The sage of sonic Universes: R.I.P. Vangelis (1943-2022)

 

A kid, aged eight and a half, is mesmerised by an episode of something called Cosmos, made by a superb scientist (Carl Sagan) he never heard of, airing on the national TV channel of a Communist country in the grips of a dictator, at the end of the 1970s... 

To see this on the propaganda-saturated, unwatchable TV channel, which was only airing anything for a few hours per day, was a stunning experience in itself. 

But the little kid got hooked, quasi-obsessed, with the main theme of the series. The stars and galaxies were flowing in the vast Cosmos, accompanied by a piano motif, then the music built into an orchestral and electronic ocean, finishing off with celestial choirs...

It was nothing the kid heard before and it was, at the same time, Earthly, passionate, sublime, and otherworldly. Somebody called Vangelis was listed as composer. 

In 2022, an almost fifty-one year old former kid, with vast music collection ranging from 12th century Early Music to space ambient electronica, is in disbelief... as the man who triggered his interest in music that transcends any categorisation, any temporal and spatial limit, is gone. 

Vangelis Papathanassiou, the Greek composer, multi-instrumentalist, pioneer of synthesizer music of a unique kind, has passed away aged 79 in France, on the 17 May 2022. 

The obituaries inundating the international press at the moment, hours after the announcement, are making ostinato-like repeated references to his Oscar winning film score for Chariots of Fire, to his era-defining and endlessly imitated, sub-genre creating soundtrack to the legendary Blade Runner, to his trailblazing years in the prog rock band Aphrodite's Child, to his collaborations with myriad musicians, to his many other soundtrack works.

But there are aspects of his life and music that even in 2022 are unique or, at best, very seldom found in contemporary music. 

Vangelis never cared about what instruments made the unimaginable range of sounds he used. He stated many times that he "happened" to use synthesizers as he just found it easier to create the previously unheard sounds he imagined. He thoroughly rejected the terms electronic music or electronic musician - these labels, as his discography proves, were meaningless. 

He proved that not the tools, but their uses matter - synthesizers never sounded so warm, passionate, epic as in his creations at a time where countless others were diving into electronic styles that put the technology at the centre. Some to this day rage endless debates online about nonsensical sub-divisions of synthesizer categories and define themselves by the tools they use. Vangelis was and remained the antithesis of all that.

Vangelis never cared about genres - and could instinctively inhabit, recreate, convey the spirit of countless historic periods and ethnic tradisions. Time and space seized to exist, countless ancient traditions, styles, genres and sub-genres met seamlessly in his music... As Ridley Scott once said, Vangelis could effortlessly sound Medieval and contemporary at the same time. 

And here comes the clencher. 

The man who composed everything from progressive rock to jazz and jazz rock, from African tribal music to Celtic ballads, from Far Eastern lullabies to space ambient, from Medieval choral and instrumental music to fiery and Earth-shattering cosmic electronic epics... never formally learnt music, never read or wrote music. 

His Direct system invented in the later 80s allowed him even more what he was doing before: largely improvised creations emanated from his sonic wonderland... with zero regard to the contorted artificial categorisations the music press tried to squeeze his compositions into. 

His discography is impossible, it cannot exist - yet it does. Not long ago this blog posted a quick "inventory" of the utterly mindblowing range of styles, genres, and sub-genres he composed in.

It could not have been composed by one man, it is just impossible that a single person could span millennia and tens of thousands of miles of musical traditions and styles. Yet it was composed by a formally never musically trained man. 

What it meant to listen to his musical Universe during a Communist dictatorship, as a sonic escapism filled with wonder, is impossible to describe for the former little kid who got blown away by the main theme from Cosmos. 

What it meant in subsequent decades to discover the truly limitless sonic Universe Vangelis could create... is also impossible to describe.

May He rest in peace, reunited with the music of the Universe, which, as he often humbly said, was merely channeled by him. He maintained that he never composed anything... he just managed to hear what the Universe was creating.

Thank you, Grand Master of wondrous sounds. 

The great escapes... of the music making process

From the first rhythms of hitting two stones together in a cave to a music workstation packed in our luggage, music and its creative process staged four great escapes from their confines. 

The hugely disruptive inventions, which caused those great escapes, are now taken for granted - because their results changed our world so significantly. 

Arguably, the first musical scales and their reproducible definitions, which were used to tune musical instruments, essentially allowed the creation and playing of music to travel from one person to another. Pythagoras certainly has a big claim in that department, and his scale has shaped even metaphysical musings on music and its significance for several millennia.

