The Swiss composer and sound artist Noémi Büchi is known for her multifaceted electroacoustic compositions that conceive of sound as malleable matter. Her current EP, “Liquid Bones”, as well as in the newly released live version of it’s opening track explore the liquefaction of forms, a theme deeply embedded in her work, not only sonically but also conceptually. In this interview, Büchi discusses her fascination with materiality, the relationship between sound and body, and her long-standing engagement with electroacoustic composition. Collaborative projects such as the duo Musique Infini, which has been featured here several times, are also discussed. She reflects on the challenges, but also the urge, to understand music as a kind of living structure, on the balance between artistic intuition and formal complexity, and on the desire to break free from the rigid structures of the music industry. In the interview, she gives insight into her creative process and her future musical paths.
Your new EP “Liquid Bones” is about, simply put, the liquefaction of forms. How did you become interested in these topics and were there any challenges in the idea of implementing this in the medium of music?
I have always been fascinated by bodies, by innards, by anatomy, by flesh and blood — and by different textures and materials that this world has to offer. Matter has always fascinated me, so to speak, first primarily on a visual and haptic level — but also on a conceptual level. What is it that we touch and perceive here? Are there other ways of perceiving these materials than our own? Probably. This fascination was not directly connected to sound at first — until I began to understand and investigate the relationship sound has with matter. Sound as a vibration of matter, sound as “immaterial matter” — it only exists in time, is intangible and yet dependent on material conditions. During my studies of electroacoustic composition, I came across the concept that sound in electroacoustic music is often considered as malleable matter — be it in musique concrète or granular synthesis. This immediately fascinated me. I wanted to understand this paradox, this tension between physical phenomenon and acousmatic perception or experience, in more depth. That really grabbed me. And then of course how matter, as a medium, as an instrument, creates sound, no matter what it is. It was a clear challenge, but at the same time the whole thing developed very intuitively for me.
Materiality played a central role in many of your past releases and in a statement you once described your music as matter, based on “collective memories between trauma and joy”. Would you say that there is a common thread running through these releases, which extends to “Liquid Bones”, or do you also see significant differences that are noticeable in your respective compositional approaches?
I don’t think that these essential differences – which certainly exist – exclude the common thread between my works. The compositional approach changes with each new work – you grow with each composition and adapt aspects accordingly in the next. That’s exactly what’s so beautiful about it. To answer the question specifically: yes, the common thread is actually inevitable, unavoidable. Every artist is in a never-ending process in which one work leads to the next. A human life is so short that even one’s own obsessions are neglected. That means that I basically always deal with the same themes – they just appear in different forms and nuances.
Should sound always be a physically tangible experience for you?
Sound is not meant to do anything. And besides, hearing is always a physical thing, because we need ears to receive it. But when the sound goes beyond the ear and moves the whole body, I find the experience all the more intense (and beautiful) – but it is not necessary.
Is there for you – on the current release, but also in general – a tangible connection between compositional structure and emotional resonance?
Yes, I think that I always compose based on emotions. And emotions have a very broad spectrum. I also always ask myself what exactly emotions mean in music? That is not an easy question.
The piano plays a central role on the new EP, but often in unexpected forms. What does the instrument mean to you, and how did you reimagine it for this album?
The piano was my first instrument, I grew up with it. I love it and at the same time I am very afraid of it. I never felt good enough at playing the piano. I respect this instrument incredibly. I didn’t rethink it for this EP, that would be far too pretentious a statement. But I did try out and record different timbres and techniques on the piano, yes.
Did your beginnings as a musician and composer lie in classical music? How and when did you discover the possibilities of sound art and electroacoustic work?
Yes, I learned piano as a child, with a very classical repertoire, and then went to a composition class for children at a young age. Later I studied musicology and electroacoustic composition. For me, studying electroacoustic composition was a logical consequence. Electronic music opened up new possibilities for me that I could not find with acoustic instruments. Today I appreciate both conscious imitation and the mixture of both worlds – acoustic and electronic.
I feel that the compositions on “Liquid Bones” are more fluid and lighter than previous works, which gives the underlying complexity a completely different effect. If you see it similarly, is this a conscious decision or was it more the result of a gradual development process?
I think I consciously wanted to make a kind of ‘break’ with my previous work. Although the theme follows its common thread, I wanted to create something ‘fresh’ on a musical level – something lighter. The ‘heaviness’ of Matter and Does It Still Matter now felt saturated and exhausted to me. But all of that – the decisions, the breaks – are part of the development process.
How did you find the balance between this lightness and structural density on the new release?
It depends on what you mean by ‘lightness’. For me, in a musical sense, it might mean a little less layering, less heaviness, less ‘chaos’ in the sense of ‘harmonically and rhythmically bringing more clarity and perhaps more ‘hope’, so to speak. It’s difficult to formulate, but I think it’s about the mood. Perhaps this kind of music in this EP is also a little more ‘accessible’, although I also find this term problematic and somewhat meaningless. The balance came about intuitively. I think it’s the result or rather the next step in my compositional process. I had enough of this melancholic ‘heaviness’ and made compromises to find new ways.
