Sound and Nothingness

Admittedly a suburban transplant, ostensibly a Chicago native, it seems as if from birth I am to be fully aware of the life of Alexander Calder. From the Flamingo in Federal Plaza to the ubiquitous expositions at the Museum of Contemporary Art, Calder is as much a staple of Chicago culture and history as Terkel and Burnham are. His major achievement involves mobiles, a form of art that requires the viewer to crane his or her neck upwards to recognize the empty spaces above that are too often ignored. Likewise, the stage and settings of the works of Samuel Beckett and other absurdist playwrights employ the use of empty space (more to the point, Waiting for Godot constantly reminds us of a character who isn’t there). In the realm of music, the most famous example of this attention to nothingness is undoubtedly John Cage’s 4'33'’. But whereas Cage’s work involves absolute silence on behalf of the performer(s) in juxtaposition with the sounds of the environment around them, two recent albums allow the artists talents to effectively converse with the surrounding empty space.
From the beginning of Peter, Bjorn and John’s 2009 album Living Thing, we know this will not be a rehashing of Writer’s Block. Gone is the explosive attack of “Objects of my Affection” and the impatient drums and jovial whistles of “Young Folks.” Instead, we have start-stop vocals/drums, a feeling of apprehension confounding the listener. Perhaps the most striking use of negative space is on track two, “It Don’t Move Me.” A barren wasteland of a verse by PB&J standards sets up the catharsis-achieving chorus. The emptiness of the verse, the recognition of love lost (manifested in loss of sound) allows our hero to overcome, accompanied by the encounter of instrumentation. Likewise, the monotonous verse of “Losing My Mind,” with its repetitive snare and ominous lyrics, help guide tension, primarily through the slow tempo which only exaggerates the void: my fingers tap a beat too soon in anticipation of getting back in the comfort of sound. Historically, silence has held a dual definition, cliched as either ‘golden’ or ‘awkward.’ The purpose of adapting negative space in music is to help bridge the gap of these two extremes, to sense dialectically the tension then release.
Empty spaces can also help one to appreciate the subtlety of change. As PB&J employ a subtle dynamic within their songs and album, the XX use space as a way to draw a greater focus on the details of their instrumentation. Throughout “Heart Skipped a Beat,” off their debut eponymous album, the empty spaces allow the alternating and overlapping male/female vocals assume a greater sense of distance when they sing, “sometimes I still need you.” By the time everything is brought together at the end, it leaves immediately. Ambient sounds and hushed male half-slurs fill the winter alleyways emanating from the speakers. The contrasting pulsations from the bass with the fleeting guitar lead take over, and although it ends much too soon (as with many fantasies), there is a hint of what’s to come with “Shelter.” A female lead now occupies our space; we transferred from the mind of one to the other. The desolate alleyway of “Fantasy” is now a hardwood-floored, barren white-walled room; shelter from the extremes, but still cold and empty. Repeating lyrics and a build up essentially lead as far as most ruminations of a distracted mind: an eventual fade into perturbed sleep. But the dreamlike atmosphere of “Basic Space” that follows offers reconciliation with the dual vocals. The emptiness of the first verse allows a surreal transition before the clarity of the dream chorus. Certainly this is the most playful tune of this middle block of the album, the drums appropriating more fills as well as a faux-disco bass interlude. But the XX recognize the singularity of dreams, located solely in the basic space between our ears. Eventually, we wake up and return to the void.
As Tony Smith allows an aluminum sculpture to take up space and allow nothingness as part of the work, so to do PB&J and the XX recognize the importance of leaving open the window of sounds: its important to listen to what they’re not doing. The stage need not be elaborate to be a set, and the border of a painting can reveal just as much as the brush strokes. With our lives already so filled up with constant diversions, the breeze from an open window refreshes and enlivens.