Editor,s info:

From Andrew Pekler: Typically, library music albums were not available to the general public but were marketed directly to film, TV and commercial production companies. Judging by the information provided on the record sleeves, these consumers of library music were assumed to have little interest in the identities of the individuals who actually wrote and played the music, the musicians' names often being relegated to the very small print. Instead, it appears that the functional aspects of the product were of foremost importance; the persistently generic names of the tracks and their descriptions, durations and suggestions for their usage are the ubiquitous features of library album packaging. At the same time, the name of the production studio itself is given the kind of front cover top-billing usually reserved for a performer or composer (or to brand names on boxes of corn flakes).

A picture emerges of near-anonymous composers, musicians and arrangers going to work 9 to 5, producing music according to functional-aesthetic guidelines for a never to be seen customer, further removed than even the session players at Motown or Studio One ever were from the glamour of pop or the pretense of individual artistry. This sort of faceless assembly line production runs counter to the conventional (western) practice of connecting creative works with individuals deemed to be their authors.

On the other hand, this apparent anonymity and subordination to quasi-utilitarian determinants does have its own liberating potential. Freed of the obligations of personal expression, one can simply work with the material at hand, concentrating on discrete aesthetic objectives without being unduly concerned for the overall "meaning" of the work. To paraphrase John Cage, the artist is free to have nothing to say and to say it.

With this in mind Andrew Pekler conceived and produced Cue. Starting from short expository phr.......
more

Editor,s info:

From Andrew Pekler: Typically, library music albums were not available to the general public but were marketed directly to film, TV and commercial production companies. Judging by the information provided on the record sleeves, these consumers of library music were assumed to have little interest in the identities of the individuals who actually wrote and played the music, the musicians' names often being relegated to the very small print. Instead, it appears that the functional aspects of the product were of foremost importance; the persistently generic names of the tracks and their descriptions, durations and suggestions for their usage are the ubiquitous features of library album packaging. At the same time, the name of the production studio itself is given the kind of front cover top-billing usually reserved for a performer or composer (or to brand names on boxes of corn flakes).

A picture emerges of near-anonymous composers, musicians and arrangers going to work 9 to 5, producing music according to functional-aesthetic guidelines for a never to be seen customer, further removed than even the session players at Motown or Studio One ever were from the glamour of pop or the pretense of individual artistry. This sort of faceless assembly line production runs counter to the conventional (western) practice of connecting creative works with individuals deemed to be their authors.

On the other hand, this apparent anonymity and subordination to quasi-utilitarian determinants does have its own liberating potential. Freed of the obligations of personal expression, one can simply work with the material at hand, concentrating on discrete aesthetic objectives without being unduly concerned for the overall "meaning" of the work. To paraphrase John Cage, the artist is free to have nothing to say and to say it.

With this in mind Andrew Pekler conceived and produced Cue. Starting from short expository phr.......
more