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Bill Binkelman |
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Q: Being both a flutist and an artist who uses synthesizers (mostly a wind-synth), which instrument did you start with, or was it neither of these? A: Neither. Actually, my first instrument was the clarinet, which I took up in elementary school, at the age of eleven. Then I taught myself guitar as a tool to write music on while in high school. After high school, I played in prog-rock bands and worked as a salesman in a music store. Though not too proficient as a keyboardist, I really enjoyed demonstrating the synthesizers of that era. And it was at this time, 1976, that I took up flute and soprano and alto saxophones. I traded a Rickenbacker 12-string guitar to a guy for a flute and early woodwind processor called the Maestro Sound System for Woodwinds, stuck pick-ups on my saxes and clarinet, and began teaching myself the flute. A couple of years later, I was able to get my first true wind-synth, a wonderfully beautiful analog machine called a Lyricon II. Q: Before we go further, and for the benefit of those who don't know, give us a brief description of what a wind-synth actually is and what it does, especially the differences between it and a standard keyboard-based synth. A: A keyboard synthesizer is controlled with keys that look similar to a regular piano or organ. These keys turn the sounds the machine produces on and off. On the wind-synth however, there is no keyboard, but rather a controller that looks and plays somewhat like a clarinet or soprano sax. The fingering is similar to a sax or flute, only the sound and volume are controlled by the breath that is blown into it. This gives the machine a far more natural, expressive sound, a sound much closer to the feeling one gets listening to an acoustic wind instrument, yet with all the variety of voices and power of the digital synthesizer. Q: Do you have a personal preference of "traditional" instruments over synthesized ones, and I don't mean it from a qualitative standpoint as much as an aesthetic or emotional one. I ask because you seem to be playing more real flutes on your more recent recordings, or am I wrong in this conclusion? A: Well, no, I don't have a preference, per se. It generally depends on the type of space I'm trying to create in a particular piece. The traditional acoustic instruments each have a very individual, unique quality, almost a personality or 'soul' nature about them, although wind-synths come very close to this, closer than other electronic instruments. Traditional acoustic flutes are inherently more temperamental and delicate, more subject to changes from heat or humidity, and have to be packed and handled more carefully. This makes them more inconvenient on the road. And some of them are extremely difficult to mic properly, making them a bit of a challenge in the studio as well. On recent recordings, I've been trying to emphasize some of these flutes' unique qualities in order to create a space that listeners hopefully will find to be an unexplored space, even looping some in order to take on more traditionally electronic roles such as drones, pads, washes, and so forth. I like taking any instrument's quirks and turning them into a strength, if I can, if only for one composition. Q: What led you to start recording your own music in the first place and did you ever record music that wasn't as Zero Ohms? A: When affordable, portable DAT machines came out, they were perfect for documenting the performances I was doing in coffeehouse gigs at the time. These performances consisted of sequencer tracks programmed with my wind-synth to create backgrounds over which I would play flutes live. But recording in this fashion, with no editing capabilities, only the DAT recorder, enforced a certain discipline, because if I made a mistake, I had to rerecord the entire piece from the beginning. It was then from this live DAT master, I would have cassettes duplicated to sell at the gigs. This was in the '80s, prior to CDs becoming ubiquitous. So, that's how I began recording my own music. Record labels never accepted any project I sent to them, though, that is until the Monroe Institute put out Winds Over the World under my own name in their series of Hemi-Sync releases in the early '90s. At that time, Zero Ohms was as much my musical philosophy as my nom-de-muse. Since that one, I've had another Monroe Institute Hemi-Sync release called Gaia, plus a couple of CDs of new age music over the sounds of whales and dolphins, all released under my name rather than Zero Ohms. I know it sounds hackneyed now, but at the time, it was pretty cool. Q: The music of Zero Ohms....in a coffee house? While I personally would love to hear/see that, I'm surprised to hear that it happened. Most coffee houses in Minneapolis cater to folk music or jazz. How was your music received in these venues? Did