354
Yusa, 95-96.
355
Ibid., 105-106.
356
Ibid., 18.
357
Ibid., 118.
   96

sects, which continued through the 1950s. The number of religious organizations has steadily

increased, reaching 3,000 in 2002.358

According to Yusa, many seemingly religious activities and events of the present day

have become purely cultural for the Japanese population. For example, during the first three days

of the New Year, millions of Japanese citizens attend Shinto shrines to celebrate, but do not

consider their actions to be religious in nature.359 John K. Nelson reiterates that Shinto is “still

very much a part of the cultural codes a nation and its people utilize to meet the challenges of

today as well as of the next millennium.”360 Nelson emphasizes how, in the case of Shinto, the

term ‘religion’ refers to a system of customs, codes of conduct, and a way of life.361

In A New History of Shinto (2010), John Breen and Mark Teeuwen paint Shinto as a

turbulent and unstable religion. They claim that individuals are largely responsible for the course

of Shinto in the past, present, and future. “Shinto, in our view, appears not as the unchanging

core of Japan’s national essence, but rather as the unpredictable outcome of an erratic history. By

implication, that means that its future, too, is wide open to the unforeseeable forces of historical

change and the actions of individuals responding to them.”362 Nelson also acknowledges the

drastic changes that have occurred throughout Shinto history, but frames these events in a

positive light. He views tradition as a malleable entity that fluctuates and adapts to culture, which

itself is constantly transforming. This perspective highlights the potential of Shinto to continue

renewing itself and remain relevant to the Japanese.363

                                                                                                               
358
Ibid., 92-107.
359
Ibid., 111.
360
Nelson, 5.
361
Ibid., 8-9.
362
John Breen and Mark Teeuwen, A New History of Shinto (West Sussex, UK: John Wiley & Sons Ltd.,
2010) 228.
363
Nelson, 11.
   97

Shinto and Buddhist Music

Nishi Asakusa is a product of Rossé’s interest in Japanese religious music and ritual.

Given the strong influence of these traditions on his music, this section offers a review of Shinto

and Buddhist music. Shinto festivals known as matsuri celebrate agricultural events, such as

spring plowing, midsummer growth, and the autumn harvest. They involve sato-kagura, “village

music of the gods,” music and choreographed dance used to praise or entertain the gods. Kagura,

more generally, is a term used to describe “the worship of kami by means of songs and

dances.”364 Matsuri vary depending on local customs, but traditionally feature matsuri bayashi, a

small ensemble of three taiko drums, take-bue flute, and other percussion instruments, such as a

brass hand gong, the atari-gane.

The dance and music of sato-kagura is comprised of long, repetitive sections that

introduce contrast gradually. While some pieces are more complex and rhythmically free, others

are organized by common rhythmic patterns that have specific names.365 As John Breen and

Mark Teeuwen explain, “Ancient kagura was not so much an aesthetic performance designed to

please an audience as a powerful and unpredictable rite…In its rawest form, it was more like

voodoo than ballet, and as such it was hardly a natural ingredient of formalized court

ceremonial.”366 Historically, it was believed that the kagura dancer, a priestess, became

possessed by the kami as she entered a trance-like state. Kagura originated in the court, where it

acquired the name mi-kagura. As it developed over time, kagura became less ritualistic and more

performance-oriented.367 By the Meiji period, it was a medium through which the Japanese

maintained the Shinto tradition. Even while kagura was banned by the Meiji state in 1881, shrine
                                                                                                               
364
Breen and Teeuwen, 148.
365
Malm, 42-50.
366
Breen and Teeuwen, 148-149.
367
Ibid., 148-149.
   98

priests managed to sustain the tradition by teaching amateurs. New plays preserved local

traditions while simultaneously preserving themes from the classics. Considered nationalist

propaganda following World War II, kagura was omitted from textbooks and no longer served

spiritual purposes. Now kagura is considered fantastical and exotic, an alternative to the

mainstream.368

The Sanja festival parade in Asakusa, the old quarter of Tokyo that inspired Rossé’s

Nishi Asakusa, occurs in May each year. Bonnie C. Wade paints a vivid picture of Asakusa in

Music in Japan.

At Asakusa, one of the first areas to be developed in Tokyo, its Shinto shrine and
Buddhist Kannon Temple have been the locus of festivals and fairs for many
centuries, and the area around it has been a thriving entertainment hub in the city,
with traditional theaters and other places of amusement. Even now, when Asakusa
is a staid, quiet business area by comparison, pockets of very old houses survive
and the area comes alive with festivities such as the famous Sanja festival held by
the Asakusa shrine every year in May.369

As a center of cultural and spiritual events, Asakusa remains a busy area of Tokyo. The Sanja

festival features amateurs from the community alongside experienced musicians. In preparation

for the festival, elders teach the Sanja music orally, often without the aid of notation. This type of

instruction is the norm for traditional Japanese music. Other musical and theatrical genres

borrow from the recognizable ensembles, matsuri bayashi, because their music is both familiar

and representative of Japanese tradition.370

Buddhist music is also a foundation of other traditional Japanese art forms. The theory of

singing and composing Buddhist chant acquired the name shomyo in Japan. Buddhist monks

frequently traveled to the monastery in Yü-shan, China for instruction from the great masters. Its

widespread dissemination yielded various sectarian styles. With roots in India and China,
                                                                                                               
368
Ibid., 164-167.
369
Wade, 61.
370
Ibid., 61-65.
   99

shomyo is now sung in three languages in Japan. From a theoretical standpoint, Shomyo is based

on scales and rules regarding the use of these scales. Just as singers of Gregorian chant follow

formulas, singers of shomyo employ standard musical phrases and ornamentation to color the

melody.371

By describing morning mass at Tendai temple in Asakusa, Malm provides a concrete

example of how Buddhist music functions in the temple. The ceremony begins with the

repetitive striking of a bell followed by a processional of the clergy. As the priests process

toward the front of the temple, the o-daiko drum plays deep and resonant sounds, setting a

reflective tone for the ceremony. Once the priests are in place and the gong is struck, a cantor

sings the opening phrase while priests hum quietly. At certain moments of the service, up to

twenty priests chant simultaneously in different languages and on various pitches, often

repeating the chants in groups of three. Some are simple and free while others are more rhythmic

and accompanied by the o-daiko. The rhythmic chants sung in Japanese are often in seven-five

syllable schemes as phrases of eight beats. Chimes, bells, and gongs mark specific moments

throughout the ceremony, although other sects and types of services utilize a wider array of

percussive instruments. The priests recess to beats on the o-daiko at the conclusion of the

service.372

Gagaku

Gagaku is the imperial court music of Japan and the primary inspiration behind Rossé’s

Bear’s Trio. It literally means “elegant, correct, or refined music” and is rooted in ancient music

from China, India and Korea. Gagaku was first introduced to Japan in the 3rd century, but was

                                                                                                               
371
Malm, 64-65.
372
Ibid., 68-70.
   100

not adopted by Japan until the 8th century. As the first substantial instrumental form to develop in

Japan, it is one of the oldest surviving orchestral musics in the world. Given its long history, the

careful preservation of gagaku is impressive; in some cases, the tradition has changed little from

its original form.373

Wade provides four probable reasons for the preservation of the gagaku tradition in

Japanese music: its prestige as music of the imperial court, the longevity of the imperial

institution since the Nara period (710-84), the transmission of gagaku as a ritual, and the efforts

of Buddhist temple musicians to sustain the tradition. Gagaku has become so indigenized that it

is considered native to Japan. Some gagaku instruments have taken on roles in Japanese

storytelling (biwa), contemporary chamber music (koto), and theatrical genres (taiko).374

As early as the 800s, emperor Soga standardized the gagaku ensemble by reducing its

size.375 Within gagaku, there is togaku repertoire from India and China and komagaku from

Korea and Manchuria.376 Gagaku that accompanies dance is called bugaku, a more rhythmic and

less ornamental style than the other types.377 Each kind of gagaku utilizes different combinations

of instruments, which further emphasize stylistic differences.378

The types of wind instruments in the gagaku ensemble include flutes, double reed, and

mouth organ. The komabue flute is used in komagaku, the ryuteki is used for togaku, and the

kagura-bue is played in Shinto ceremonies. The hichiriki is a resonant double reed instrument

producing microtonal variations prominent in gagaku. Traditionally, hichiriki players learn

music through solfège before touching the instrument. For certain Buddhist ceremonies, multiple

                                                                                                               
373
Malm, 77-78, 91.
374
Wade, 41-42.
375
Malm, 89
376
Wade, 25.
377
Malm, 77.
378
Ibid., 99.
   101

hichiriki players perform a prelude.379 Flutes join the hichiriki with the melody, adding slight

alterations and embellishments to create a heterophonic texture. The flutes produce ornaments by

closing fingerholes halfway as the double reeds embellish the melody with microtonal inflections

and manipulations of timbre.380

The sho, or mouth organ, completes the wind section. Comprised of seventeen bamboo

pipes sitting on a wind chamber, the sho has two silent pipes that were once functional. Now

they solely serve an aesthetic purpose.381 The lower end of each sounding pipe has a hole and a

metal reed on the inside. When the player inhales or exhales through the mouthpiece while

stopping certain holes with his or her corresponding fingers, the reeds in those pipes vibrate and

produce different pitches. The sho was a more melodic instrument during the Heian period, but

now it most often serves as harmonic support when used within an ensemble.382 Unlike Western

accompaniment that outlines harmonic progression, the sho sustains pitches contained in the

melody. William Malm compares this technique to an insect preserved in amber.383

The string instruments found in gagaku are the biwa and koto. The biwa is a large, pear-

shaped wooden lute with a short neck, four strings, and thick strip of leather covering the striking

area.384 The koto is a six-foot long wooden zither that evolved from the Chinese gaku-so. Each of

its thirteen strings is tuned by the placement of a bridge that sits underneath the string. The two

stringed instruments primarily support the winds by marking time with arpeggios and rhythmic

                                                                                                               
379
Ibid., 96-97.
380
Wade, 23-27.
381
Malm, 98.
382
Wade, 25-28.
383
Malm, 99.
384
Wade, 29-30.
   102

patterns.385 The subtler timbre of the strings often becomes unnoticeable when combined with

the sounds of other gagaku instruments.386

The taiko and shoko are the most prominent percussion instruments in gagaku. The taiko

is a double-headed drum with oxhide drumheads attached to a wooden frame by tacks. It is

played with drumsticks padded by leather. The deep, resonant sound of the taiko is

complemented by the high, bright sound of the shoko, a thin, bronze gong-like instrument struck

by two long wooden sticks. Both the taiko and shoko sit in frames a few feet above ground level.

Players must raise their arms to strike these instruments in ritualistic gestures.387 The sizes of the

drums vary depending on the occasion and setting of the performance.388 The shakubyashi is a

wooden clapper made of two hard pieces of wood, each held in separate hands.389

One of the differences in instrumentation between togaku and komagaku is the use of

percussion instruments. While both styles share the taiko and shoko, the kakko is a drum

particular to togaku and the san no tsuzumi is special to komagaku. The kakko is a small barrel-

shaped wooden drum that is framed and sits low to the ground. It has two heads made of

deerhide and are struck by sticks that are slightly knobbed. The san no tsuzumi is shaped like an

hourglass and only struck with a stick on one side.

Rhythmic patterns in gagaku are usually organized in units of eight, four, or two. The

eight-beat structure is used for slower pieces, the four-beat groups for moderate tempo, and two

beats for faster tempos. Sometimes groups of two and four are combined, and in some cases units

of two and three alternate.

                                                                                                               
385
Malm, 94-95.
386
Wade, 30
387
Ibid., 30-32.
388
Malm, 92.
389
Eta Harich-Schneider, “The Present Condition of Japanese Court Music,” The Music Quarterly 39, no. 1
(January 1953): 58, http://www.jstor.org/stable/740034.
   103

Gagaku generally follows the form of jo-ha-kyū, a suite-like structure of shorter

movements. Jo-ha-kyū typically begins with a slow section, or introduction (jo), that is

rhythmically flexible. In an orchestral piece, jo begins with netori, a short phrase to set the mood

of the piece according to its mode. This is followed by ha, an exposition or development, which

begins with solo flute and percussion. After the first part, the other winds enter playing the same

melody while the sho sustains the pitches from the melody in clusters. The biwa and koto enter

toward the end of the phrase. The final part, kyu, involves all instruments playing together and

gaining speed until the end. A coda called a tomede features the principal players as a smaller

group. The texture becomes thinner as the instruments peter out, leaving the biwa and koto to end

the piece.390

Wade describes gagaku as “a heterogeneous sound ideal, resulting in a sort of stylistic

transparency.”391 Malm elaborates, “Much of the pleasure of gagaku is in its rare archaic flavor.

To those who are accustomed to the dynamic drive of Western symphonic music, the static

beauty of gagaku may seem very strange.”392

Nohgaku and Noh Drama

Inspired by an array of Japanese traditions, Rossé’s Orients is primarily based on the

theatrical and spiritual elements of noh drama. Noh evolved as a hybrid of ritual-play, theatrical

acrobatics, peasant dances, and comic plays that gradually solidified during the Kamakura period

(1135-1333). A former Shinto priest, Kannami Kiyotsugu and his son, Zeami Motokiyo, were

responsible for adding Buddhist chant (shomyo) to the theatrical medium. Shomyo contributed a

more serious quality to the art form that came to be known as noh. As a member of a Zen sect,
                                                                                                               
390
Malm, 102.
391
Wade, 25.
392
Malm, 104.
   104

Zeami integrated Zen concepts into his plays, a practice that has been followed since. Thus, noh

is a masterful combination of Zen spirituality and popular entertainment that has been an

important Japanese tradition.393

Zeami’s treatise from c. 1400 tells the famous Shinto rock-cave myth of a deity

communicating to the sun-goddess through ritual.394 He organizes the principles of the rock-cave

myth into a three-fold process to demonstrate how noh would enlighten audiences:

1 myō: anticipation, suspension of cognition;

2 hana: an emotional response, delight;
3 omo-shiro: recognition of one’s response, fascination.395

His reference proved noh worthy as a divine practice and potentially, a classical form. Unlike

most performative Japanese traditions, noh has a long recorded history of playscripts and

treatises from as early as the 15th century. These records show the importance of kami as a major

theme in noh, evidence of the tradition’s roots in Shinto festivals.

Noh dramas traditionally follow the jo-ha-kyū structure. However, instead of movements,

noh is broken down into scenes and subscenes. Contrast between subscenes is established by

varying the style of text (i.e. prose, free verse, and poetry), style of delivery, and the involvement

of noh musicians. Noh plays were originally short, allowing for five plays and three comedies to

be performed in one evening.396 Each play was chosen from a different category: gods, warriors,

women, devils, and mad women, or other similar subjects. Now that plays have grown longer,

often lasting an hour or more, fewer are performed in one evening.397

The noh drama typically begins with a flute solo from behind the curtain. The curtain

then rises and the musicians slowly process onto the stage. The instrumental ensemble for noh

                                                                                                               
393
Malm, 105-108.
394
Breen and Teeuwen, 153.
395
Ibid., 154.
396
Wade, 83.
397
Malm, 109.
   105

theater is called hayashi, and consists of a flute and three drums, the o-tsuzumi, ko-tsuzumi, and

taiko. This is the same type of ensemble used in matsuri bayashi. The chorus, called ji, enters

from a small door to the side of the stage.398 The hayashi sits toward the back of the stage while

the ji kneels on the stage floor in two rows. The ji alternates between singing, narrating, and

speaking from the actors’ perspectives. The music in noh drama always portrays characteristics,

behaviors, and actions of the lead and supporting actors.399

The flute’s role in noh is five-fold: 1) to signal parts of the play, 2) to accompany dance

and initiate the tempo, 3) to add a new timbre and set the atmosphere during instrumental

interludes, 4) to provide the ji with a pitch, and 5) to bring lyricism to certain passages. During

hayashi interludes, the flutist must create new melodic material that he or she later develops

alongside the original melody. When accompanying text, the flute part is generally constructed

of patterns that can be subdivided into smaller groups of patterns. Certain phrases are unique to

particular sections of the piece while others are used throughout. The special phrases indicate

when a new section begins, helping performers stay together. Since flute notation does not

specifically indicate rhythm, the flutist must learn the music orally and follow the taiko parts

carefully.400

O-tsuzumi and ko-tsuzumi parts are coordinated and consist of rhythmic patterns that are

named. The rhythms involve verbal calls, or kakegoe, that contribute a dramatic effect. They also

help the musicians stay together as they navigate the flexible beat of noh.401 Musical notation for

advanced drummers shows only the name of each pattern. Given that there are roughly two

hundred patterns, it takes years for a drummer to comfortably read a score. Like flutists,

                                                                                                               
398
Ibid., 108-109.
399
Wade, 109.
400
Malm, 120-121.
401
Wade, 110-111.
   106

drummers must learn orally from experience rather than from notation. There are clans or guilds

of drummers that interpret the patterns slightly differently from each other. When they prepare

for performance, they must reach a consensus so that there are no discrepancies.402

The flexibility afforded the performers of noh relies on the art form’s pervading orality.

From pedagogy to performance, the success of noh relies on the musicians’ engagement with the

music and communication with each other at every moment. For Rossé, this kind of orality

presents the ideal musical situation.

Noh singing is called yokyoku. Its style, inspired by Buddhist chant, can be described as

solemn, simple, and reflective.403 The two styles of yokyoku are heightened speech, called kotoba

(“words”), and melodic, fushi (“melody”). Within fushi there are two subcategories, yowagin,

which is soft singing, and tsuyogin, strong singing. Yowagin is melodic singing in low, middle,

and high pitch areas, each of which has a central tone. The central tones are separated by

intervals of a perfect fourth. Tsuyogin, which is based on Buddhist chant, is more forceful and

only loosely oriented around certain pitches. The rhythmic alignment of musicians with the text

is called au while incongruent rhythmic accompaniment is called awazu.404 Like the instrumental

notation for noh, the scores for yokyoku are not detailed. The singers are essentially provided

with a set of neumes that outline gestures. This allows singers to be flexible with rhythm, pitch,

and contour in the moment. The music and general style must therefore be learned and practiced

by rote.405

William Malm summarizes the roles of the musicians in noh:

Musically, the singing and the rhythm of the hayashi have been shown as subject to
intense systematization. The singing is centered on the poetry, and the hayashi remains
                                                                                                               
402
Malm, 125-126.
403
Ibid., 127.
404
Wade, 105-106.
405
Malm, 129.
   107

alert to the rhythmic and emotional changes of the poetry and the movement of the actors.
The flute, as the only melodic instrument, provides a necessary contrast to the mauve
tone colors of the singing and the percussion of the drums. The calls of the drummers
have been cultivated until they have become not only rhythmic signals but also important
elements in the general emotional mood of the plays.406

The combination of the various elements in noh creates a balance between subtlety and intense

expression. It is interesting to note that although much of the learning process for noh is oral in

nature, the music is meant to serve the text. This is yet another demonstration of how orality and

literacy intermingle.

