THE TUNE OF THE SIBYL

An interview with Thierry Lancino

Your biography says you were born in a mill...
— I was born in a small town called Civray, not far from the Atlantic shores of France. My grandfather, then my father, were millers and I spent most of my youth on the river Charente. So, I have a special link with the water, as you can see. I have, by the way, written a work called "the Spirit and the Water", for Baritone and string quartet, based on texts by Paul Claudel. Music is made up of notes which get together like droplets, to form the musical flow.

How did the idea of becoming a musician come to you?
— Music has been for me the object of an unlikely conquest. For a long time, the only link I had with it was this grandfather I just mentioned. He used to play saxophone in the local band, and as its President, would offer champagne in his house to all the other musicians, for the Saint Cecile day. These are for me unforgettable memories. I remember that I used to whistle a lot in my early childhood. I would position myself in reverberant places to attract attention. I understood little by little that I ought to master the elements in order to captivate interest. This was the time for me to turn my interest in music into reality, when a need for a method came up.

Have you played in that band?
— Oh yes, a lot! First I was given a small Eb clarinet, because my fingers were too short, then after some time a regular clarinet. At that time I was listening to the only vinyl "LP" that we had at home: the slow movement of the Double Violin Concerto by J.S. Bach. I listened to it thousands of times, gesticulating and often crying. I realized many years later that I had listened to this small record at the wrong speed (45 rpm instead of 33 rpm)... My beginnings started in a bit of a distorted manner! At that time, the expression "frequency modulation" made me dream. My parents therefore bought, after the clarinet, a FM radio. My mother was in charge of recording broadcasts and concerts on cassettes. I was listening in the evening, after school, until late into the night. I became passionate about early 20th century music: Debussy, Ravel, Stravinsky. I could not grasp the harmonic language, but it fascinated me, and I knew there was something there. At age 17, I was astounded by the announcement of the death of Stravinsky who I thought had died at the time of the "Ballet Russes!" I understood then something about time, and therefore, that there was a possibility to give birth to music here, now, even alive! I then started to order musical scores. I also received a wonderful piano, directly from Dresden, which I still have. But after 3 months, my teacher seriously advised my parents to encourage me to give up. He was obsessed by the thumb passage! What I was interested in was to discover new scores which I would constantly sight read with no finger muscle training. I must add that starting at age 15, I went regularly to the Royan New Music Festival of which Harry Halbrecht was the unforgettable instigator. There I discovered music by Luis De Pablo, Xenakis, Kagel, Ferneyhough and so many others, including pygmy music : I would not miss a single rehearsal! I witnessed an atmosphere of creation which I never really found anywhere else. I remember seeing people in the audience having a physical fight during a symphonic concert. I also snitched a couple of scores from the stand of Durand which later became my publisher for some time, and which forgave me, but made me pay for it in other ways!...

When did you start serious musical studies?
— I heard that a new department of musicology was being started at Poitiers University. I registered also as at the conservatory, and at the same time I followed the excellent class in French literature by Alain Gaubert. I was very late compared to my fellows students in term of technique, but this is the time I encountered music writing, harmony, counterpoint, and I must say the clarinet receded into the background. These techniques are disciplines important to master in order to acquire internal musical space. I understood this quite swiftly. I started to commute back and forth between Poitiers and Paris, where I was trained in counterpoint by Yvonne Desportes. I closely followed the development of the IRCAM/Pompidou center project and attended most lectures and public meetings. There I found a passionate atmosphere. Afterwards, when doing my military service in Versailles - in order to gain a couple weeks of dispensation - I registered at the entrance competition for the composition class at the Conservatoire de Paris, then located rue de Madrid... and was admitted, to my great surprise! Pierre Schaeffer's class was resolutely focused on electronic music. I was using pitches, which was not much admired: one had to use noise like sounds as much as possible. When I finished the Conservatory, I immediately obtained a scholarship from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (Lavoisier fellowship), thanks to Serge François who started the program, which allowed me to spend 2 years in the US (CCRMA, Stanford, California) on the invitation of its Director, John Chowning, inventor of sound synthesis with frequency modulation techniques. My research took place intensively, in the laboratories of the artificial intelligence group, at a time when much was being discovered.

What has been for you the importance of studying electronic music?
— It was a phase of formation, impregnation, acquisition for my creative ear. My work at Stanford gained some recognition, and in 1981, Pierre Boulez offered me to join his staff at IRCAM. I assisted a great number of composers there, such as Höller, Harvey, Stockhausen, to transform their musical desires into computer programs. When I look back - which I don't do too much - I see all these years as an extraordinarily rich apprenticeship, rich in emotions, rich in encounters.

Then came Villa Medicis...
— It was my way to leave IRCAM - which I loved so much for over 7 years and to take root somewhere else. In Rome, I got involved in instrumental and vocal music, and I gained two children! Returning to Paris from the Villa was tough. I was confronted with isolation and I was allergic to the idea of any institutional position. I left for a few years in an Cistercian abbey in central France (Berry), upon an invitation from the association "Que l'esprit vive". I worked hard and this desired retreat, non religious but spiritual, and has been a great hinge between two major parts of my life. And also a waiting position.

What important scores did you write in Rome?
— My String Trio, my Symphonies for Winds and Electronics. I also started the composition The Ship of Fools, a work that kept evolving and became soon an evening long work. It was my first experience in theater. The other great adventure was the Death of Virgil, an opera project which never found a theater production and that I turned into a Lyric Suite that was premiered by the Orchestre National de France.

