Oramics and its Place in the Progression of Electronic Music
In 1997 I was a 24 year-old factory worker, keen to learn all tasks on the production line to work my way up, but suddenly the run of the ladder was pulled too high for me to reach. Shift managers who had were axed, were replaced by “team leaders,” that of precisely the same duties and responsibilities, though you needed a diploma to apply.
The government tried to thwart my only other life objective three years past, to party; they had failed. I worked in the factory now for one reason, to fund this escapism. Once free, the Criminal Justice Bill ensured someone profited from our jollity, as rave culture was pushed into nightclubs and legal paid events.
If The Prodigy were right, this was music for the jilted generation, perhaps so too was Luigi Russolo in his 1913 futurist manifesto L’arte dei Rumori (The Art of Noises,) when he argued that the ear would become accustomed to a new sonic palette of industrial soundscapes, and musicians would require a new approach to instrumentation and composition. Though I’d not have contemplated the noises of the factory manipulating my music perceptions at the time, I was aware of how Kraftwerk were influenced by the sounds of traffic for Autobahn.
Neither would I have given much thought to the development of electronic music; my time with analogue pop of punk and Two-Tone was short-lived. Through new wave post-punk and electronica to American hip hop and electro, and the rebellion from the hit factories exploiting it; rave culture, I had grown up with electronics as a staple to music and knew no different.
Pre-internet research on the subject would’ve been a needle in a haystack, even if I’d the motivation to study it. In my naivety I assumed one thing, that Kraftwerk created electronic music, because I’d seen a clip of them on the BBC program Tomorrow’s World. Though the show made no claim to this, I was only two on the 25th September 1975, when it originally aired.
Ralf Hütter and Florian Schneider’s Kraftwerk were certainly pioneers who popularised the krautrock genre worldwide. The industrial links between Dusseldorf and Detroit and creative ones between Berlin and New York were influences reflected, which turned the cogs of hip hop and house. And now, here I was, in a meadow near Luton, at Universe’s Tribal Gathering, where I figured we’d come full circle.
Kraftwerk played their one and only festival, it was monumental. The once monocultured rave phenomenon had divided into copious subgenres, Universe were the first to fully embrace this with a tent dedicated to each division. Yet from each tent masses united at the main stage, some DJs refusing to play their set because they’d miss this performance. Reflecting back on it now, I cannot deny it was something to behold, but I’ve since discovered they wasn’t the complete roots to electronic music I assumed they were. Its complex international evolution includes too many names to mention, but this fascinating insight has been encouraged by my study into one important innovator largely uncredited, born here in Devizes, Daphne Oram.
We outlined her work briefly in the introduction to this series of articles, and with help from Daphne’s niece, Carolyn Scales, we delved into her upbringing in Devizes, and how influences in engineering meshed with her love of music. Now we need to fit her role into this vast evolution of electronic music, by looking at Oramics, discovering how that influenced the progression, and why it is not as well documented and I believe it should be.
Once Daphne left the BBC Radiophonic Workshop in 1959, she coined the term Oramics, a name for her studio in Tower Folly, a converted oast house at Fairseat in Kent, her technique for creating graphical sound, and the Oramics Machine which spawned from it.
Carolyn described The Oramics Machine as, “an early synthesiser,” but as with Russian engineer Evgeny Murzin who created photoelectronic instrument the ANS synthesizer, historical records rarely reference them. The first commercial synthesizer is credited to American engineer Robert Moog a few years later in 1964. Precursors to Moog mentions Harald Bode who laid the groundwork for separate sound-modifying modules used in the Moog design, the Hammond Organ Company’s Novachord in the late 1930s, Canadian engineer Hugh Le Caine’s Electronic Sackbut, Herbert Belar and Harry Olson’s RCA Mark I and II Sound Synthesizers, and some cite Thaddeus Cahill’s Telharmonium, an electromechanical sound generator from 1897, which weighed in over two-hundred tons.