While Western drama typically builds toward climactic points and strives to create

captivating plot lines, noh focuses on the present, as explained by Malm: “The purpose of both

the play and the ceremony lies not in the form but in the objects presented and the atmosphere

created. In either case, one should not seek only an intellectual understanding but rather savor the

highly specialized aesthetic experience.”407 The concepts of restraint and simplicity come from

Zen Buddhism. Malm notes that while most dramatic arts take place in a certain setting during a

specific time frame, noh somehow “often evokes timelessness.”408 It is this quality that Rossé

aims to capture with Orients.

Taiko Drumming

As one of Japan’s most spiritual instruments, the taiko drum is referenced prominently in

Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa. The goals of taiko performance surpass the musical by reaching deeply

into spiritual, physical, and intellectual realms. In an interview with Wade, taiko instructor

Mokoko Igarashi describes the unique experience of playing the instrument.

                                                                                                               
406
Ibid., 130.
407
Ibid., 119.
408
Ibid., 131.
   108

I think spirit, spirit still. Spirit. Because when I studied European percussion, technique
was very important. But I never moved up and down and I never obviously expressed
myself. I expressed myself through the instrument. But taiko is…we can actually say
music but also like physical activity. You need to use the entire body and we think the
energy starts from the earth. Underground. That maybe the energy comes from god,
through the earth and then through the earth, the energy comes from your body, and then
after the energy goes through your body and then finally comes out through the sticks. So
then the energy is circulating; it’s not just the technique, you know. That’s very
interesting.409

According to Igarashi, taiko drumming equally integrates a player’s physique, spirit, and

intellect. These are precisely the aspects of performance Rossé emphasizes with his music.

The taiko has a body most often made of zelkova wood and drumheads of either cow or

horse skin. A small piece of deerskin marks the center of the top drumhead; this is the spot where

the drum is struck with bachi, or sticks. Ropes secure the skins to the body and encircle the

drum. Taiko technique requires straight arms from elbow to hand with a loose grip on the bachi.

Taiko training varies between communities and guilds, making it nearly impossible for

drummers to join ensembles of different styles.410

Modern taiko groups have become popular largely through the efforts of Seiichi Tanaka,

the Japanese-American who founded kumi daiko, or group drumming. When Tanaka established

the San Francisco Taiko Dojo in 1968, he popularized taiko among communities in the Japanese

diaspora and beyond. Although it is a new tradition, kumi daiko is based on older rituals of

farmers, fisherman, and spiritual peoples.411

Worldwide, there are many taiko styles and techniques that have become localized

traditions.412 Asakusa was one of the first communities of Tokyo to develop and maintain a

                                                                                                               
409
Wade, 61.
410
Malm, 124-126.
411
Wade, 58.
412
Ibid., 59-60.
   109

strong tradition. The Shinto shrine and Buddhist Kannon Temple in Asakusa have been the

backdrop to festivals and fairs that feature taiko for hundreds of years.

Aesthetics of Japanese Music

Many of the overarching aesthetic qualities exhibited by the Japanese arts originated from

principles of Shinto and Zen. The following summary touches on a handful of these aspects,

most of which are evident in Rossé’s Japanese-influenced works.

Timbre is generally considered the most important parameter in Japanese music. The

development of the biwa serves as a useful example. Its strings were gradually loosened with

raised bridges so that players would be able to produce extraneous noise. This buzzy effect is

called sawari (“touch”). Every pluck of the strings is so harmonically complex that the listener’s

attention is directed to timbre rather than pitch.413 According to Minoru Miki, “Imitating the

sounds of Japan’s natural environment is a fundamental precept in composition and

performance.”414

The Zen Buddhist concept that less is more premeates the aesthetics of Japanese

traditions. For example, in noh drama, each of the actor’s subtle physical movements has a

deeper meaning. Originally, the main actor himself was intended to represent “the

personification of a soul.” Likewise, the stage, props, text, and music of noh are simple, yet

profoundly symbolize the path toward enlightenment. The term ‘yügen’ (“depth”) is used to

describe the gracefulness and elegence of noh, a quality that comes from mimicking nobility.

                                                                                                               
413
Ibid., 48.
414
Minoru Miki, Composing for Japanese Instruments, trans. Marty Regan, ed. Philip Flavin (Rochester,
NY: University of Rochester Press, 2008), 3.
   110

Yügen also refers to the representational nature of noh and the power contained within its

simplicity.415

Repetition is a salient characteristic of Zen Buddhist practice and has pervaded the

Japanese arts for centuries. Again, noh acting provides a fitting example. Through repetition, an

actor training in noh learns “to look into the interior of the mind by placing the body in continual

movement at the center of which is a core of stillness and calm.”416 By reiterating motions, the

trainee is able to focus on each isolated moment, thus avoiding distraction. This achievement is

described in Buddhism as “dochu no sei” (“stillness in motion”). The same concept is applicable

to repetition in traditional Japanese music performance and pedagogy.

Space is an essential component of Japanese music. The concept of ma highlights the

importance of silence and can be described as “negative space,” or “perception of space and time

in Japanese aesthetics.”417 Malm explains, “In music it provides a rhythmic elasticity in which

silence is as powerful as sound.”418 There is a space between sounds that represents the

connection and tension between people, objects, and places. As Miki describes, “The space

between one note and the next is not considered a ‘rest,’ but rather an important space containing

the absence of sound.”419 Similarly, there is a concept called “kokoro” (“invisible heart”) in noh

drama that refers to the continuity between action and non-action. Therefore, in Japanese music,

silence or stillness are as present and powerful as sound or motion.420

                                                                                                               
415
Cheryl Nafziger-Leis, “The Influence of Zen Buddhism on Medieval Noh Drama,” The Journal of
Religion and Theatre 5, no. 1 (2006): 37-38, http://www.rtjournal.org/vol_5/no_1 /nafziger.html.
416
Kathryn Wylie-Marques, “Opening the Actor's Spiritual Heart: The Zen Influence on Nô Training and
Performance with Notes on Stanislavski and the Actor's Spirituality,” Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism.
XVIII, no. 1 (2003): 136, accessed September 7, 2014, https://journals.ku.edu/index.php/jdtc/article/viewFile
/3486/3362.
417
Wade, 160.
418
William Malm, Six Hidden Views of Japanese Music (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986),
42-43.
419
Miki, 4.
420
Nafziger-Leis, 36.
   111

Since ancient times, the Japanese arts have centered on themes of wildlife and the

environment associated with Shinto and Buddhism, such as wind, water, birds, trees, plant-life,

and the seasons. Centuries ago, gardens were considered depictions of holy places and were used

as settings for kami worship. In the Heian period, more intricate gardens with manmade ponds,

bridges, and waterfalls were designed according to Chinese fengshui principles for aristocrat

mansions.421 During the 14th century, gardens were added to Zen Buddhist temples as areas of

private worship. Perhaps most famous is the rock garden at Ryoanji temple, which features

fifteen rocks spread out in a flat area filled with white gravel.422 The art of garden making is a

perfect demonstration of how these spiritually oriented elements continue to hold prominence in

the traditions of the Japanese people.

Orality in Pedagogy and Performance

As emphasized throughout this chapter, Japanese music is strongly associated with the

practice of Buddhism, Shinto, and other religious traditions. The oral nature of traditional

Japanese pedagogy and performance also reflects the overarching principles of these

spiritualities.

While some areas of Japanese pedagogy have adopted Western methods, others have

retained an oral approach. The systematic method of Western instruction centered on instilling

theoretical knowledge, technical skill, and interpretative abilities, has appealed to koto and

shamisen guilds. However, drumming pedagogy is one type of training that retains its orality and

emphasis on spirituality.

                                                                                                               
421
According to Yusa’s glossary, fengshui falls under onmyōdō, “Literally, ‘Yin-Yang practice’; a Japanese
adaptation of Chinese practies of divination, geomancy (i.e. fengshui), fortune-telling, astronomy, etc., which were
further blended with ancient native Japanese sensibilities such as purity, defilement, mountain worship, asceticism,
and so forth.” Yusa, 120-121.
422
Yusa, 69.
   112

Zen followers believe music leads to self-discovery, or enlightenment. In describing this

spiritual quest, Malm explains, “The path towards becoming a good drummer requires that one

first become a good drum.”423 That is, a teacher’s goal is to guide the student in fusing with his

or her instrument so that the instrument becomes an extension of the self, and vice versa. Each

course of study depends on the individual needs of the student. Malm explains, “In the West the

teacher is primarily a guide towards the spirit of the music, whereas a traditional Japanese

teacher is more a guide into a ritual whose goals may differ for different students; some may be

musical, some technical, and some spiritual.”424 Even when a student is technically ready to

move forward to new music, the teacher might decide to hold the student back until he or she is

spiritually prepared. Oral instruction gives teachers more control over their students’

education.425

Ritualism is a major component in Japanese music-making and can only be taught orally.

For example, an important part of the ko-tsuzumi and taiko lesson is instrument assembly.

Through observation and supplementary verbal feedback, students learn the choreographed way

of putting together the instrument, which is done prior to entering the stage. Once on stage,

picking up the instrument and bachi (sticks), in the case of taiko, is another ritual that must be

executed in a certain way. Only once these steps are learned properly can the student work on

warm-up exercises; these involve hitting the drum with small, medium, and large strokes with

the right hand and then again with the left in sets of three. The sticks are then brought to the

drumhead silently. The goal of these preliminary gestures is to transform the arms into

                                                                                                               
423
Malm, Six Hidden Views, 25.
424
Ibid., 25-26.
425
Ibid., 25-26.
   113

drumsticks and, as Malm describes, “Enter into a state of being beautiful.”426 Different guilds

have their own traditions of ritualized gestures for the various aspects of performance.

There are certain customs, practices, and nuances in performance that are not notated in

drum books. Although one could learn the required patterns of drumming from these sources,

implementing the techniques correctly in a performance situation would not be possible. In

lessons, patterns are learned through the use of mnemonic devices that are sung.427 This process

is similar to the use of neumatic notation in Gregorian chant. Noh flute notation also offers

patterns or phrases that must be learned orally with the aid of mnemonics.428 In the case of noh,

learning solely from notation would negate the flexibility and flow necessary for a successful

performance.

The function of orality in Japanese music and pedagogy is to emphasize the spirituality of

performance. Lessons are taught orally so that students are not distracted by visual stimuli.429

Likewise, performances are given without the use of notation so that the musicians can remain

actively engaged in what is happening on stage. Again, the flexible sense of time in noh requires

impeccable communication among the performers. Thus, orality promotes engagement,

interaction, and spontaneity.430

The process of assembling a noh play demonstrates orality in several ways. The first step

is commissioning a writer to create a text. Once it is ready, the head of the percussion ensemble

typically composes the flute and drum parts. These parts continue to evolve as the actors and

dancers become involved. The “piece” is considered a work in progress until all aspects of

                                                                                                               
426
Ibid., 30.
427
Ibid., 24-25.
428
Ibid., 43-46.
429
Ibid., 25.
430
Ibid., 46-47.
   114

performance are determined. Even then, as soon as another ensemble learns the play, the music is

liable to change.

Japan seems to give its living musicians their creative outlet through the ongoing
communal compositional process…The concept of relativity is once more most
useful in appreciating Japanese music. Though a given piece is ‘set,’ it will not
look or sound the same if experienced from the perspectives of different musicians
in other performances.431

In this way, Japanese music is a living, breathing organism constantly renewing itself through the

means of orality.

Many of the qualities found in traditional Japanese art forms and spirituality reflect

Rossé’s musical goals. Perhaps most prominent is the incorporation of Zen. In his Japanese-

influenced music, Rossé establishes situations of heightened awareness, physicality, and

communication that resemble the ritualism of kami worship, Buddhist chant, taiko drumming,

and other traditions. Within the conceptual framework of hybridity, orality, and primitivism, the

next chapter examines musical examples from Bear’s Trio, Nishi Asakusa, and Orients,

identifying more specifically the ways in which Rossé has incorporated Japanese musical sounds

and spiritual principles.

                                                                                                               
431
Ibid., 51.
   115

CHAPTER 6.

EXAMINING THE MUSIC

When asked about her approach to learning Rossé’s Japanese-influenced works, Marie-

Bernadette Charrier replied,

As with any work, the process of the interpreter is to find the appropriate style for
the chosen work. Thanks to our acquired culture, we have certain insights on how
to play this piece. Then extensive work, an analysis of the proposed gestures, and
continued research allow us to propose an interpretation as close as possible to the
author’s idea.432

The following exploration of hybridity, orality, and primitivism in Bear’s Trio, Nishi Asakusa,

and Orients serves to clarify Rossé’s intentions and provide valuable ideas regarding his

integration of Japanese characteristics. Although largely theoretical, this chapter is intended to

assist performers in formulating appropriate interpretations of these works.

Background of Bear’s Trio

Rossé completed Bear’s Trio for saxophone, piano, and percussion on August 4, 2003 at

l’hôtel de l’Ours (“Hotel of the Bears”) in Megève, France. The title of the piece comes from the

hotel’s name rather than any reference to Japanese culture. The piece was composed at the

request of Takashi Saito, a Japanese saxophonist, who premiered the piece in Shibuya, Tokyo in

2004. Originally published by Éditions Fuzeau in 2005, it is now published by Christine Paquelet

Edition Arts (CPEA).433 Bear’s Trio requires the saxophonist to double on soprano and baritone

                                                                                                               
432
Charrier, email interview. See Appendix B, 188.
433
Rossé, “Bear’s Trio,” recorded in Bordeaux, France, February 23, 2006, SoundCloud audio recording,
11:18, Posted 2012, https://soundcloud.com/fran-ois-ross /baers-trio.
   116

saxophones. The instrumentation of the percussion part includes vibraphone, two gongs,

woodblock, three toms, kick bass drum, and snare drum.434

In a recent interview, Rossé described the background of the piece:

Bear’s Trio was written for a premiere in Tokyo by a trio led by saxophonist Takashi
Saito in 2004. The title is simply linked to the name of the hotel in Megève (France)
where I wrote this trio. However the piece is very Japanese relating to the inflections of
Gagaku, Japanese ritual spectacle. For the Japanese, sound, in nature, is never straight (in
pitch) but always flexible; the Japanese Shinto philosophy is very connected to nature.435

As the primary influence behind the work, gagaku is referenced in a variety of ways, both

musical and spiritual.

Hybridity in Bear’s Trio

The incorporation of techniques and characteristics from gagaku exhibits Rossé’s

fascination with Japanese aesthetics and spirituality while demonstrating a desire to enhance his

own musical language in a meaningful way. By hybridizing gagaku with his personal style,

Rossé satisfies his need for cultural exchange and establishes new ground for musical

exploration. As the musical embodiment of Japanese culture, gagaku epitomizes the country’s

spirituality. An understanding of Rossé’s hybridity can guide performers of Bear’s Trio toward

interpretations that balance Japanese influence with the piece’s identity as Western art music.

The structure of Bear’s Trio can be divided into seven sections. Using the rehearsal

numbers as markers, the sections are as follows:

Section 1: Rehearsals 1 and 2

Section 2: Rehearsals 3 and 4
Section 3: Rehearsal 5
Section 4: Rehearsals 6, 7, 8, and 9
Section 5: Rehearsal 10
Section 6: Rehearsals 11 and 12
                                                                                                               
434
Rossé, Bear’s Trio (Paris: Christine Paquelet Editions Arts, 2006), n.p.
435
Rossé, email interview. See Appendix B, 185.
   117

Section 7: Rehearsals 13 and 14.

Musically, each new section is clearly delineated through contrast from the previous section.

These sections do not precisely follow the typical jo-ha-kyu structure of gagaku, although some

sections resemble aspects of the traditional form. Overall, the piece is a patchwork of sonic

images rather than a linear journey. Certain ideas return, but generally, the sections are unrelated

to one another.

The instruments in Bear’s Trio represent the typical instrumentation in gagaku: winds,

strings, and percussion. However, in Bear’s Trio, the instruments sometimes switch roles. The

saxophone generally resembles the hichiriki, flute, and on one occasion, sho. The piano takes on

characteristics of the biwa and koto, although also the sho and taiko at certain moments. The

vibraphone contributes harmonic support, but is not necessarily representative of any specific

gagaku instrument. The remaining percussion instruments function similarly to the percussion

section of gagaku.

The opening of the piece is roughly two and a half minutes long.436 It makes up

approximately one-third of the piece’s duration, which is eight and a half to nine minutes. As

shown in Example 1, the saxophone melody is in constant motion through the use of pitch bends,

microtones, grace notes, and accents. These melodic characteristics are overwhelmingly similar

to the highly-embellished playing of the hichiriki and flute in gagaku. The vibraphone and piano

echo the contour of the saxophone in quasi-heterophonic fashion. Heterophony is often found

within the wind section of gagaku as hichiriki and flutes play the same melody with slight

variations and ornaments. Meanwhile, the piano represents the sho by sustaining the melodic

pitches with the pedal. Throughout the opening section, all parts are generally centered within

                                                                                                               
436
This information is based on the recording of Bear’s Trio by Proxima Centauri on Rossé’s SoundCloud
page.
   118

the narrow range of concert G and Bb. The constant repetition within this limited collection of

pitches presents a clear similarity to gagaku. Interspersed throughout Section 1 are gong and

woodblock hits that recall the shoko and shakubyashi, small gong and wooden clapper,

respectively. The slow tempo and varying rhythms simulate the flexibility of gagaku, leaving the

listener without a sense of steady pulse. These characteristics fit the typical role of jo, the

opening slow section of gagaku, which is flexible and intended to set the mood for the piece.

