Making and Hearing Virtual Worlds: John Culshaw and The Art of Record Production
Making and Hearing Virtual Worlds: John Culshaw and The Art of Record Production
Fall 2007, Vol XI, n° 2, 269-293 for the Cognitive Sciences of Music
DAVID N. C. PATMORE
AND ERIC F. CLARKE
Department of Music, University of Sheffield
• ABSTRACT
A recording represents a paradoxical perceptual source: we can either attend to the
sound of the medium, or to the virtual world conveyed by it, and the work of a
record producer can be understood as either a process of capturing performances
or one of creating virtual worlds. This paper demonstrates that the record producer
John Culshaw had clear ideas about how recordings might approach the condition
of a work of art, rather than being simply the trace of a moment in time. Culshaw's
fundamental aesthetic and technical approach is described and illustrated with
reference to a number of key recordings. Taking the relationship between sound
recording and film as a starting point, and making use of the concept of subject-
position, the tension between Culshaw's radical approach to the listener and
traditional approach to the authority of the score is explored. Possible reasons are
proposed for the abandonment of his ideas, and for the absence of a Culshaw
legacy (apart from the recordings themselves). The paper ends with a brief
discussion of the current paradigm for the recording of classical music, which seeks
in various ways to reproduce "the live experience" in "the finest seat in the house".
INTRODUCTION
When Thomas Edison made his famous tin-foil recording in 1877, he could have
had little idea how far-reaching - both literally and metaphorically - the
consequences of his invention would be. Little more than a century ago, all music
was necessarily heard live, while today vastly more music is heard around the globe
in a recorded (or recorded and broadcast) form. The technological and cultural
history of this revolurion in music has in recent years been the subject of a significant
amount of writing from various perspectives (e.g., Chanan, 1995; Day, 2000;
Eisenberg, 2005; Katz, 2004; Philip, 1992, 2004), but there has been rather less
discussion of the consequences of recording for listening (though see Clarke, in
press). From a psychological perspective, recordings have many of the same
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''A picture, photographic or chirographic, is always a treated surface, and it is always seen
in the context of other nonpictorial surfaces. Along with the invariants for the depicted
layout of surfaces, there are invariants for the surface as such. It is a plaster wall, or a sheet
of canvas, a panel, a screen, or a piece of paper. The glass, texture, edges, or frame of the
picture surface are given in the array, and they are perceived. The information displayed is
dual. The picture is always both a scene and a surface, and the scene is paradoxically behind
the surface. This duality of the information is the reason the observer is never quite sure
how to answer the question, 'What do you see?'. For he can perfectly well answer that he
sees a wall or a piece of paper." (Gibson, 1979/1986, p. 281)
Until comparatively recently, it might have been rather unlikely for a listener, when
asked what they heard in a recording, to respond that they heard vinyl or shellac. But
with the advent of sampling and re-rnasrering, both of which have the capacity to
transfer a recording from one medium to another and thus to transfer the sound of
the original medium, it has become more plausible that this really would be the
response - at least for certain kinds of listeners in particular circumstances
(engineers listening to CD transfers of a batch of recordings from different eras, for
example). Sample-based pop music shows how powerful the sound olthe recording
medium (as well as the material recorded in that medium) can be. Arguably much
of the impact and commercial as well as critical success of the 1999 album Play, by
the pop musician Moby, comes from the particular sound of the samples that it uses
(some taken from field recordings by the ethnomusicologist Alan Lomax in the
1950s), exploiting the nostalgic or "authentic" sense of historical distance that
accompanies the characteristically thin sound of older recording technologies.
The uncertainty to which Gibson refers in relation to pictures, and the duality
with which sample-based music plays, is captured in the distinction between object
and medium. At one level, the object-character of recordings has never been in
doubt: they are shellac discs, lengths of tape, pieces of vinyl, and so on. But this
recognition of "objectness" is very largely confined to the material and tangible
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character of recordings, rather than their sonic character. As Chanan (1995), Symes
(2004), Katz (2004) and others have pointed out, the history of recording is
dominated by the search for (and repeated claims to have attained) "fidelity" - the
ideal of a completely transparent medium, in which any auditory awareness of the
recording as object disappears. The recording supposedly presents the music "exactly
as it is", without transformation or loss of presence.