However, learning and reproducing music has remained a superbly tedious process. It could take even up to ten years to become an ecclesiastical singer in the early Middle Ages, as the only rudimentary musical notation available to the monks merely captured a vague outline of the musical piece. 

The so-called neumatic notation was merely indicating, for example, whether the melodic line was going up or down. Singers learned compositions by listening to, and repeating, others.

The first truly great escape of music came from the colossal idea of a Benedictine monk in the early 11th century. 

Guido of Arezzo has had the phenomenal idea of working out a musical notation that allowed musicians to reproduce a piece of music on sight. He also invented a method of teaching, and even to the Pope's great surprise, a score could be instantly performed by boys who have never seen or heard the musical piece before.

This was absolutely unheard of until Guido's invention of modern staff notation. A score could be sent to singers somewhere else, and they could instantly reproduce the chant...

More than a thousand years later we take it for granted that someone can produce a score, send it or publish it to others, and it is a truly ordinary concept for us that anybody who understands the notation is able sing or play the composition on sight, anywhere else in the world.

It is somewhat amusing to think that many centuries after Guido, some tried to lock music up behind certain walls. 

The most famous example is that of Allegri's Miserere, which was considered so divine that its score was not allowed to 'escape' the walls of the Vatican... Only three authorised persons were given transcriptions of this indeed sublime work.

Imagine the pleasure that Guido would have felt, if he had seen a young musical genius called Mozart listening to the piece during a visit to Rome, and then transcribing it from memory... 

Thus, Allegri's masterpiece had literally escaped the mighty walls of the Vatican.

Still, music remained an ephemeral wonder. One had to be physically present at a performance, and once having listened to it, one could only rely on one's memory to evoke the sounds and emotions of the work. 

One may not have had the means to attend performances, and one's access to certain types of music performed in certain settings may have been limited or completely made impossible for one's entire life.

Thomas Edison's humble wax cylinder has changed everything in 1877. 

True, it was shockingly rudimentary by today's standards, but suddenly, any musical performance could be recorded and reproduced elsewhere, any number of times, by practically anybody.

For us, it seems absolutely banal that ephemeral musical performances could be preserved for posterity - or that one could repeatedly listen to performances by musicians one could not meet, from venues one could not access.

This initial, and later immensely developed, recording technology allowed radio and all other broadcasts, too in the years and centuries that followed.

It may not seem like an invention that had direct and vast impact on music creation, but... composers were no longer creating pieces of music that were laying around on pages of scores that were only usable by trained musicians, and audible only by people who could attend performances by such musicians. 

Composers could create musical scores that were recorded once in a recording studio, and then their creations could reach millions of people scattered around the globe, who could listen any number of times to their beloved musical favourites. 

This even had impact on the format and content of what they composed, e.g. in popular genres some songs 'had' to fit onto certain mediums in terms of duration.

Dave Smith's & Chet Wood's invention of MIDI in 1981 brought us the next great escape of the music creation process.

Imagine if Bach had had a MIDI keyboard and the means to record MIDI information... His ephemeral (and reportedly stunning) improvisations could have been captured for posterity, and reproduced instantly as if he had been sitting at the keyboard. 

MIDI, or the musical instrument digital interface, became the perhaps most stable standard that could carry not the sound, but information of the actual musical events in a musical performance. 

It encoded, in a form universally understood by any MIDI-capable instrument and software, the musical notes, the way in which they were played expressively by the musicians, and heaps of extra information of that very performance. 

Musical compositions created on digital instruments and computers could be instantly transformed into a musical score, passed to entire orchestras as a finished piece of music noted down in traditional form. Guido would have loved to see this...

We may take it for granted, but for the first time in mankind's history, musical notes and their performance details could be instantly captured, reproduced and developed further, sent to someone else to collaborate on quasi-instantly... The actual musical composition process suddenly escaped any physical confines of locality and time. 

One could return to a complex composition weeks later and continue where one had left off... One could instantly recall elements of a work, could change it, elaborate on it... 

It also brought another type of escape: a break from human limitations. 

Imaginative and revolutionary composers could now develop pieces of music that were literally impossible to perform by humans, no matter how technically gifted they may have been as players. In terms of complexity and tempo, MIDI allowed the creation and reproduction of compositions that could never have been born without it and the instruments that could turn MIDI information into sounds. 