EXAMPLE 1 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page one, line one437

While Section 2 is dissimilar overall to gagaku, there remain a few resemblances worth

noting. The primary differences lie in the texture and rhythm. In gagaku, the texture is mostly

thick and heterophonic, other than the opening flute solo, while in Section 2 of Bear’s Trio, the

saxophonist is the lone melodic voice. The piano and vibraphone interject chords coordinated

with the saxophone rhythm, which is not rhythmically typical of gagaku. The likeness to gagaku

lies in saxophone part. As shown in Example 2, the quick slap-tongue accents serve as

inflections in place of the grace notes that would typically precede two-note descending figures

in the wind melodies of gagaku. For most of Rehearsal 3, the pianissimo dynamic is sustained,

aside from the accents. Two measures before Rehearsal 4, there is a gradual crescendo until the
                                                                                                               
437
The inclusion of all excerpts has been authorized by Christine Paquelet Editions Arts; Rossé, Bear’s
Trio, 1.
   119

fortissimo is reached at Rehearsal 5. The saxophone line climbs into a higher register as the

dynamic increases, and the two-note groupings grow wider in interval. This type of

intensification can be found in kyu, the final section of gagaku.

EXAMPLE 2 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page five, line one438

Section 3 strongly exhibits gagaku characteristics. It resembles the opening of a gagaku

performance more so than Section 1 of Bear’s Trio, because it begins with a woodwind solo, as

shown in Example 3. However, while the opening of gagaku features flute, the soprano

saxophone’s loud dynamic in the high register more closely mimics the hichiriki. The saxophone

plays into the piano as the sustain pedal is depressed, causing the melody to resonate. The role of

the piano resembles that of the sho, which is responsible for echoing the melody by sustaining its

pitches as a note cluster. Rossé repeatedly uses this technique in Bear’s Trio and his other

Japanese-influenced works. The sho-like sound can be heard during the two rests marked “long”

and the third marked “très long.” These rests are examples of ma, the Zen concept of active

silence, or “negative space.” Despite the tempo marking of 72 at the beginning of Section 3, the

saxophone solo is notated in such a way that implies flexibility.

                                                                                                               
438
Ibid., 5.
   120

EXAMPLE 3 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page eight, line two through page nine, line one439

Section 4 begins at Rehearsal 6 and continues through Rehearsal 8 (see Example 4). This

segment is characterized primarily by repetition within a homophonic texture between the

percussion and piano voices. Similar to taiko drumming, the rhythms of the toms and piano

alternate between quiet and loud attacks. Throughout the section, repeated figures come in the

form of three different chords of sixteenth and eighth note rhythms. Although the repetition of

these rhythmic chords is unsystematic, the same types of rhythms are reiterated, creating a sense

of continuity for the listener. In the midst of the repetition, sudden woodblock interjections and

kick drum hits interrupt the flow. These appear in the top and bottom lines of the percussion staff

                                                                                                               
439
Ibid., 8-9.
   121

in Example 4. Although the timbre of the woodblock matches that of the shoko gong or

shakubyoshi, the roll technique is more customary of the kakko drum. Throughout Section 4, the

kick drum clearly represents taiko drumming. The saxophone’s role is to provide low, long tones

so quiet that they are felt rather than heard. The low sustained rumble is reminiscent of the large

gong used in gagaku.

EXAMPLE 4 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page ten, line two440

At Rehearsal 8 (see Example 5), the percussion part ranges from pp to f with the added

support of the saxophone. Until Rehearsal 9, the texture remains entirely homophonic. The slap-

tongue attacks of the saxophone contribute to the overall taiko-like sound of the ensemble. The

instructions above the piano part, “Consider the piano like a resonance of the tom,” indicate that

all voices should blend as one.441

                                                                                                               
440
Ibid., 10.
441
Ibid., 12.
   122

EXAMPLE 5 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page twelve, line one442

At Rehearsal 9 (see Example 6), the piano chords become clusters rhythmically

coordinated with the kick drum. The texture here is more transparent and the low tom rolls

provide the same effect as the saxophone’s low rumbling at Rehearsals 6 and 7. Suddenly, in the

middle of the twelfth bar of Rehearsal 9 (see Example 7), the baritone saxophone multiphonic

and the piano chord enter simultaneously, recalling the sounds of the sho and koto. Although not

strummed, the piano attack is accented and much stronger than the subtle entrance of the

saxophone multiphonic, which swells in a way typical of sho performance practice. Throughout

Rehearsal 9, the piano and kick drum hits never appear twice in the same fashion. The space

between attacks demonstrates ma, creating a meditative atmosphere.

                                                                                                               
442
Ibid., 12.
   123

EXAMPLE 6 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page thirteen, line one443

EXAMPLE 7 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page fourteen, line one444

Rehearsal 10 stands alone as Section 5 of the piece. It begins with the relentless repetition

of sixteen kick drum hits at a forte dynamic. Meanwhile, under the surface, the piano begins

quietly with an extended strand of arpeggios that gradually grow louder, leading into Rehearsal

11. The piano part is marked “unmeasured” and “supple within the given tempo” (quarter note

equals 80). The pedal is fully depressed at first, and then raised to the halfway point. This

technique creates resonating, connected arpeggios that elicit the sound of a plucked koto. Section

                                                                                                               
443
Ibid., 13.
444
Ibid., 14.
   124

5 is the only portion of the piece that implements the piano in this way. Delicate at first, the

dynamic and tempo increase to create an agitated state.

EXAMPLE 8 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page fifteen445

Section 6 begins at Rehearsal 11 and acts as a return to the ideas from the opening section

of Bear’s Trio. As demonstrated in Example 9, the material of the saxophone part is exactly the

same as the beginning of the piece in terms of rhythm, pitch material, and melodic contour.

Unlike the opening, at Section 6 the saxophone dynamic is marked fortissimo, the melody is one

octave higher than the opening, and the tempo is slightly faster. Again, the saxophone line

closely resembles the hichiriki and flute parts of gagaku. The piano’s highest grace notes in the

upper register produce a shrill timbre that matches the saxophone’s brightness. The motion of the

                                                                                                               
445
Ibid., 15.
   125

grace notes and use of a sustain pedal produce a heterophonic effect, even though the initial

attack of each grouping appears to line up among the voices. The vibraphone part is also in the

upper register and rhythmically matches the piano’s resonance. Slight discrepancies would

perhaps be welcome during Section 6, as the phasing between instruments would produce

heterophony similar to that of gagaku. The clusters and melodic motion resemble the sound

produced by a group of hichiriki and flute players.

EXAMPLE 9 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page seventeen, line one446

Rehearsal 13 initiates Section 7, the final part of the piece. Example 10 shows the climax

one measure before the section begins and the sudden change that occurs at Rehearsal 13 with

the silence of the piano and vibraphone. They leave the unaccompanied saxophone to play a

string of repetitive three-note figures. Another sudden change occurs during the third measure of

Rehearsal 13 when the piano and snare drum enter with repeated eighth notes at a tempo

unrelated to the saxophone part. It is common in gagaku for the percussion instruments to insert

repetitive rhythms in this fashion.

                                                                                                               
446
Ibid., 17.
   126

EXAMPLE 10 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page nineteen447

At Rehearsal 14 (see Example 11), the repeated percussion and piano attacks gradually

slow down in opposition to the saxophone’s acceleration. The tempo continues to fluctuate

through Rehearsal 14 until the piece ends with the saxophone reaching its pinnacle in pitch,

tempo, and dynamic. Meanwhile, the piano and percussion increase dynamically, but slow down

significantly to the very end.

                                                                                                               
447
Ibid., 19.
   127

EXAMPLE 11 Rossé’s Bear’s Trio, page twenty, line one448

This overview indicates Rossé’s numerous borrowings from gagaku in Bear’s Trio.

Many of the same corresponding elements found in Bear’s Trio are evident in Nishi Asakusa and

Orients.

Orality in Bear’s Trio

Flexibility, repetition, and soloistic passages in Bear’s Trio are particularly demonstrative

of the pervasive nature of orality in Rossé’s compositional style. Japanese tradition has

undoubtedly reinforced Rossé’s ideas regarding orality and inspired methods of implementation

strongly tied with Japanese culture. Therefore, the prominence of orality in Rossé’s Japanese-

influenced works validates his commitment to cultural exchange and fostering strong

relationships.

In Sections 1, 3, and 6 of Bear’s Trio, the saxophone assumes a style obviously borrowed

from the hichiriki and flute of the gagaku ensemble. Comprised of pitch bends, quarter tones,

grace notes, and accents, the saxophone melodies demonstrate flexibility typical of traditional

Japanese performance practice. Freedom allows more room for nuance in the saxophone part and

                                                                                                               
448
Ibid., 20.
   128

requires that all performers communicate more carefully. This is particularly true of Sections 1

and 6, which involve coordinating attack points of challenging rhythmic combinations. As

mentioned earlier, minor discrepancies in rhythm and attack would result in a heterophonic

texture closer to the style of gagaku.

Rossé’s implementation of repetition often resembles the spontaneity of improvisation

and reflects the repetition found in Japanese tradition. For example, throughout Section 2, which

begins at Rehearsal 3 (see Example 2), the saxophonist plays strands of 32nd notes that are

grouped in twos. The contour remains consistent throughout, but the exact intervals and pitch

content rarely repeat. This kind of unsystematic or improvisatory repetition occurs at Rehearsal

13 (see Example 10) in the saxophone part and continues through to the end of the piece. To the

listener, this type of repetition may seem like the improvised development of an idea. Rossé’s

implementation of repetitive gestures relates to the Zen concept “dochu no sei” (“stillness in

motion”) introduced in the previous chapter.

Unsystematic repetition appears again in a different context at Rehearsals 6 through

Rehearsal 9 (see Examples 4, 5, 6, and 7). The piano and percussion parts align rhythmically and

melodically, indicating that they should be treated as one unified voice. Once again, the same

short figures repeat, but not in the same exact order or rhythm each time. This atmosphere

becomes more spontaneous when the sudden woodblock rolls and kick drum enter through

Rehearsal 6 and 7. The same is true of the piano and tom hits at Rehearsal 9, where the music is

generally sparser.

One of the clearest examples of orality occurs at Rehearsal 10 (see Example 8) when the

piano takes over as the featured instrument with a long string of arpeggios. The fact that the
   129

tempo is marked “non mesuré” (“unmeasured”) and “souple dans le tempo” (“supple within the

tempo”) points to the freedom afforded the pianist.449

Rehearsal 14 (see Example 11) features intense eighth note attacks on the snare drum and

piano. Both voices are directed to slow down gradually until the end while synchronizing each

attack, or “poco a poco rallentando al fine (synchro piano/c.cl).”450 Rossé’s instructions require

the musicians to communicate effectively and unite as one voice. The pacing of this section is

likely to change from performance to performance.

Another aspect of Rossé’s orality that is not as explicit as the previous examples lies

within the notation itself. Although Bear’s Trio is published and printed, the notation remains in

manuscript form. Each symbol, other than the instructional text, appears in Rossé’s original

handwriting. While his motive to print a manuscript version of the piece may have been

practical, the results support Rossé’s philosophical aims. Walter Ong’s following statement

regarding manuscripts becomes relevant: “They remained closer to the give-and-take of oral

expression. The readers of manuscripts are less closed off from the author, less absent, than are

the readers of those writing for print.”451 By printing in manuscript form, Rossé conveys open-

endedness and encourages his interpreters to take liberties. Also, as Ong mentions, manuscript

implies intertextuality through borrowing and sharing.452 Thus, the use of manuscript is

representative of Rossé’s beliefs regarding cultural exchange. While it is true that effective

communication is necessary in all chamber music, Rossé demands a particularly mindful

engagement from the performers by providing them with ample opportunity to make decisions.

                                                                                                               
449
Ibid., 15.
450
Ibid., 20.
451
Ong, Orality and Literacy, 130.
452
Ibid., 131.
   130

Primitivism in Bear’s Trio

Some of the same examples used to demonstrate hybridity and orality in Bear’s Trio also

exhibit elements of Rossé’s primitivism. His varied use of extended techniques, melodic shaping,

and contrast bring out the inherent qualities of each instrument in addition to the physical

relationships between instrument and performer. Rossé finds that physicality is the mode by

which people connect with music and with each other in a way that transcends boundaries. It is

therefore not surprising that he would find the ritualistic and spiritual aspects of Japanese music

inspiring.

In gagaku, the constant microtonal motion of the hichiriki and flute is incredibly similar

to the sound quality of voices in ritual Buddhist chant. Therefore, by emulating the woodwinds

of gagaku in Sections 1, 3, and 6 of Bear’s Trio, the saxophone takes on a purely expressive,

vocal quality. During the opening section, the pianissimo dynamic encourages an airy timbre,

reserved energy, and floating motion. However, in the other two sections, the melody appears in

the upper register at a forte dynamic. In each case, the performer must embrace the saxophone’s

resemblance to the human voice and in turn, emphasize its animalistic qualities.

As noted in previous chapters, Rossé begins his compositional process by considering the

possibilities of each instrument and how they are achieved by the performer. An example can be

found in the opening of Bear’s Trio where the saxophone imitates hichiriki and flute by

producing idiomatic glissandi and microtonal fingerings. These vocal inflections are part of the

saxophone’s vernacular and serve to extend the performer’s own voice. Rossé’s aim to connect

the performer with his or her instrument reflects the Zen goal of taiko drummers to become the

drum.
   131

The baritone saxophone multiphonic reiterated twice throughout Rehearsal 9 forms

another example of this type of primitivism. The timbre, register, and dynamic of the

multiphonic very closely resemble the sustained swells of the sho in gagaku. Rossé succeeds in

creating a seamless blend between the multiphonic and the simultaneous righthand chord of the

piano. His vernacular use of the saxophone and piano demonstrate his extensive knowledge of

each instrument.

Toward the end of the piece, consecutive percussive strikes recall the spiritual essence of

taiko drumming. These moments appear at Rehearsals 10, 13, and 14 (see Examples 8, 10, and

11), when the kick drum and tom are struck with power and precision. The final section of the

piece is especially dramatic. As the tempo slows down, increasingly larger physical gestures are

required to produce loud attacks. The bigger motions reflect the growing dynamic and emphasize

the physicality involved in playing percussion. The piano chords also become stronger and

slower, a transformation that comes across both aurally and visually as the pianist’s hands

rebound further and further from the piano with each chord.

A similar example is found at Rehearsal 8 where the baritone saxophone joins the other

voices homophonically. The constant unison repetition and alternation between soft and loud

attacks elicits a ritualistic atmosphere. Dynamic contrast is once again perceived both aurally and

visually as the percussionist and pianist use different gestures depending on the anticipated

volume of each sound. The saxophonist’s breaths during this section also correspond with the

given dynamic and reflect the physical energy involved in playing the saxophone.

Rossé’s primitivism is exemplified by his vernacular use of each instrument, his visceral

performance situations, and his spontaneity, all of which are interrelated. His goal to create an

environment that connects all entities of performance, such as instruments, performers, and
   132

audience, is particularly close to Zen and Shinto concepts. Similar examples of primitivism can

be found in Nishi Asakusa and Orients.

Background of Nishi Asakusa

Nishi Asakusa was originally published by Éditions Fuzeau in 2006 as part of Collection

“NOUVEAUX HORIZONS” (“New Horizons Collection”). Jean-Michel Goury established this

series of pieces in collaboration with Fuzeau as a stepping-stone toward teaching younger

students contemporary music. He addresses the challenge of unfamiliar musical language and

aesthetics in the introductory pages of the Nishi Asakusa score.

Artistic creation is often engendered through a grim, tortuous progression on the part
of the composer and his performer. Now an industrious craftsman, now a whimsical,
inspired magician, the artist requires encounters, spontaneous or deliberate, to lead his
poetical quest to a successful conclusion. The purpose of this research is to extricate the
essential musical substance of the material or of an idea, and to share it with performers
and audience, thus extending their musical commitment towards the discovery of new
aesthetical and technical spheres.453

In this context, “encounters” likely refer to explorations of various musical styles, collaborative

processes, and research. Encounters guide performers as they identify works within broader

contexts and decode musical scores in hopes of expressing ideas accurately and genuinely.

Ultimately, the goal of the performer is to expand his or her own aesthetic capacity to embrace

that which is new, unfamiliar, and perhaps, uncomfortable, and to share the experience with the

audience. Nishi Asakusa certainly fulfills the mission of Collection NOUVEAUX HORIZONS by

presenting its performers with conceptual challenges.

Nishi Asakusa was completed on August 13, 2004. Composed for alto saxophone and

prepared piano, the piece is dedicated to Goury’s son, Martin, who was born prior to the

                                                                                                               
453
Rossé, Nishi Asakusa (Paris: Anne Fuzeau Productions, 2006), n.p.
   133

completion of the piece.454 Rossé often dedicates new works to the newly born children of his

collaborators. Fuzeau’s publication of Nishi Asakusa includes an informative description by

Rossé.

Written after a trip to Japan, this work was inspired by a Shinto ritual heard in the Senjo-
ji temple in the Asakusa district (to be pronounced Asaksa), formerly Edo. A recto tono
choir of low voices is sustained by the very rhythmic performance of the big Taïko, a
magnificent instrument (skin) struck horizontally. Naturally the metallic instruments
(atarigane or other metals) are also present in the second part of this piece (in particular in
the enharmonic writing of the piano part).455

Fuzeau also includes Goury’s performance notes to support Rossé’s description.

Martial, ceremonial music, Koto atmosphere, microtonality with an oriental hint,

oppressive, percussive accents, all converge towards an initiatory approach to Japanese
traditional music in this both spectacular and intimist piece. A wink, a little souvenir
which F. Rossé hands on to us about his travels, using various combinations typical of his
writing (prepared piano, slaps, subtone, multiphonic sounds…)456

While the descriptions above provide a starting point for performers using the Fuzeau edition,

Nishi Asakusa is now published by Christine Paquelet Edition Arts (CPEA) in Paris and does not

include performance or program notes in the score. Rossé indicates additional specific references

to Japanese music and spirituality in a recent interview.

Nishi Asakusa is a piece connected to a rather Buddhist tradition, close to a ritual heard in
the ‘Asakusa’ district in Tokyo; this ritual involves a chanted recitation in the low register
by the crowd and punctuated by percussion on the taïko (large Japanese drum hit
horizontally).457

Examples of these borrowings are discussed further in the subsequent section.

