Igor Stravinsky relates the following story in his “Conversations with Robert Craft” (Now with computerized sounds!):
“On a recent visit to Asolo, to see the composer Malipiero, I was strongly reminded of D’Annunzio. Malipiero has a most extraordinary and not entirely un-D’Annunzian house himself, a fine Venetian building on a hillside. One enters under a Latin inscription and plunges into darkest night. The dark is in deference to pairs of owls who, from covered cages in obscure corners, hoot the two notes,
in tune with Malipiero’s piano after he plays them. There is evidence in the garden of affection for other of God’s feathered creatures: chickens have been buried in marked graves; Malipiero’s chickens die of old age.”
Reading this little passage so many years ago, I realized animals can make notes as well. Not just sounds, but music too. Non-human animal music is as glorious as any human, aleatoric, or industrial music.
The breakup of the narrative with a single little score, provided the inspiration for the blog you’re reading now. Notes and text, side by side, like they used to be, when poetry was sung. When Beowulf was a Pop Song.
I’m not sure what kind of owls Malipiero kept on his property, as his personal strigine piano tuners, but they apparently hooted a high Eb and D over and over (Drag over the score above). That’s a semitone interval, the very smallest interval there is.
Think of Igor, entering this strange manor, under moonlight, with the portamento winds blowing, and two bassy owls taunting the poor Russian with their darkling semitones. Not unlike, Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut, a completely semitonal score featuring F’s and F#’s.
Thank you Stravinsky, you caprine-miened Rusky!
