Transcript
Claire ParnetSo, "O" is "Opera," and as we have just learned, this heading is a bit of a joke since, other than Wozzeck and Lulu by Berg, it's safe to say that opera is not one of your activities or interests. You can speak to the exception of Berg, and in contrast to Foucault or Châtelet who liked Italian opera. . . you never really listened to music or particularly to opera. What interested you more were popular songs, particularly Edith Piaf. . . You have a great passion for Edith Piaf. So I'd like you to talk a bit about this.
You are being a bit severe in saying that. First, I listened to music quite a bit at a particular time, a long time ago. Then, I stopped because I told myself, it's not possible, it's not possible, it's an abyss, it takes too much time, one has to have time, I don't have the time, I have too much to do-I'm not talking about social tasks, but my desire to write things- I just don't have the time to listen to music, or listen to enough of it.
Claire ParnetWell, for example, Châtelet worked while listening to opera. . .
Well, yes, that's one method. I couldn't do that. He listened to opera, yes, but I'm not so sure that he listened to it while working, perhaps. When he entertained people at his home, that I understand. At least it covered up what people were saying when he'd had enough. But for me, that's not how it works. So, I would rather turn the question more towards my own favor. . . if you transformed it into: What is it that creates a community between a popular song and a great musical work of art? That's a subject that I find fascinating. The case of Edith Piaf, for example: I think she is a great chanteuse, with an extraordinary voice. Moreover, she has this way of singing off-key and then constantly catching the false note and making it right, this kind of system in imbalance that is constantly catching and making itself right. For me, this seems to be the case in any form. This is something I like a lot, really a lot, because it's a question I pose about everything, on the level of the popular song, something I like a lot: what does it bring that is original? The question arises in all productions what does it bring that's original? If it's been done 10 times, 100, times, maybe even done quite well, indeed I understand then what Robbe-Grillet said: Balzac is obviously a great genius, but what's the point in creating novels today the way Balzac did? Moreover, that [practice] sullies Balzac's novels, and that's how it is with everything. What I found particularly moving in Piaf was that she introduced something original in relation to the preceding generation, in relation to Frehel and. . . and the other great [singer]. . .
Claire ParnetDamia. . .
... in relation to Frehel and Damia. [It's] what [Piaf] brought that was original, even in the outfit of the chanteuse, all that, and in Piaf's voice. I was extremely sensitive to Piaf's voice. In more modern singers, one has to think-to understand what I mean-one has to think about [Charles] Trenet. What was innovative in Trenet's songs, quite literally, one had never heard anyone sing like him, singing in that manner. So I am insisting strongly on this point: for philosophy, for painting, for everything, for art, whether it's the popular song or the rest, or sports even-we'll see this when we talk about sports- the question is exactly the same, what's happening that's innovative? If one interprets that in the sense of fashion-no, it's just the opposite. What's innovative is something that's not fashionable, perhaps it will become so, but it's not fashionable since people don't expect it, by definition, people don't expect it, something that makes people. . . that stupefies them. When Trenet started singing, people said he was crazy. Today, that no longer seems crazy to us, but one can comment eternally on how he was crazy, and in some ways, he remained so. Piaf appeared grandiose to us all.
Claire ParnetAnd Claude François, you admired him a lot too?