                                                                                                               
454
Goury, email interview. See Appendix A, 181.
455
Rossé, Nishi Asakusa, n.p.
456
Ibid., n.p.
457
Original text reads: “Nishi Asakusa est une pièce liée à une tradition plutôt bouddhiste, proche d'un
rituel entendu dans le quartier "Asakusa" à Tokyo; ce rituel implique une récitation scandée dans le grave du registre
par la foule et ponctué par la percussion sur le taïko (grand tambour japonais frappé horizontalement).” Rossé, email
interview. See Appendix B, 185.
   134

Hybridity in Nishi Asakusa

The title of Nishi Asakusa, which means “West Asakusa,” reveals a starting point for

research. Upon learning that Asakusa is home to some of Japan’s most famous Shinto shrines

and Buddhist temples, a performer would be able to determine relevant musical and spiritual

traditions. The distinction of Nishi Asakusa as a piece of Western art music, rather than a direct

imitation of Japanese traditions, is an important one. By borrowing from aspects of Buddhist

chant, Shinto ritual, and taiko, Rossé has created a collage reminiscent of his time in Asakusa

without employing mere imitation. Goury describes Nishi Asakusa as “a wink, a little souvenir,”

of Rossé’s travels. As such, it is necessary to confront the Japanese influences within the piece

under the umbrella of hybridity.

While visiting the Buddhist Kannon Temple in Asakusa in 2004, Rossé stood in the

crowd and discreetly recorded Buddhist chant on a small portable device. The audio clip features

a man chanting rhythmically alongside taiko patterns and other percussive sounds.458 Although

the excerpt lasts just under two minutes, the ritual likely went on for a longer period of time. The

qualities found in Section 1 of Nishi Asakusa, which ends at Rehearsal 7, strongly resemble the

musical characteristics in the recording. Representative of the entire opening section, the first

three measures of the piece are shown in Example 12. Lasting for approximately two minutes, a

duration comparable to that of the recording, this section is substantial in the context of the six-

to seven-minute piece.

                                                                                                               
458
“Senjo-ji (extrait),” Buddhist chant, Tokyo, Japan, recorded by François Rossé, 2004, sent to author by
Rossé, mp3 file.
   135

EXAMPLE 12 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, page one, line one459

Example 12 demonstrates the unsystematic repetition of short rhythmic figures that make

up the opening section of the piece. The effect of these rhythmic groupings resembles that of

ritual chant (shomyo), which is constructed from specific rhythmic patterns; these are often

syllable groupings of five and seven. The same few sounds repeat for an extended period of time

rendering the repetitions imperceptible to the unfamiliar ear and instilling a meditative

atmosphere. The same kind of repetition is found in Bear’s Trio. The lack of momentum toward

a specific goal brings focus to the present moment, a quality that illustrates the influence of Zen

Buddhism.

Another factor contributing to the meditative character of the opening is the sustained

soft dynamic. In Japanese music, unwavering dynamics create a static situation that allows the

performer and listener to focus on sound itself. Rossé’s choice to use a quiet dynamic throughout

the first section indicates his perspective as an observer in a crowd. Evidence of this may be

determined from the audio clip, which demonstrates full, resonant chanting and drumming

recorded at a distance.

Rossé approximates the sounds of chanting and drumming with the use of several

extended techniques. He transforms the piano into a taiko-like instrument through preparation.

The pianist is directed to place putty on specific strings in the low register to dampen their

                                                                                                               
459
Rossé, Nishi Asakusa (Paris: Christine Paquelet Editions Arts, 2010), 1.
   136

resonance prior to performance. During the opening section, these pitches are repeated as

percussive dyads that resonate like a taiko. Meanwhile, the saxophone contributes percussive

slap-tongue attacks sometimes coordinated with the piano. Occasional attacks are accented, just

as certain hits on the taiko appear louder than others in the Kannon Temple audio excerpt.

As a wind instrument, the saxophone adds a vocal quality to the percussiveness of the

opening section, perhaps reminiscent of the vocalizations in ritual chant. The saxophone part also

involves rapid two- to four-note gestures inserted between slap-tongue attacks that resemble

murmurings from the crowd or the rattling of additional percussion instruments. The triangular

symbol above these groupings indicates “sons éoliens (souffle essentiellement),” (“aeolian

sounds (essentially breath)”) (see Figure 1).460 The souffle timbre is airy or breathy, and contrasts

with the percussive slaps and prepared piano attacks to create a multi-layered texture.

FIGURE 1 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, performance notes461

At Rehearsal 7 (see Example 13), there is a sudden change in atmosphere from intense to

calm. The saxophone and piano hocket through a linear passage like distant ringing bells. The

depressed sustain pedal causes the notes to blur together. Marked souffle and ppp, the saxophone

blends into the sound of the piano. This section of the piece may serve as a brief bridge or

transition within a collage of scenes and sounds in Asakusa.

                                                                                                               
460
Ibid., n.p.
461
Ibid., n.p.
   137

EXAMPLE 13 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, page five, lines two and three462

Again, a sudden contrast occurs as the saxophone rapidly climbs to a forte dynamic

during the grace note pickup gesture leading into Rehearsal 8, which initiates Section 2. Example

13 shows the beginning of the new section, which features the saxophone. The highly ornamental

style, sporadic alterations of rhythmic groupings, and pentatonic pitch material resemble

Japanese flute playing.463 The solo context resembles a flute interlude between pieces in kagura

music or matsuri-bayashi.464

The piano part at Rehearsal 8 can be likened to that of a sho in an ensemble. By holding

down the sustain pedal, the pianist captures and resonates the pitches of the saxophone melody.

Although the piano is inaudible for most of Rehearsal 8, the strings ring clearly during the rest

following the solo, as shown in the second measure of Example 14.

Once the ringing dies away, silence remains. Marked “long”, the fermata rest is the only

silence in Nishi Asakusa (see Example 14). It can be interpreted as an example of ma. In the

                                                                                                               
462
Ibid., 5.
463
Wade, 63.
464
Malm, Japanese Music and Musical Instruments, 50.
   138

context of Nishi Asakusa, perhaps the fermata rest indicates a respite from the constant

bombardment of sound heard in the streets of the Asakusa district. It provides the performers and

listeners with a moment of peace, even if such silence is unrealistic to expect in a busy place like

Asakusa.

EXAMPLE 14 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, page six, line three465

Following the rest, the saxophone enters dal niente, from nothing, and begins Section 3

characterized by glissandi, microtones, and souffle murmurings; the saxophone resembles distant

Buddhist chant (see Example 15).466 Meanwhile, the piano acts as a vague accompaniment

resembling bells or the additional support of chanting Buddhist priests. There are also percussive

moments in the piano part, such as the rapid three-note figure found in the fourth measure of the

second line. These hammering gestures may be considered representations of taiko or other

percussion used during ritual ceremonies. Throughout Rehearsals 9 and 10, the saxophone timbre

is marked souffle and the dynamics remain within a quiet range. The resultant airy or grainy tone

resembles the sound of Japanese flute.

                                                                                                               
465
Rossé, Nishi Asakusa, 6.
466
“Buddhist Chant,” Track 4, Japanese Music, by Malm (Tokyo: Charles E. Tuttle Company, 1959), CD.
   139

EXAMPLE 15 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, page seven, lines two and three467

Section 3 comprises roughly two minutes of the entire piece, a significant portion

comparable to the breadth of Nishi Asakusa’s opening. A meditative atmosphere is immediately

established with a significantly slower tempo than any of the previous sections. Again, there is a

feeling of stasis that continuously draws focus to the present moment or current sound. Section 3

demonstrates Rossé’s application of Zen concepts through his use of tempo, rhythm, and timbre.

In Section 4, the inspiration behind the music becomes more ambiguous than previous

sections of Nishi Asakusa. Similarly to Section 1, there is a quiet intensity at Rehearsal 11 (see

Example 16) that suggests an observer’s distance from the music. The tempo is significantly

faster than the previous section, which establishes immediate contrast in energy. Swooping

ascending and descending lines in the saxophone line are to be played as fast as possible with

souffle timbre at the pianissimo dynamic carried over from Rehearsal 10. The piano part contains

rapid attacks on the prepared low A string, resulting in percussive thuds similar to those heard at

the beginning of the piece. These gestures alternate with ascending flurries that match the

                                                                                                               
467
Rossé, Nishi Asakusa, 7.
   140

saxophone’s figures, but occur offset from the saxophone’s rhythm. The fast strings of notes

resemble what might be vocalizations, flute flurries, or strums of a biwa or shamisen.

EXAMPLE 16 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, page nine, line one468

At Rehearsal 12 (see Example 17), another sudden contrast occurs. The saxophonist

alternates among three thick multiphonics, ascending souffle runs, and low slap-tongue attacks.

These sounds differ significantly from the delicate gestures of Rehearsal 11. Full chords in the

piano are coordinated with the saxophone multiphonics while the percussive attacks on the

piano’s prepared low A occur with the saxophone’s ascending runs and slap-tongue attacks. The

abrasive timbre of the multiphonics is reminiscent of high-pitched metal percussion instruments

used in festival music, such as the atari-gane, while the flurries resemble flute or plucked strings.

Section 4 possibly depicts matsuri bayashi or kagura more generally, although it might also

portray rhythmic Buddhist chant. Regardless, the pulsing rhythm and aggressive timbres create a

ritualistic atmosphere.

                                                                                                               
468
Ibid., 9.
   141

EXAMPLE 17 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, page ten, line one469

Rehearsal 14 (see Example 18) is a three-measure coda that recalls the bell-like phrase at

Rehearsal 7. The saxophone sustains a multiphonic dyad while the piano plays the melody alone.

The rhythm of the melody gradually elongates rhythmically as both piano and saxophone fade

away together. The multiphonic blends with the piano, infusing the overall sound with a rough

texture. The end of the piece seems to indicate the observer’s retreat from Asakusa.

EXAMPLE 18 Rossé’s Nishi Asakusa, page eleven, line three470

Nishi Asakusa should be considered a collection, or suite, of sonic images from Asakusa.

Both spiritually and musically, Rossé recreates his experience by applying a spectrum of

extended techniques and jarring extremes. Even when obvious connections between Nishi

Asakusa and traditional Japanese music are absent, there are enough shared characteristics to

inform and enrich an interpretation.

                                                                                                               
469
Ibid., 10.
470
Ibid., 11.
   142

Orality in Nishi Asakusa

Orality in traditional Japanese pedagogy and performance encourages communication,

coordination, and flexibility among musicians. These are both necessary components to

achieving Japanese aesthetic ideals and qualities that Rossé elicits in his music. Throughout

Nishi Asakusa, like in Bear’s Trio, orality is manifested through flexibility, repetition, and

soloistic passages. By recognizing and grasping how orality functions in the piece, interpreters

will have a better understanding of how to navigate the music.

Repetitious sections throughout the piece prominently demonstrate orality. As illustrated

in the examination of Bear’s Trio, Rossé uses unsystematic or improvisatory repetition often in

his Japanese-influenced works. Again, this approach reflects the Zen concept “dochu no sei”

(“stillness in motion”), because it leads performers to concentrate on the present. The first

example of unsystematic repetition is the opening (see Example 12), during which short musical

ideas in both parts appear in slightly different variations. Section 4 of Nishi Asakusa is similarly

repetitive and rhythmic.

Rehearsal 8 requires an improvisatory manner of performance. The only instructions

provided for the saxophonist are “rapide (avec souplesse)” (“rapid (with suppleness)”) and

“sempre f” (“always forte”) (see Example 13).471 The lack of breath marks and indications of

character requires the interpreter to approach the multitude of ornamental figures freely. The

flexibility of the solo evokes spontaneity and engagement.

The following slow section from Rehearsal 9 through 10 (see Example 15) is marked at

quarter note equals 44 to 48. This remarkably slow tempo allows freedom, but also calls for

impeccable coordination between the two performers. The suppleness throughout this section

                                                                                                               
471
Ibid., 5.
   143

recalls the flexibility of noh in its demand for accurate interaction between performers. For

example, in the fourth bar of the second line in Example 15, the saxophonist must react quickly

to the rapid three-note gesture in the piano so that the two figures connect seamlessly. This can

only be accomplished if both players are aware of each other’s parts.

As with Bear’s Trio, a more unnoticeable example of orality in Nishi Asakusa is the

manuscript-style publication.

Primitivism in Nishi Asakusa

Rossé’s primitivist tendencies evidenced in Bear’s Trio appear throughout Nishi Asakusa

in many of the same ways. His use of extended techniques and contrast allow him to exploit and

expand upon each instrument’s vernacular while also demanding physicality of his performers.

The visceral and ritualistic qualities exhibited in Nishi Asakusa correspond with elements of

traditional Japanese art forms.

Throughout Section 1 (see Example 12), the saxophone and piano assume the roles of

taiko, Buddhist chant, and other peripheral sounds heard at the Kannon Temple in Asakusa.

Rossé accomplishes this by combining prepared piano thuds, souffle timbre, and slap-tongue

attacks within a rhythmic and repetitive context. The quiet, percussive sounds evoke a ritualistic

atmosphere similar to Buddhist chant. The vocal quality of the souffle timbre adds an expressive

quality to the saxophone part.

The saxophonist’s physicality is also emphasized in the solo at Rehearsal 8 (see Example

13). Marked forte throughout, the large contour leaps, fast tempo, and extensive ornamentation

seem to invite a somewhat unrefined sound, and simultaneously require impeccable control. The
   144

saxophonist’s energy and endurance are likely to become visible to the audience as the passage

progresses.

At Rehearsals 9 through 10 (see Example 15), the slow tempo and combined colors of the

saxophone and piano suggest introspection and meditation. Once again, Rossé employs extended

techniques, such as souffle, glissandi and microtones in the saxophone part to depict Buddhist

chant. This calm environment embodies the Zen concept of meditation, or zazen, by encouraging

self-awareness and concentration. Sustaining low notes at a slow tempo for an extended period

of time requires substantial endurance, focus, and control from the saxophonist. The resultant

visceral intensity is precisely the quality Rossé seeks to produce.

At Rehearsal 12 through 13 (see Example 17), the saxophonist shifts quickly between

three different multiphonics that are interrupted by low B slap-tongue attacks and fast souffle

flurries. The alternation of these techniques requires increased energy and physical movement.

Likewise, the pianist jumps swiftly from register to register in motions that are visibly more

dramatic than previous parts of the piece. The physical demand of this section inherently moves

the instrumentalists toward increased intensity. This section is another case of Rossé’s desire to

elicit animalism through the use of extended techniques and contrast.

Souffle is a technique used throughout Nishi Asakusa that reflects the timbre ideal of wind

instruments in Japanese culture. As discussed in Chapter 5, Japanese instruments are traditionally

intended to depict the natural environment, such as wind, water, or birdsong. Characterized by

grittiness and breathiness, souffle resembles the airy sound quality of Japanese flutes. By

recreating the sound of a Japanese flute, Rossé points to the spiritual concept of

interconnectedness that permeates Japanese tradition. Additionally, souffle draws attention to the
   145

most fundamental ingredient in sound production on the saxophone: the breath. This aspect of

the technique also serves as an example of primitivism.

Although not considered strictly oral today, many Japanese traditions, such as kagura and

matsuri, carry with them ancient rituals and mythology. As presented in Chapter 5, Zeami’s

three-pronged goal for noh theater centers on the visceral aspect of kagura performance, the

practice from which noh originated. The ritualistic nature of ancient kagura exemplifies the

physicality and animalistic quality that Rossé strives to replicate in Nishi Asakusa. In this way,

Japanese elements coincide with the aesthetic goals Rossé has established.

Background of Orients

Dedicated to Takashi Saito, Orients was completed on August 13, 2002 and published by

Fuzeau in 2005. Now published by CPEA, Orients is written for violin, saxophone (soprano and

tenor), percussion, and prepared piano. The percussion part involves crotales, atari-gane, three

suspended cymbals, two gongs, vibraphone, cymbal on timbale, large tam-tam, low temple

block, three toms, and a kick drum. Proxima Centauri, Charrier’s flute, saxophone, percussion,

and piano ensemble, premiered the piece in 2005 at the TNT theater in Bordeaux. The group

invited violinist Jean Leber to play on this particular concert.472

Rossé describes the inspiration behind Orients as a combination of noh drama, gagaku,

and ritual. He was influenced by the concepts of time and energy that stem from Zen Buddhism.

Orients is constructed as a ritual in the forms of energy similar to Noh theater and the
treatment of tempo changes (which are not common in Western music). The relation to
Japan is especially interesting, beyond exoticism, in the consciousness and management
of energy in the instrumental or vocal style, and this may also interest Western
musicians.473
                                                                                                               
Rossé, email message to author, August 29, 2014.  
472
473
Original text reads: “‘Orients’ est construit comme un rituel dans les formes d'énergie proche du théâtre
Nô et le traitement des mouvements de tempo (qui n'est pas fréquent dans la musique occidentale). Le rapport au
   146

His use of the saxophone relates less to any specific reference than “the general management of

the form of energy with also the allusions to Gagaku in the opening line of the piece.”474

The piece can be divided into five distinct sections, as follows:

Section 1: Rehearsals 1-3

Section 2: Rehearsals 4-5
Section 3: Rehearsals 6-11
Section 4: Rehearsals 12-13
Section 5: Rehearsal 14-17

However, within each section, there are often multiple subsections that contrast from one another

like the scenes of a noh drama. Many of the Japanese influences, elements of orality, and

examples of primitivism in Orients overlap with those found in Bear’s Trio and Nishi Asakusa.

Hybridity in Orients

Rossé’s hybridity in Orients is focused on the interrelated concepts of energy, time, and

space. The Zen principles upon which noh drama is based are the primary influences evident

throughout the piece. Along with these conceptual applications are the more audible references

to sounds and techniques of Japanese music, such as gagaku, nohgaku, and matsuri-bayashi.

The opening of the piece begins with a passage reminiscent of gagaku (see Example 19).

