Disquiet Junto Project 0674: Cerberus Sample

The Assignment: Make a song not just with but from just one sample.

Each Thursday in the Disquiet Junto music community, a new compositional challenge is set before the group’s members, who then have five days to record and upload a track in response to the project instructions.

Membership in the Junto is open: just join and participate. (A SoundCloud account is helpful but not required.) There’s no pressure to do every project. The Junto is weekly so that you know it’s there, every Thursday through Monday, when your time and interest align.

Tracks are added to the SoundCloud playlist for the duration of the project. Additional (non-SoundCloud) tracks also generally appear in the lllllll.co discussion thread.

Disquiet Junto Project 0674: Cerberus Sample
The Assignment: Make a song not just with but from just one sample.

Step 1: You’re going to make a song with just one short sample as its entire sonic source material. Select your sample wisely.

Step 2: Make a song in which the sample you selected in Step 1 serves as the raw resource for all the different parts of the song. Use nothing but that solitary sample. Here is one example of a song with four parts: melody, backing chordal material, bass, and beat. Three parts may be best, but make as complex and busy a piece of music as you desire, certainly.

Tasks Upon Completion:

Label: Include “disquiet0674” (no spaces/quotes) in the name of your track.

Upload: Post your track to a public account (SoundCloud preferred but by no means required). It’s best to focus on one track, but if you post more than one, clarify which is the “main” rendition.

Share: Post your track and a description/explanation at https://llllllll.co/t/disquiet-junto-project-0674-cerberus-sample/

Discuss: Listen to and comment on the other tracks.

Additional Details:

Length: The length is up to you.

Deadline: Monday, December 2, 2024, 11:59pm (that is: just before midnight) wherever you are.

About: https://disquiet.com/junto/

Newsletter: https://juntoletter.disquiet.com/

License: It’s preferred (but not required) to set your track as downloadable and allowing for attributed remixing (i.e., an attribution Creative Commons license).

Please Include When Posting Your Track:

More on the 674th weekly Disquiet Junto project, Cerberus Sample — The Assignment: Make a song not just with but from just one sample — at https://disquiet.com/0674/

Mapping Kjartansson’s The Visitors

Looking for clues in the famed art installation

The Visitors, Ragnar Kjartansson’s nine-screen audio-video masterpiece, has been on display at SFMOMA in its own dedicated room for just over two years, and I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve seen it. I stopped by the museum on November 26, a Tuesday, for another hour-long viewing.

If you haven’t seen, or heard of, The Visitors, it’s a popular art installation that has toured the world. In it, a group of musicians play the same single, simple, hypnotic song comprised of just a few repeating verses for approximately an hour straight. Each musician is in a different part of an 1815 mansion in New York’s Hudson Valley, and each gets their own screen, though occasionally a member of the ensemble will cross from one to the next. If you observe what is happening closely enough, you can sort out which spaces are near each other within the mansion.

Each time I go, I tend to sit near one or two screens, and I pay attention to them specifically, and also listen to how the audio from the other screens correlates with what is happening in their part of the house. On the ninth screen, a small audience sits outdoors on the house’s porch, and just to keep things interesting — as if they are not enough already — there’s an elderly man who not once but twice sets off a portable cannon.

There are some electric instruments in the mix — guitars, a bass — but the majority are acoustic: banjo, cello, accordion, and so forth, including a lot of singing. And, even though every musician is wired for video and audio (and to each other through headsets), the vibe remains very acoustic, with a deep resonance that is as harmonically and tonally rich as it is melodically straightforward. A testament to the musicianship — members of the bands Múm and Sigur Rós are in the group — is how little they all do, no one hogging the spotlight, no one showing off.

This time around, I focused on the drummer, Þorvaldur Gröndal, and I noticed something I hadn’t before, something that at first looked like sheet music or a page from a notebook. It was resting on a chair near Gröndal’s drum set. This is a close-up:

I went back toward the end of the video, when all the musicians wander down the hillside together, and pretty much everyone in attendance at the museum had gathered around that one screen. I walked back around to the other screens, where no one was lingering, and looked more closely. This will sound funny, but I felt more comfortable looking then because the musicians had all vacated their rooms. With their individual performance spaces uninhabited, I didn’t feel like I was encroaching on their privacy.

