Photos: Robert Astley Sparke
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Unlike many rock and pop musicians, Brian Eno enjoys theorising about the creative process, especially when he can offer a new perspective on established ideas and working practices. On composition, for instance, he opines "It's intuitive to think that anything complex has to be made by something more complex, but evolution theory says that complexity arises out of simplicity. That's a bottom up picture. I like that idea as a compositional idea, that you can set in place certain conditions and let them grow. It makes composing more like gardening than architecture."
These kind of statements have earned Brian Peter George St. John le Baptiste de la Salle Eno (no less), born in 1948 in Suffolk, the title 'Professor Eno'. It was once a joke, but Eno now wears the 'Professor' tag proudly. "I'm happy with that title," he remarks, "because it says to people: here's someone who is coming from a different direction. He doesn't bring all of the baggage that comes with expressionistic rock music. It's something else. It's another art form."
Eno's bright and airy workspace offers several more clues about his "different direction", most notably a dozen or so identical Phillips ghettoblasters suspended from the ceiling by wires. One imagines them to have some sort of decorative function, but it turns out that these low art objects are part of Eno's high art generative music making experiments.
Ever since hearing minimalist composer Steve Reich's cut and paste tape piece It's Gonna Rain (1966), Eno has been fascinated with music that generates itself in semi random fashion -- resulting in "complexity arising out of simplicity". And so Eno has made several pieces consisting of disparate elements spread out over several CDs, played by a batch of ghettoblasters in 'shuffle' mode, leading to endless never before heard variations of the pieces in question.
"It's Gonna Rain was one of the most important pieces of music in my life," Eno comments, "and the whole idea of generative really came out of that. With a generative piece you set a machine going and it makes itself, and you as the composer are also the listener. The act of listening is the act of composing. When you're hearing these complicated shifting patterns going on, it's the aural equivalent of Moire illusions, and that very much impressed me. What also impressed me was how different the composer's role is from the old romantic idea that the composer pours out these wonderful things to the passive you, the listener -- with art as a kind of tube that the artist shouts down to the more or less thick listener at the end."
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