Pierre Gerard is the kind of artist whose work you discover by accident or association. The man has produced a substantial discography, but for the most part it was released on smallish – by now often defunct – labels or by himself, usually in very limited editions. Several of those homemade releases appeared in runs of only 21 copies. You might call him a minimalist, free improviser, or reductionist, but most of all, an intuitive creator. He is also a visual artist, which might explain his attention to gestures, assemblage and a careful sense of architecture, even in his free improvisations.
This has resulted in a body of work that thrives on intimacy, space and silence. Some of his work is so concentrated, opening up itself in irregular and unpredictable dripping patterns, that it can become demanding, testing even a trained listener’s limits of patience. It reminds one of the fact that a solo performance is something special, for the performer and the listener. It is the former’s imagination coming at you completely, unfettered and unfiltered. And being on the receiving end of it might require some effort.
Of course it also creates possibilities. When finding himself exposed to one of Antoine Beuger’s whistling performances (sometime before the release of Keine Fernen Mehr), Richard Pinnell noted that its effect was unlike any other concert setting: “It felt starkly human, unusually direct, devoid of the trappings of composed music (…).” It was a very specific setting and kind of music, but it’s a good example of the transformative potential of a solo performance looking for an essence.
These five improvisations are invitations, largely monophonic guitar movements tracing mental processes. But they are also, as the title suggests, part of a physical world. They are abstract translations of shapes and weights, naked and assembled objects that fill musical space, even when there is hardly anything to be heard, when the music even seems on the verge of dissolution. It’s also why the first, silent minute of “En Plein Rose D’Un Bois Lisse” is as much part of the improvisation as the prickly trajectory that follows.
It is often said that minimal music is as much about what isn’t there as it is about what is. While that might be true, you also risk, by stressing the process of omission, to devalue the impact and expressive power of what is actually there. Ideally, it is a two-way interaction, with both silence and sound providing context, contrast and a meaningful dialogue. Pieces Of Apparatus is a pertinent example in case.
Guy Peters 2021
