With the help of commissions from The Canada Council and creative arts grants from the Ministère des Affaires culturelles du Québec, he composed works for Louis-Philippe Pelletier, Michael Laucke, Robert Leroux, Groupe 7, the Ensemble d'Ondes de Montréal, the SMCQ, the Vallières-McCutcheon duo, and the CBC. His works have been performed in Montréal, Québec City, Toronto, Winnipeg, Metz, Cologne, Bonn, Liège and Paris. Among others, he created several works in collaboration with visual artists (Mario Côté, René Derouin) and choreographers (Jean-Pierre Perreault, Catherine Tardif).

 

Michel Gonneville received the prestigious Prix Serge-Garant 1994 (awarded by la Fondation Émile-Nelligan) in recognition the overall quality of his work.  His piece Chute/Parachute has been broadcast in more than 27 countries. Highlights of Gonneville’s output include: Intendami chi pó for the Hilliard Ensemble (London, U.K.) which premiered as part of the Festival MNM in 2005; Microphone Songs (2002) for the Crash ensemble of Dublin; Suivre la trace, perdre le fil, commissioned by the Molinari Quartet (and nominated by the Prix Opus in 2000 in the best artistic creation of the year category); Le messager, which was written in 1996-99 for the Montreal Symphony Orchestra who premiered it under the baton of Charles Dutoit; and Le cheminement de la baleine (1998), written for clarinettist Jean Laurendeau, Geneviève Grenier (ondes Martenot) and Véronique Lacroix conducting l’Ensemble contemporain de Montréal.

For Gonneville, aesthetic research is a function of research on the “means” that exist to transmit Beauty, of research about language and about technique. His efforts in this direction are related to new initiatives seen in the most recent works and theories of Stockhausen and Pousseur, ideas that have been adopted by many young composers in Canada and elsewhere. In this area, the most successful aspects of new music echo very old and fundamental ideas, like melody, consonance, driving rhythms, repetition...      

 

A passionate and inquisitive mind, Michel Gonneville likes discovering new musical horizons and new perspectives. Through his work, he continuously strives to contribute to this renewing process, exploring and unearthing new musical possibilities, both for his listeners’ benefit and his own. In his early career, he was greatly influenced by the technique of Stockhausen and Pousseur. The eloquent examples of the post-modern movement, which arose in the 1970s, also spread through his craft: Gonneville has developed his own style where melody, themes, harmony and dissonance, rhythmical articulations, perceived metrics and timbres that combine in unusual ways shed a new light on the extra-musical themes that inspired him. In doing so, he incessantly tries to reconcile his passion for research with his thirst for immediacy and communication.

 

Michel Gonneville teaches composition at the Conservatoire de musique du Québec à Montréal since 1997.

 

 

Michel Gonneville (Canada, 1950)          *Perdre la trace, suivre le fil (2000)

 

Commissioned by the Molinari String Quartet, Suivre la trace, perdre le fil is based on the same material as another piece I wrote for the same ensemble, performed along works by 18 other composers for 333 musicians on the occasion of the Symphonie du Millénaire. In both cases, the Gregorian hymn Veni Creator served as a starting point. Of course, it has been transformed, but the four melodic phrases (comprised of eight notes each) follow the same outline. But then, as this involves a quartet, it became necessary to reorganize everything in a mathematical way, thus creating a kind of geometry to respect the natural symmetry: 4 parts from 4 sections (or phrases) each represent 4 different ‘musics’ in a particular tempo. All these ‘musics’ are being defined according to the number of independent layers: 1 layer consists of the 4 instruments playing in a homorhythmic manner; 2 layers is a dialogue/antiphon played by 2 groups of 2 instruments; 3 layers is a counterpoint created by the instruments grouped in 2+1+1; and 4 layers is simply made of a counterpoint in 4 parts. The tempi are clearly divided in ‘temporal octaves’ and are always presented in the same order: the note value may be a sixteenth note (fairly quick tempo), 32nd notes (very quick), an eight note (moderate tempo) a quarter note (slow). As the total note value is the same for all phrases, the complete duration of each of them varies (from 16, 8, 32 or 64 seconds respectively). Then, ornamentation (ranging from no ornamentation at all for the 8 notes of a phrase to heavy ornamentation where the 8 original notes become only pivotal points for the ornamental notes themselves) provide different levels of density. The permutation of the different types of ‘musics’ and their varied levels of density combine with the symmetrical repetitions of the above-mentioned tempi. This creates the impression of recognizable pattern from one part to the other – but it is different enough that one can ‘loose the train of thought’ (perdre le fil). The outcome is emphasised by the free playing, or different note attacks (such as pizzicato, arco, tremolo, etc.) or by adding certain transitions between phrases. The effect can also be highlighted by the sudden appearance of a fifth player: the metronome… And of course, there are the 4x4 transpositions of the phrases; the mode, which is the result of a series of harmonics and different other techniques I have been using since 1989 (to this day, I keep discovering new facets of these techniques); the method of harmonization, integrating relatively simple sounds, which is made more complex by a set of mixtures; the brief return of the 4 original phrases as quotes, etc.