The impossibility, or paradox, of this fantasy is obvious. Just as a camera (still or
movie) must always capture its images from a particular point of view, so too the
microphone records sound from a particular "point of hearing". In the era of
acoustical recording (up to the mid-1920s), when performers had to arrange
themselves around a large recording horn, there was essentially no room for
manoeuvre -literally as well as metaphorically. If the music was to get onto the disc
at all, then the players and singers simply had to be in particular physical positions
in relation to the horn, dictated almost entirely by the power, frequency range, and
directionality of the instruments in relation to the capabilities of the available
technology. But with the development of electrical recording in the later 1920s,
recording producers and engineers were put in a position similar to that of film
directors and camera operators: the microphone allowed them to make choices about
the perspective from which sounds were recorded, and thus the overall aural image
that they were trying to create. The introduction of stereophonic recording in the
early 1950s enabled a significant further step to be taken towards the transparency
or fidelity of the medium in terms of the apparent location of sounds relative to the
listener, and the size and character of the acoustical space. The expansion of the
frequency range, and reductions in noise and distortion, revealed £'lr more clearly the
potential of the medium, previously limited by the circumstances of monophonic
recording technologies.
Making a recording can never be a transparent process, as the hugely increased
possibilities of record production that came with tape and the post-war studio made
ever more evident: the creation of a recording is always the creation of a virtual
world. Just what kind of virtual world is created then becomes a question of musical
aesthetics as much as technological possibilities - an expression of the virtual
musical world that the record producer conceives as their ideal. What follows is a
discussion of a particular outlook - and some of the working methods - of one of
the most significant post-war classical record producers, John Culshaw, and of the
virtual world that he aimed to create and intended his listeners to experience in the
field of opera. As the Decca sound engineer Gordon Parry (personal
communication) put it: "John had the concept of the recording being an art form in
itself - and that's what he believed in."
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CAREER
John Culshaw (1924-1980) first became professionally involved with recording in
1946, at the age of 22, when F. E. Attwood, the Publicity Manager of The Decca
Record Co., engaged him on a freelance basis to work in his department. The timing
of this introduction to the company was propitious: the advent of peace and the
gradual return to economic normality resulted in growth in public demand for
recordings, encouraging Decca to increase its output. At the same time, the
introduction of the long-playing record in the USA in 1948 and by Decca in the
United Kingdom in 1950, and the development of recording with magnetic tape
from the late 1940s onwards, created a need for additional expert recording
personnel. After a year working in publicity, Culshaw suddenly found himself thrust
into the role of the record producer. His first assignment was to supervise a solo
recording by the pianist Clifford Curzon, followed shortly afterwards by responsibility
for several of Georg Solti's early orchestral recordings, and after working for Decca
on an ad hoc basis for four years, in 1951 Culshaw was made a permanent member
of staff, working in the Classical Recording division of Decca as a producer.
This work placed him at the centre of European music-making, with recording
assignments not only in London but in several of the other musical capitals of
Europe, notably Vienna. Between 1953 and 1955 he left Decca and served as the
head of European classical recording for the American company Capitol, whose UK
releases at that time were published through Decca. With the take-over of Capitol by
EMI in 1955, and the closure of Capitol's classical music operation in Europe,
Culshaw returned to Decca at the invitation of its chairman, Sir Edward Lewis,
becoming head of the company's Classical Recording Division in 1956.
Stereophonic recordings, issued for commercial consumption through pre-recorded
tapes, had been available in the USA since 1954. With the imminent introduction of
stereo recordings on disc into the consumer market, Culshaw saw this technological
innovation as a major advance. In particular he wanted to develop the recording of
opera using stereophonic sound, and specifically to transform it from a static experience
for the listener, as was the case with monophonic recordings, to a dramatic
experience, possessing at least some of the theatrical characteristics which this new
technology made possible. These included spatial separation, aural perspective,
acoustic modification and sound effects. Culshaw first tried out his ideas with the
1957 recording of Act III of Die Walkiire, followed by a more thorough-going
application of stereo in his production of DasRheingo/d, made in 1958, and the first
time that this opera had been recorded in full. The recording was released in 1959
to great critical acclaim and commercial success in both Europe and America.