How do you deal with potential limitations – be it technical limitations, your own rules or external expectations? Does a clear structure free you or do you need an open space without restrictions in order to be able to work?
It depends. Sometimes I find limitations very pleasant because the possibilities are not endless and I commit myself from the start, be it in the choice of instruments, the function of the music within the specific task (dance, film, etc.) or something else. But when I compose albums or EPs, I prefer total artistic freedom – and I love this struggle at the very beginning of the process, when I still have to figure out which direction I want to go. That is actually the step in the process that I enjoy the most – this search that sometimes leads me astray, but sometimes also to new insights. That is where I grow the most in my musical language.
Do you actually consider your tracks to be complete entities, or do you see them more as snapshots of a process that is not necessarily complete?
It is always, always a process that is not finished. And I hope that the process will never end. Otherwise it would be boring and searching/finding out would no longer be part of my work.
Your pieces often seem to be worked out in detail, but also characterized by a certain organic unpredictability. What role does chance or loss of control play in your creative process? Do you consciously work with generative or random elements?
I don’t work with chance in principle – at least not consciously. The only thing that is random is that it happens again and again that a sound emerges in a way that I didn’t expect or plan for, and I find that totally refreshing. Accepting and incorporating these unpredictable results. But I don’t really work with purely generative elements in principle. During my studies I once composed pieces that were based on chance. It was fun, but it wasn’t really a method that corresponded to my ideas and interests.
Without wanting to interpret the linguistic side of your pieces too strongly, the title of “Disappointing the Desire to Last” deals with desire, perhaps also expectations and, in any case, with transience. What personal or ethical relevance do these subjects have for you and would you generally describe them as important themes in your music?
Absolutely, yes. You can read or understand this sentence in different ways. I read different things in it too. On the one hand, the transience of bodies, of matter – and also of relationships. You gesticulate elastically, you think it’s a dream – you believe in it, you love, you fight, you talk, you plan – and then suddenly, without really noticing, it’s already over.
You once said that your music should trigger both emotional and intellectual surges of euphoria. What does that mean to you?
I think the density and complexity require focused listening, and at the same time the whole thing is mostly quite harmonious, which may also allow the listener to connect emotions, associations or memories with it. But this is all very subjective and a mere assertion on my part. In the end, harmony is just a construct that is well known to us, and therefore perhaps allows a certain ‘accessibility’. But disharmony can do that too. That is why this assertion is paradoxical. But what I am really interested in is creating music that works on several levels. The emotional euphoria comes from the immediate experience – through the physicality, timbres, rhythm, harmony, which can sometimes evoke a deep emotional resonance (like associations, etc.). This level is often unconscious and can be experienced directly. The intellectual euphoria refers to the more complex, structured aspects of music, such as composition, the connection between sound and concept, or the exploration of new musical ideas. This is more a kind of satisfaction that the listener experiences by understanding or discovering details in the music. For me, it is important that both levels interact with each other. The music should touch the listener emotionally, but at the same time offer space for deeper philosophical, political or musicological thoughts or reflections. It is about finding a balance where both the purely emotional and the intellectual experience are active at the same time, without one overshadowing the other.
I read on your website that you have also studied literature and language, among other subjects. I would be interested to know whether you think these studies have had a noticeable effect on your music and on your idea of music in general?
Yes, definitely. My studies in German and musicology have had a strong influence on my thinking and also on my composing.
Together with Manuel Oberholzer alias Feldermelder you also run the duo Musique Infinie, with two releases so far: “I” and “Earth”. Is this project also currently a topic and do you have any further work planned for the future?
These were two very intensive works that also need some time to be digested. That’s why nothing concrete is planned at the moment, but a continuation is certainly being discussed.
Musique Infinie works with a drama that sometimes seems cinematic, while your solo work seems more introverted in comparison. Are these two different sides of your musical interests, or could it simply be because MI simply brings together the ideas of two people?
I don’t know the exact answer to that. It’s clear that when two composers work together, two worlds collide, and the intensity and tension is certainly greater. But it was also our shared intention to create cinematic music. We are both big film music fans and wanted to use this shared fascination as a basis.
Where do you want your sound to go next? Are there any new sonic or conceptual areas you want to explore in the near future?
Yes, I have many new conceptual ideas and needs. I want to slowly distance myself from the ‘doctrines’ that I have experienced and perceived in the music industry so far – such as the idea of an album with short tracks and singles, and the shorter the tracks, the better (for Spotify playlists). The bigger and more impressive your live show, the better. The more photos, the better. And so on and so forth. I now want to become more authentic and find my way back to my very personal artistic needs and free myself more from normative societal expectations or trends. That’s why I’m currently interested in other concepts and ideas, such as composing long pieces (between 20 and 60 minutes), acoustically and electronically mixed. I want to consciously oppose these principles of the music market and create music that can take its time – because what time means in music is not what we think we know.
Interview: US / A.Kaudaht
Fotos: Sharon Ritossa
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