Only a few years later, the next great escape of music creation & production occurred.

The 1980s have brought us the affordable and portable music workstations that eventually made the entire music creation process, from composition to mixing to mastering, fully portable...

Ensoniq and Korg were at the forefront of this revolution, if we don't count the Synclavier in the late 1970s or the Fairlight CMI, which were pricey inventions in their initial incarnations. These were for quite some time confined to high-end studios or were in the hands of established successful musicians who could afford them. Also, in terms of features, they were not yet the end-to-end music production tools that later workstations at a fraction of price have become.

However, workstations like Ensoniq ESQ-1, Korg M1, and their vastly powerful successors have changed everything. With their immense sonic range, on-board effects, MIDI recording and editing, even multi-track digital recording and mastering, allowed one to pack the studio into a bag... and take it anywhere. 

Later the arrival of purely software workstations running on personal computers, especially laptops, truly made the music studio portable. 

Not just the composition, but the entire music production process has become something that one could pack into a bag, travel with, unpack during travel or on arrival, pour the fruits of one's labour into other equipment... or make even a CD master copy without using any other tool. 

Where would the next great escape come from? What could it be?

Perhaps we lose our dependence on the instruments and studio production tools packed into a mighty software or hardware workstation? Maybe the next great escape comes from outside music technology, in the form of wearable and implanted tech... 

We might see the 'escape' of the very early stages of the musical creation process, i.e. turning thoughts directly into compositions that can be downloaded to anything or anyone else, without the reliance of an external musical instrument to first play it on...

We could think up perhaps musical pieces, sounds, soundscapes, directly translate them in our heads into audible and reproducible works, which then can be transferred to others... without having a laptop or a bulky synth workstation carried around with us. 

Whatever it may be as a next disrupting and world-changing step, for now, we can just reminisce on where we ended up since a humble monk in an Italian monastery wanted to write down music that could be instantly understood and reproduced by others...

Farewell to a sound perfectionist - On Florian Schneider's passing

It is difficult to write more than the acres of eulogies that have been written on the passing of the co-founder of Kraftwerk, Florian Schneider, at the age of 73.

Thus, one could try a completely different and personal angle instead.

When I first heard Kraftwerk's track Spacelab, I was in my early teens in Ceausescu's communist dictatorship. As there were only a few hours of mostly propaganda-filled TV each day, Saturday evenings were special... There was a 30-minutes-long show called Teleenciclopedia, which was popularising science - and one of its slots was about astronomy and space exploration.

They used a lot of electronic music, which was considered ideologically "safe" and clean, also, the music of the future. For the aesthetic promoted by the propaganda machinery, electronic music was a progressive genre, and usually was significantly less censored than rock, pop, or even classical music was. How ironic it was to have eminently humanist musical creations embraced by the dehumanising totalitarian propaganda, by ideologists who completely misunderstood what the music was about...

So that TV show put me in contact with instrumental electronic music, as they used sections of synthesizers-based tracks... Kraftwerk was one of the electronic legends that made me perk up.

Although their aesthetic was carefully crafted to point to Earth, humans, and, among other things, the dehumanising potential of technology, it was wonderful escapism for me. They could point out what technology could do to human society, but they were not dystopian - quite the opposite really, and often even with subtle humour and irony.

Food rationing, the dangers of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person in the wrong place, the repeated power cuts, endless propaganda in every media, freezing cold class rooms due to heroic savings on heating and electricity were an indescribable opposite to the electronic music sometimes heard on radio and TV.

For me, Kraftwerk was not space music, like Tangerine Dream and some of the 1970s albums by Vangelis were. It was about us, society, and Earth - but it shared a certain sense of melancholy that I liked in the aforementioned electronic legends' music.

It was about another world, whilst rooted in ours. It was about another time, whilst firmly rooted in the era in which the albums were created. Heck, even their album covers for me were phenomenal, as they self-consciously borrowed from the visual language of e.g. Soviet propaganda.

Who can forget the cover of The Man Machine? Many in the "West" didn't realise just how precise and telling the graphic design choices were, from the font to the poses and the colour scheme... We, in the "East", instantly recognised the language from posters all too familiar to us.

To say that Schneider and Kraftwerk were visionaries, well, it would be a much over-used understatement.

They showed me that it is possible to be immensely erudite, technological, compose music about a world of "robots" even, in strict and wide sense, too - but at the same time to be emotional under the surface, and create a truly unique high-tech melancholia. Nobody sounded like Kraftwerk - it was robotic on the surface, but deeply human under the surface.