Having proved his commercial as well as artistic worth to Decca with this release,
Culshaw then embarked upon a series of very carefully prepared recordings of operas,
several of which were promoted as employing Decca's Sonicstage technique. The first
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Sonicstage production was Tristan und Isolde, released in 1961, followed by Salome
(1962); the second instalment of Decca's Ringcycle, Siegfried (1963); Gotterdammerung
(1965); Die Walkiire (1966) and finally Elektra in 1967 - in all of which the
conductor Georg Solti and the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra were key
participants. In the autumn of 1967, Culshaw left Decca to take up the post of head
of music at BBC Television, remaining there for eight years. From 1975 he pursued
a freelance career, working as a producer, writer, and lecturer in England and
Australia. He died in 1980.
"Would it not be easier, after all, to record operas directly from the live stage with srereo
equipment? The answer, almost certainly is no. Short of ten identical performances (on
Bayreuth lines), one simply cannot get the musical perfection which the record public
demands; and the acoustical problems oflive theater recording usually defeat even the most
adventurous of such projects." (Cutshaw, 1958, p. 136)
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"If there is any secret about the sort of work we have been doing in Vienna over the past
few years [... J it has to do with trying to get to the heart of a score before you record a note
of it, so that before you begin you have a concept of what the final record is going to sound
like. This concept may, of course, be right or wrong; it may be sustained or modified as
things progress; but the important thing is that it should be there to start with, for the
catalogues are full of examples to show whar happens when it isn't." (Culshaw, 1968,
p.474)
The arrival of stereophonic sound recording and reproduction, which allowed for the
placing of sounds within the sound stage, opened up many new possibilities in
recording - as Culshaw was quick to grasp: "Stereo, by granting the artist freedom
to move and thus to act, stands a chance of realizing the dream of many opera
enthusiasts: a wholly accurate reproduction of the voice in balance plus the effect of
that voice in action. All that one misses is the visual element, and that is perhaps a
mixed disadvantage." (Culshaw, 1959, p. 46). Stereo permitted the reproduction of
movement by singers similar to that on the theatrical stage. As Frank Granville
Barker reported when interviewing Culshaw in 1958: "A recording session has
become rather like a stage production and calls for expert placing of the performers."
(Barker, 1958). Culshaw himself was even more specific in print a few months later:
"[T]he job of the stereo opera producer is to realize the essential movement of the
drama in aural terms." (Culshaw, 1959, P: 46). In order to accommodate movement
and to replicate further the conditions of a staged performance, "Stages are being
built in halls where monophonic requirements demanded no such amenities."
(Culshaw, 1959, p. 136). At the same time as assisting the general dramatic
realization, "the movement itself may well, to some extent, determine the inflection
of whatever musical phrase is being sung. In other words, the singers have to act, and
in acting, they move." (Culshaw, 1959, p. 45).
The concentrated performance generated through movement on the recording
stage was to be further amplified by recording in long takes. Whereas the wax
medium of 78-rpm recording technology only allowed for an uninterrupted
performance of between four and five minutes at the most, tape recording
offered the possibility of recording in considerably longer takes. "Stereo opera as we
in Decca record it, has resulted in longer 'takes' than ever before. We knew perfectly
well how difficult it is to build up dramatic tension, in a studio performance, and
the long 'take' is some solution." (Culshaw, 1962a, p. 14). The long take, moreover,
found its obvious expression in the longer playing duration of the LP record - a
characteristic that Adorno celebrated in an article from 1969. He argued that for
opera the LP was actually superior to the live performance in distancing itself from
what he described as the "phony hoopla" of the opera house, and in its capacity "to
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(1) Very much as Culshaw did, but in typically more polemical terms, Adorno saw opera recordings
as improving upon live opera performances by doing away with the distractions of either
anachronistic or perplexingly 'updated' staging and concentrating «on music as the true object of
opera, [... J linked to a perception that is comparable to reading, to immersion in a text. [ ... J The
form of the gramophone record comes into its own as a form of sound figures." (Adorno, 2002,
p.285).
