Karlheinz Stockhausen (Les Grandes Répétitions, 1966)

Karlheinz Stockhausen’s status as enfant terrible of new music was as assured as Cecil Taylor’s in 1966, when Patris and Ferrari caught up with him in Cologne to film rehearsals for Momente with soprano Martina Arroyo and members of the West German Radio Chorus and Orchestra. Momente is a curious transitional work in the composer’s oeuvre, spanning the gulf between the serialist rigour of the early years (it was first performed in 1962) and the hippy trippy Sri Aurobindo-influenced Stockhausen of the late 60s (he went on tinkering with the piece until the Europa Version of 1972). Its combination of an intricate formal scheme with highly personal, often erotically-charged texts from the Song Of Solomon and letters written to the composer by his future wife, artist Mary Bauermeister, is reflected in the film, which alternates rather dry technical discussion of the composer’s beloved “moment form“ with garish close-ups of Arroyo’s sexy gurgling and giggling. The camera work is daring, panning brutally from the Kontarsky brothers fisticuffing their Hammond and Lowery organs to the rather starchy ladies of the choir, evidently embarrassed at being asked to perform unconventional (and non-union) activities like shuffling their feet and clapping their hands. Two commentaries from the composer are intercut, one a rather self-aggrandizing autobiographical monologue as he wanders round the rehearsal space, the other an interview with a woman (off camera) who catches him off-guard with some rather personal questions. Filmed in alarming proximity, the twinkle in his eye and twitching at the corner of his mouth are as revealing as they are endearing.