Also, it was a complete antithesis of the communist propaganda's vision about a technological future. Latter was utterly dehumanised, with complete erosion of individuality... Kraftwerk depicted a downright romantic vision, even when they poked at the darker effects of technology. As robotic as their constructed imagery and performances may have been, the music was about the humans inhabiting the ultra-technological world of the future...

From their light and immensely popular tracks, which smashed up the walls around "laboratory" electronica and blasted it into popular mainstream, to the deeply atmospheric and philosophical compositions like the trailblazing Autobahn or Numbers, the list of era-defining works could go on and on.

Yes, era-defining as much as they were capturing the zeitgeist of respective eras... They even played with our perceptions and interpretations, one key example of double entendre being the track Radioactivity from the album with same title.

Schneider's attention to detail, technical inventiveness, conceptual thinking, and, of course, boundless imagination, has shaped even genres we would never associate with electronic music of any kind.

As he put it, "We have played and been understood in Detroit and in Japan, and that’s the most fascinating thing that could happen. Electronic music is a kind of world music. I think that the Global Village is coming.”

May you be now, for all eternity, in the realm of phenomenally intricate sounds of the Cosmos... Rest in peace...

Nostalgia, renewal, and Tangerine Dreaming

Nostalgia is a powerful force. If one is tempted to say that the previous statement mainly applies to marketing nowadays, many great writers and poets of the Romantic era would have a chuckle if they could hear that opinion.

Susan Stewart wrote not too long ago that nostalgia is basically “a longing that of necessity is inauthentic … because the past it seeks has never existed except in narrative."

Thankfully, music fans falling into the (most often) deeply pleasing trap of nostalgia can say that, well, they are in a privileged position. The past that they seek is instantly reproducible by replaying a piece of recorded music, it is tangible when they lift the physical medium off the shelves of a record collection.

Still, there are cases where nostalgia, as pleasing as it may be, can become a hindrance to fully appreciating and enjoying novel artistic works. 

A rather unique situation is when a concept, a brand, or even a quasi-institution in art lives on after the originator or founder has passed away. 

Examples of such situations in pop culture abound. Is Spider-Man still Spider-Man after the passing of Stan Lee and Steve Ditko? Is Star Trek still Star Trek long after the passing of Gene Roddenberry?

In classical music, was the splendid Hilliard Ensemble still unquestionably Hilliard Ensemble long after the founding member (Paul Hillier) left?

Even without asking the respective fans, one would be able to say, resoundingly, "yes". The absence of various degrees of outrage rooted in nostalgia is basically absent when it comes to these names and brands.

Thus, before these introductory musings get even more unbearably long, we arrive at a rather unique phenomenon in electronic music. Perhaps in music, in general.

Tangerine Dream is a veritable institution in trailblazing electronic music.

One can say this not merely based on their vast discography, their era-defining seminal studio and live albums, or their classic soundtracks to landmark films. With all the technological and artistic pioneering work that TD's founding father, Edgar Froese, and the many visionary musicians who were and/or still are members of Tangerine Dream have created, this band has really earned a unique place on the firmament of electronica.


Therefore, perhaps it is no surprise that the post-Edgar Froese Tangerine Dream can trigger very strong nostalgia... and very strong subjective opinions, too.

On social media one can see comments along the lines of "this is not Tangerine Dream". One could see even factually untrue, or at best inaccurate, labels like "cover band". The chorus of outrage from hardened fans reading or hearing such opinions can surpass the Earth-shattering pulsations of those trademark Tangerine Dream bass sequences...

During the introduction, with therein mentioned examples from pop culture and classical music, the case of "X is no longer X" after the passing of a creative central figure was hopefully put to rest.

To say that TD is not TD, despite its founding father's explicit wish to continue with the concept, despite the vast array of instantly recognisable characteristics of their music, despite the absolute adherence to the core principles of what made TD the phenomenon that it still is... well, it would be historically and musically erroneous.

A concept does survive and it has full rights to be respected under its original name - if it stays true to itself.

This then lands us in the topic of imitation or, heaven forbid, mere repetition - since some commented that the current TD is merely a "cover band".

In some ways, this has some positive element in it, as it recognises that the brand stays true to what it stands for - even if it wants to deny the presence of continued creativity.

Whilst one should respect opinions, one should, and easily could, objectively refute claims that the current Tangerine Dream lineup constitutes a cover band that just renders tracks from the immense back catalogue.