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"The question beginning to emerge in 1960 was whether the gramophone record, which
has long been said to be as good or as nearly as good as the concert hall, should even try to
be anything likethe Concert Hall. Was the gramophone record in fact something that could
exist in its own right, without attempting to imitate at all the kind of sound or performance
you would necessarily have in the Concert Hall." (Culshaw, 1961a, p. 11).
KEy RECORDINGS
The period in which Culshaw developed his ideas for realizing opera specifically in
terms of the medium of stereophonic recording was relatively short (1957 to 1967)
and the recordings themselves were few in number, if often large in scale. This
section provides an overview of six seminal recordings in which Culshaw developed
his innovative recording practices.
(2) Even thirty years later, however, the critic Julian Hirsch was arguing that it was impossible in
terms of physics for domestic sound reproduction even to begin to convey the experience of musical
performance in spaces such as a concert hall or opera house (Hirsch, 1983; 1995).
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If Act III of Die walkiirewas Culshaw's first attempt to exploit the new medium,
Das Rheingold, with its spectacular episodes such as the descent into Nibelheim and
the entry into Valhalla, offered numerous opportunities for experimenting with
stereo to great dramatic effect, which Culshaw seized upon in his 1958 production.
The time and care taken to realise these plans were impressive: "About thirty sketch
plans were needed to cover the various sequences [of movement] in Rheingold, and
rehearsing the artists in their movements took care of half of the preparatory piano
rehearsals, which totalled twenty-five." (Culshaw, 1959, p. 441). Culshaw was not
only energetic in the search for 'authentic' sound effects, but also realized the
opportunities for publicity which these adventures offered. He wrote enthusiastically
of his discovery of an anvil school in Vienna and the subsequent hiring of eighteen
anvils "of the size and type specified by Wagner" (Culshaw, 1959, p. 442), and when
the gold bars specified by Wagner to hide the young goddess Freia were beyond even
Decca's resources, Culshaw settled instead for the sounds of "solid tin, under guard".
(Culshaw, 1959, p. 442) The screams of the Nibelungen at the end of Scene Three
were accomplished only after sixty children from a Viennese orphanage had
undergone four hours of intensive rehearsal.
"Authenticiry" was not Culshaws only concern, however, and in the Rheingold
recording he also experimented with sound manipulation for purely dramatic effect.
When in the third scene Alberich becomes invisible through donning the Tarnhelm
helmet and whips Mime at different, unexpected, parts of the stage, the changes in
position were clearly realized, and the timbre of Alberich's voice subtly adjusted to
convey the helmeted effect. Here was an instance where sound alone could improve
upon the stage: "I maintain that for special moments of this sort, where the theatre
can be improved upon, the effect is legitimate." (Culshaw, 1959, p. 444).
Apart from musico-dramatic effects and the manipulation of vocal sound, Das
Rheingold also offered Culshaw and his team opportunities to exploit the value of
acoustic space in recording purely orchestral music. The hushed opening of the
opera, and other orchestral set pieces, offered the Decca engineers and the Vienna
Philharmonic Orchestra opportunities to demonstrate a clarity and luxuriance of
orchestral sound that could rarely, if ever, be heard by most listeners in a real opera
house. A studio production that surpassed the live experience - at least in aural
terms - had become achievable.
The consequences of all these factors were considerable, as Andrew Porter
indicated in his review of the recording in The Gramophone. After acknowledging the
effectiveness of both production and stereophonic recording, he went to suggest that
"it is not exactly a theatre illusion that we have but perhaps something even closer to
Wagner's creation [...] listening to these records is not just like going to the opera
house without looking at the stage. In some mysterious way they seem to catch you
up in the work - not in a particular set of performers - more intimately than
that." (Porter, 1959, p. 472). Culshaw, in Porter's view, had succeeded in his aim of
creating a realisation of Wagner's opera that offered a different, and potentially
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Figure 1.
Culshaw's set design for Ad I for his 1960 recording of Wagner's Tristan and Isolde. Courtesy of
Decca Music Group.
The most significant difference from traditional stagings lay in Culshaw's approach
to the first act. Instead of imagining Isolde's cabin spread out across the stage,
Culshaws design exploited both the depth and width of the stereophonic stage, with
the ship in which the future lovers were travelling located diagonally onstage at an
angle of about forty-five degrees to the audience. Tristan and Kurwenal could be
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Figure 2.