 

Finally, the short Amen from the hymn is also used in the coda, 4 times in the 4 tempi, according to the 4 different types of ‘musics’…

 

As opposed to many of my recent works, this piece does not fit the “program music” category per se.  Therefore, it is more ‘abstract’, more ‘pure’. Suivre la trace, perdre le fil is somewhat fragmented but its symmetry brings a certain logic to the piece and provides continuity. It is also a ‘work of joy’: to me, it epitomizes the pleasure of creation itself, reinforced by the delight of experiencing the physical gesture of the string quartet while I was writing it. After all, the string quartet is a ‘monstre sacré’; from the 18th-century intimate salons to our modern concert halls, the string quartet, with its powerful, invasive intimacy, is worthy of a great future. This is my first contribution towards this goal.

— Michel Gonneville

 

Michel Gonneville           *Le cheminement de la baleine (1998)

 

After a public performance of one of my works, Adonwe (a concerto for piano), Jean Laurendeau sent me this poem:

 

Lentement
Sous les vagues

Chemine
La baleine

Vers son bond
De lumière

 

Slowly
Under the waves

Travels
The whale

Leaping
To the light

 

As I read this short text (the arrival point of a meditation on the apparent contradiction of peace and violence) the form for the new work which Laurendeau wanted me to write for him immediately took shape in my mind. The composer somewhat puts himself in a dangerous position when he reveals the ‘program’ (or mental image) of one of his productions. Despite this fact, here are some mental images from this work. Purists beware: do not read the next paragraph.

 

In the beginning, the low-register instruments in the ensemble represent the whale’s body; the ondes Martenot correspond to its voice, and the clarinet (sometimes colla parte with the high-pitched instruments) stands for the whale’s lover. Treading waters, the whale first travels under the middle F# which symbolizes the horizon, the border between air and water. Touching the water in four breaths, the whale dives in the deeps of the sea and disappears momentarily. Moving on a parallel line as a creature evolving above the horizon, the clarinet — at first feverish and rhythmically unpredictable — reacts to the whale’s calls and its brief appearances. In an attempt to get closer, it too dives to catch up to the whale but remains unable to reach the same depths. As in Laurendeau’s meditative text, L'amour arrive lentement sur cette terre / D’abord le fourreau  / Ensuite l’âme / Plus tard la communion (Love slowly arrives on Earth / First the sheath / Then the soul / Later, the communion), the clarinet needs to perhaps experience the restlessness and chaos that define desire, and loose sight of the beloved object before achieving inner peace. Maybe this silent state, in which one waits patiently or listens actively, will allow the clarinet to swim back to the surface and climb on the whale’s back, moulding itself to its chant and soar together. Sharing the momentum to jump over the horizon in slow motion, in a dreamlike manner they touch the sky and vanish. When they fall back, fused together as one, the waves create a gigantic spurt from which emerge the voices of the clarinet and the whale with increasing clarity. When the horizon becomes calm gain, they sing together and the real dialogue begins.

 

Much like the text that lead to the writing of Adonwe, this poem about the whale might also evoke the depth of the creative process, or the search for identity. However, as opposed to the piano concerto, this evocation does not consist of a series of sketches. Rather, it is a continuous curve, a prolonged wave that bends into the dominating melodic cells.

 

Le cheminement de la baleine was born of many unions and celebrates several events: Jean Laurendeau’s recent return to the clarinet, bringing to the forefront the two instruments to which he dedicated his musical life, and his new status as a sexagenerian. It also marks the invention of the ondes Martenot — the 60th anniversary — and the 100th anniversary of Maurice Martenot’s birth, the inventor of the instrument (incidentally, this work was premiered on October 14, which is also the anniversary of Martenot’s death). The association of ondes Martenot and whale singing is inevitable (the humpback whale’s song, with its neumes, breaths, tessitura, etc.), served as my inspiration though I did not attempt to reproduce it here. The piece is also a tribute to Gilles Tremblay, the composer and professor of composition who recently retired from the Conservatoire de Montréal. For him, nature was always a major source of inspiration, as it was for his own mentor, Olivier Messiaen. Tremblay’s future retirement haven will probably be his house in Saint-Joseph-de-la-rive, dubbed Le pays des baleines. Finally, Le cheminement de la baleine stands as a tribute to Véronique Lacroix, founder/conductor of l’Ensemble contemporain de Montréal who together imbued the premiere performance of my other concerto with exceptional musicality. Indirectly, this work is also a tribute to the Conservatoire, as Véronique, Jean, Gilles and I exercised our craft in this venerable institution.