Why objectively, in such a subjective and abstract form of art that is music?

Well, if one considers current TD a cover band then one disregards important facts: the existence of a critically much celebrated new studio album and the series of epic live compositions that have, thankfully, become a constant presence in TD live appearances.

One should ask the skeptical and eminently nostalgic TD fan: when was the last time that he/she heard such compositions at a "classic" TD concert or on a TD album that pre-dates the current lineup?

We have waited decades to hear what the post-Edgar Froese lineup is treating us to. If a cover band delivers often 40- or 50-odd minutes of new and instantly recognisable Tangerine Dream compositions as improvised live sessions, then we must really rewrite the definition of the term "cover band".

Paddling onto less objective waters, the understandably nostalgic, but intriguingly non-objective, voices seem to also disregard the wider picture.

Namely, Tangerine Dream has constantly evolved and changed, even if sometimes in much
questioned artistic directions. An essential part of these changes was also the series of changes in lineup.

In that sense, Thorsten Quaeschning (who worked with Edgar Froese since 2005!), Hoshiko Yamane, Ulrich Schnauss, and the recent (utterly splendid) appearances by Paul Frick are another very natural phase in the epic saga that is Tangerine Dream.

Joan Baez once wrote:  "My dread is for my show to be a nostalgia act. So the key to it is how do we keep it fresh?"

In the case of Tangerine Dream, whilst one can understand and appreciate the nostalgia that is at work behind aforementioned negative takes, the relentless creativity, astonishing musicianship, and continued innovation one can witness in every new album and live appearance is something to be celebrated.

Those are the elements that are keeping TD fresh, as is a faithfulness to the TD concept. If we listen to the new versions of classic tracks, we can hear how thoughtful and sensitive the new takes are. Sure, this is a subjective matter, but comparing some rather aggressive reworkings pre-dating this lineup and the new takes on classics is a very interesting exercise - and comes very recommended when nostalgia overtakes us.

Whilst we can certainly reminisce when we listen to Phaedra, Ricochet, Stratosfear or Poland (or many more from the astounding TD discography), we could be doing ourselves a huge disservice if we let that nostalgia suppress our senses when we are faced with the spellbinding new Sessions and musical renditions of quantum physics principles emanating from the studio and the stages where Tangerine Dream fire up their synthesizers...




(Photos by the author - Tangerine Dream Live at Barbican Hall, March 2019)

Fifty switched-on years: Wendy Carlos, a modular Moog... and Bach

The 1968 original cover

In October 1968, the seminal album Switched-On Bach was released. Wendy Carlos, using an era-defining Moog synthesizer, has surprised audiences with pioneering electronic renditions of selected Bach compositions.

In 2018, this may sound absolutely banale - even if in 1968 none other than the legendary pianist Glenn Gould held the ground-breaking performances in the highest regard. We are  nowadays taking electronic instruments for granted, and synthesizer reworkings of classical pieces have been ubiquitous...

One really needs to put Wendy Carlos's unprecedented achievement in technical, musical, and also cultural context.

Electronic instruments, even with the arrival of Robert Moog's classic synthesizer, have been laboratory curiosities until then. Even if some electronic works so-to-speak escaped into the popular realm well before 1968, synthesized sound has not truly exploded into popular consciousness until then.

The technical challenges were numerous, and one can get an insight into this by consulting countless notes and interviews done with Carlos and others. The list is quasi-endless, from notoriously unstable tuning to the often overlooked fact that the synth on which Carlos performed the Bach pieces was essentially monophonic - i.e. it could produce sound for one note at a time. Custom "chord generators" had to be made, with chained-together oscillators, such that Bach's chord structures could also take shape.

We must not forget, this was Bach actually played on the Moog - no automation or programming of any sort has taken place. A revolutionary touch-sensitive keyboard allowed very articulated performances. Still, it necessitated an almost superhuman way of playing when faced with a monophonic keyboard - something that Carlos modestly called "detached" playing, as each key had to be activated on its own. Try and keep an eminently fluid and spirited performance going, playing on such an instrument...

These technical difficulties, heroically overcome by Carlos, lead us to the musical achievement.

This may well be a switched-on and fully electronic Bach, but it is very switched-on from musical performance perspective, too. As much as some voices denigrated the results, even "serious" musicians, like the aforementioned Glenn Gould, and the unexpectedly numerous public embraced it.