Cu/shaw's set design for Ad 1/ for his 1960 recording of Wagner's Tristan and Isolde. Courtesy
of Decca Music Group.
heard on the right hand side of the stage, from the audience's perspective, and
standing upstage on the rear deck of the ship; while Isolde and Brangane were
situated down-stage on the left hand side, in their cabin. Culshaw's intentions in this
recording were not, however, to simulate an imagined opera house. As he wrote in
the leaflet accompanying the discs: "The idea furthest from our minds was to copy,
on records, what is heard on the average opera house; instead we tried to ensure that
the intense emotional experience of Tristan und Isolde should survive the transfer to
a medium unknown to the composer, and use to the full whatever advantages that
different medium could bestow." (Culshaw, 1961b, p. 5).
Salome (1961)
Salome is the first of the Culshaw opera productions to be branded with the term
Sonicstage. Neither Culshaw nor Decca ever provided a clear definition of
Sonicstage, which seems to have been a portmanteau term denoting a higher level of
recording detail than was then usual, the presence of effects emulating stage action,
and an advertising brand image that identified those productions on which it was
used. Culshaw described in some detail the objectives of employing the Sonicstage
method for the recording of Salome in the leaflet which accompanied the long-
playing records on their initial release.
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"In approaching this score for a modern recording, we had one major idea in mind: that
although its detail and subtle colouring are almost without precedent, the fact temains that
much of it, and hence much of the mood and intensity of the drama, is lost in the average
theatre [... J To this end an altogether new technical approach called Sonicstage was devised,
through which every desirable detail in the score might become audible in its correct
proportion to the rest of the vast orchestra (it averaged 115 musicians) and to the voices."
(Culshaw, 1962b)
Culshaw then goes on to list individual passages in the score where specific details in
the orchestral texture are frequently lost in theatrical performances, but which are
clearly revealed in this recording, concluding:
"Salome is our first production in Sonicstage, and we believe it represents a huge step
forward in the quest for a technical-artistic alliance that will finally establish stereo
recording as a legitimate operatic medium [...] It does offer a new kind of personal
involvement to the listener by placing him closer to the score, and thus to the drama, than
has been possible hitherto." (Culshaw, 1962b)
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Later in his career Culshaw was dismissive of the Sonicstage label, and maintained
that in reality the process was no different from what had gone before: "[T]here was
not a jot of difference between Salome and any other opera we had recorded in
Vienna for the past three years - except, that is, for Strauss's scoring. I wish now
that we had not done it [the Sonicstage branding], because it was childish."
(Culshaw, 1981, p. 281). Nonetheless, the term arguably conveyed two key points
to the consumer. First, the use of the term "stage" communicated the idea that the
singers would be moving around the sound area presented to the listener; and
second, the design of the logo, which drew heavily upon that for the wide-screen film
process Cinemascope, indicated that the sound recording would fully exploit the
width of the stereo soundstage, and thus pin-point orchestral detail and dramatic
action within this virtual space.
A key moment in the opera at which Culshaw sought to emulate directly in aural
terms the stage action was the moment in the closing scene when Salome lasciviously
addresses the severed head of]okanaan, and finally kisses it, immediately prior to her
assassination. In the original play Oscar Wilde's stage directions at this point require
a darkened stage, and with the moon obscured by a passing cloud. Wilde marks the
source of the ensuing lines as "the voiceof Salome", rather than Salome directly, and
Culshaw sought to indicate the psychological intimacy of this moment, mirrored by
the shrouding of the stage in darkness, through changing the balance to give the
voice of Salome a "close-up" quality, when she sings the words ''Ah! Ich habe deine
Mund gekiisst, ]okanaan." Culshaw described his intentions at this point: "[T]he
frightful intimacy and isolation - not a contradiction by the way - of the voice at
that moment conveys the stage situation, with the moon obscured behind a huge
black cloud and a single halo of light illuminating the princess, crouched over the
severed head she has just embraced." (Culshaw, 1962a, p. 15).