people actually "listen" or was it more like playing an ambient version of "cocktail jazz?" A: Well, it does sound a little strange now, but I sold the idea to the coffeehouse owners exactly as Brian Eno had described it: music that was as listenable and it is ignorable; sonic wallpaper. The term 'ambient' was still an adjective and not yet a genre label, and even the term new age wasn't in common usage yet. The only thing they might have heard that I could compare my music to was the syndicated program "Hearts of Space." Some folks at these coffeehouses would listen and thoroughly enjoy, others disregarded it altogether. For my part, I rarely ever spoke to the audience preferring to let the music speak for itself. That's part of the philosophy of Zero Ohms (which is an electrical engineering term meaning 'no resistance') - getting myself out of the way and letting the music through. All in all, I enjoyed the intimacy of the coffeehouse performance situation, but the sound of the espresso machine would often echo through my digital delay (those espresso machines sound like.... something awful happening to small mammals!) And it was an interesting variety of gigs I got invited to do as a result from being seen and heard in these coffeehouses: all sorts of parties, gourmet societies, weddings, an invitation to join multi-culti band (which I did for a while; the band was called Global Warming), a fat farm, native American sweatlodge ceremonies, psychic fairs. It even led to my becoming a teaching artist for a few years, taking native American music and culture into elementary schools. Q: I'm impressed. I can't believe people were that open to this kind of music. A: It was an uphill struggle. I was constantly introducing this music to people who'd never heard anything like it before. I found the folk music and rock crowds more open to it than the jazz crowd. There was one time I got caught by the jazz police after playing at a jazz club in Knoxville. My fine was a forty-five-minute lecture from a young college music student on how music *must* have complete melodies backed up only by certain harmonies and *not* what I had just played. Then as I was leaving, not knowing what to think about what had just happened, an older tenor sax player who was the main act for the evening shook my hand and said, "Man, I'd play with you anytime!" So you see, it wasn't all roses. But some folks, like this old reedman, he got what I was doing. Q:Do you think it was the times that were open-minded or could such a thing still happen today? A: Even though times are different today, yeah, I think it still could be done. I mean, it was an against-the-odds thing then, just as it would be today, really. Q: And since you have played live recently, how different was the audience reaction from back then to nowadays? A: Back then, you had a third or more of the audience opting to ignore the music when they heard it live in the casual atmosphere of cafes and coffeehouses. Now, I perform in more of a concert setting, where the audience already knows the music and most of the performers, so there is an appreciative level of focus from listeners now that I only occasionally got then. Q: Do you enjoy performing or do you prefer recording? A: Though I do enjoy playing live despite the logistical details that it entails, the studio environment allows for more exploration of sound-spaces, and right now, that's what I'm finding the most exciting and personally satisfying. Q: As long as we're on the subject of recording, you've done a fair amount of collaboration with other artists lately. I've always marvelled at how ambient music can be a collaborative effort. It just seems to me that ambient music's nature is introverted, not extroverted. So tell me, what's the secret? What are the keys to successfully collaborating with a fellow ambient artist? A: I'm not sure if this is really a secret or not, but some of the things that I have found necessary are: a respect for the other artist's capabilities that you are working with; admitting to yourself that the other artist's contributions are going to be interesting; and realizing and being totally comfortable with the fact that these contributions are absolutely going to take the composition into areas of feelings where you might not take it were you working alone; and realizing the result could perhaps even produce an overall sound that is different than your own. If you're not completely at ease with these points prior to the collaboration, then your not going to like the resulting music, even if it is a good piece. It takes a certain level of maturity from a composer to be able to let go, send out an unfinished piece, and allow someone else to complete it. Q: What about the logisitical issues? What problems exist? Does a collaboration take longer than a solo effort and how do two people agree on when something is finally "done?" A: Well, you have to make