Even now, half a century later, Carlos's performances (including the particularly superb choices made in terms of the arrangements, i.e. synthesized timbres) range from eminently subtle to joyously bouncy.

The cultural impact and its effect on the public's perception of the new electronic instruments have been immense.

The first cohesive and large work, with truly world-wide popular success, recorded entirely with synthesizers was not a stereotypical pop or rock tune (like Telstar in 1962). It was an entire album of popular works by J. S. Bach... as a result of a stunningly audacious adventure centred around a synthesizer monster that was just about emerging from its laboratory environment...

Wendy Carlos in 1968

Have all negative preconceptions, by now simply anachronistic prejudices, related to electronic instruments been put to rest during the fifty years that followed?

Yes and no.

Both utterly high-brow and utterly popular music widely employs synthesizers, and so does pretty much everything in-between... Very often, the artificial delimitation line between non-electronic and electronic instruments is entirely blurred or non-existent, as audiences may not even be able to tell the difference between some samplers and the instruments they sampled. Also, often complex processing of traditional instruments' sounds makes those sound eminently electronic when they are not...

However, some still see electronic instruments as tools for creating "sterile", "not human", "machine" etc. music. Some sub-genres of electronic music, which heavily rely on robotic rhythms or entirely intentional robotic aesthetics, certainly do not help in shifting these out-dated misperceptions.

Even within the Berlin School of electronic music, e.g. Kraftwerk represents a diametrically opposite aesthetic and artistic intent compared to e.g. Tangerine Dream. Former had a specific message centred on technology, whilst latter explicitly used technology as merely a creative tool and never let it take over. See Kraftwerk standing immobile with their laptops, and see Tangerine Dream still, 50+ years on, jamming in lengthy live improvised sets... The concept and the intent behind their respective art is vastly different - and the resulting music also shows the radically different, even opposite, approaches to synthesizers.

The great Romantic passion in works by Vangelis are quite different from the energies unleashed by any of the trance or techno acts, and comparisons are unfair to make - as there are no valid comparisons between eminently different musical intentions and aesthetics.

However, one could say that views that consider electronic music to be "sterile" have been conceptually wrong from the very beginning.

Even in 1968, people looking at (as some never listened or wanted to listen to) Wendy Carlos's monster Moog synth as a tool for "machine" music were committing a fundamental error.

Not because of subjective pros and cons and tastes... but because it is an (intentional or not) confusion of three different things: instrument, medium, and content.

Synthesizers, as obvious it may seem when rationally thinking about them, are merely instruments... One can make, and has made ,sterile or cerebral music with a flute, too...

As the late, unparalleled Isao Tomita said once, synth-made electronic sound is as natural as the sound of thunder made by nature's electric discharges... After all, what creates the sound doesn't matter - the boundaries and preconceptions are in our minds only...

What we are supposed to sound like....

The discourse on music's eminently different two roles, one functional, the other well above and beyond functional, dates back millennia.

The Harmonic Scale, Franchino Gaffurio, 1480 

Even when musical scales were defined and explained in ancient times with presumed, or sometimes vaguely empirical, ratios between orbits of celestial objects, music had at the same time a recognised functional role of entertainment, and a spiritual role with even cosmic connections...

Fast forward to contemporary electronic music... and we have something that, perhaps more than any other musical genre in history, abounds with cosmic references. Even vast sub-genres like space ambient or fusions like space rock are making direct references to that outer realm, which is immediately giving such music a higher purpose.

Apart from such philosophical and historic aspects, the democratisation of music making has been an unprecedented phenomenon in our history.

One is not thinking of the availability of an improvised woodwind instrument and the tunes that any shepherd could produce at any time during our many past millennia. Making music at this level and having a few mates around to perhaps listen to it was a possibility for anyone with any background in any historic era.

Trident Studios in the '70s

However, the democratisation of cutting-edge and professional music production has been brought along by affordable electronic instruments and studio equipment. Only very few decades ago a musician had to command a very respectable budget in order to produce something that could stand up in the market of mainstream or more elitist genres. The process of getting the end product onto that market has also changed radically in recent years, but this is an entirely different topic.

Apart from the technological and financial aspects, the actual process of music making has shifted toward a state of affairs that vastly stimulates both inspiration and the creation of well-polished end products - even eminently improvised ones. The end products no longer require in-depth knowledge of music theory, many rhythmic and harmonic aspects are taken care of, in real time, by the algorithms at work in the gizmos or computer apps populating the home studio.

