Thanks:
To all the participants. To Steve Bates and jake moore at The Dim Coast. To the Canada Council for the Arts for supporting the original project.
Scroll down for REVIEWS.
audīre “to hear” + -tōrium, suffix of places
Unlike ‘theatre’ which names the assemblage of the stage, the lights, the proscenium and more, ‘auditorium’ describes only the place where the people are gathered in sensorial preparation to receive. It is a defined volume, intended for a prescribed number of bodies to fill. Migone’s project brings into audition several such places whose connection is forged through the reiteration of a sound work that he considers to be a failure, shared with us here as the fifth track. In each auditorium, instead of the pre-existing public space one might imagine from the term here untangled, he has established the conditions to refigure the intention of space just as an architect or particularly generous host might do. These conditions are amplified through the actions of the bodies present, making for increasing quietude or escalating and raucous vocality. Such reformation of spatial utility is a kind of orchestration carefully conducted. In the first and second tracks Migone pushes the results of this orchestration to the point of abstraction.
In the third and fourth, the failed sound work, our original point of connection is not audibly present, instead we are now listening to listeners listening. Our informed attention to something not seemingly available to us (or being actively withheld) holds a spectral connection to other notable performance scores. Migone does assert a connection to Cage in this work, but not to 4’33’,’ Instead, it is to the mixed mutism and verbal excess of his (Cage’s) famous quip, “I have nothing to say and I am saying it”. In this assertion, Migone threads the work through the structural production of conditions, contexts, and composition into the arena of communion. Much of Migone’s work has centred on the disquieting processes of communication often through the excess and inadequacies of speech and their lineage in psychic space. Here, as we are listening to listeners listen we come to know the environs these bodies inhabit through their breath, subtle shifts in posture resulting in rustling of garments and creaking of floors, laughter, and chatter; all sonic releases in simultaneity with the intended audition. As the audience thrice removed (first the audience assembled, second Migone as recorder), we are able to ascertain the gathering: their presence, number, and level of attention to the assigned task of listening, and to each other. In this way, listening is a kind of measure or metric. I am aware that this active (act of) listening to listeners listen, mediated then through recording, is itself a form of contact. Each increment of choice, from where we were gathered to what we were told, what we listened to how, the pressing of record and stop, established contact and altered the object of sound. In this way not only is listening a form of touch as this contact between the sound and ourselves has altered both, but the collected events held now in your hands are also vocalic. The reciprocity of ongoing exchange becomes what Migone is saying without himself making a sound. Controlled release, contraction, forced air through membranes brought into sensorial reception through space and the elements that fill it, all the factors required to draw sound-labelled-as-speech from these leaky bodies is what has built this auditorium you sit in now. Instead of a performance, or passive reception, it is now a listening to the one who assembled the conditions, a potential for dialogue, a form of connection through a gesture defined by indeterminacy. This potential for failure is the necessary risk of connection, knowing that the method of measure will determine the form of what transpires, or at least what is understood to have happened.
Auditorium (2002–2023) begins with a failure of sorts. In 2002 I started working on a piece that sought to present speaking at its degree zero—a kind of rendition of Cage’s famous quip ‘I have nothing to say, and I am saying it’. I was seeking to illustrate two aspects of this statement: mutism and babble. Two sections of the piece were presented: Lake of Coherence (Mutek, Montréal, 2003), and an idiot who utters thoughts with the grandiose tone of a self-appointed genius (Resonance FM, London, 2003). Following these presentations, I had planned to produce a final version for release on CD. But the more I worked on it, the less satisfied I was. I had lost my way; the piece was adrift. I had a peculiar reaction to this impasse: instead of simply abandoning it, I forged ahead and consciously made the piece worse by heaping layer upon layer until it became a dense indiscernible mess.
As the process of intentional sabotage culminated, I thought of setting up a context where the failed piece would be heard by only a few people, and that the wider audience would only hear it through a listening of the listening done by these selected listeners. The interest here was to produce an audio piece that is never publicly heard. In a sense, the piece is erased through its listening. The only aural glimpse of the original piece is through the potential leakage of sound out of the headphones. Thereafter, the original piece is gone; all that is left is what was heard. The idea of a listening to listening seemed more intriguing to me than the original piece: to explore the recording studio as a listening-to-listening room. Of course, the sound of somebody listening on headphones consists of not much more than the ambient sound of the room. But what comes to the fore in that process is not only the room tone, but the subtle sonics produced by the listeners. Their embodied listening made audible via their breath and the slight movements of their bodies become part of the sound signature.
So, on July 29, 2005, I set up a recording session at the Hotel2Tango in Montreal. Sixteen friends were invited and were given no instructions. Each person wore a pair of headphones through which the fifteen minute-long failed piece was played back. Wine, beer, and food were provided. The lubricants aided in creating a boisterous atmosphere; they chatted, played the instruments that happened to be there, burped, uncorked bottles, and tripped over each other. This listening is animated, plural, and unabashedly raucous.