The drummer’s document no longer looked like sheet music; it had started to look to me like a map of the floor plan of the mansion. I then recalled this image from the fantastic aural history of The Visitors by Sebastian Smee, Gabriel Florit and Joanne Lee that the Washington Published back in 2021:

A lot is revealed in this document, which is essentially a score in the form of graphic notation. For example, there are the two “búmm” (or “bomb”) markers when the cannons go off, and there are the spots labeled “Neu!” in a way that nods to the covers of albums by the great German band of that name.

I confirmed after I left the exhibit that the drummer’s sheet and this image were the same. Gröndal’s version does seem to have been marked up, with thick vertical lines identifying several junctures. It also appears that at least two other musicians had these same charts in plain view. Here are details from each of the two pianists’ screens:

Every time I visit The Visitors I hear and see something new. It’s running at SFMOMA until September 28, 2025, and I’m sure to spend at least two or three more hours in the dark with it between now and then.

Note: When I wrote this post and published it, on November 26, 2024, the closing date for the exhibit of The Visitors at SFMOMA was January 26, 2025, and that is the date I included. However, I received a flyer in the mail the very next day, and it showed a later date: September 28, 2025. There was much rejoicing in my household. (In fact, even as I type this, the SFMOMA website still lists the January 26 closing date.) The exhibit opened on November 5, 2022. I believe I first saw the work when it was included, previously, in the Soundtracks exhibit at SFMOMA in 2017, though I may have seen it earlier. The Visitors dates from 2012, and SFMOMA made a joint purchase of it with MoMA (the one in Manhattan) in 2014, “through the generosity of Mimi Haas and Helen and Charles Schwab.”

Arriving at Hogwarts

The sounds of a PS5 game, early levels

I’ve got this week off, mostly from work, entirely from social media, though only slightly from writing, and late in the afternoon I got in some time on the PS5 with a video game, Hogwarts Legacy (2023). The decision as to what to play was based in large part on its industry recognition: Game Developers Choice Awards Best Audio (honorable mention), British Academy Games Awards Music and Audio Achievement (longlisted), and Grammy for Best Video Game Soundtrack (nominee). As is my habit, I dialed down the score to a little under a quarter of the relative volume, and the dialog to about 90%, and I let the “world sounds” of the game take the primary spot.

Two key things stood out, as of our arrival at Hogwarts — which is to say, right up until the title card — following extended cut scenes and some necessary wand — that is, controller — training:

First is how drastic shifts in the tonal quality of the imaginary spaces signal the transitions, and how stark those transitions are, given the magical transport that is involved in getting from most places to the next. For example, at one point we’re in a massive interior space, with an echoing room tone, and then suddenly we just barely escape a pillar leaning toward us, felled by something a bit like the Destroyer from the first Thor movie. Then we move instantly through a portal into the outside world, a forest after dark. Not only are the nocturnal sounds of the bugs prevalent, but they highlight the otherwise seemingly blank audio slate, the relative silence of the forest. Throughout, the significant tonal shifts are markers of stages.

Second is the small speaker built into the PS5 controller. This is a subject I want to explore more thoroughly. I’m used to vibrations from controllers. For example, in the game, we don’t just hear the footsteps of our character; we also feel them. But the controller sounds are something else entirely. During a fight sequence, we hear aspects of the spell-casting as if the wand is right in our hands. There is something beyond the mere distinction between diegetic and non-diegetic sound here, between the real-time sounds of a given scene and those, such as score or voiceover, outside the world of the story. The sound from the controller has a power different from the one coming from the living room television. This controller speaker sound is hyperdiegetic.

Breaking Bread

At Gray Area in San Francisco

I hope to write about this more in the near future, but in the meanwhile, here’s a photo from a two-day course I took this weekend in electronics breadboarding. On day one, we made the rear item, which is a VCO, or voltage-controlled oscillator, with a three-button keyboard that allowed it to emit a variety of pitches. The breadboard in the foreground is shown when still under construction. It would eventually become an LFO, or low frequency oscillator, that would introduce variation to the VCO. Several other stages followed. I think I only destroyed one integrated circuit and one potentiometer in the process.