hile Xenakis' electroacoustic works represent approximately one ninth of his output (this includes the compositions for both instruments and tape), these works were not a side distractions from what a typical classical composer usually focuses on (string quartets and the usual orchestral whatsit). Xenakis, in fact, churned these things out at regular intervals, throughout his forty odd year career as a composer (he died last year, aged 78).


La Legende D'eer (the title comes from the last pages of Plato's Republic), commissioned by WDR Cologne, was envisaged as just one part of a light show, a spectacle. It should come as no surprise then that there is a sense of listening to a scratchy bootleg (which bootleg isn't scratchy!) of a concert by your favorite emo band rather than actually making the trip to the gig and being there. A poor substitute.


The piece begins with what sounds like quick bursts of light (this might be like the quick bursts of light that were fired at Fat's brain in the Philip K. Dick novel Valis in fact, which I have been reading at the time of reviewing this: a bloody conspiracy I tells ya!) that seep through at a near inaudible level. Soon enough, however, we find that the volume is turned up as other, equally alien sounds emerge. These sounds conjure up all sorts of imagery (a swarm of bees, the heart pumping out blood at an irregular rate and er, etcetera) but these flash by quickly as these sounds combine and mingle with others seemingly at random and with no sense of structure or time. In the information overload the only thing to be noticed is that a certain sound will 'dominate' over the rest in a given 'section' throughout this piece. The density of the sounds, however, is such that any observation is shaky at best. Sometimes the sounds that emerge can be very loud and readjusting the volume is something I found myself doing frequently during the first listen.


Any concerns about the unsuitability of this disc for home consumption have now been utterly eradicated from the mind, as the listener is placed in the middle of Xenakis' fascinating and very frightening sound world. Xenakis' quote (which is reprinted at the back of this CD) of having in mind, as he was composing, a man in the middle of an ocean suddenly becomes true. The ending is the same as the beginning, that beautiful, crystalline sound, which previously began the descent into this black hole now gives way to silence- 46 minutes have apparently passed but as there is no kind of clock (a steady beat) to be heard, this listener never noticed any time passing at all (Time has been frozen! And no, I don't wear a watch).


This is a lovely reissue from the 20th century classical label Auvidis Montaigne. It comes with a booklet with extensive notes and texts that are supposed to have inspired the work.