 

Le cheminement de la baleine was made possible through the financial support of the Conseil des Arts et des Lettres du Québec.

— Michel Gonneville

 

 

 

Benoît Côté (Canada, 1981)                     *Pan-toutt** (2007)

 

In Quebecois idiom “pan-toutt” is an expressive and somewhat drastic way of saying “nothing at all”. One would say: “Y’en avait pas pan-toutt!” which would mean “There wasn’t none at all!”. Now, this expression is paradoxical. Indeed, how can “pan” (“everything” in ancient Greek) and “tout” (“everything” in standard French) joined together take the meaning of “nothing”? God knows why and how this came about… Stranger still is how our language is full of these odd sayings, strange words and expressions that have evolved without taking notice of their origins.

 

Michel Gonneville knows this. When I told him the title of this piece, he automatically understood and analyzed its confused meaning, taking lots of pleasure in the nonsensical and expressive potential of the word. That’s Michel. A clear mind, able to see through clouds and to reveal sense and direction in complicated and entwined structures.

 

This piece is thus a reverence on a light note. It will sound at a moment a bit like Michel’s music and the instant after drastically different from Michel. But beneath the contrasts, what remains and endures of my master’s lessons is the sound of something building up gradually and surely, solid and optimistic.

 

Merci Michel!      

— Benoit Côté

 

 

Maxime McKinley (Canada, 1979)               *Wirkunst-Nijinski*** (2007)

 

“Music can be made out of anything, you know…”

(Michel Gonneville to me, during a composition lesson, in 2003)

 

When, in 1919, Vaslav Nijinski (choreographer of the Rite of Spring) writes his Notebooks, he is also devoting himself to drawing and dance. The main figure of his drawings is the circle, which reminds of the labyrinth-like syntax of the Notebooks, with their continuously repeated words and sentences. In parallel, Nijinski works on a choreographic notation system and trains intensively, sometimes 16 hours a day. Throughout these activities, Nijinski says that he is “obeying the orders of God”. It is this incredible expense of energy, maniac and schizophrenic, just preceding the silence of internment, that interested me while composing Wirkunst-Nijinski, the seventh of a series of works which have all been inspired by non-musical works of art. “Wirkunst” is a portmanteau word that I invented by assembling the German words “wir” (we), “wirkung” (effect, impression) and “kunst” (art).

— Maxime McKinley

 

 

He is recipient of numerous grants and awards including the 2006 “Discovery of the Year” Opus Prize and the CBC Rising Star Award awarded by the Quebec Music Council, three SOCAN Awards for Young Composers, the Third and Special Prizes in the 2006 Serocki International Competition (Poland) and a dozen grants from the Canada and Quebec arts councils. Nicolas Gilbert was resident composer at the Chapelle historique du Bon-Pasteur in Montreal from 2003 to 2005 and president of the Codes d’accès concert society from 2002 to 2004. He is presently preparing a doctor’s degree in composition at McGill University under the supervision of composer John Rea. During the 2005-2006 season, he was in residence at GRAME (Lyon), working on a new piece for cello and electronics (commission: GRAME-CALQ). Upcoming projects include a new cello concerto for American cellist Matt Haimovitz and the Ensemble Contemporain de Montréal, a Radio-Canada commission for the Nouvel Ensemble Moderne, and a new string quartet for the Molinari Quartet.

 

 

Nicolas Gilbert          * Réflexions circulaires sur l'origine et la destination**

 

This work constitutes a sort of prelude to Michel Gonneville’s string quartet Suivre la trace, perdre le fil. It involves a series of cycles which leads us through various musical materials until we eventually reach the point of transition, the “joint “ that will allow us to flow into Gonneville’s quartet. It is this joint, both origin and destination, that we track all along the work. Réflexions circulaires sur l’origine et la destination is dedicated to Michel Gonneville.

— Nicolas Gilbert

 

 

Charles-Antoine Fréchette (Canada, 1981)               *Pureté violée*** (2007)

 

The poignant account of a friend who was a victim of abuse provided the inspiration for Pureté violée. Here, however, the word ‘rape’ has a broader meaning; it is the rape of nature, of silence, of singing. Emerging from a windswept, peaceful silence, the discourse becomes more and more fragmented and fills with tension. This is achieved through the use of a rather unusual percussion instrument called claviers-bouteilles or “bottle-keyboard”. This piece stands as the expiation of something irreversible. Pureté violée was written for the musicians of l’Ensemble Chorum and for the event “Gonneville and his protégés”, presented by New Music Concerts in Toronto.