On May 2, 2006, I scheduled another session at the same recording studio. This time, it was a smaller group. They sat on the couch together and were instructed to be as quiet as possible. The prescriptive quietude produced a certain kind of emptiness, but was not devoid of presence. The abundance of quiet allowed both the sounds of the traffic outside and of the photographer documenting the session inside to seep into the soundscape. For both sessions we recorded four takes. In the first, they heard only the recording of the failed piece. In the second, they heard a mix of that with themselves from take one. In the third, they heard the failed piece plus themselves from takes one and two. In the fourth, they only heard a mix of themselves from the past three takes plus themselves live.
An installation version was developed for Manif d’Art 4 (Québec City Biennial, 2008). In order to convey the layers of listening at play, the installation utilized a simple mechanical device to thwart the visitors’ attempts to view the audio and visual components simultaneously. Upon entering the space, the viewer heard the failed piece from a speaker on the floor and could watch video from the quiet session. If the visitor opted to pick up the headphones installed on the wall opposite the projection, an electro-mechanical system built into the headphone stand triggered three actions: a light above the visitor turned on; a pillow descended to muffle the sound from the floor speaker; and a piece of paper was lowered in front of the projector which entirely covered the image. The result was that the visitor now heard the ambient sound of the recording studio on the headphones, but could no longer see the video of the listeners sitting together on the couch.
Listening to listening immerses us in the minute moments of being—a being always both at the ready and attentive, in a perpetual loop of reciprocal return.
The participants in the chaotic session were: Magali Babin, Steve Bates, Dave Bryant, Michel F. Côté, Tammy Forsythe, Fabrizio Gilardino, Andrea Martignoni, Terence McGee, jake moore, Jonathan Parant, Sam Shalabi, James Schidlowsky, Alexandre St-Onge, Catherine Tardiff, Roger Tellier-Craig, and Graham van Pelt.
The participants in the quiet session were: Clank, Mia MacSween, Charles Stankievech, Candice Tarnowski, and Nancy Tobin.
This publication includes the failed piece despite the initial plan to dissolve it entirely in the listening process (Fail). The original recordings are included (Chaos, Quiet) plus versions of them extensively reworked for this publication in 2022–2023 (C, Q).
REVIEWS
• Review in Vital Weekly, issue 1443, by Frans de Waard, of the Auditorium cd publication.
Releases by Canada’s Christof Migone are packed with ideas and concepts; summarising them in the space of a review is a sheer impossible task. Here’s what I got from this; I am sure I fail at my job. It’s all about a piece he started in 2002, “to present speaking at its degree zero – a kind of rendition of Cage’s famous quip, ‘I have nothing to say, and I am saying it’”, but it never finished to his satisfaction, and somehow Migone thought he failed. In 2005, he set up a recording session for a few people to hear this piece, along with beer and snacks; in 2006 another version with a smaller group and instructed them to be quiet. On this CD are recordings of both listening sessions and two reworked pieces from 2022 and 2023, plus the original. That one is at the end of the CD. Each one is about fifteen minutes long and is a strange CD altogether. The failed original is a piece for computer processing, and I gather he processes voice material (I got this from the extended text). One of the remixes is very, very quiet, as if Migone tries to remove all frequencies and events from the original, while the other rework is a very lively one, almost very musical for his standards, with repeating bass-like sounds, but also with randomised elements. The ‘Chaos’ version starts with fairly regular sounds but quickly erupts in a party atmosphere, with people laughing and burping. The quiet version of this piece is indeed what it is, quiet but not without the presence of sound, such as these things go. Five quite different pieces of music, and should one not have read the booklet, one would have difficulty hearing the connection between these pieces. That is the downside of such conceptual approaches, even when the results are pretty interesting. At the same time I also admit I wouldn’t return to such a thing very soon. The point is clear (more or less). (FdW)
• Review in Bad Alchemy Magazine, issue 124, of the Auditorium cd publication.