But let's firmly and rapidly side-step any polemic on how technology helps talent-less people create music. This is a topic that, with all its fundamental factual, conceptual and historical errors, keeps turning up like rheumatic pain. It is similar to what happened to the replacement of dark rooms with digital dark rooms, similar arguments were and are endlessly made about how it brings the death of artistic photography. It did not.

AKAI MPC-X

What technology does immensely help with nowadays is the compositional process itself. Hugely sophisticated, whilst affordable, gadgets can radically change the creative workflow. Again, as the old saying goes, anybody can do it nowadays. Well, again, let's side-step this for a moment.

One of the more abstract effects of this technology (from superb MPCs to Ableton Push to full-blown music workstations with KARMA algorithmic composition) is the shift in our perception of how what music created in such ways should be like.

When Billboard magazine, of quite some pedigree, managed to judge Gary Numan's latest album as "not electronic enough", it unwillingly created a case study in this perceptual shift. Billboard fundamentally misjudged the concept album despite its content, because the stereotype of what electronic music should sound like has been drastically shifted - and encompasses only a few very specific sub-genres.

Ade Fenton & Gary Numan

Numan's album was around 95% created and finalised with electronic instruments, according to both the artist and the producer, Ade Fenton. It certainly sounded eminently electronic, superbly futuristic, and as it happens, loaded with actual meaning and messages.

However, it only sounded eminently electronic to those who did not drastically limit the scope and extent of electronic music to typical results created with drum and sample loops, something that aforementioned creative tools excel in.

Electronic music, from its early days and years of imaginative demolishing of all boundaries, has ironically become a semantic tag for just a few very narrow genres and sub-genres.

If one looks at what is included in the category of electronic music, then it becomes clear that in our perception this music has largely lost its non-functional roles.

Dance music, and all its sub-genres, is making us... well, dance and have a good time. Even the not so mainstream, but abundant, ambient and chillout electronica is here to helps us relax, well, chill out...

When talking to creators of mainstream electronica, it is also becoming obvious how even the concept of composing with a primary intent, hence setting an objective in terms of what the music expresses or describes, is becoming an alien one or something never heard of. In best case, it is seen as "old-fashioned".

Whilst both technology and its users are creating, among the inevitable ocean of mediocrities, gems of mainstream electronica, we really are increasingly pushing traditional composition and traditional musical values into, at best, marginalised and quite niche sub-genres.

Vangelis in his former London studio

Traditional composition here is not meant along the lines of doodling with a piano and taking out pencil and paper with staves. It is meant as approaching the task of creating a piece of music with actual intent, even when merely improvising on our gadgets... and keeping focus on what the music is meant to express.

This, though, requires command of music theory, and examples of supreme masters with no such formal knowledge are rare - let's just say, there are not many Vangelis-like phenomena in electronic music...

Just saying this makes one sound hopelessly elitist, because the ways in which we can create electronic music nowadays has distorted our entire vision on what the creative process is, and what it is supposed to come up with. Electronic music that is released on, heaven forbid, concept albums, is deemed old-fashioned. Undoubtedly, the excesses of progressive rock have made the term "concept album" an almost pejorative one in the eyes and ears of many punk and post-punk generations of music creators and consumers.

It is ironic though, that in the most limitless genre, huge proportion of electronic music is created nowadays with merely its functional role in mind. This pretty much drives our definitions and expectations of what electronica "must" be.

Some niche sub-genres are either unbearably academic (continuing the eminently experimental traditions), or labelled with the by now pejorative-sounding new age term. Latter has anyway become a bucket not just for pretentious and often ludicrous "spiritual" electronica, but also for just about any music that happens to be a fusion of orchestral, ethnic, traditional and electronic. In the same way that progressive rock has eventually become a bucket for everything that didn't fit into rigid rock sub-genres, new age has become the same for electronic music.

Nils Frahm

The perversity of our shifted preconceptions and perceptions of what electronic music is supposed to sound like are made even more evident when the unparalleled pioneers or novel acts of far-out electronic music are pigeonholed into the new age genre.

Tangerine Dream ending up in that category? Really? Harold Budd, Kitaro and even Vangelis? Olafur Arnalds and Nils Frahm? It is simply tragicomic.

However, like the unstoppable and quite uncoordinated  changes of ever-changing human languages, this movement shows the shifts and currents at work. It is absolutely commendable that our drum boxes and sequencers allow anybody to lay down musical ideas at any moment, in a vein that the great composers of yesteryear would have given an arm and a leg for.