Gotterdammerung (1964)
With Siegfried completed in 1962, Decca's traversal ofWagner's Ringcycle continued
in 1964 with the recording of Gotterdammerung. As with Das Rheingold, the work
offered Culshaw various opportunities to put into practice his ideas for "opera as
sound". These were highlighted in an article in The Gramophone in which Culshaw
claimed that "the artists recognized the nature of the beast as something quite
different from an ordinary operatic recording." (Culshaw, 1965, p. 517). An example
of the production team's attempts to achieve their desired psychological effect by
purely acoustic means was the short scene in Act III in which Gutrune reflects in the
empty Hall of the Gibichungs. "We spent a lot of time with Claire Watson [who sang
Gurrune] to create a vocal acoustic in keeping with the mood of the scene: the
equivalent, in aural terms, of putting Gutrune well down-stage in a theatre production
and lighting the set dimly in such a way as to emphasize her fear and isolation."
(Culshaw, 1965, p. 517). A similar psychologically-motivated use of vocal sound
comes at the end of Act I, in which Brunnhilde confronts Siegfried, who is in
disguise. "After a great deal of experiment we were able to do something in this
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Elektra (1966-1967)
The Sonicstage badge was very much to the fore in the promotion of the recording
of Richard Strauss's opera Elektra, recorded in 1966 and 1967. As before, the key
justification for the employment of the Sonicstage technique was "a phenomenal
clarity of orchestral detail and operatic voice reproduction [which] bring the listener
to the very heart of the drama." (Decca Records, 1967). Little is made here of the
aural adjustments undertaken in the name of dramatic realization, reinforcing the
idea of a certain diffidence on the part of Decca to acknowledge the kind of
'interference' in classical recording - although these interventions arguably form
the most significant aspect of the production.
Nonetheless the impact of a creative approach to production was highlighted in
William Mann's review of the recording, published in The Gramophone in November
1967. "Elektra is an opera about psychological disturbance, and John Culshaw and
Gordon Parry have created acoustical atmospheres which convey the changing
ambiances of the music - not only the situations and the words, but what the
characters are feeling at a particular moment." (Mann, 1967, p. 276). Mann went on
to enumerate some of these interventions: the 'outdoor' acoustic of the opening
scene with the five servant girls at the well; the change to a more claustrophobic
sound for Elektra's re-entry and monologue, reflecting her psychotic state of mind;
and her dream of revenge mirrored by a further acoustic adjustment designed to
suggest the bathroom in which her father was killed - just as Clytemnestra's equally
disturbed personal world is conveyed by unstably varying acoustics, the climax of
which occurs at the news of Orestes's death: "[H]er maniacal laughter shifts and
echoes distortedly all round the invisible stage with bloodcurdling effect." (Mann,
1967, p. 276).
Culshaw recognized this recording of Elektra (which included reinstating passages
traditionally cut in performance - allowing Decca to claim in their publicity that
this was the first ever complete recording of the work) as representing the best work
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that he and Georg Solei had yet achieved with the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra.
Sound and balance of the highest possible sensitivity were clearly for Culshaw the
essential foundations of a successfully realized operatic recording, driven by the score
and a detailed interpretation in sound of the composer's indications. In an article
discussing his final recordings for Decca, he commented: "[I]r is easy for the essential
strands in the musical texture to become obscured by less essential components; and
once that happens, the emotional temperature falls." (Culshaw, 1968, p. 474)
CONCLUSION
"On the one hand there is the empirical spectator whose interpretation of film will be
determined by all manner of extraneous factors like personal biography, class origins,
previous viewing experience, the variables of conditions of reception, etc. On the other
hand the abstract notion of a 'subject-position', which could be defined as the way in
which a film solicits, demands even, a certain closely circumscribed response from the
reader by means of its own formal operations. This distinction seems fruitful, inasmuch as
it accepts that different individuals can interpret a text in different ways, while insisting that
the text itself imposes definite limits on their room to manoeuvre. In other words, it
promises a method which avoids the infinite pluralism which posits as many readings as
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there are readers, and an essentialism which asserts a single 'true' meaning." (Johnston,
1985, p. 245)
Applied to music, Clarke (1999, 2005) uses the idea to discuss the ways in which
compositional structure, and performance style, can articulate a subject-position in
music, but a potentially stronger parallel can be seen in relation to the recording
process. Just as it is a film director's decisions about lighting, camera angle, editing
style and so on that establish a subject-position in film, so the classical record
producer inevitably establishes what might be called a 'listener-position' in relation
to the recorded work by means of microphone placement, sound treatment, spatial
positioning and pacing - and it is from this perspective that Culshaws radical, but
also paradoxical, stance becomes evident.
