Notes on the SalMar Construction, a draft of liner notes for a forthcoming release of the 1983 IRCAM performance, et. al.


CD back cover:

The SalMar Construction is a large music synthesis engine conceived by a composer for use by a composer. It was constructed in the early 1970’s by the composer and an ad hoc team of engineers and students at the University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana, Illinois, USA. The composer was Salvatore Martirano, commonly known as Sal. He lent his name to his music machine, but the concept went in before the name went on. The instrument outlasts its creator. It is housed in a glass enclosure within the Center For American Music on campus. It can be played in this enclosure. It is kept in functional condition by Gregory Danner, who knew Sal and is a source of both relevant electronic knowledge and Martirano lore.

Much of what I know about the machine comes from either such anecdotal sources or from recent direct personal experience. Anecdotally, I have learned that the machine was originally to be called the MarVil construction, in honor of some aspect of the name of one collaborator. Apparently, Sal and his colleague had a falling out and that was the end of the “MarVil” variation. The composer’s son, John, informs me that a significant collaborator was Sal’s student, composer David Rosenboom. Sal and David collaborated on an early board which may have been a forerunner for a fundamental aspect of the SalMar design, that of interacting logic circuits. Rosenboom, according to John, is the instrument’s most experienced living player. Sal also, according to Greg, wore out a copy of “Digital Electronics for Scientists,” by Malmstadt and Enke, published by Benjamin, New York, 1969. The copy exists among Sal’s papers, given recently to the Center for American Music for preservation and curation along with the instrument itself. Collaboration is an art in itself. An ideal ratio of equally shared input and collective output is rarely achieved. Sal Martirano was a man with a strong personality, and the instrument is imbued with that personality.

From personal experience, I know that the concept of the machine is unlike any other synthesis engine I have used or am familiar with. The key to understanding its unique approach lies in what, anecdotally, Sal said about playing it. He is alleged to have said, ‘To play it is to have a dialogue.’ Most synthesizers allow much if not total control of the musical parameters. Want an exact pitch at a specific time? No problem. Loop something? We have loopers that do just that. They run on an iPad. Complete control of timbre? You got it! With the SalMar, you can suggest your parametric preferences by assigning a high degree of probability to them. You do this by holding on to a metal rail that makes your body the conductor of a small current. You then confront a formica control panel that is about 3.5 x 5 feet (!) and is covered with lighted metal rings and round metal buttons. Making contact with a button activates or deactivates a control feature. The architecture involves, as I say, making suggestions by choosing a most or least significant bit for a feature. The instrument has four clocks and eight oscillators. In its full regalia, it drives 24 satellite speakers and four main speakers. The control of the satellite speakers is also accomplished via a matrix on the control panel. At present, (early 2012) this aspect of the instrument is unrestored.

No single musical parameter is completely controllable in an absolute incremental way. This is the creator’s design made manifest. It was made to push back against the performer. I often felt, while working with it, that Sal developed the instrument because he may have felt tired of his own mind as a composer, felt himself in need of a tireless source of fresh material, and really tired of playing with musicians who played the same damn thing every time. He made something that was a guaranteed habit breaker. He chain smoked while playing it. That’s not what killed him.

I performed on the instrument in early November, 2011, live, accompanying a choreographed dance which was part of a University of Illinois Department of Dance concert. Because of the instrument’s size, complexity, and delicacy, we decided to send the SalMar output via point to point internet link to the theater, rather than try to dismantle and move the instrument. I observed the choreography on a computer monitor via the same point to point link. The audience was able to see a projection on the cyclorama of my hand gestures on the panel. I was able to get the appropriate energy levels, rhythmic vitality, and dynamic shape from the SalMar by giving it my suggestions, and the choreographer and the dancers were satisfied. As noted, each evening’s performance varied somewhat musically, while the choreography remained constant. I prepared for this death-defying stunt by taking a series of lessons on the instrument from Greg, and by working out on it bi-weekly for several months. I reached enough competence to do what I had to do. That is not to say that I “mastered” the SalMar.

When you listen to a recorded performance of Sal Martirano playing his ‘Construction,’ you experience such mastery. The instrument under his command does his bidding, and what you hear are compositions, not jams. It is very important to keep in mind what I have said about the aleatoric propensity of the SalMar. To arrive at anything like the soundscapes that you hear in the IRCAM ’83 performance takes absolute familiarity, and even a probable “mind meld” with the circuitry. One anecdote connected with the IRCAM presentations involved the front panel. When I got to it last year, the front panel was labeled as to functions. The labels are cryptic until you understand the architecture, but labels there are. Prior to IRCAM, the story goes, there were no such labels. Sal took a rubbing of the front panel and labeled the functions in French so that an explanation could be offered to attendees in Paris. Greg took the labels from Sal’s rubbing and applied them to the panel. Without this guidance, the machine would be nearly impossible to learn. This, I think, proves my point: Sal, the creator, was one with the SalMar. If the anecdote doesn’t prove it, the performance on this recording will.