certain both of you have similarly compatible recording formats. With each collaborator's contributions made in the digital domain, as in my case, compatibility is a bit easier than it used to be. Does it take longer? It certainly can, but not necessarily. With [a] collaborator, you've introduced more variables into the equation. Perhaps one or both have day jobs and can only really work on the recording on weekends. Or perhaps one's a gigging musician and is on the road frequently. Or a family crisis comes up. All these sorts of things and more can add to the time element. On the other hand, I sometimes have seen a piece come back with amazing rapidity, with material added that would've taken me a lot longer to have done. So in some ways, it can also be quicker. I have to tell you, though, whether faster or slower than you're used to working, as a piece bounces back and forth between the collaborators, and grows into a finished work, it can be nothing short of astonishing. In my joint projects with Brannan Lane, and with Gordon Rhyne, I have repeatedly felt both pride and humility at being part of something that seemed to be so much bigger than just myself. The potential results outweigh the risks, and this includes the risk that one partner will dislike a piece and want to discard it. As far as agreeing when a piece is finished, that's never been much of a problem. The piece will 'speak' to you. While listening to the piece with its new parts added, there would be this feeling of affirmation that just drenches through your heart, a feeling that THIS IS IT! And most doubts about it being finished are left behind. Q: So, what do you do when you're not involved with your music? Do you have any other interests that you feel passionate about? You're a movie fan, right, if I recall correctly? What was the last great movie you saw? A: I'm an amateur astronomer, and if I'm not working in my studio late at night, I'll usually have my eye stuck in my small telescope. At this very moment, I'm packing for a camping trip to the mountains (another passion of mine) to observe our "close encounter" with Mars in an environment with less light pollution. And this trip will also allow me to indulge yet another interest of mine, watching birds of prey. Another area of interest is that of consciousness itself, which takes in everything from theoretical physics to philosophy and religion. I am passionate about space, about NASA and spaceflight. I am keenly watching developments in the X-Prize contest, which is a $10 million award to the first non-government-funded reusable space vehicle. This could potentially open spacetravel up to all of us! And yeah, I'm a movie buff, primarily science-fiction. I like things that make one think of what could be. I find that state of consciousness refreshing, relaxing and stimulating. The last film I have seen that gave me this feeling was K-PAX, with Kevin Spacey and Jeff Bridges. There is a grand 'otherworldly' feel to it, as intense, yet accomplished completely differently from the otherworldly feeling Peter Jackson bestowed upon Tolkien's elves in Lord of the Rings, which are also great films, despite his departure from the story-line in The Two Towers (arghh!). Q: I know we're both eagerly awaiting Jackson's third opus (The Return of the King). Do you ever watch find yourself, as you're watching movies, thinking "you know, my music would fit in perfectly with this particular?" (not just with the LOTR movies but any movie you've watched)? Do you have any interest in that, or is it just too tough a gig to get (as I have been told)? A: I would have liked to have been a session musician on the LOTR soundtracks, doing some of that great recorder work. More often find myself as I watch thinking things such as, "I wonder how _I'd_ have done the music to that scene? Would the producers and directors have liked it?" and so forth. The only recent film that I thought my music would have fit well with besides K-PAX, is the new Hollywood version of Solaris, mainly because the pacing of the film is so slow, almost glacial. One film composer whom I have enormous respect for is Bernard Herrmann. His credits include Orson Welles' Citizen Kane, Hitchcock's Psycho and North By Northwest, Francois Truffuat's film of the Ray Bradbury novel, Fahrenheit 451. He was the very first to use the Theremin in a sci-fi film, on The Day The Earth Stood Still. I would have loved to have studied orchestration with him! In my experience, soundtracks are tough gigs to get. It seems to be a matter of the right people knowing you. I'm not sure but what I'd be uncomfortable with the rigid schedule requirements of film work. I enjoy the luxury of being able to take as long as it takes to complete a project. One filmmaker I have talked with had the intriguing idea of creating imagery to the music, rather than creating music to go with the imagery, but there's no project in the works