Claude François, right or wrong, I don't know, but Claude François also seemed to bring something innovative because. . . There are a lot of them, I'm not going to cite them all. It's really sad because people have sung like that ten times, a hundred times, thousands of times, and furthermore, they don't have the least bit of voice, and they try to discover nothing. That's the same thing, to introduce something innovative and to try to discover something. For Piaf, what was she trying to discover, my God? All that I can say about weak health and strong life, what she saw in life, the force of life, and what broke her, etc., she is the very example, we could very well insert the example of Edith Piaf every time into what we said earlier. I was receptive to Claude François. He was searching for something, he was looking for an original kind of show, a song-show, he invented this kind of danced song, that obviously implied using playback. For better or for worse, that also allowed him to begin research into sound. To the very end, François was dissatisfied with one thing, his lyrics were stupid, and that still matters in songs. His texts were weak, and he never stopped trying to arrange his texts so that he might achieve greater textual qualities, like "Alexandrie, Alexandra," a good song. So today, I am not very familiar with music, but when I turn on the TV-it's the right of someone who's retired, to turn on the TV when I'm tired-I can say that the more channels there are, the more they look alike, and the more nil they become, a radical nullity. The regime of competition, competing with each other for everything, produces the same, eternal nullity, that's what competition is, and the effort to know what will make the listener turn here to listen instead of there, it's frightening, frightening, the way they. . . What I hear there can't even be called a song, since the voice doesn't even exist, no one has the slightest voice. But really, let's not complain. What I mean is, what they all want is this kind of domain that would be treated doubly by the popular song and by music. And what is this? With Félix, I feel like we did some good work here, because I could say if necessary, if someone asked me, "What philosophical concept have you produced since you are always talking about creating concepts?" We at least created a very important philosophical concept, the concept of the ritornello [the refrain]. And the ritornello is, for me, this point in common [between the popular song and music]. What is it? Let's say, the ritornello is a little tune, 'tra-la-la-la, tra-la-la-la." When do I say "tra-la- la?" I'm applying philosophy here, I'm applying philosophy in asking- when do I sing "tra-la-la," when do I sing to myself? I sing to myself on three occasions: I sing to myself when I am moving about in my territory, wiping off my furniture, radio playing in the background, that is, when I am in my home. Then, I sing to myself when I am not at home and I am trying to reach home, at nightfall, at the hour of agony, I'm seeking my way, and I give myself courage by singing, "tra-la-la," I'm going toward my home. And then, I sing to myself when I say "Farewell, I am leaving, and I will carry you with me in my heart,." It's a popular song. . . when I am leaving home to go somewhere else, and where to go? In other words, for me, the ritornello is absolutely linked- which takes the discussion back to "A as Animal"- to the problem of the territory and of exiting or entering the territory, that is, to the problem of deterritorialization. I return to my territory or I try, or I deterritorialize myself, that is, I leave, I leave my territory. Fine, but what relation does this have to music? One has to make headway in creating a concept, that's why I invoke the image of the brain: Take my brain at this moment as an example, I suddenly say to myself, "The lled." What is the lled?. That's what it has always been: It has always been the voice as a chant that rose from its position in relation to the territory. My territory, the territory I no longer have, the territory that I am trying to reach again, that's what the lled is. Whether it's Schumann or Schubert, that's what it is fundamentally. And I believe that's what affect is. When I was saying earlier that music is the history of becomings and the potentials of becomings, it was something of this sort. . . It could be great or it could mediocre, but. . . What is truly great music? For me, it appears as an artistic operation of music. They start from ritornellos, and. . . I don't know, I am talking even about the most abstract musicians. I believe that each musician has his/her kinds of ritornellos. They start from little tunes, they start from little ritornellos. We must look at Vinteuil and Proust [in In Search of Lost Tlme]. . . three notes then two. There's a little ritornello at the basis of all Vinteuil, at the basis of the septet. For me, it's a ritornello that one must find in music, under music, it's something incredible. So what happens? A great musician, on the one hand, it's not ritornellos that he/she places one after the other, but ritornellos that will melt into an even more profound ritornello. This is all ritornellos of territories, of one particular territory or another particular territory that will become organized in the heart of an immense ritornello, which is a cosmic ritornello, in fact! Everything that Stockhausen says about music and the cosmos, this whole way of returning to themes that were current in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance- I am quite in favor of this kind of idea that music has a relationship with the cosmos. . . So, here is a musician that I admire greatly and who greatly affects me, Mahler. What is his Song of the Earth? One can't say it better. This is perpetually like elements in genesis, in which there is perpetually a little ritornello sometimes based on two cow bells. What I find extraordinarily moving in Mahler's works is the way that all the little ritornellos, which are already musical works of genius- tavern ritornellos, shepherd ritornellos, etc. - they achieve a composition in a kind of great ritornello that will become the Song of the Earth. If we needed yet another example, I would say Bartók is an immensely great musician, a very great genius. The way local ritornellos, ritornellos of national minorities, etc., are collected in a work that has not yet ceased to be explored. And I think that music is a bit. . . Yes, to link it to painting, it's exactly the same thing. When Klee says the painter does "not render the visible, but renders visible." This implies: Forces are not visible, and for a musician, it's the same thing. He renders audible forces that are not audible. He doesn't render the audible, he makes audible something that hasn't yet been, he makes audible the music of the earth, he makes audible the music of. . . or he invents it, almost exactly like the philosopher: he renders thinkable forces that are not thinkable, that are in nature rather raw, rather brutal. I mean it's this communion of little ritornellos with the great ritornello that, for me, defines music, something I find very simple. It's music's potential, its potential to deliver a truly cosmic level, as if stars began singing a little tune of a cow bell, a little shepherd's tune. Or, it might be the reverse, the cow bells that are suddenly elevated to the state of celestial sounds, or of infernal sounds.