The tenor saxophone is featured with a lengthy solo just as the flute solo would initiate a gagaku

performance. The style of the saxophone melody is similar to the ornamental and microtonal

passages of the soprano saxophone in Bear’s Trio. In addition to microtonal fingerings and pitch

bends, slap-tongue attacks are used to punctuate the rhythmic groupings. Narrow at first, the

                                                                                                               
Japon est surtout intéressant, au-delà de l'exotisme, dans la conscience et la gestion de l'énergie dans le jeu
instrumental ou vocal, et cela peut aussi intéresser les musiciens occidentaux.” Rossé, email interview. See
Appendix B, 185.
474
Original text reads: “la gestion de la forme d'énergie de manière générale avec aussi des allusions au
Gagaku dans la ligne au début de l'oeuvre.” Ibid. See Appendix B, 185.
   147

range of pitches is only three-quarters of a tone. It expands as the solo progresses, reaching just

over one octave before Rehearsal 2 begins.

EXAMPLE 19 Rossé’s Orients, page one, line one475

Although these aspects of the opening section resemble gagaku, other characteristics

indicate a strong relationship to the singers of noh drama. The inflective style of the saxophone

solo also recalls ritual Buddhist chant, one of the origins of noh. Throughout the entire solo, the

tenor saxophonist is instructed to sing in unison, or at the octave, with the played pitch, an effect

called growling. This technique contributes an overwhelmingly vocal quality to the resultant

tone.

Another resemblance to noh is the sparse and gestural use of percussive sounds during

the saxophone solo. Several times, the percussionist coordinates a strike on the temple block with

a short attack from the piano. The two notes struck by the pianist are prepared with putty in order

to produce a percussive thud. This is the technique used in Nishi Asakusa to produce the same

effect. Resonance from the piano is sustained by the pedal and blends with the saxophone.

Suddenly, a new idea begins at Rehearsal 2 (see Example 20) as all players join together.

The cacophony of sounds resembles noh singers accompanied by a noh ensemble. Constantly in
                                                                                                               
475
Rossé, Orients (Paris: Christine Paquelet Éditions Arts, 2006), 1.
   148

flux, the violin part alternates between marcato, sul pont (“on the bridge”), and pizzicato

(plucked) techniques. Its gradual pitch bends resemble the style of noh singing. Rossé

implements nine different multiphonics in the saxopone part, each producing a uniquely gritty

sound quality. As mentioned in the previous chapter, the music of noh always serves the text,

and thus reflects the behaviors and actions of the actors. Dramatic coordination of attack points

among the four parts at Rehearsal 2 may represent a powerful moment during a noh drama. The

unique timbre of each instrument creates a certain transparency characteristic of Japanese music

and the lack of any discernible pulse reflects Zen. Rehearsal 3 combines ideas from the opening

and Rehearsal 2.

EXAMPLE 20 Rossé’s Orients, page five, line one476

Another sudden change occurs at the beginning of Section 2 (Rehearsal 4), when all four

voices become overwhelmingly percussive. Rossé fluctuates the energy and sense of time

throughout Orients by inserting rests and changing the tempo. These transitions constantly

transform the flow and affect the overall character just as the mood in noh alters. At Rehearsal 4

through 5, the use of rests is unpredictable and cultivates a spontaneous atmosphere for the

                                                                                                               
476
Ibid., 5.
   149

listener. The longer rests exhibit kokoro, the concept that action and non-action are both positive

components of a performance. This sparse texture continues through Rehearsal 5.

EXAMPLE 21 Rossé’s Orients, page eight, line one477

Rehearsal 6 marks the beginning of Section 3, a substantial part of the piece that features

an extended violin solo. As demonstrated in Example 22, the violinist is instructed to harmonize

by sustaining harmonics on the G string while playing the melody on the D string. The melodic

line demonstrates the same ornamental style and microtonality used in the opening section of

Orients, as well as several passages in Bear’s Trio and Nishi Asakusa. Melodically, the violin

resembles a flute, yet the timbre is scratchy and buzzy like that of a biwa. At Rehearsal 10, the

same type of melody returns, but is played with pizzicato. The plucked quality is similar to the

playing technique of the shamisen and provides contrast from the previous violin solo

                                                                                                               
477
Ibid., 8.
   150

EXAMPLE 22 Rossé’s Orients, page eleven, line one478

The plucking, bowing, and metallic timbres of the piano and percussion provide support

for setting the mood during the violin solos from Rehearsals 6 through 11. The variety of

accompanimental sounds strongly resembles the wide range of percussive timbres in Japanese

music. The percussion part involves more resonant instruments, such as crotale, cymbals, and

gong, than those used earlier in the piece. Meanwhile, the pianist manipulates the piano strings

by plucking, scraping, and producing harmonics while the sustain pedal is depressed to produce a

resonating blend of sounds (see Figure 2). Specific piano effects are paired with certain

percussion sonorities. For example, the crotale and plucked piano string always occur together.

This is true of the bowed cymbals and scraped string. By setting the mood throughout Section 3,

the accompaniment behaves in the same way as the percussion section of a noh ensemble.

                                                                                                               
478
Ibid., 11.
   151

FIGURE 2 Rossé’s Orients, instructions, page eleven479

The other component of Section 3 first occurs at Rehearsal 7 (see Example 23) with a

drastic change. Singing on an “u,” or French “ou” syllable, the violinist, percussionist, and

pianist, sustain a low pitch of their choosing. While vocalizing with discrete breaths when

needed, they continue playing their instruments. The violinist produces harmonics, the

percussionist rolls quietly, and the pianist scrapes a low string. Meanwhile, the saxophonist

sustains a dyad multiphonic with an interval of three-quarters of a tone on the tenor. This

particular multiphonic produces a hollow, vibrating timbre that is intended to blend with the

ensemble, as indicated by the instruction, “immobile (sur le plan dynamique),” which translates

to “immobile (on the dynamic map).”480 The static sound world created during this section

corresponds with the Zen concept of “stillness in motion” that Rossé repeatedly integrates.

                                                                                                               
479
Ibid., 11.
480
Ibid., 12.
   152

EXAMPLE 23 Rossé’s Orients, page twelve481

The transition one measure before Rehearsal 12 is a dramatic moment that anticipates the

new section. Shown in Example 24, all instrumental sounds stop abruptly as the three voices

crescendo to a loud whisper and with rhythmic intensity exclaim, “to kaï tu,” in unison. While

they have no actual meaning, these phonemes come from the Japanese language.482 They

resemble kakegoe, the yells used in noh, and other taiko settings, for dramatic emphasis,

although are much quieter in this context.

                                                                                                               
481
Ibid., 12.
482
Rossé, email message to author, September 3, 2014.
   153

EXAMPLE 24 Rossé’s Orients, page sixteen, line two483

According to the dynamics at Rehearsal 12 (see Example 25), the soprano saxophone

begins a bombastic solo accompanied by quiet drumming. The contour of the melodic line

follows a more dramatic shape than the other melodic features of the piece, and the dynamic

constantly fluctuates. In addition to ornaments, pitch bends, slap-tongue attacks, and microtones,

bisbigliando fingerings are incorporated to alter the timbre of certain pitches. Given its

ornamental and sporadic nature, the saxophone solo is suggestive of both flute and singing styles

of noh. The independence of the percussion part is also characteristic of Japanese music.

EXAMPLE 25 Rossé’s Orients, page seventeen, line one484

                                                                                                               
483
Rossé, Orients, 16.
484
Ibid., 17.
   154

One measure before Rehearsal 13 (see Example 26), the violin entrance marks the

beginning of the final part in Section 4. The piano leaps, woodblock rolls, and violin harmonic

take on the chaotic nature of the saxophone solo. Although notated with a designated meter, the

performers seem to be playing independently of one another.

EXAMPLE 26 Rossé’s Orients, page twenty, line one485

The final section of the piece begins at Rehearsal 14, the sparsest portion of the piece. For

five measures, the only sound that occurs is a temple block hit once per bar. Even after the violin

and piano enter in the fifth measure with one simultaneous attack, silence is the most prominent

element until Rehearsal 16, as demonstrated in Example 27. Rossé applies ma by treating silence

as an active component of the music.

                                                                                                               
485
Ibid., 20.
   155

EXAMPLE 27 Rossé’s Orients, page twenty-two486

When Rehearsal 16 arrives, the violin reenters with a sustained pitch that becomes

rhythmic murmuring in the fourth measure (see Example 28). The other instruments provide

percussive accompaniment until Rehearsal 17, at which point the saxophone takes over the

distant murmuring.

                                                                                                               
486
Ibid., 22.
   156

EXAMPLE 28 Rossé’s Orients, page twenty-four, line one487

For the remainder of Orients, the saxophone is directed, “Immobile dans la dynamique

près du silence (comme un chant à peine effleuré),” which translates to “immobile within a

dynamic close to silence (like chant barely muttered).”488 This indication comes with the

instruction to circular breathe for a more sustained melodic line, as indicated by the symbol

above the saxophone part in the second measure of Example 29. Constant repetition during the

final section elicits a meditative atmosphere, due particularly to the chanting saxophone and

relentless woodblock hits notated just above the top line of the percussion staff.

EXAMPLE 29 Rossé’s Orients, page twenty-five, line two489

                                                                                                               
487
Ibid., 24.
488
Ibid., 25.
489
Ibid., 25.
   157

The piece ends suddenly as though stopped by the push of a button (see Example 30).

Rossé instructs the musicians to “stop as though cut off in an unexpected manner. Remain in a

silent position long after the sounds end.”490 The silence is part of the piece and should be

regarded as such by both performers and listeners.

EXAMPLE 30 Rossé’s Orients, page twenty-six, line two491

Many of the characteristics found in Orients are borrowed from aspects of noh drama.

Although the piece does not involve acting, Rossé infuses theatrical elements through the use of

extreme contrast and vocalization. Orients evokes an array of moods just as nohgaku serves the

text by setting the tone on stage. While Western musicians cannot truly capture the spirituality of

Zen masters, they can approximate Japanese instrumental and vocal styles, and apply Buddhist

and Shinto concepts to create an informed interpretation.

Orality in Orients

As demonstrated through the examinations of Bear’s Trio and Nishi Asakusa, orality is an

integral component of Rossé’s Japanese-influenced works in particular. Orients also provides

                                                                                                               
490
Original text reads: “Arrêt comme coupé de manière inattendue. Rester longtemps en position de silence
après la fin des sons.” Ibid., 26.
491
Ibid., 26.  
   158

performers with many opportunities for flexibility, improvisatory gesture, and moments of

spontaneous decision-making. These examples reflect the oral nature of noh drama and the

essence of traditional Japanese art forms.

The slap-tongue attacks, pitch bends, held tones, and spatial notation of the opening solo

provide the saxophonist with liberties to shape the line (see Example 19). The performer has the

opportunity to choose his or her own way of inflecting the groupings and navigating through the

passage. Although the dynamic and tempo must remain relatively stable, there is plenty of room

for a personalized interpretation. The accompanying performers must follow the soloist precisely

and place the coordinated attacks at the appropriate moments. This kind of flexibility requires

careful communication among the ensemble.

The violin solos throughout Section 3 are additional examples of orality. While measured

notation increases the level of strictness, the ornaments liberate the violinist, allowing varied

phrasing and inflection. At Rehearsal 7 (see Example 23), the violinist, percussionist, and pianist

are instructed to choose a low pitch to vocalize. By providing them with a choice, Rossé gives

the performers control and an opportunity for spontaneity.

Rehearsal 12 (see Example 24) is another saxophone solo notated spatially. Although the

tempo is marked, dynamic fluctuation and chaotic gestures allow the performer to shape the line

freely. As mentioned earlier, it resembles a traditional Japanese flute or vocal part. The solo also

contains ascending and descending flurries similar to those at Rehearsal 11 (see Example 16) in

Nishi Asakusa. The contour of each gesture is outlined, but the pitches are unspecified and left

for the performer to decide.

The unsystematic or improvisatory repetition of certain sections, such as Rehearsals 14

through 17 (see Examples 27, 29 and 30), demonstrate the same meditative quality found in the
   159

other works reviewed in this chapter. Repetition brings focus to each moment and every sound in

the music. It is also a reminder of the flexibility in noh and other Japanese art forms.

Lastly, aside from the performance instructions and tempo markings, the notation of

Orients is in manuscript form. As is the case with Bear’s Trio and Nishi Asakusa, handwritten

notation provides the performer with a sense that the text is open for exploration and

personalization. It also promotes the idea that the interpretive process is continuous and need not

end at any point.

Primitivism in Orients

Rossé’s emphasis on physicality and animalistic tendencies is particularly apparent in his

use of the voice in Orients. As the most human of all instruments, the voice has historically been

considered a powerful form of expression. Ritual Buddhist chant, which has long been a method

of practicing meditation and reaching enlightenment, is a relevant example. Noh drama has

drawn from Buddhist practices and principles since the beginning stages of its development.

While Rossé’s implementation of the voice is not always intended as an exact imitation of chant

or noh singing, it aims to capture the spiritual essence of the human voice in traditional Japanese

music. Rossé also highlights the dramatic nature of noh through physical gesture, contrast, and

extended techniques.

The first sound of Orients is the vocalized tenor saxophone solo. Highly ornamental and

microtonal, the passage requires impeccable stamina and control of air. The gritty vocal timbre,

or growl, displays the animalistic quality Rossé strives to summon. Accompanying the solo are

isolated percussion and piano attacks that call for visual cues for coordination. These types of
   160

physical motions enhance the audience’s experience and replace the simple, yet powerful,

movements of noh actors.

The thick texture at Rehearsal 2 (see Example 20) is produced by physically demanding

techniques. For example, the violinist bows a sustained double stop glissando at fortissimo while

the saxophonist moves quickly between loud wide-ranging multiphonics, some of which are

sustained. In the second measure of Rehearsal 2, additional physical techniques include plucked

violin strings and scraped piano strings. As performers are challenged to maintain control and

coordinate attacks, the visual aspect increases the level of intensity for the audience.

The array of percussion instruments and playing techniques employed in Orients produce

a spectrum of visual gestures and a multitude of sonorities. At Rehearsal 4 (see Example 21), for

instance, the percussionist plays kick drum, atari-gane, gong, temple-bock, and tom covered by

tissue while alternating between p, mf, and f dynamics. The piano part also becomes percussive

with quick leaps, broad chords, and contrasting dynamics. Rapid changes in dynamic require

physical movements of different sizes adding to the breadth of gesture for both percussionist and

pianist.

At Rehearsals 6 and 8 (see Example 22), the microtonal and ornamental violin solos are

highly vocal in nature. Every embellishment requires subtle finger movements and the added G

string harmonic calls for careful control of the bow. The accompaniment also involves several

visibly physical motions, such as scraped and plucked piano strings, and bowed gong. The

rhythmic coordination of the percussion and piano attacks requires additional visual cues.

Physicality plays a major role in these sections of the piece, requiring total engagement on the

part of the performers and rendering the music more enthralling for the audience.
   161

Vocalizations of the violinist, pianist, and percussionist at Rehearsals 7, 9, and 11 (see

Example 23) serve as a visceral connections between each performer and the music. The

sustained sung pitches can also be considered a method of uniting the performers and

simultaneously drawing the audience closer.

As demonstrated in the discussions of Bear’s Trio and Nishi Asakusa, Rossé’s

implementation of extended techniques displays his knowledge of the instruments for which he

is writing and his understanding of how they are played. Most of the unconventional techniques

used in Orients have already been mentioned. The saxophone part is almost entirely comprised

of extended techniques, including vocalization, multiphonics, microtones, glissandi, slap-tongue,

and bisbigliando. As expressed by Goury, these sounds do not simply act as sound effects, but

are used fluidly as part of Rossé’s hybrid language. They express references to Japanese styles

and spiritual influences.

Contrast, extended technique, and physical gesture are forms of primitivism prominent in

all of Rossé’s Japanese-influenced music. In chamber music situations, these visual aspects are

particularly reflective of community and interaction. Physicality enhances the aural experience

and connects performers with the music, each other, and the audience. In the case of Bear’s Trio,

Nishi Asakusa, and Orients, the interconnectedness yielded by visceral elements points to the

spiritual and ritualistic influences of Japanese tradition.

Conclusion

Bear’s Trio, Nishi Asakusa, and Orients represent Rossé’s explorations of Japanese

culture, and more generally, his integration of non-Western traditions. Japanese art forms and

spirituality share many of Rossé’s aesthetic ideals and have therefore been particularly palpable
   162

sources of inspiration. His collaborations with Shiro Daïmon, Mieko Miyazaki, and many other

artists demonstrate an active commitment to cultural exchange that directly informs his

composition.

By examining Rossé’s incorporation of Japanese elements through the conceptual

framework formed by hybridity, orality, and primitivism, this document proposes a valid method

for interpreting and experiencing Bear’s Trio, Nishi Asakusa, and Orients. As overarching

principles that guide Rossé’s artistry, these concepts extend beyond his Japanese-influenced

pieces and can be applied to a broader scope of his music.

   163

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APPENDIX A.

TRANSLATED EMAIL INTERVIEWS

All interviewees responded in French to questions posed in English. The following

translations were completed by the author in collaboration with Zachary Pfau.492 Additional

correspondence is not included in this appendix, as there were not many follow-up questions.

 
Email Interview with François Rossé (response received April 19, 2013)

 
1. How do you find a balance between the Western art music tradition and non-Western cultural
traditions in your performance activities and as a composer? Have you thought about this balance
consciously, or did this come about more or less naturally?

The active starting point of my relationship with Japan was, in particular, the class of Olivier
Messiaen (1976-78). Messiaen was in Japan and very much liked the country, the result of which
was that many Japanese came to study in his class. I befriended Susumu Yoshida, a Japanese
composer living in France, allowing me to go to Japan in 2004 for the first time. Very impressive
in its traditions, this country was not without influence in my conception of music and its forms
of energy and therefore the instrumental approach instrumental from the beginning. I was in
Japan a second time recently, returning yesterday from Tokyo, in duo with dancer Shiro Daïmon,
master of Nô and Kabuki.

2. How do your activities as a performer – particularly those involving improvisation in non-

Western traditional settings – inform your compositions? How has this developed throughout
your career?