Migone, in Toronto bestens in der kanadischen Szene (Set Fire to Flames, Alexandre St- Onge, Michel F. Côté…) vernetzt, hat sich zuletzt erst wieder bei „Wet Water (Let’s Dance)“ als Konzeptkünstler gezeigt, der Münder, Nasen und Ohren härtetestet, um damit das Bild, das der Mensch sich von sich und von Kunst macht, in Frage zu stellen. Einiges davon würde wohl, ‘unters Volk’ gebracht, Ist-das-Kunst- oder-kann-das-weg-Spott auf sich ziehen oder sogar als elitärer Kunst-Scheiß Steinwürfe und Misthaufen von Trucker-, Gelbwesten- und Bauern-Protestlern. 2002 hat Migone versucht, John Cages „I have nothing to say, and I am saying it“ beim Wort zu nehmen, als Verstummen, oder als Gebabbel. ‘Lake of Coherence’ und ‘an idiot who utters thoughts…’, wo er Leif Elggren nahekam, waren 2003 erste Ansätze dazu. Den Versuch, da- raus was Überzeugendes zu machen als Mix aus brodelig dröhnendem, bersten- dem, womöglich von verhuschten Stimm- lauten durchsetztem Noise, legte er als gescheitert auf Eis – hier ist es ange- hängt als ‘Auditorium (Fail)’. 2005 orga- nisierte er dennoch im Hotel2Tango mit ‘Fail’ als Ausgangsanstoß eine zwanglose Party-Session mit 16 Teilnehmern, die damit in vier Durchläufen babbelnd, la- chend, rülpsend und mit Klingklang in- teragieren sollten – zu hören als ‘Audito- rium (Chaos)’. Und 2006 eine stille Ses- sion mit fünf Leuten, die nur lauschen sollten – präsentiert als ‘Auditorium (Quiet)’ und quasi viertelstündiges ‘4:33’. Von beidem fertigte er 2022-23 Reworks, die als ‘Auditorium (Q)’ & ‘…(C)’ dem An- gestrebten so nahe wie möglich kom- men. Das eine als sanftes, sonores Dröh- nen und monoton repetiertes Gurren, das andere knarrend und mit überra- schend rhythmischem Klopfen.
• Review in Chain D.L.K. by Vito Camarretta of the Auditorium cd publication.
Imagine you’re at an art installation, but instead of admiring what’s on the wall, you’re there to listen to someone failing spectacularly at an audio piece. It’s less a concert and more an existential exercise in “not” listening while listening. That’s what Christof Migone’s “Auditorium (Chaos, Quiet, Fail)” feels like: a meticulous, controlled, and possibly absurd exploration of the sound of silence, failure, and collective confusion.
It’s like being invited to a dinner party where no one says anything, yet you can’t stop hearing everything.
The album begins with “Auditorium (Q)”, a nearly 15-minute meditation that’s more about the anticipation of sound than sound itself. We’re plunged into a space that feels haunted by echoes of past failures, but the real genius lies in the fact that “nothing much happens”. There’s a kind of Cagean brilliance in this — a modern nod to “I have nothing to say, and I am saying it”, except here, you’re waiting for that moment when Migone finally delivers… but instead, you hear the squeak of a chair, the subtle rustle of a shirt sleeve, or maybe someone exhaling loudly because they’re also wondering, “Is this it?”.
It’s the sound of “audience” rather than “performance”. Migone takes the concept of ambient noise and runs with it – no, sprints with it – until it’s an art form all its own. It’s like being trapped inside a John Cage symposium where everyone forgot to play the instruments, and all that’s left is the rustling of programs.
The second track, “Auditorium (C)”, builds on this concept of tension and release, but here’s where it gets more chaotic. You start to hear the bodies in the room as much as the room itself. Is that laughter? Is someone burping? Or maybe it’s a collective sigh of relief that we’re finally getting some human noise amidst the void. What Migone captures here is “the performance of being present” — a shared experience where the people in the room are both performers and audience members, and we, the distant listeners, are invited to voyeuristically listen to them listen.
As for “Auditorium (Chaos)”, this is where the train fully derails – but in the most delightful way possible. If “Quiet” was about subtlety, “Chaos” is the loud, unruly sibling that knocks over your drink at a family reunion. People are talking, instruments are being played seemingly at random, and there’s a sense of gleeful disorder that’s infectious. It’s the sound of people giving up on decorum and just enjoying the act of making noise, whether it was intended. The best part? None of this was supposed to happen. It’s like Migone set the stage for high art and instead got a soundscape of wine-fueled improvisation.
But let’s talk about the pièce de résistance: “Auditorium (Fail)”. The original failed piece, a sonic artifact that Migone consciously sabotaged, is the heart of this project. It’s here, wrapped in layers of irony and intention, that we get to experience the failure that was never meant to be heard. It’s both fascinating and, well, a little frustrating. This track embodies the ultimate anti-climax: the sound of someone trying to create something profound and deciding, halfway through, to let it rot. There’s something both endearing and exasperating about this. It’s like Migone is saying, “Here’s my failure. Enjoy it”, and you kind of “do”, because the absurdity is captivating.
Yet beneath all this irony and conceptual play, there’s something deeply emotional in “Auditorium (Chaos, Quiet, Fail)”. The idea of listening to others listen-of being present in their presence without ever being there-taps into something human. It’s an exploration of shared experience, of collective vulnerability, and ultimately, of failure as a form of art. Migone succeeds where he wanted to fail, and in doing so, he draws us into a sonic world where the boundaries between success and failure blur.