It is singular that you interrupted this opera on the Death of Virgil, just like Jean Barraqué did himself some years earlier!
— When I started to write the score, I was not aware of Barraqué's project, which by the way, has nothing to do with an opera. Today, it is definitely buried, since after this Death of Virgil, I have composed a Requiem !

Then you went live in New York...
— Winds and currents pushed me there, and I followed my heart... This was also an unlikely conquest. The country is difficult to comprehend sometimes for a European. The transition was turbulent. 9/11 and its consequences did not help. I was affected by the situation, and I retracted into my shell, observing a lot. The atmosphere has changed radically now, and it seems like a rebirth. The conditions in which I work are excellent, and I can alternate between creative reclusion and intense social life without having to report to anyone. I am remarkably welcomed by people with open and generous hearts - almost candid sometimes. And I am touched by it. I consider myself adopted by New York. I have lived in Manhattan for more than twelve years, surrounded by a dedicated and remarkable family which bravely supports and encourages my work.

You even have been recently granted the prestigious Koussevitzky Prize...
— I believe that the success of my Violin Concerto (premiered at the Châtelet 4 years ago), as well as the quality of the Requiem project led me to this distinction and attracted the attention of the jury. Along with the prestige and its materiel consequences, this prize represents a lot for me: it has been given to very few French composers, and it brings me professional recognition which is well appreciated on this side of the Atlantic.

By the way, let's talk about the new work, this Requiem set on an original text by Pascal Quignard...
— The Requiem is not a form by itself, but, if one looks closely, one can see a well structured shell that contains the whole expression of the Requiem. For my part, I have wanted to enlarge this organic shell, rather than satisfy myself just with a juxtaposition of movements. This Requiem is a kind of oratorio, but not a Mass made of juxtaposed liturgical moments. This is an epic fresco where one blows sulfur and incense . From the beginning, I imagined that a "libretto" had to show the traditional liturgy face to face with other texts, inspired by this striking statement: "Dies irae... teste David cum Sibyla" (Day of wrath ... day announced by David and the Sibyl). I needed a poet, a thinker, who could put together such a vast ensemble, and articulate it. Pascal Quignard came naturally to my mind. We did not know each other. I wrote to him, and he answered with passion. He has found the right balance between these two aspects of sacred matter, between the liturgy and his personal atheist reflection. His text tangles itself with the liturgy. It comes to interrogate it, to defy it, to oppose it. It is written in French and his responses are in Latin and Greek. Pascal Quignard elevated this vision to a superior level. He knows how to approach this spiritual reflection, this questioning of a universal order, with an extreme depth and a subtle beauty.

By the way, why David and the Sibyl ?
— The opposition of these two figures is contained in the text of the Sequentia, precisely of the Dies Irae (13th Century). It was lying there during all these centuries and, it seems to me, had not been brought to the surface. It was perfect for my desire of synergy. It was quite a shock when it appeared obvious to my conscience. This opposition is the motor of the whole work. It brought a formidable dynamic in the process of writing. David begs for eternal life. The Sibyl requests nil. Let's explain furthermore: the Sibyl has received a curse which dooms her to get closer to death indefinitely without ever reaching it, such as an asymptote. Apollo, who desired her, grants her for as many grains of sand as there is in her hand, a thousand years or what could be understood as eternity. But she finally refuses his ardors . Apollo goes, leaving her with eternal life but with the human process of aging. And the Sibyl begins to get older and to shrink along the centuries until finally there is not much left of her. She keeps nevertheless her voice. What is left of her is suspended in a small jar hanging from the ceiling of her cave. In Petronius's Satyricon, children come to play and to interrogate her. She would always answer in Greek: I want to die. After she had asked for eternity, she begs for nil!

David could have spoken in Hebrew...
— It is the Christian emblematic figure of David that we have chosen, and therefore, the Latin. The Sibyl prophesized in Greek at Cumes, a Greek community located north of Naples. One can still visit her cave (with no archeological certitude). I went there with my the 15 year old son, on an early morning. This region is volcanic (Campi Flerei) and with a lot of fumaroles, and to reach this place, rather isolated, one has to take a path open in the cliff and overlooking the sea: one can see right where Aenea landed his fleet coming from Troy to consult with the Sibyl (Virgile). This path progresses into the depth of earth and takes us in a large cave where the Sibyl was said to have been prophesying . We felt then a presence; indeed a woman came out of the shadow, which left us stunned. Until she held up a cigarette and asked us for a light. And then withdrew back in the shadow. On the way back toward the light, we encountered a little group of children with an adult wearing the clothes of Aenea. We understood then that this was a pre-planned school activity!

You brought up the idea of form earlier on: musically, what does your Requiem sound like?
— It is entirely sung. Its prologue is a bit in the manner of griots and will seem to evoke imaginary rustle of past people, of an ancient Mediterranea. It includes a large choir, a bit like a Greek Chorus, and a large orchestra, in a traditional way. There are 4 soloists: David (Tenor) and the Sibyl (mezzo). the soprano represents the human being, the cell, as a suffering individual ; the bass represents the warrior side of David. For the musical writing, I do not turn away any influence, and, at the opposite, I feel quite the heir of all what I inherited from the past, and what I gathered through my trajectories and my encounters.
This work is enigmatic and singular. It asks, nevertheless, a universal question. It has a monumental side because of the subject it treats and because of the size of the means it uses. But I have wished that this Requiem, in an intimate manner, penetrates the imaginations of every one, impregnates, and reaches the remote region where souls take shelter. So that, in a glimpse, they may touch the mystery of death, even by the tip of a finger, the time of a lightning.

Conversation with Christian Wasselin, Radio France
Paris (10/13/2009)