My first contact with the musical practice was done in a self-educated manner, through
improvisation before having a piano professor. My late training was in the Western classical
tradition, leading me toward written composition. Improvisation did not exist for a long time
except through jazz, I was not involved in this culture. It was not until the 1980s that the practice
of improvisation opens to other cultures including mine in terms of programming possibilities in
festivals or other concert venues. It is obvious that the reflection on musical languages, on the
acoustic dimension that entails compositional practice affects the musical mediums in terms of
improvisation. Already, at the level of the written composition I was interested in various
traditional attitudes in different regions of the planet, but my primitivist approach has also helped
me in this sense. (Carlo Rizzo of southern Italy, Mieko Miyazaki in a koto/piano duo, Mixel
Etxekopar, Basque musician…etc. but also with other artistic disciplines, the dance company
Jackie Taffanel, Shiro Daïmon, theater, film, performance with sculptors…etc). This opened my

                                                                                                               
492  See Appendix B for original French responses.  
   175

musical concept to a broader artistic concept and therefore the human essence. A late-starting
musician, my career developed slowly but surely to today, perhaps the good fortune of having
been a composer first and foremost at a time when all of this was simpler than today, and to have
been able to be a part of public improvisation at the opportune time when oral practice was
becoming more well-known in festival programs. Today things are shared between writing,
improvised concerts and master classes at the conservatories and universities that invite me (the
next taking place in Estonia in northern Europe, in the United States it was rather Northwestern
University and in Canada in Montreal, Quebec and Rimouski)…and why not one day to Bowling
Green?

3. Please describe the story or inspiration behind Bear’s Trio, Nishi Asakusa, and Orients. For
each piece, can you describe specifically which Japanese art forms and philosophies have
influenced you?

Bear’s Trio was written for a premiere in Tokyo by a trio led by saxophonist Takashi Saito in
2004. The title is simply linked to the name of the hotel in Megève (France) where I wrote this
trio. However the piece is very Japanese with respect to the inflections of Gagaku, Japanese
ritual performance. Sound in nature, for the Japanese, is never straight (in terms of pitch) but is
always flexible; the Japanese Shinto philosophy is very connected to nature. Nishi Asakusa is a
piece connected to a rather Buddhist tradition, close to a ritual heard in the “Asakusa” district in
Tokyo; this ritual involves a chanted recitation in the low register by the crowd and punctuated
by percussion on the taïko (large Japanese drum struck horizontally). Orients is constructed as a
ritual in the forms of energy similar to Noh theater and the treatment of tempo changes (which
are not common in Western music). The relation to Japan is especially interesting, beyond
exoticism, in the consciousness and management of energy in the instrumental or vocal style, and
this may also interest Western musicians.

4. Looking back to your first works for saxophone, how has your approach to the saxophone
changed? More specifically, what role does the saxophone play in your Japanese-influenced
pieces – particularly Bear’s Trio, Nishi Asakusa, and Orients?

I think the change in attitude is not directly related to the saxophone but to the physical
relationship between the performer and his instrument; of course in Bear’s Trio we can think of
the hichiriki (high-pitched reed instrument of Gagaku), in Nishi Asakusa there are especially low
attacks of the taïko in the Buddhist ritual and in Orients rather the general management of the
form of energy with also the allusions to Gagaku in the opening line of the piece.

5. How would you describe your personal history with Japanese culture? When did your interest
begin and how has it evolved?

I answered this question in the first response (class of Olivier Messiaen); friendly meetings with
the Japanese which have become gradually leading to my trips to Japan. Three Japanese were
particularly important, at the beginning, composer Susumu Yoshida, then the dancer and Noh
master Shiro Daïmon and finally Mieko Miyazaki who plays the koto and sings. These meetings
were active in ongoing duo concerts with piano.
   176

6. How does your notion of ‘orality’ factor into your Japanese-influenced pieces and your
experience with Japanese art forms?

Orality was most practiced in duo with Mieko Miyazaki and Shiro Daïmon, if it’s true that
Japanese culture is oral, it is, nonetheless, very ritualized and therefore relatively fixed, this is
not really with improvisation. The spectacle entitled “Mu” performed with Shiro Daïmon was
developed orally, but gradually became definitiviely fixed. In general, rituals are not very
improvised. Rather, they represent the sustainability of an attitude or a tradition. Nontheless with
Shiro Daïmon and Mieko Miyazaki we are with musicians and dancers who have a strong
impregnation of tradition but are open to contemporaneity. This is the paradox of Japan visible in
architecture, the environment, where old beautiful temples can be found next to extremely
modern buildings. They are both very open to new technologies and steeped in secular tradition
that gives them a sort of rigor and an aesthetic sense in all of the things in life (the way of eating,
the ritual of tea and ikebana in the flower arrangements…etc).

7. What advice would you give to a saxophonist approaching Bear’s Trio, Nishi Asakusa, and
Orients? What advice would you give to a saxophonist approaching your repertoire more
generally?

Beyond music there is the human, philosophical, political, economic, biological in every culture
including our own, Western, which is not really targeted by the training of young musicians
because our Western culture also involved orality (Bach, Mozart, …etc. were also improvisers
and physically practiced their tonal language which is not often the case today). A work is like a
mushroom, born in a given moment in the life of a composer; he, too, nothing but a mushroom in
a moment of civilization in which he is integrated. So for a performer it is useful for the
enjoyment of a work to be familiar with its memory, its chromosomes. It is always important to
be familiar with the environment of a work in order to understand its reason for existence and
allow an intelligent interpretation rather than an execution. The work does not even belong to the
composer who wrote it, the composer, himself is connected to its environment, the history that
contributed to his active culture. I did not invent the piano, nor tonal language, nor acoustic
space, nor the technique of writing, so we are just a little grain in the chain of historical and
geographical beings (time and space). This cultural knowledge however does not crush our
biological dimension, the animal in us, there is an exercise linking the physical and the spiritual
that is essential to healthily develop a whole instrumental gesture. I often speak of instrumental
choreography; and at this level, Japanese culture is particularly interesting also for non-Japanese
because it is constructed upon the conscience of forms of energy, zen concentration, the force of
silence and that of the gesture itself. It is also interesting, at this level, to meet personalities,
masters in the proper sense of the word who can suggest this dimension of attitude (and why not
invite Shiro Daïmon to your university for a master class and spectacle?). I believe that even
regarding budget nobody would lose for those who could benefit from such a meeting. It is
important to occasionally meet personalities apt to give meaning to our artistic practice (I was
myself happy to have lived with Olivier Messiaen who inspired a great moral energy); I am very
happy to be complicit in this moment with powerful personalities like Shiro Daïmon, it is also
part of my lifelong learning and not theorizing in pedagogies absent of all strong spiritual
dimensions, without which instrumental practice would be limited to a simple exercise of
integrated style in a static culture.
   177

8. Since you dedicated your Japanese-influenced works to specific saxophonists, how does your
connection with interpreters influence or guide your work?

These works were actually dedicated to the performers who were at the origin of the request and
the premiere; concerning these two remarkable interpreters I knew that I could require a lot from
them in terms of energy and the quality with which they would understand my proposals.
However, the content of these works influenced by Japan is not directly related to the performers
but simply to the Japanese idea that I wished to develop. Of course, certain technical questions
regarding performance were negotiated with the performers in a necessary collaboration not
being a saxophonist myself.

Email Interview with Marie-Bernadette Charrier (response received June 11, 2013)

1. When and how did your collaboration with François Rossé begin and how has it evolved?

During my music studies, I met him several times to work on interpretations of his works, but a
true artistic collaboration began after my studies twenty or so years ago. This
performer/composer exchange was steady and still exists today on various projects like a kind of
apprenticeship.

2. How would you describe Rossé’s contribution to the saxophone’s repertoire and new music in
general?

François Rossé has regularly written for solo saxophone or chamber ensemble and thus
contributed to the development of today's repertoire for this instrument. He has collaborated with
many saxophonists and that is why he has a great knowledge of the saxophone.

3. How is your approach to Rossé’s music different than your approach to works by other
composers?

I can say that there is an intimacy and a special knowledge of F. Rossé’s works from regularly
working with him on interpretation and on his music.

4. Which of Rossé’s works have you performed?

A number of works:
- Etky en Droutzy - Salvador pour casualidad - Sceptral - ximix - Silence for a disturbed yell -
Noise D'fense - Arc en ombre - Bear's trio - Shibuya's memory - Le frêne égaré - Yom – Mary
land Bass - X - Ost Atem - Nishi Asakusa - quatuor - Spath – Boarding pass – Cris de cerise -
Impromptu 0990 – Orients – Pierre des vents – trio Seûl – Waaij – Avech – krasnayaskaya –
Nanashi – Lombric – Mod’son – Cseallox etc…

5. Where and when have you performed and/or recorded Orients, Bear’s Trio, or Nishi Asakusa?
   178

Orients: à Bordeaux le 10 mars 2005

Bear's trio: à Bordeaux le 23 février 2006 puis en espagne
Nishi Asakusa: Santiago de Compostela en juillet 2010

6. When you first began working on these pieces, both your individual part and as an ensemble,
to what extent did you factor in the Japanese influences of the works and was there any research
involved on your end?

As with any work, the process of the interpreter is to find the appropriate style for the chosen
work. Thanks to our acquired culture, we have certain insights on how to play this piece. Then
extensive work, an analysis of the proposed gestures, and continued research allow us to propose
an interpretation as close as possible to the author’s idea.

7. If you have prepared these pieces more than once, how has the learning process changed or
developed over time?

We can say that in general, interpretation of works evolves over time. Also, a work lives, that is
to say, it is played repeatedly, it acquires its own internal life. Over the years, we finish by
appropriating the piece; it becomes intimate to us and various concert experiences provide access
to a very personal interpretation.

8. Which specific Japanese elements or references did you find in these works?

Several parameters of the music have this extra-European influence, especially that of Japan in
the works of F. Rossé. For example the management of time, these dilated tempos, suspension in
juxtaposition of the concentrated lively gestures. The use of grace notes very close to Koto
playing offers a palette of marked, nervous attacks. Concerning the aspect of melody, the use of
the proposed methods recalls the colors of the Orient.

9. What advice would you offer saxophonists and chamber ensembles as they interpret and
perform these works?

It is important to try to be more familiar with this culture. Listen to traditional music of this
country, listen and watch Noh theater, have some knowledge of their philosophy to better
understand the influences of the composer and thus better grasp his works tinted by this extra-
European culture.

Email Interview with Jean-Michel Goury (response received June 26, 2013)

1) When and how did your collaboration with François Rossé begin and how has it evolved?

I was the student of F. Rossé from 1980 to 82 in music analysis class, shortly after his arrival as
professor at the Conservatory of Bordeaux. This young man was still impregnated by
   179

“Messiaenity” while rebeling against the Parisian etablishment ... He seemed eccentric, quirky,
very smiling, brightening the atmosphere that seemed to me very morose and conventional, at the
time, at the conservatory.  
 
Yet, he was as rigorous in his work as he was warm in his human relationships. This professor,
bright, clairvoyant, was for me a great catalyst of creative energy. A critical encounter, in many
regards, which, in hindsight, helped me to realize very young that most of the music profession
was in the music itself: intensity and consistency in the study of a work at the service of a
committed and uncompromising interpretation.

In fact, F. Rossé came into my life three years after the sonorous (wonderful solos in the music
of French films of the 30s and 40s) and physical (jury Bordeaux and lengthy discussion on the
finesse of phrasing in French music) discovery of M. Mule, that of J. Coltane two years before,
and one year before my immersion as a young interpreter of French jazz (Portal, Lubat, Louis...).
This ebullience through the lectures of JM Londeix galvanized me, already far enough from the
music performed by classical saxophonists of the era.  
 
Tuesday nights, he hosted workshops of 20th century music, presenting important works since
the Second Viennese School. Thanks to him, I was engulfed in a flood of incredible music
(Ligeti, Berio, Zimmerman, Maderna, Nono, Xenakis, Cage...) that permanently marked the
interpreter I became. This musical debauchery sometimes ended very late, kneeling in his superb
classroom where together (the other students would leave long before) we would scrutinize the
details of photocopied scores scattered on the floor to better understand the detail of a given
genius composer and how I could understand and assimilate the given phrase as the interpreter.
Absolutely fascinating and a fantastic learning experience! What luck.  
 
From there began a long friendship that endures after 30 years. The educational pair Londeix-
Rossé was explosive! I was obviously the first student to play Le Frêne after Londeix’ premiere
in Chicago. A comical and, at the same time, distressing experience, uncomfortable, preparing
one of most important national competitions of my career (CA in ’82), because these two artists
flying high, driven toward the same musical goal, had in their approach, remarks often
contradictory, sometimes even opposed!

This was due to my style of playing, already personal, which was more or less suited to the
sensibility of these two characters. We agreed to let me “navigate” alone until the end ... This
experience was essential in my approach to interpretation. Both in precise respect of the text and
of an artist’s culture (listening, recordings) and of course the imagination, the feeling that must
live, both the text of a composer and the creative sensitivity of the interpreter. Finally, tolerance,
freedom of choice, in pedagogical matters. Why would the sensibility of a talented and
hardworking student not be that of a teacher, as talented as he or she may be?
 
In ’83, starting my first post as professor in Creuse, Londeix called me during the first Bordeaux
sax ensemble present in a world congress (Nuremberg). Spath was premiered before M. Mule
completely stunned by such rich, unheard of sounds. Did he like it? No matter. For many so-
called “classical” saxophonists of different generations, this captivating and very delicate piece
was an initial approach of a work in a deliberately modern language.
   180

Then came the adventure of Triangle pour un souffle, a concert piece for alto saxophone and
string orchestra (11) written (1981) for Daniel Kientzy who could not play it (?), taken over by
Claude Delangle who could not premiere it due to an accident, proposed by radio France (for
France-Musique) to JM Londeix to record it, who, aging, preferred in the end to entrust it to me
with the Toulouse Orchestra. The official concert premiere took place at the World Congress in
Pesaro in ’92!!! with the orchestral ensemble of Italy. Big success (14 minutes of applause).

The same year, during the advent of the EEC (United States of Europe), François, an Alsatian of
Strasbourg (European administrative capital), could not remain indifferent to this event. He
composed at my request Les berges voyantes, luscious and provocative piece of chamber music
full of symbols and citations (from Josquin to Hendrix), for baritone voice, mezzo soprano,
prepared piano, alto and baritone saxes in succession and live electronics. Including a huge
controversy in the media at the premiere (Festival of Duras).

1996. First tour of the USA (with Yves Josset). Premiere of Silence for a disturbed yell for
baritone sax and prepared piano. 1998. 3rd tour in the USA with Étienne Rolin, F. Rossé, Y.
Josset and Sophie. Premiere (in Evanston) of Atlantic One for basset horn, celesta, and soprano
sax. Then during 15 years (1997-2012), 7 premieres for each one of my children, including Aka
(flute and soprano sax) and Nishi Asakusa (alto sax and prepared piano).

2) How would you describe Rossé’s contribution to the saxophone’s repertoire and new music in
general?

François Rossé occupies an iconic place in the literature of French classical saxophone. I
consider Le Frêne as the historical solo piece par excellence that “changed” our listening, as well
as Denisov (for the sonata) 10 years before, thus preceding other works that became “classics”
written by Méfano (Périple), Berio (Sequenza) or Lauba (Hard). For him, since his “discovery”
with Londeix, the saxophone was a field of investigations and sound research, a factor of human
exchange essential for the creation of its pieces. It is the symbolic instrument of modernity that
can “live” in all artistic situations (written or improvised).

François is also one of the most prolific French composers of his generation and takes a place in
the center of the creation of contemporary art, because he is still active (overflowing) as
composer, performer, improviser and poet. His music is human, emotional, carnal and intelligent.
He possesses a most effective compositional technique. Never taking the easy route of “effect”
he knows with ease to excite the sonorous material of an instrument, remaining an ingenious
innovator. His understanding of our instrument is always limitless. Like all the "greats,” he feels
he knows, and he does. For all this, disregarding my friendship, objectively, he remains for me
one of the greatest French composers born since World War II.  
 
3) How is your approach to Rossé’s music different than your approach to works by other
composers?

Like all inventor-composers of sound combinations, these timbre magicians, François forces the
interpreter to question his own faculties of knowing how to “sound” the instrument. He senses
   181

what is possible then organizes his writing scheme based on the vernacular potential of the
instrument. The importance of human exchange with the interpreter is essential to him. His
unbridled writing, all the while remaining one of the most precise, requires a liberated virtuosity,
similar to that of an improviser’s approach. To play Rossé is to wish to reach an “extreme”
instrumental proficiency on all basic parameters (dynamics, articulations, registers, unheard of
timbres, breaking of notes). This play thrives on the raw physique and excessive emotion of the
performer. One must be able to accept this in order to truly “live” his music. In the same way,
but in other musical genres, Frank Zappa and Tom Waits give me the same jubilations.

4) Which of Rossé’s works have you performed?

I have premiered about twelve to thirteen pieces by F. Rossé since the mid-’80s. For various solo
and chamber concerts, I also interpreted, Level 01, Scriu numele tau, Arianna, Mod’son 1, duos
prêchants, Loan…without a doubt also others (?) and today these recent written solo pieces
(since 2006) have not been premiered or just recently: Ixa, Hiedra.

5) Where and when have you performed and/or recorded Orients, Bear’s Trio, or Nishi Asakusa?

Nishi Asakusa (Asakusa west in Japanese: highly populated business district of Tokyo) was
written for the birth of my fifth son: Martin. The piece was given its world premiere at the
NASA National Conference 2005 (Greensboro?) by Y. Josset and myself. It depicts percussive
sounds (prepared piano and slaps) very impressive Japanese drums, that animated medieval
battles (shogun period). But also, the poetic microtonal texture out of phase with the piano that
give a feeling of vague impression and sensuality resembling music of common diverse ritual
ceremonies among the nobility of the time (Ikebana, tea…).

6) When you first began working on these pieces, both your individual part and as an ensemble,
to what extent did you factor in the Japanese influences of the works and was there any research
involved on your end?

Not particularly. I like to first discover unusual sounds proposed by the composer to understand
in a sensitive manner the piece’s story. Next, I rummage through the musical past of certain
textures of sonorous colors so as to be able to take on the references to traditional music,
unfamiliar aesthetics or from natural sounds. From this, I start to improvise the written text in
order to seek a style of phrasing that is suited to various passages so it may sound better, with
accuracy and sincerity. Lastly, I read the text and learn the score with precision, all while being
able to interpret it.

7) If you have prepared these pieces more than once, how has the learning process changed or
developed over time?