Fans of sound art will find this album a masterclass in conceptual audio. For those who want a tune, a melody, or even a hint of rhythm, look elsewhere. This is music at its most abstract, a refusal of form and an embrace of everything left in its wake. It’s not about what’s played; it’s about what’s not played, what’s barely heard, and what we imagine in the gaps. It’s Cage’s ghost laughing somewhere in the background, while the rest of us sit in uncomfortable silence.
• Review in Music Map by Gilberto Ongaro of the Auditorium cd publication.
Non credo d’aver capito cos’ho ascoltato, ed ora devo scriverne. Un po’come John Cage che dice: “Non ho niente da dire, e lo sto dicendo”. Ma sono intrigato da quello che non capisco, che sfida le mie poche rotelle rimaste. Vediamo se dalle mie parole, riuscite a capire quel che non ho capito io.
Avete presente quando siete accanto a uno che ascolta musica in cuffia ad alto volume, quindi voi non sentite quello che sta ascoltando, se non
qualche fruscio, e l’ambiente circostante che condividete? Ecco, “Auditorium (chaos, quiet fail)” (uscito per The Dim Coast Label) è qualcosa del genere. Forse.
Avevamo già incontrato Christof Migone su Music Map, intento a registrare i suoni prodotti da un pomodoro ghiacciato tenuto in bocca
(http://www.musicmap.it/recdischi/ordinaperr.asp?id=10503). Questa volta, il sound artist canadese ci propone il risultato di… un fallimento, di
un errore. Era un esperimento del 2002, che non lo soddisfaceva. E allora, cos’ha fatto? L’ha volutamente peggiorato, aggiungendo strati su strati di suoni, fino a che diventasse “a mess” (parole sue).
Dopodiché, l’ha fatto ascoltare due volte a degli amici in studio in cuffia, ma in due modi diversi. Nel primo, ha portato cibo e bevande, e tutti mangiano, bevono, ruttano, chiacchierano, ridono, e camminano nella stanza, sempre ascoltando il “mess” in cuffia. Nel secondo, li ha fatti sedere su un sofà, chiedendo di rimanere il più possibile in silenzio. E noi, cosa ascoltiamo?
Noi ascoltiamo gli ascoltatori che ascoltano! “Auditorium (chaos, quiet fail)” ci propone i rumori, rielaborati e non, che i corpi degli ascoltatori producono, nell’atto di ascoltare. Siamo invitati all’ascolto attivo, a tenere presente che stiamo ascoltando ascoltatori che ascoltano. Sono cinque tracce. La prima è la rielaborazione dei rumori della situazione in silenzio, “Q”. La seconda traccia “C” rielabora i rumori della situazione caotica. Ed è curiosamente disturbante, perché sembra di ascoltare i corpi degli ascoltatori dall’interno.
Come faccio a saperlo? Perché la terza traccia e la quarta traccia rivelano l’audio di partenza. “Chaos”, è la situazione di chiacchiere, risate, vettovaglie e rutti, mentre la quarta, forse la più affascinante, è quella dove gli ascoltatori ascoltano in silenzio. Noi ascoltiamo l’ambente in cui tacciono: questo ci permette di sentire il traffico, al di fuori dello studio. Un quarto d’ora a Montréal, nello studio Hotel2Tango. Ciò mi ricorda veramente John Cage, che una volta, dichiarando il suo amore per il suono di per sé, faceva riferimento proprio al traffico. Per lui tutto ciò che è ascoltabile è musica. Musica è ciò che ascoltiamo attivamente, suono o rumore non fa differenza: diventa musica se noi gli prestiamo attenzione volontariamente.
E la quinta traccia? Beh, è il “mess”, lo ascoltiamo pure noi alla fine. Un quarto d’ora intitolato “Fail”. L’idea di Migone partiva dalla battuta di Cage riportata qui all’inizio, sul niente da dire. Doveva ispirarsi al mutismo e al balbettio. Infatti, sotto i vari strati di atmosfere e suoni liquidi, possiamo percepire un fondo balbettante e instabile (c’è anche una batteria, molto nascosta).
Il fascino che Cage aveva per il suono è un corroborante per la mai affermatasi “cultura dell’ascolto”. Christof Migone porta avanti questa filosofia, cercando di rendere “l’ascolto attivo” qualcosa di concreto e tangibile. Questo mi ricorda, per concludere, un’altra cosa che non capisco e che mi affascina: la fisica quantistica. A livello subatomico, spiegano gli esperti, ci sono delle particelle che se non le osservi hanno una qualità, e se le osservi cambiano qualità!!! Come sia possibile non so, ma vuol dire che il nostro sguardo influenza ciò che osserva (o fraintendo?). La stessa cosa probabilmente vale per l’ascolto. L’ascolto è un contatto, una sorta di “tocco”. Per dirla con Bennato: allora, avete capito o no? (Gilberto Ongaro)