As Symes (2004) points out and demonstrates, the dominant paradigm within
classical recording is to present the listener with a listener-position which places him
or her in "the finest seat in the house" - to quote a Pye advertisement for sound
equipment from 1957 reproduced in Symes (2004, p. 74). John Culshaw's philosophy
of recording was directly opposed to this view of the purpose of recording. His aim
was to employ technology to create an aural experience that was different from what
could be heard in the opera house. Writing in 1966, in defence of Glenn Gould's
proposal that a future stage of technological development might see consumers
themselves adjusting records to satisfy their personal musical preferences, he
commented:
"Most of this indignation [against listeners' technical manipulation of sound] derives from
the fact rhar such things can be done - rhe suspicion that technology, as a science, is
inrerfering wirh music which, as an art, since the middle of the 19th century has been
raking on some of the trappings of religion. Howls of protesr go up every time that
rechnology comes to rhe assisrance of music, despite the facr rhar wirhour rechnology rhere
would be no music at all, save for the human voice, for rhere would be no instruments ro
play on and no halls to play in." (Culshaw, 1966, p. 28)
Just as Hollywood film cartoon characters, such as Chuck Jones's Daffy Duck,
occupy a virtual reality in which they exercise all kinds of skills and capacities that
defy normal reality without departing from it altogether (see Creekmur, 1988), so
Culshaw was open to the idea of using the opportunities presented by sound
technology to create a reality different from that of the opera house experience.
Culshaw's aim was to create a listener-position that was unattainable in the reality of
the concert hall, or more especially the opera house, compromised by the position,
size and acoustical characteristics of the typical orchestral pit. This listener-position
could only inhabit the virtual world that can be created with recording and studio
techniques, and it was this virtual world that Culshaw wanted his listeners in turn to
experIence.
285
Eric F. Clarke
Department of Music, University of Sheffield
Sheffield S10 2TN, United Kingdom
e-mail: [email protected]
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Wide Angle: A Film Quarterly ofTheory, Criticism, and Practice, 1012,32-40.
Culshaw, J. (1957). Our search for stage atmosphere. Records and Recording, 1/3,27.
Culshaw, J. (1958). Songsters in Motion. High Fidelity, 8/11, 45-46, 136.
Culshaw, J. (1959). Making a stereo Rheingold. The Gramophone. XXXVI/430, 441-2, 444.
Culshaw, J. (1961a). What ro record and who to record it? Records and Recording, 4/6, 10-12,47.
Culshaw, J. (1961b). Tristan und Isolde. Wagner: Tristan und Isolde, Decca MET / SET 204-8,
accompanying leaflet, 3-5.
Culshaw, J. (1962a). The challenge of stereo opera. Records and Recording, 515, 14-15.
Culshaw, J. (1962b). Salome: the characters and the Sonicstage approach. Richard Strauss: Salome,
Decca MET / SET228-9, accompanying leaflet, 4.
Culshaw, J. (1965). Gotterdammerung. The Gramophone, XLII1504, 517-18.
Culshaw, J. (1966). The Mellow Knob, or the rise of records and the decline of the concert hall as
foreseen by Glenn Gould. Records and Recording, 1012, 26-28.
Culshaw, J. (1967). Ring Resounding. London: Seeker and Warburg.
Culshaw, J. (1968). Three for the road. The Gramophone, XL /504,473-76.
Culshaw, J. (1981). Putting the Record Straight. London: Seeker and Warburg.
Day, T. (2000). A Century of Recorded Music: Listening to Musical History. New Haven: Yale
University Press.
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pp.482-83.
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289
• DISCOGRAPHY
Richard Strauss: Elektra, Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Georg Solei (recorded Sofiensaal,
Vienna, June 14, September 1966, February 1967 - exact dates not available). First
release: Decca mono MET 354-5, Decca stereo SET 354-5 (LP: 2 LPs).