I feel Rossé’s music is organic. Its performers need really physical reflexes to take charge of the
proposed playing techniques with precision. Breath, air, breathing dominate in Rossé’s pieces. In
this way, [the interpreters] cannot forget what they are working on. On the contrary, this
demanding but expressive and altogether more natural play, will thereafter influence the way
they approach other even older musical scores.
   182

Email Interview with Jean-Marie Londeix (response received April 13, 2013)
   

1. When and how did your collaboration with François Rossé begin and how has it evolved?

I met François ROSSÉ for the first time at the Bordeaux Conservatory restaurant, on September
9, 1977. He had just been appointed Professor of Analysis. We immediately hit it off. I proposed
to him a project to publish a whole collection of Negro Spirituals arranged for saxophone. This
project was unsuccessful, giving way, three months later, to another project, the consequence: a
work for alto saxophone.  
 
I then passed him a list and recorded effects that I had previously sent to Edison Denisov for his
Sonate for alto saxophone and piano. This tape included aside from classical examples, all kinds
of sounds produced in different ways, with only the mouthpiece or neck, for example; different
attacks; batteries of rare notes; multiphonics; etc.

In the spring of 1979, François gave me the manuscript of Le Frêne égaré a substantial piece for
solo alto saxophone, unparalleled innovation.

I premiered Le Frêne in Chicago on June 30, 1979 and I played it twenty or so times since, in
France, the United States, Sweden, Italy, Germany, Japan…

This work of incomprehensible novelty to many saxophonists (it still remains for some)
established a friendship that has not ceased to grow ever since.

Le Frêne égaré is historically the first serious work (with Périples by Paul Méfano, based on
elements of jazz) for solo saxophone. Its impact was obviously very important, its influence even
stronger. It has since resulted in more than 1,700 (one thousand seven hundred) pieces for solo
saxophone, often, musically important.  
 
(PS: The universal saxophone repertoire regarded as “classical” is currently at more than 30,000
pieces. In 2012, I catalogued more than 3,000 new titles, which means 8 new works every day!)

I played other works by François (notably Bachflüssigkeit many times).

In 1977 with my best upper class students, I created a saxophone ensemble, (an orchestra
comprised of the entire saxophone family: 1 sopranino, 2 sopranos, 3 altos, 3 tenors, 2 baritones,
1 bass). François was again the first to honor me with an original and substantial work: Spath,
premiered in Nüremberg by l’Ensemble International de Saxophones under my direction, on July
10, 1982, in the hall of the 7th World Saxophone Congress. Since, saxophone ensemble has
multiplied through the entire world, accumulating several hundred original works, making this
instrumentation a new type of orchestra.

2. How would you describe Rossé’s contribution to the saxophone’s repertoire and new music in
general?
   183

François Rossé is undoubtedly an innovator. The importance of intellectual, artistic, creative

investment he has shown in his first opus (Le Frêne égaré) surprised, his teachers in particular
(Betsy Jolas). This commitment was an unprecedented task. Therefore, the saxophone was no
longer considered a minor instrument, insignificant, and anecdotal ... With thanks to François the
instrument became worthy of musical reflections both higher and deeper. Never seen, never
done!  
 
Since Berlioz’ Hymne Sacré (1844) and among the several hundred works written with or for
saxophone, we are familiar with works for the instrument by Vincent d'Indy, Debussy, Caplet,
Schmitt as well as the outstanding scores of Alexander Glazunov (Quatuor op. 109 and Concerto
in Eb) and Jacques Ibert (Concertino da camera), but none was truly idiomatic of the instrument
(parallel to what Coleman Hawkins and Charlie Parker did in jazz).

François Rossé (more than Edison Denisov in 1970), took the saxophone for what it is and not
for any kind of clarinet (Debussy), cello (Glazunov), flute (Ibert), making it an instrument
necessary for the music he initiated ... This attitude (generally possessed by the greatest
composers for the instruments they used) is now accepted. We seek less and less to disguise the
saxophone.  
 
As one of the first to follow François Rossé’s, Christian Lauba made idiomatic characteristics of
the saxophone to such a degree of necessity, that like Chopin for the piano, the saxophone is
irreplacable to make this music a reality.  
 
3. How is your approach to Rossé’s music different than your approach to works by other
composers?

If the elements of rhythm, articulation, intonation remain standing in the music of François
Rossé, as in any other known art music, the notion of freedom attached to it—that is to say pulse,
seems primordial. Rossé’s music is essentially a human one, is conceived before played and must
be appropriated by the player before a performance. The score is but a guide that leads to the
work. Improviser by nature, François asks that the performance of his music renovates that
inhabited freedom.  
 
9. What advice would you offer saxophonists and chamber ensembles as they interpret and
perform these works (Nishi Asakusa, Bear's Trio, et Orients) that were influenced by traditional
Japanese cultural elements?

As always, be familiar with and stick to the composer’s objectives before playing the first note.
   184

APPENDIX B.

EMAIL INTERVIEWS IN FRENCH

Email Interview with François Rossé (response received April 19, 2013)

1. How do you find a balance between the Western art music tradition and non-Western cultural
traditions in your performance activities and as a composer? Have you thought about this balance
consciously, or did this come about more or less naturally?

Le point de départ actif de la relation avec le Japon notamment s’est fait dans la classe d’Olivier
Messiaen (1976-78) Messiean était au Japon et aimait beaucoup ce pays entraînant le fait que
beaucoup de japonais venaient étudier dans sa classe. Je m’étais lié d’amitié avec Susumu
Yoshida, compositeur japonais vivant en France ce qui m’a permis d’aller au Japon en 2004 une
première fois. Ce pays très impressionnant dans ses traditions n’a pas été sans influence dans ma
conception de la musique et de ses formes d’énergie et donc de l'abord instrumental. J’étais au
Japon une 2ème fois tout récemment, puisque revenu hier de Tokyo, en duo avec Shiro Daïmon,
maître de Nô et de Kabuki, danseur.

2. How do your activities as a performer – particularly those involving improvisation in

nonwestern traditional settings – inform your compositions? How has this developed throughout
your career?

Mon premier contact avec la pratique musicale s’est faite de manière autodidacte, par
l’improvisation avant d’avoir un professeur de piano. Ma formation tardive a été très classique
occidentale m'entraînant plutôt vers la composition écrite. L’improvisation n’existait pendant
longtemps que par le jazz, or je n’étais pas impliqué dans cette culture. Il a fallu attendre les
années 1980 pour que la pratique de l’improvisation s’ouvre sur d’autres cultures dont la mienne
au niveau des programmations possibles dans des festivals ou autres lieux de concerts. Il est
évident que la réflexion sur les langages musicaux, sur la dimension acoustique qu’entraîne la
pratique compositionnelle se répercute sur les moyens musicaux au niveau de l’improvisation.
Déjà, au niveau de la composition écrite j’étais intéressé par les diverses attitudes traditionelles
dans différentes régions de la planète, ma déamrche primitiviste m’a beaucoup aidé en ce sens
aussi. Ma pratique de l’improvisation s’est donc ouverte de manière privilégiée sur les rencontres
très diverses possibles, avec des musiciens d’autres traditions (Carlo Rizzo de l’Italie du Sud,
Mieko Miyazaki dans un duo koto japonais/piano, Mixel Etxekopar, musicien basque...etc mais
aussi avec d’autres disciplines artistiques, la compagnie de danse Jackie Taffanel, Shiro Daïmon,
le théâtre, le cinéma, des performances avec des plasticiens...etc) Cela m’a ouvert le concept
musical au niveau d’un concept artistique plus large et donc à l’essence humaine. Musicien ayant
commencé tardivement, la carrière s’est développée lentement, progressivement mais toujours
positivement jusqu’à présent, peut-être la chance d’avoir été surtout compositeur à une époque
où cela était plus simple qu'aujourd’hui et d’avoir pu accéder à l’improvisation publique au
moment opportun du développement de la pratique orale dans les programmations. Aujourd’hui
les choses sont donc partagées entre l’écriture, les concerts en improvisation et les master-class
   185

dans les conservatoires et universités qui m’invitent (la prochaine ayant lieu en Estonie au nord
de l'Europe, aux Etats-Unis c’était plutôt à North Western University et au Canada à Montréal,
Québec et Rimouski)... et pourquoi pas un jour à Bowling green?

3. Please describe the story or inspiration behind Bear’s Trio, Nishi Asakusa, and Orients. For
each piece, can you describe specifically which Japanese art forms and philosophies have
influenced you or those you have incorporated?

Bear’s trio a été écrite pour une création à Tokyo par un trio conduit par le saxophoniste Takashi
Saito en 2004. Le titre est simplement lié au nom de l’hôtel à Megève (France) où j'avais écrit ce
trio. Néanmoins la pièce est très japonaise en rapport avec les inflexions du Gagaku, spectacle
rituel japonais. Pour les japonais le son, dans la nature, n’est jamais rectiligne (dans sa hauteur)
mais toujours flexible; la philosophie japonaise dans le shintoïsme se lie beaucoup à la nature.
Nishi Asakusa est une pièce liée à une tradition plutôt bouddhiste, proche d’un rituel entendu
dans le quartier “Asakusa” à Tokyo; ce rituel implique une récitation scandée dans le grave du
registre par la foule et ponctué par la percussion sur le taïko (grand tambour japonais frappé
horizontalement). “Orients” est construit comme un rituel dans les formes d’énergie proche du
théâtre Nô et le traitement des mouvements de tempo (qui n'est pas fréquent dans la musique
occidentale). Le rapport au Japon est surtout intéressant, au-delà de l’exotisme, dans la
conscience et la gestion de l’énergie dans le jeu instrumental ou vocal, et cela peut aussi
intéresser les musiciens occidentaux.

4. Looking back to your first works for saxophone, how has your approach to the saxophone
changed? More specifically, what role does the saxophone play in your Japanese influenced
pieces – particularly Bear’s Trio, Nishi Asakusa, and Orients?

Je pense que le changement d’attitude n'est pas directement lié au saxophone mais à tout le
rapport physique entre l’interprète et son instrument; bien entendu dans Bear's trio on peut
penser au hichiriki (flûte très aiguë du Gagaku), dans Nishi Asakusa c’est plutôt les attaques
graves du taïko dans le rituel bouddhique et dans “Orients” plutôt la gestion de la forme
d’énergie de manière générale avec aussi des allusions au Gagaku dans la ligne au début de
l'oeuvre.

5. How would you describe your personal history with Japanese culture? When did your interest
begin and how has it evolved?

J’avais répondu à cette question dans la 1ère réponse (classe d'Olivier Messiaen); les rencontres
amicales avec les japonais qui sont devenues peu à peu privilégiées puis plus profondes jusqu’au
voyages au Japon. Trois Japonais ont été particulièrement importants, au début, le compositeur
Susumu Yoshida, puis le danseur et maître de Nô Shiro Daïmon et enfin Mieko Miyazaki qui
joue le koto et chante. Ces rencontres ont été actives en concerts en duo avec le piano que je
tenais.

6. How does your notion of ‘orality’ factor into your Japanese influenced pieces and your
experience with Japanese art forms?
   186

L’oralité a été surtout pratiquée en duo avec Mieko Miyazaki et Shiro Daïmon, s’il est vrai que la
culture japonaise est orale elle n’en n’est pas moins souvent très ritualisée et donc relativement
fixée, ce n’est pas vraiment de l’improvisation. Le spectacle intitulé “Mu” réalisé avec Shiro
Daïmon a été élaboré oralement mais s’est peu à peu fixé définitivement. En général les rituels
sont peu improvisés ils représentent plutôt la pérénnisation d’une attitude, d’une tradition.
Néanmoins avec Shiro Daïmon et Mieko Miyazaki nous somme avec des musiciens et danseurs
qui ont une forte imprégnation dans la tradition mais sont ouverts à la contemporanéité. C’est un
peu le paradoxe du Japon visible même au niveau de l’architecture, de l’environnement, ou de
très beux vieux temples cotoyent un building très moderne. Ils sont à la fois très ouverts aux
technologies nouvelles et imprégnés de tradition séculaire qui leur donne une sorte de rigueur et
un sens esthétique dans toutes les choses de la vie (la façon de manger, le rituel du thé ou
l'ikebana dans la construction des bouquets de fleurs...etc)

7. What advice would you give to a saxophonist approaching Bear’s Trio, Nishi Asakusa, and
Orients? What advice would you give to a saxophonist approaching your repertoire more
generally?

Au-delà de la musique il y a l’humain, philosophe, politique, économique, biologique dans

chaque culture y compris la nôtre, occidentale, qui n’est pas vraiment cernée au niveau de la
formation des jeunes musiciens car notre culture occidentale impliquait aussi l’oralité (Bach,
Mozart, ...etc étaient improvisateurs aussi et pratiquaient physiquement leur langage tonal ce qui
n’est pas souvent le cas aujourd’hui). Une oeuvre est comme un champignon qui naît un moment
donné dans la vie d’un compositeur lui-même n’est qu’un champignon dans un moment de la
civilisation dans laquelle il est intégré. Donc pour un interprète il est utile pour déguster une
oeuvre de connaître sa mémoire, ses chromosomes. Il est donc toujours important de connaître
l’environnement d’une oeuvre pour comprendre sa raison d’existence et permettre une
interprétation intelligente plutôt qu’une exécution. L’oeuvre n’appartient même pas au
compositeur qui l’a écrit, le compositeur, lui-même est en liaison avec son environnement,
l’histoire qui a formé sa culture active. Je n’ai pas inventé le piano, ni le langage tonale, ni
l’espace acoustique, ni la technique d’écriture, on est donc juste un petit grain dans le chainon
des humains historiques et géographiques (temps et espace). Cette connaissance culturelle doit
néanmoins ne pas écraser notre dimension biologique, notre animal en nous, il y a donc
l’exercice du lien entre le physique et le spirituel qui est essentiel pour concevoir sainement un
geste instrumental entier. Je parle souvent de chorégraphie instrumentale; et à ce niveau, la
culture japonaise est particulièrement intéressante même pour un non-japonais car elle se
construit sur la conscience des formes d’énergie, la concentration zen, la force du silence et celle
du geste lui-même. Il est donc intéressant à ce niveau à rencontrer des personnalités, des maîtres
dans le bon sens du mot qui peuvent suggérer cette dimension d’attitude (et pourquoi pas inviter
Shiro Daïmon à votre université pour master class et spectacle? Je crois que même au niveau du
budget personne ne serait perdant pour ceux qui pourraient bénéficier d'une telle rencontre. Il est
important de rencontrer occasionnellement des personnalités aptes à donner un sens à notre
pratique artistique (j’étais moi-même heureux d'avoir vécu auprès d'Olivier Messiean qui
inspirait une grande énergie morale); je suis très heureux d’être complice en ce moment avec des
personnalités puissantes comme Shiro Daïmon, cela fait aussi partie de ma formation à vie et non
de théoriser dans des pédagogies abstraites de toute dimension spirituelle forte, sans quoi la
pratique instruementale se limiterait à un simple exercice de style intégrée dans une culture figée.
   187

8. Since you dedicated your Japanese-influenced works to specific saxophonists, how does your
connection with interpreters influence or guide your work?

Ces oeuvres ont été effectivement dédiées aux interprètes qui ont été à l’origine de la demande et
de la création; concernant ces deux remarquables interprètes je savais que je pouvais exiger
beaucoup d'eux au niveau de l’énergie et de la qualité avec laquelle ils allaient appréhender mes
propositions. Néanmoins, le contenu-même des oeuvres influencées par le Japon n'est pas
directement lié aux interprètes mais simplement à l’idée japonaise que j’avais le souhait de
développer. Bien entendu, certaines questions techniques de réalisation ont été négociées avec
les interprètes en précieuse collaboration n'étant pas saxophoniste moi-même.

Email Interview with Marie-Bernadette Charrier (response received June 11, 2013)

1. When and how did your collaboration with François Rossé begin and how has it evolved?

Durant mes études musicales, je l’ai rencontré plusieurs fois pour un travail d’interprétation
sur ses œuvres mais une réelle collaboration artistique a commencé il y a une vingtaine d’années
après mes études. Cet échange “interprète / compositeur” a été régulier et existe toujours
aujourd'hui sur des projets divers, comme une sorte de compagnonnage.

2. How would you describe Rossé’s contribution to the saxophone’s repertoire and new music in
general?

François Rossé a régulièrement écrit pour saxophone solo ou en formation de chambre et a ainsi
contribué au développement du répertoire d’aujourd’hui pour cet instrument. Il a collaboré avec
de multiples saxophonistes et c’est pourquoi il a une grande connaissance du saxophone.

3. How is your approach to Rossé’s music different than your approach to works by other
composers?

Je peux dire qu’il existe une intimité et une connaissance particulière des œuvres de F. Rossé par
le fait d’un travail d’interprétation régulier avec lui et avec son œuvre.

4. Which of Rossé’s works have you performed?

De nombreuses œuvres :
- Etky en Droutzy - Salvador pour casualidad - Sceptral - ximix - Silence for a disturbed yell -
Noise D'fense - Arc en ombre - Bear's trio - Shibuya's memory - Le frêne égaré - Yom – Mary
land Bass - X - Ost Atem - Nishi Asakusa - quatuor - Spath – Boarding pass – Cris de cerise -
Impromptu 0990 – Orients – Pierre des vents – trio Seûl – Waaij – Avech – krasnayaskaya –
Nanashi – Lombric – Mod’son – Cseallox etc…

5. Where and when have you performed and/or recorded Orients, Bear’s Trio, or Nishi Asakusa?
   188

Orients : à Bordeaux le 10 mars 2005

Bear's trio : à Bordeaux le 23 février 2006 puis en espagne
Nishi Asakusa : Santiago de Compostela en juillet 2010

6. When you first began working on these pieces, both your individual part and as an ensemble,
to what extent did you factor in the Japanese influences of the works and was there any research
involved on your end?

Comme pour toute œuvre, la démarche de l’interprète est de trouver les justesse de style pour
l’œuvre choisie. Par notre culture acquise, nous avons certaines intuitions sur la manière de jouer
cette pièce. Puis un travail approfondi, une analyse des gestes proposés, une recherche constante
permettent de réaliser une interprétation la plus proche de la pensée de l’auteur.

7. If you have prepared these pieces more than once, how has the learning process changed or
developed over time

On peut dire que d’une manière générale, l’interprétation des œuvres évolue avec le temps. Plus
une œuvre vit, c’est-à-dire qu'elle est jouée plusieurs fois, celle-ci acquiert sa propre vie interne.
Avec les années, nous finissons par posséder la pièce, elle nous devient intime et les diverses
expériences de concert permettent d’accéder à une interprétation très personnelle.