as yet. Q: Let's get the focus back on your music (or we will end up in a long discussion of films, seeing as how much both of us like them!). Your new album, True Degrees of Freedom, [see review this issue]displays your fondness for (and mastery of) integrating ambient noise (in this case, the sound of people talking) with sparse minimal ambient music (to an alarmingly realistic degree). I have described this as immersive music because, to me, it makes me feel like I am actually surrounded by people who are just out of range of discerning what they are saying. What attracts you to this kind of recording? You've done this kind of thing in the past on other albums too, haven't you? A: The human voices being just on the threshold of intelligibility, I feel, somehow represents an enormous gulf that really separates all sentient beings. So little of what we feel, say, and attempt to communicate is lost either over that distance, garbled in transmission, or disregarded and ignored. And though sad, this isolation is part of our human condition. This is why I find barely intelligible voices both compelling and a little frightening. I have utilized quiet voices on other albums here and there, but never as concerted as on True Degrees of Freedom. In creating this 'immersive music' as you say (I think of it as creating a real space), I went so far as to take a piece of music I'd recorded and processed it into ambient noise, coming out sounding like musical highway traffic. So, some of the ambient noise really is music! But as to what attracts me to this sort of recording, I think is my fascination with sound itself. It is like prayer for me to stand or sit perfectly still, close my eyes and just LISTEN. To everything. To the depth of field in the sounds I hear. To the harmonies and dissonances between the sounds. To realize all these sounds are actually music. I feel I have finally been able to translate this intense listening into a sustained recorded work, not just a track or two. Q: It sounds like you have a lot invested in this CD, in the sense that it represents a kind of milestone for you. Would that be a fair statement? A: Well, though I feel this album is unique. It didn't start out to be a milestone. I had to rework it several times over the course of almost a year before I was completely satisfied with it. Q: When do you know an album is "done?" In writing, writers are taught (by some teachers) that an article, story, whatever is never really "done;" one can always continue revising ad infinitum. But at some point, you have to walk away and say "That's enough, I'm satisfied." Is this analogous in music, do you think? A: It's more difficult to determine an album being done, or complete, than an individual piece. The feeling a completed album speaks to you is similar to that of a single track, a THIS IS IT feel, but the simple logistics of listening to an hour or more of one's feelings is more complex than listening to five or ten minutes of feelings. I think your analogy to writing is applicable. In the back of the mind of the musician is the nagging thought that he _always_ could have played the part or the piece better, and this gives rise to the question: is what has been recorded 'good enough'? This question seems to resound a bit more loudly when putting an album together than with a single track. Sometimes the album-level focus is that of a documentary - a tendency to throw everything completed during the period of the recording into the project, to make it fit in somewhere. An admittedly mental-level approach. A more useful way I have found is listening to the heart. Less articulate than the mind, perhaps, but more accurate, the heart can tell you when it has been given an experience of barriers melting away, liberating it into a new space or reality by way of the music. Asking if an album's done is kind of like asking yourself if you're in love - which do you listen to for a response, the mind or the heart? Q: As a way of wrapping things up, besides True Degrees of Freedom, do you have any other future recordings in the works, either solo or collaborative, that you'd like to tell us about? A: I have a track called "The Mists of Platonia" on the CD-Rs accompanying the new edition of the book Tracks Across the Universe, to be released, I believe, this fall of 2003. And I've just been told that SpaceForMusic.com will release True Degrees of Freedom in November! Q: Thanks for taking the time to conduct this back-and-forth email interview, Richard. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Any final thoughts or musings you want to share with the readers? A: It has certainly been a most enjoyable and thought-provoking interview format; and I'd like to say thank you for the opportunity to participate this way! It's been fun! I hope everyone enjoys my new works. Thanks for listening; thanks for reading! |
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