Richard Strauss: Salome, Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Georg Solti (recorded Sofiensaal,
Vienna, October 16-25, 1961). First release: Decca mono MET 228-9, Decca stereo
SET228-9 (LP: 2 LPs).
Verdi: Aida, Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Herbert von Karajan (recorded Sofiensaal, Vienna,
September 2-15, 1959). First release: Decca mono LXT 5539-41, Decca stereo SXL
2167-69.
Verdi: Otello, Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Herbert von Karajan, (recorded Sofiensaal, Vienna,
May 1-21, 1961). First release: Decca MET 209-11, Decca stereo SET 209-11.
Wagner: Das Rheingold, Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Georg Solti (recorded Sofiensaal, Vienna,
September 24-26, 29, 30, October 1-3, 6-8, 1958). First release: Decca mono LXT
5495-7, Decca stereo SXL 2101-3 (LP: 3 LPs).
Wagner: Die Witlkiire, Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Georg Solti (recorded Sofiensaal, Vienna
October 29, 31, November 2-5, 12-19, 1965). First release: Decca mono MET 312-6,
Decca stereo SET 312-6 (LP: 5 LPs).
Wagner: Die Witlkiire: Act III (complete), Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Georg Solti (recorded
Sofiensaal, Vienna, and May 13-17, 1957). First release (with the Todesverkiindigung
scene from Act II, recorded Sofiensaal, Vienna, May 27-28, 1956): Decca mono LXT
5389-90 (LP: 2 LPs).
Wagner: Gottediimmerung, Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Georg Solti (recorded Sofiensaal,
Vienna, May 20-June 6, October 26-31, November 2-5, 17-24, 1964). First release:
Decca mono MET 292-76, Decca stereo SET 292-7 (LP: 5 LPs).
Wagner: Siegfried, Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Georg Solti (recorded Soficnsaal, Vienna,
May 6-17, October 21-November 5, 1962). First release: Decca mono MET 242-6,
Decca stereo SET 242-6 (LP; 5 LPs).
290
Wagner: Tristan und Isolde, Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Georg Solri (recorded Sofiensaal,
Vienna, September 2-30, 1960). First release: Decca mono MET 204-8, Decca stereo
SET204-8 (LP: 5 LPs).
Bearles (1967). Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band First release: Parlophonc mono PMC
7027, Parlophone stereo PCS 7027 (LP).
Moby (1999). Play. Mute Records CDSTUMMI72 (CD).
291
292
Ein Tontrager stellt eine paradoxe Wahrnehmungsquelle dar: Wir konnen uns
entweder dem Klang des Mediums oder der virtuellen Welt zuwenden, die durch
das Medium vermitte!t wird. Genauso kann die Arbeit eines Tontrager-Produzenten
entweder als Interpretationsaufzeichnung oder als Erzeugung virtueller Welten
verstanden werden. Dieser Artikel dokumentiert, dass der Tontrager-Produzent
John Culshaw anstatt einfach puren eines Augenblicks darzustellen, klare
Vorstellungen daruber hatte, wie Aufnahmen den Status eines Kunstwerks
erreichen konnen, anstatt einfach Spuren eines Augenblicks darzustellen. Culshaws
grundlegende asthetische und technische Herangehensweisen werden exemplarisch
anhand einiger zentraler Aufnahmen beschrieben. Die Spannung zwischen
Culshaws radikaler Herangehensweise an Horprozesse und seiner tradition ellen
Haltung bezuglich der Autoritat des Notentexts wird erforscht, wobei die
Beziehung zwischen Tonaufnahme und Film als Ausgangspunkt dient und das
Konzept der Subjekt-Position verwendet wird. Mogliche Grunde fur die Abkehr von
seinen Ideen werden ebenso vorgestellt ebenso wie der Umstand, dass es (auBer
den Tontragern selbst) keine Erben Culshaws gibt. Der Artikel schlieBt mit einer
kurzen Diskussion der aktuellen Paradigmen zur Aufzeichnung von klassischer
Musik, wo mit unterschiedlichen Mitteln Live-Erfahrungen aus der Perspektive des
"besten Sitzplatzes eines Konzerthauses" reproduziert werden solien.
293