— Charles-Antoine Fréchette

 

 

Frans Ben Callado (Canada, 1978)                      *Black Boxes, Op. 30** (2008)

1. Trauermusik für Eldar K. (593) 2. Falha na frenagem (3054) 3. Jisei no ku (123)

 

    “We used to live in tribes, and when a tribe suffered a disaster, an exploding mountain, a shaking of the earth, a great flood, we would sit around fires and retell the event; stories of death, destruction, escape and rescue...”

— from the script of Fearless (Peter Weir, 1993)

 

Black boxes (which are generally bright orange) are otherwise known as Cockpit Voice Recorders (CVR), devices used to record the audio environment in the cockpit of an aircraft for the purpose of investigation of accidents and incidents. Black boxes have recorded the last moments of life of many people; in this context, they are enshrouded in taboo, morbidity, and mystery. Coffins are also generally black boxes. For air crash investigators, CVR’s are valuable documents, but stripped of their context they become horrible pearls of sound. Overall, hearing certain last phrases had left me curious of the human psyche in those last moments. In 1992, I had seen two people die in a light aircraft: ever since, I have paid special attention to air disasters. Here, I have chosen three peculiar crashes to comment musically, trying to portray different human attitudes and states of mind during these events, through three character studies: the 15-year-old Eldar Kudrinsky unknowingly plunging Aeroflot 593 to the ground, the two pilots of TAM 3054 throughout a catastrophic landing in Sao Paulo, and finally the passengers of Japan Air Lines 123 who wrote death-poems to their loved ones even with their own blood knowing their jet was doomed. In a civilisation like ours, where any digression from the norm entails a form of social castration, our view of death has become somewhat clogged. It is often the object of mass hysteria which capitalizes on blood and war to subjugate the common citizen, but no true understanding of the psychology behind accidental death is ever emitted. It is felt as a huge transgression to speak in a non-sensationalistic tone of these accidents, or even to take account of the singularities of their unfortunate victims. I guess this is why I have taken such interest in exploring their thoughts; my only pointers to understanding these were the atmosphere of the CVR tapes and my intuition, which is why I cannot promise any accuracy. In fact, it is a very personal interpretation made with all due respect to the victims. This is also why I have chosen, for the first time in fifteen years, to write a completely intuitive non-systemic piece. Coincidentally, in physics, logic, and computing, a black box is a system whose internal structure is unknown, or need not be considered for a particular purpose. The system is only considered for its’ input and output. In other words, this piece need not be analyzed: it needs only be heard. In such light, Black Boxes is paradoxically dedicated to the memory of my teacher’s teacher: Karlheinz Stockhausen.

— Frans Ben Callado

 

 

 

 

André Ristic (Canada, 1972)                      *Trigger-Partita** (2008)

(world and intergalactic premiere) for flute and “triggering” performer(s)

 

Although I usually fancy titles that have interesting dual meanings in French and English (or ideally even more languages) this piece has an English title, no doubt about it! In French you would translate trigger as détente which is bizarrely also a synonym for relaxation (sic!), but we don’t have such a proper word as “trigger”.

 

This is really a partita; a sequence of abstract dance movements. Of course, instead of a succession of movements, one will not be surprised I took the option of mixing them all together into one giant soup of delicious musical ingredients. The various “dances” are triggered by extraneous sounds in what looks like a nightmarish musical labyrinth from which the flutist tries to escape...

 

Although I use the word “trigger” for the first time in a title, triggering events are omnipresent in my recent works, often in the form of prerecorded samples that are to be played on a keyboard. I see them as the skeleton of the piece, revealing the frame of the composition: they appear at irregular intervals of time that create a supra-rythm... The “meat” around that skeleton is actually all the music performed by the flutist, with references to many many musical genres; I wanted it to be an homage to Michel Gonneville and a rememberance of my study years, where I recall numerous trips to the library where we would listen to pieces that for me seemed to fall right form the sky, at a time where my musical connoiseurship was limited to the well-known “serious” music repertoire. I have a general feeling of plurality when I think of M. Goneville: it is not evident if you don’t know him, but he is truly a man with an extraordiarily wide musical knowledge and a talent to transmit it to others. I think Trigger-Partita reflects, if not the whole spectrum of what I think of when referring to Gonneville and the years I spend in his class, at least a general feeling of the possibility of everything!

 

The work can be performed as a duet (electronics or percussions or other triggering device) or with a group of rotating perfomers with percussion instruments or other triggering device.

— André Ristic