8. Which specific Japanese elements or references did you find in these works?

Plusieurs paramètres de la musique présentent cette influence extra-européenne et plus

particulièrement celle du Japon dans les œuvres de F. Rossé. Par exemple la gestion temporelle,
ces temps dilatés, de suspension en juxtaposition aux gestes vifs, concentrés.
L'utilisation des appoggiatures très proche du jeu instrumental du Koto présente un discours
d'attaque très marqué, très nerveux.
Concernant l'aspect mélodique, l'utilisation des modes proposés rappelle les couleurs d'orient.

9. What advice would you offer saxophonists and chamber ensembles as they interpret and
perform these works?

Il est important d’essayer de mieux connaître cette culture. Écouter les musiques traditionnelles
de ce pays, écouter et regarder le théâtre Nô, avoir une certaine connaissance de leur philosophie
permettent de mieux comprendre les influences de ce compositeur et ainsi de mieux appréhender
ses œuvres teintées de cette culture extra-européenne.

Email Interview with Jean-Michel Goury (response received June 26, 2013)

1) When and how did your collaboration with François Rossé begin and how has it evolved?
   189

Je fus l’élève de F Rossé de 1980 à 82 en classe d'analyse musicale, peu de temps après son
arrivée comme prof au CNR de Bordeaux. Cet homme encore jeune était imprégné de
“Messianité” tout en étant rebelle face à l'etablishment parisien...Il paraissait excentrique, décalé,
très souriant, éclairant l’ambiance qui me paraissait bien morose et conventionnelle , à l’époque,
dans ce conservatoire.

Pourtant, il était aussi rigoureux dans le travail qu’il était chaleureux dans les relations humaines.
Ce professeur, brillant, clairvoyant, fut pour moi un formidable catalyseur d’énergie créatrice.
Rencontre déterminante, à bien des régards, qui, avec le recul, m’aura aidé très jeune, de prendre
conscience que l'essentiel du métier de musicien était DANS la musique elle-même: intensité et
constance dans le travail d’une oeuvre au service d’une interprétation engagée et sans
concession.

En fait, F. Rossé est entré dans ma vie 3 ans après la découverte sonore (merveilleux solos dans
les musiques de film français des années 30-40) et physique (jury à Bordeaux puis longue
discussion sur la finesse du phrasé dans la musique française) de M. Mule, celle de J. Coltane 2
ans avant, et 1 an avant avec mon immersion en tant que jeune interprète du jazz français (Portal,
Lubat, Louis,..). Cette ébulation sublimée par les cours magistraux de J.M. Londeix, me
dynamisait, mais assez loin déjà des musiques pratiquées par les saxophonistes classiques de
l'époque.

Les mardis soirs, il animait des ateliers de musiques du 20 ème siècle, présentant les oeuvres
importantes à partir de la 2ème école de Vienne. Grâce à lui, j’étais englouti dans un flot de
musiques incroyables (Ligeti, Berio, Zimmerman, Maderna, Nono, Xenakis, Cage...) qui
marqueront à jamais l’interprète que je suis devenu. Cette débauche musicale finissait parfois
très tard, agenouillés dans sa superbe salle de cours où nous scrutions tous les deux (les autres
élèves étaient parties depuis longtemps) les détails des scores photocopiés et dispersés par terre
pour mieux percevoir le détail de génie de l’auteur et la manière dont je pourrais comprendre et
assimilé le phrasé utilisé par l’interprète. Absolument fascinant et hyper formateur!! Quelle
chance.

De là, a débuté une longue amitié qui perdure au bout de 30 ans. Le couple pédagogique
Londeix-Rossé était détonané! Je fus évidemment, le premier étudiant à jouer “Le Frêne” après
la création à Chicago de Londeix. Expérience cocasse et à la fois angoissante, inconfortable,
pour préparer un concours national dès plus important pour ma carrière (CA en 82), car ces 2
artistes de haut vol, allant pourtant vers le même but musical, avaient dans leur démarche, des
propos souvent contradictoires voire même parfois opposés!!

Cela venait surtout de mon type d’interprétation, déjà personel, qui convenait plus ou moins à la
sensibilité de ces deux personnages. Nous avons donc convenu de me laisser “naviguer” seul
jusqu’au bout...Cette expérience fut capitale dans la manière d’aborder mon interprétation. À la
fois dans le respect précis de la lettre (du texte) celui d'une culture artistique (écoute,
enregistrements) et bien sûr l’imagination, le feeling qui doit faire vivre, à la fois le texte d’un
auteur et la sensibilité créatrice d’un interprète. Enfin, la tolérance, la liberté de choisir, en
matière pédagogique. Pourquoi la sensibilité d’un élève doué et travailleur ne vaudrait elle pas
celle d’un prof, si important, soit-il?
   190

En ’83, débutant mon premier poste de prof en Creuse, Londeix m'appelle au sein du 1er
ensemble de sax de Bordeaux présent dans un congrès mondial (Nuremberg). “Spath” fut crée
devant M Mule complètement abasourdi par tant de richesses sonores inouïes. À t’il aimé? Peu
importe. Pour beaucoup de saxophonistes dit “classiques” de générations différentes, cette pièce
était une première approche captivante et très délicat, d’une oeuvre au language délibérement
moderne.

Vint ensuite l’aventure du “triangle pour un soufflé”, pièce concertant pour sax alto et orchestre à
cordes (11) écrite (1981) pour D. Kientzy qui ne put la jouer (?), récupéré par Cl. Delangle qui
ne put la créer (accident), proposée par radio-France (pour France-Musique) à J.M. Londeix pour
l’enregistrer qui, vieillissant, préféra me la confier enfin avec l’orchestre de Toulouse. La
création officielle en concert eu lieu au congrès mondial à Pesaro en 92!!! avec l’ensemble
orchestral d'Italie. Gros succès (14 mns de rappel).

La même année, lors de l’avènement de la CEE (états unis d'Europe), François, l’alsacien de
Strasbourg (capitale administrative européenne), ne pouvait rester insensible à cette événement.
Il écrivit donc à ma demande “Les berges voyantes”, succulente et provoquante pièce de
musique de chambre pleine de symboles et de citations (de Josquin à Hendrix), pour voix de
baryton, mezzo soprano, piano préparé, saxs alto et baryton successifs et live électronique.
Grosse polémique y compris dans les médias à la création (festival de Duras).

1996. première tournée aux USA (avec Y. Josset). Création de "Silence for a disturbed yell" pour
sax baryton et piano préparé. 1998. 3ème tournée aux USA avec E. Rolin, F. Rossé, Y. Josset et
Sophie. Création (à Evanston) de “Atlantic one” pour cor de basset, celesta, et sax soprano. Puis
pendant 15 ans (1997 à 2012), 7 créations (pour 7 enfants) dont “Aka” (flûte et sax soprano) et
“Nishi Asakusa” (sax alto et piano préparé).

2) How would you describe Rossé’s contribution to the saxophone’s repertoire and new music in
general?

François Rossé occupe une place emblématique dans la littérature du saxophone classique
français. Je considère le “Frêne égaré”, comme étant LA PIECE solo historique par excellence
qui “change” notre écoute, au même titre que Denisov (pour la sonate) 10 ans plutôt, précédent
ainsi d’autres oeuvres devenues des “classiques” écrites par Méfano (Périple), Berio (sequenza)
ou Lauba (Hard). Pour lui, depuis sa “découverte” avec londeix, le saxophone a été un champ
d’investigations et de recherches sonores privilégiés, un facteur d’échanges humains
indispensables à la création de ses pièces. Il est l’instrument symbolique de la modernité qui peut
arriver à "vivre" dans toutes les situations artistiques (écrites ou improvisées).

François est en outre un des compositeurs français les plus prolifiques de sa génération et prend
une place à part dans le milieu de la création contemporaine, car il est à la fois compositeur,
interprète, improvisateur et poête toujours en activité (débordante). Sa musique est humaine,
émotionelle, charnelle et intelligente. Il possède une technique d'écriture des plus efficaces. Sans
jamais tomber dans la facilité d'un “effet”, il sait avec aisance faire vibrer la matière sonore d'un
instrument en restant un innovateur ingénieux. Sa connaissance de notre instrument est
   191

maintenant sans borne. Comme tous les “grands”, il ressent, il sait et il fait. Pour tout cela, et
sachant faire abstraction de mon amitié, en toute objectivité, il reste pour moi un des plus grands
compositeurs français nés depuis la 2nd guerre.

3) How is your approach to Rossé’s music different than your approach to works by other
composers?

Comme tous les compositeurs inventeurs de combinaisons sonores, ces magiciens du timbre,
François force l’interprète à s’intérroger sur ses propres facultés à savoir faire “sonner”
l’instrument. Il perçoit ce qui est possible puis organise son schéma d’écriture en fonction du
potentiel vernaculaire de l’instrument. L’importance de l’échange humain avec l’interprète est
chez lui capital. Par son écriture débridée tout en étant des plus précises, il oblige le musicien à
une virtuosité libérée proche du geste de l’improvisateur. Jouer Rossé, c'est vouloir accéder à un
jeu instrumental de “l’extrême” sur tous les paramètres sonores de base (dynamiques,
articulations, hauteurs, timbres inouïs, déferlement de notes) Ce jeu se nourrit du physique brut
et de l’émotion démesurée de l’instrumentiste. Il faut pouvoir accepter cela pour “vivre” bien sa
musique. De la même manière mais dans d’autres domaines musicaux, F. Zappa et T. Waits me
donnent les mêmes jubilations.

4) Which of Rossé’s works have you performed?

J'ai du créer environ 12 à 13 pièces de F Rossé depuis le milieu des années 80. Au gré des
concerts, avec diverses formations ou en solo, j’ai pu aussi interpréter, Level 01, Scriu numule
tau, arianna, mod’son 1, duos prêchants, Loan,...sans doute d'autres aussi(?) et aujourd’hui ces
dernières pièces solo écrites (depuis 2006) non crées ou juste récemment: Ixa, Hiedra.

5) Where and when have you performed and/or recorded Orients, Bear’s Trio, or Nishi Asakusa?

Nishi Asakusa (Asakusa ouest en japonais: quartier d’affaires très populeux de Tokyo) a été
écrite pour la naissance de mon 5ème fils: Martin. La pièce a été donnée en première mondiale
lors de la NASA national conference de 2005 (Greensboro?) par Y. Josset et moi-même. Elle
dépeint les sons percussifs (piano préparé et slaps) très impressionnants des tambours
d’ordonnances nippons qui rythmaient les batailles médiévales (période shogun). Mais aussi, la
texture poétique des micro-intervalles tout en décalage avec le piano qui donnent une sensation
d’impression vague et de sensualité proches des musiques illustrant les diverses cérémonies
rituelles courantes chez les seigneurs de l’époque (Ikebana, thé,...).

6) When you first began working on these pieces, both your individual part and as an ensemble,
to what extent did you factor in the Japanese influences of the works and was there any research
involved on your end?

Pas particulièrement. J’aime à découvrir tout d’abord les sons insolites proposés par le
compositeur afin de comprendre de manière sensitive l’histoire de la pièce. Après, je fouille le
passé musical de certaines textures de couleurs sonores afin de mieux me confronter à des
références de musiques traditionnelles, à des esthétiques ou à partir de bruits naturels. À partir de
cela, je me mets à improviser le texte écrit pour chercher des types de phrasés appropriés à divers
   192

passages pour mieux le faire sonner avec justesse et vérité. Enfin, je lis et travaille le texte avec
précision tout en pouvant maintenant l’interpréter déjà. Suis-je clair?

7) If you have prepared these pieces more than once, how has the learning process changed or
developed over time?

Je ressens la musique de Rossé comme organique. Ses interprètes ont besoin de réflexes
réellement physiques pour savoir s’accaparer les techniques de jeu proposées avec précision. Le
souffle, l’air, la respiration sont prépondérants dans les pièces de Rossé. De cette manière, ils ne
peuvent oublier ce qu’ils travaillent. Au contraire, ce jeu exigeant mais si expressif et somme
toute plus naturel, va influencer par la suite leur manière d’appréhender d’autres textes musicaux
meme plus anciens.

Email Interview with Jean-Marie Londeix (response received April 13, 2013)

1. When and how did your collaboration with François Rossé begin and how has it evolved?

J’ai rencontré François ROSSÉ pour la première fois au restaurant du Conservatoire de

Bordeaux, le 9 septembre 1977. Il venait d’être nommé professeur d’Analyse. Nous avons
immédiatement sympathisé. Je lui ai soumis le projet de publier ensemble un recueil de Negro
Spirituals arrangés avec saxophone. Ce projet n’a pas abouti, pour laisser place, trois mois plus
tard, à un autre projet, autrement conséquent: une œuvre pour saxophone alto.

Je lui passais alors la liste et l’enregistrement d’effets, liste que j’avais précédemment envoyéé à
Edison Denisov pour l’écriture de sa Sonate pour saxophone alto et piano. Cette bande
comprenait outre des exemples classiques, des sons de toutes sortes produits de différentes
manières, avec seulement le bec ou le bocal, par exemple; des jeux différenciés d’attaques; des
batteries de notes inusitées; des sons simultanés; etc.

Au printemps 1979, François me remettait le manuscrit du « Frêne Égaré » pièce substantielle

pour saxophone alto solo, d’une nouveauté sans pareille.

J’ai créé Le Frêne à Chicago, le 30 juin 1979 et l’ai joué une vingtaine de fois par la suite, en
France, USA, Suède, Italie, Allemagne, Japon…

C’est principalement autour de cette œuvre d’une nouveauté incompréhensible à l’époque pour
bon nombre de saxophonistes (elle le reste encore pour certains) que c’est établie une amitié qui
n’a cessé de se développer depuis.

« Le Frêne Égaré » est historiquement la première œuvre sérieuse (avec « Périples » de Paul
Méfano, basée, elle, sur des éléments de jazz) pour saxophone seul. Son impact a été
manifestement très important, son influence des plus fortes. Elle a donné naissance depuis, à plus
de 1.700 (mille sept-cents) pièces pour saxophone seul, souvent, musicalement importantes.
   193

(P.S.: Le répertoire universel du saxophone dit « classique » est actuellement de plus de 30.000
pièces. En 2012 j’ai répertorié plus de 3.000 nouveaux titres soit plus de 8 œuvres nouvelles
chaque jour!)

J’ai joué d’autres pièces de François (notamment plusieurs fois Bachflüssigkeit).

En 1977 avec les meilleurs étudiants de ma classe supérieure, j’ai inventé les Ensembles de
Saxophones, (orchestre composée de tous les membres de la famille des saxophones: 1
sopranino, 2 soprano, 3 alto, 3 ténor, 2 baryton, 1 basse). François a été à nouveau des premiers à
m’honorer d’une œuvre originale et substantielle: Spath, créé à Nüremberg, par l’Ensemble
International de Saxophones placé sous ma direction, le 10 juillet 1982, dans le cadre du VIIth
World Saxophone Congress. Depuis, les orchestres de saxophones se sont multipliés dans le
monde entier, suscitant plusieurs centaines d’œuvres originales spécifiques, faisant de cette
formation un nouveau type d’orchestre.

2. How would you describe Rossé’s contribution to the saxophone’s repertoire and new music in
general?

François Rossé est incontestablement un novateur. L’importance de l’investissement intellectuel,

artistique, créatif dont il fait preuve dans son premier opus (« Le Frêne Égaré ») ont surpris,
notamment ses maîtres (Betsy Jolas). Cet engagement sans précédent a fait tâche. Dès lors, le
saxophone n’a plus été considéré comme un instrument mineur, insignifiant, anecdotique…
Avec et grâce à François, l’instrument devenait digne des réflexions musicales à la fois les plus
hautes et les plus profondes. Du jamais vu, du jamais fait!

Depuis Hymne Sacré de Berlioz (1844) et parmi les quelques centaines d’œuvres écrites avec ou
pour saxophone, nous connaissions les œuvres dédiées à l’instrument par Vincent d’Indy,
Debussy, Caplet, Schmitt puis les remarquables partitions d’Alexandre Glazounov (Quatuor op.
109 et Concerto en Mib) et de Jacques Ibert (Concertino da camera), mais aucune n’était
véritablement idiomatique de l’instrument (à l’encontre de ce que faisaient Coleman Hawkins et
Charlie Parker dans le jazz).

François Rossé (plus qu’Edison Denisov en 1970), prit le saxophone pour ce qu’il est et non pour
une sorte de clarinette (Debussy), de violoncelle (Glazounov), de flûte (Ibert), faisant ainsi de lui
un instrument nécessaire à la musique qu’il suscitait… Cette attitude (qu’ont eu généralement les
grands compositeurs pour les instruments qu’ils utilisaient) est aujourd’hui admise. On cherche
de moins en moins à travestir le saxophone.

Christian Lauba des premiers disciples de François Rossé, portera les caractéristiques
idiomatiques du saxophone à un tel degré de nécessité, qu’à l’instar de Chopin pour le piano, il
faudra immanquablement un saxophone pour que cette musique soit en vérité.

3. How is your approach to Rossé’s music different than your approach to works by other
composers?
   194

Si les éléments de rythme, d’articulation, de justesse d’intonation demeurent permanents dans la

musique de François Rossé, comme dans tout autre musique dite savante, la notion de liberté
attachée à celle–sous-entendue- de pulsation, me paraît primordiale. La musique de Rossé
essentiellement portée sur l’humain, se conçoit avant d’être jouée et demande d’être portée en soi
avant d’être livrée. La partition n’est qu’un guide qui conduit à l’œuvre. Improvisateur de nature,
François demande que l’exécution de sa musique rénove cette liberté habitée.

4. Which of Rossé’s works have you performed?

Le Frêne Égaré, Étude en balance, Étude en vocalise, Bachflüssigkeit, Connexions I, Lobuk

constrictor, Lombric, Saodi II, Spath

5. What advice would you offer saxophonists and chamber ensembles as they interpret and
perform these works (Nishi Asakusa, Bear's Trio, et Orients) that were influenced by traditional
Japanese cultural elements?

Comme toujours, connaître et adhérer aux objectifs du compositeur avant de commencer à jouer
la première note.

 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
   195

APPENDIX C.

HSRB INFORMED CONSENT LETTER

   196

APPENDIX D.

CPEA AUTHORIZATION LETTER