Claire ParnetNonetheless, it seems to me, and I can't exactly explain it, with all you tell me, with all this musical erudition, that what you are looking for in music, the ritornello, remains visual. You seem to be engaging the visual, much more. . . Ok, I do understand the extent to which the audible is linked to cosmic forces like the visual, but you don't go to any concerts. It's something that bothers you, you do not listen to music, you go to art exhibits at least once a week, and you have your habitual practice.
It's from a lack of possibilities and a lack of time because. . . I can only give you one answer. One single thing interests me fundamentally in literature, it's style. Style, for me, is the pure auditory, the pure auditory. I wouldn't make the distinction you do between the visual... It is true that I rarely go to concerts because it's more complicated now reserving in advance. These are all practical details of life, whereas when there's an art exhibit, no reservations are needed. But, each time I went to a concert, I found it too long since I have very little receptivity, but I always felt deep emotions. I'm not sure you are completely wrong, but I think you might be mistaken, that it's not completely true. In any case, I know that music gives me emotions. . . Talking about music is even more difficult than speaking of painting. It's nearly the highest point, speaking about music.
Claire ParnetNearly all philosophers. . .. Well, there are a lot of philosophers who spoke about music.
But style is sonorous, not visual, and I'm only interested in sonority at that level.
Claire ParnetMusic is immediately connected to philosophy, that is, lots of philosophers spoke about music, for example, Jankelevitch. . .
Yes, yes, that's true. . .
Claire Parnet. . . but other than Merleau-Ponty, there are few philosophers who spoke about painting.
Only a few? You think so? I don't know. . .
Claire ParnetWell, I admit, I'm not certain. . . but music, Barthes talked about it, Jankelevitch spoke about it.
Yes, he spoke about it very well.
Claire ParnetEven Foucault spoke about music.
Who?
Claire ParnetFoucault.
Oh, Foucault didn't talk about music, it was a secret for him.
Claire ParnetYes, it was a secret. He spoke a lot about Monet. . .
His relations with music were completely a secret.
Claire ParnetYes, he was very close to certain musicians.
Yes, yes, but those are all secrets that Foucault did not discuss.
Claire ParnetWell, he would go to Bayreuth, he was very close to the musical world, even if a secret-
Yes, yes, yes. . .
Claire ParnetAnd the exception of Berg, as Pierre-André was whispering, which we skipped, why this cry. . .?
Yes, where does this come from? This is also connected to why one is devoted to some topic. I don't know. I discovered at the same time some musical pieces for orchestras by... -Oh, listen. . . You see what being old is, you can't find names... the orchestra pieces by his master. . .
Claire ParnetSchoenberg.
. . . by Schoenberg. I recall that at that moment, not too long ago, putting on these orchestra pieces fifteen times in a row, fifteen times in a row, and I recognized the moments that overwhelmed me. It was then, at the same time as I found Berg, and he was someone to whom I could listen all day long. Why? I see this as also being a question of a relationship to the earth. Mahler, I only came to know much later, it's the music of the earth. Take this up in the works of very old musicians, there it's fully a relationship of music and earth, but that music might be encompassed in the earth to such an extent, as it is in Berg's and Mahler's works, I found this to be quite overwhelming. Making, truly making sonorous the forces of the earth, that's what [Berg's] Wozzeck is for me. It's a great text since it's the music of the earth, a great work.
Claire ParnetThere are two cries in it, you liked Marie's cry and the cry of. . .
For me, there is such a relationship between song and cry. In fact, this whole school was able to pose the problem anew. But the two cries there, I never get tired of these two cries, the horizontal cry that floats along the earth in Wozzeck, and the completely vertical cry of the countess- countess, or baroness, I don't recall-
Claire ParnetCountess. . .
. . .of the countess in [Berg's] Lulu- these are cries that are such summits. All of that interests me as well because in philosophy, there are songs and cries. Concepts are veritable songs in philosophy, and then, there are cries of philosophy. Suddenly Aristotle [says]: you have to stop! Or another says, no, I'll never stop! Spinoza-what can a body do? We don't even know what a body can do! Those are cries. So the relation cry-song or concept- affect is somewhat the same. It's valid for me, it's something that moves me.