Improvisations are no longer lost forever, and can be the origins of major and complex works. Technology really is here to help, as long as the human maintains creative control.

It just remains painfully ironic how the vast new abilities and powers of this astounding and still new musical Universe are achieving the opposite effect: instead of increasingly leveraging the possibilities created by the unprecedented technology behind this music, we are increasingly limited in our rapidly narrowing perceptions of what this truly limitless sonic Universe "should" sound like. And latter is confined to the functional role of music, despite its new abilities to take us beyond the party moods, ambiental wanderings and relaxation attempts.

One has to wonder what the early pioneers would think, if they could witness what this phenomenal new genre of music has become in our aesthetic definitions and expectations.

Sequenced Alternate Universes: Christopher Franke at 65

Chris Franke, a pivotal former member of the electronic music legend Tangerine Dream, is one of the rare and still active persons who can be inextricably linked with the characteristic sound of the Berlin School of electronic music. On 6 April, he celebrated his 65th birthday.

The originally jazz drummer Franke has become a superlative pioneer in the use of sequencers, which were used by many to produce repetitive sequences of melodic notes or percussion.

The live use of sequencers, notoriously unstable in the analogue era and in need of sometimes heroic on-the-fly re-tuning, was pioneered by him and the other legend of German electronic music, Klaus Schulze.

While Schulze has used it in his solo performances that even now, on archive or bootleg tapes are spellbinding and mind-bending, Franke used them in live jams in a band that demolished any pre-conception on electronic music having been something robotic and pre-determined.

Chris Franke's contribution to Tangerine Dream's and electronic music history's seminal album Phaedra cannot be overstated. Speaking of heroics, one can hear, forever immortalised in the studio recording, Franke's on-the-fly re-tuning of the sequencers as they drift out of tune.

But then there is Ricochet, Tangerine Dream's first live album. Listening to it in 2018, it is still mesmerizing in its use of humanly impossible to perform multi-layered sequences.

Franke has not only expanded electronic music light-years beyond what was humanly playable, but his seminal contribution was that a musician was literally jamming, as in a jazz group or a fiery progressive rock outfit, with the rest of the band, whilst using the dreaded analogue sequencers.

The resulting sound has become a defining one, and even many decades later, known as the  quintessential Tangerine Dream sound.

Even the characteristic "ratcheting" of the sequencer patterns are making their way into the most state-of-the-art synthesizers manufactured now - just think of Arturia's Matrixbrute, demonstrating Tangerine Dream-esque "ratcheting" in its product demo clips.

But this is not about technology.

Yes, he has performed his mind-bending sonic imaginings on often custom-made gear that was way ahead of its time, but the essence of what was happening in his performances was eminently that of a musical mind. Yes, when he did his sequencer magic, it was almost unimaginable to most fans of electronic music that the so far rigidly and repetitively used sequencers can be played as any other instrument.

Chris Franke, as very few others, have demonstrated that superlative use of technology with a through-and-through musician thinking can propel music to levels and spheres never before even imaginable. Any Berlin School electronic music fan will have involuntary pulse rate changes when one mentions seminal live albums like Poland, which even decades later is an essential lesson to wannabe or even self-proclaimed sequencer masters.

His split with Tangerine Dream in the late '80s, and his setting up of a California-based solo career was a musically and technologically interesting move.

One could never expect the superlative master of sequencers to release a, what one might call "new age", introspective and impressionistic album - but that is exactly what his first solo album, the simply beautiful Pacific Coast Highway, is.

Franke has also produced soundtracks with remote over-the-satellite-link recorded symphonic orchestra and state-of-the-art electronics, like Universal Soldier or the hugely successful Babylon 5 TV series.

Whilst he has ventured into architectural photography, too, showing the same connection between a musical and visually creative mind as Vangelis has done, one has to recall with nostalgy the simply superhuman tour de force he has performed during his decades with Tangerine Dream.

However, if one wishes to revisit the sequencing mastery of Chris Franke in a more up-to-date robe, then his London Concert is a good reference point.

One hopes it is in no way offensive to any hardened Tangerine Dream fan or any of the current members, after the hugely regretful passing of Edgar Froese... but Chris Franke, or as he will be forever known, CF, has had a lasting and forever defining impact on what we know as the "Tangerine Dream sound"... and with that, one is actually labeling a whole and hugely significant Universe within the multitudes of electronic music of past, present, and future.