The original Oramics Machine was the size of an office photocopier, so was also too cumbersome for the average musician. By its definition, it’s a synthesiser but worked differently; the composer/musician drew onto a set of 35mm film strips which ran past a series of photo-electric cells, generating electrical signals to control amplitude, timbre, frequency and duration.
The reason for the omission, Carolyn suggested, was because The Oramics Machine was lost after her passing. “Dr Mick Grierson’s team tracked it down to France in 2008. Working with the Science Museum. Grierson’s study provided the first full contextualisation of the machine, an assessment of its historical importance, and a detailed description of its workings. The machine became a central part of the Science Museum exhibition Oramics to Electronica, originally planned to run for six months in 2011. The show’s press and public uptake saw it extended a further four years.”
Perhaps inspired by Moog’s development of the Minimoog, Daphne worked on a Mini-Oramics, but never completed a prototype. Goldsmiths’ PhD student Tom Richards, who pored over the unfinished project and built it over forty years later, suggested “there were a lot of reasons why she didn’t launch Mini-Oramics. She was working on her own, and wasn’t affiliated to a large organisation or university. She had ups and downs in her life, and at the time she was working on Mini-Oramics, she also worried that her approach to musical research was out of fashion when compared to chance-based and computerised techniques. She was unable to secure the further funding she needed and she eventually moved on to other research.”
If funding and the ferocity of music technology’s progression at this time surpassed Daphne, both her music and written works were visionary. If you thought Pete Tong’s Heritage Orchestra was pushing new boundaries in 2004, Carolyn noted, “in 1948, Daphne created a piece for double orchestra, turntable and live electronics called Still Point, long thought of as the earliest composition to include real-time electronic transformation of instrumental sounds.” Again, Still Point was never performed and was considered lost. “Dr James Bulley found fragments in the Oram archive,” she continued, “and working collaboratively with Dr Shiva Feshareki, began a reconstruction, later finding the full score in the belongings of composer Hugh Davies.”
“A performance was commissioned by BBC Proms and performed by turntablist Shiva Feshareki, Bulley, and the London Contemporary Orchestra in 2018 at the Royal Albert Hall, reaching a substantial audience live and via BBC Radio 3,” Carolyn explained. “The reaction was one of awe, with the piece described as “thrilling”. Critical responses suggested that this realisation of Oram’s previously untested ideas represented a challenge to electronic music’s received history.”
The more I research the more I find examples suggesting Daphne’s work was so avant-garde, abstract or insistent on anthropological creativity against trending dehumanised mathematical methods, she was set apart from the contemporary canon of self-generating computer music, positioning her work in a kind of unique scientific-spiritual space, combining technical rigor with a romantic model of artistic expression. This would frustrate her, when projects were either underfunded or too radical for others to follow, and they were consequently lost in time.
In 1971 she authored a book titled An Individual Note of Music, Sound and Electronics, wherein lies a quote often cited in discussions about music technology: “We will be entering a strange world where composers will be mingling with capacitors, computers will be controlling crotchets and, maybe, memory, music and magnetism will lead us towards metaphysics.”
It was also her dedication to authorial control, while cybernetic-influenced composers embraced self-generating systems with indeterminacy, which caused Oram’s approach to differ from the era’s prevailing trends, despite this cybernetic orientation. Exemplifying the generosity of her father, James, Mayor of Devizes, Daphne actively supported composers’ rights to royalties while she was a Trustee of The Performing Rights Society in the 1970s.
Daphne Oram suffered two strokes during the nineties, and passed away in Maidstone on the 5th January 2003. Yet on Daphne’s centenary, where much of the world remains dubious about the ethics of artificial intelligence, we must debate her legacy, for my final part of the series.
Oh, and if you were wondering, all I saw of Kraftwerk at Tribal Gathering was the fluorescent outlines of their boilersuits!
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