Jimmy Fauth, originally from France and currently pursuing a Master’s degree in historical musicology at the University of Hamburg, wrote his bachelor’s thesis on Éliane Radigue — a pioneering French composer in electronic music. His research now focuses on the role of noise in early spectral music..

Paul Zoder is a composer of instrumental and electronic music as well as a researcher, currently completing a Master’s in artistic research at the University of Music and Dance in Cologne. His interdisciplinary approach blends sound and media studies, semiotics, and philosophy, while is academic research embraces experimental music, music theatre, and the material and medial conditions of composition and performance in the 20th and 21st centuries.

Aline Braun: How would you define musique concrète in your own words?

Jimmy Fauth: Musique concrète is often defined by the techniques used to produce it, but I would describe it more broadly—as a particular attitude toward sound. It’s about how sounds are used to create music. More than a technique, it’s an aesthetic stance: the idea that any sound can be interesting in and of itself—not because of its meaning or origin, but for its own sonic qualities. It’s essentially about exploring the character of each sound for what it is.

Paul Zoder: I believe the main idea Pierre Schaeffer was pursuing when he coined the term musique concrète in the 1940s was the elimination of representation from the compositional process. This meant bypassing notation – manipulating prerecorded sounds directly rather than working with symbols that represent abstract ideas of sound. It also implied, at least in part, an emancipation from the semantic values traditionally attached to “notes” and “tones”. The acousmatic nature of musique concrète – detaching sounds from their sources – combined with the transformational possibilities offered by tape recorders (such as splicing, overdubbing, reversing sounds, or altering playback speed, which also affects pitch) theoretically leads to a kind of “pure” listening. Here, the sonic qualities of sound itself become the primary focus of attention, while references to the »real world« are somewhat tuned down.

AB: Where would you draw the line between sound and music?

JF: That’s a really difficult question—one that touches on the entire history of the 20th century  and up to today. Broadly speaking, the answer depends on who you ask. If you asked someone like John Cage, for example, he would say there is no boundary between sound and music—that everything is music.

However this question is also central to the theoretical framework of musique concrète, particularly in the writings of Pierre Schaeffer. For him, musicality is a kind of antagonist to sonority. In other words, sonority is something that can be materialised through empirical experience while musicality can be abstracted on a score per example, which sound cannot be. There isn’t really a clear, fixed line between sound and music. It’s more like a moving and flexible limit, a threshold, something fluid and constantly shifting.

What’s fascinating is that once you engage with this narrative, listening to musique concrète changes your understanding of your environment. Getting accustomed to musique concrète can really shift how you perceive and experience sound. You begin to notice everyday sounds—the sound of the shower, the razor while shaving, or any other small sonic detail you would normally take for granted and overlook. Paying attention to these sounds becomes a new way of listening and of engaging with the world.

PZ: I wouldn’t – at least not in the sense of dividing acoustic phenomena into musical and non-musical spheres. Rather, sound and music belong to different experiential categories. The former arises from the interplay between the physical world (molecular vibrations in a medium) and an individual’s perceptual apparatus (registering aural stimuli and relating them to potential sources). The latter, by contrast, firmly resides in the social realm. Like all other arts, music is a medium of communication and thus defines itself through intentionality and – at least to some extent – through preconceived notions of the forms it may take on. In its most radical edge cases, it may be the act of declaration alone that renders something music. Yet there is always an element of intent: an active decision to select a part of the sounding world and present it as a message to a recipient – who may, of course, be the same person as the sender, as in the case of listening to birdsong as one would to music.

AB: What would distinguish musique concrète from other experimental or electronic music forms?

JF: As I mentioned earlier, it really comes down to an attitude toward sound. Pierre Schaeffer, who’s considered the father of musique concrète, laid out three main “principles“ or guiding ideas. First, everything is grounded in listening—his entire theory of musical content and sound objects is based on the act of hearing, on the work of the ear. Second, he had a strong preference for everyday sounds, rather than conventional musical tones or clearly synthesized sounds. Musique concrète doesn’t exclude synthesizers or recordings of musical instruments, but Schaeffer tended to focus, at least theoretically, on daily sounds.

Lastly, he was deeply invested in the idea of a musical language—what we call “langage musical” in French. It’s not really “language” in the linguistic sense, but more a kind of compositional theory or structural approach to organizing sound: in short, a solfège.

Of course, the history of musique concrète doesn’t stop with Schaeffer. There have been many other developments. Take François J. Bonnet (alias Kassel Jaeger) for example—the current director of the GRM (Groupe de Recherches Musicales) and a musique concrète composer himself. When you listen to his work, it sounds completely different from what Schaeffer was doing. It’s a whole other kind of music. So, as with most artistic labels, musique concrète has evolved in so many directions that it becomes difficult to define clearly—hard to say exactly what it is, and what it isn’t.

PZ: Historically, the main counterpart to the (mostly) French phenomenon of musique concrète was the German Elektronische Musik, which emerged in the 1950s at the WDR radio studio in Cologne. In line with the post-war artistic dogma to systematically break with all compositional traditions, many composers – most notably Karlheinz Stockhausen – envisioned music built from the most fundamental sound materials: sine tones (from which, theoretically, any sound can be synthesized), white noise (an equal distribution of all audible frequencies, which can be filtered to create seamless transitions between noise and tone), and impulses (a click produced by a single, instantaneous displacement of the loudspeaker diaphragm – essentially the shortest possible »sound atom«). In theory, this allowed for the most comprehensive realization of the Serialist paradigm: total mathematical control over all parameters of composition.

Today, artistic approaches tend to be far less dogmatic. Many composers of electronic music work with both prerecorded samples and synthetic sounds. The degree of manipulation also varies widely – from quick successions of cuts and jarring juxtapositions characteristic of early musique concrète to long passages of untouched field recordings. Contemporary modes of expression and the techniques used to realize them are, for all practical purposes, limitless.

AB: How does musique concrète challenge our definition of “musicality”?

JF: Did musique concrète really change our broader definition of musicality? I would say yes, it definitely had some impact—especially considering it’s now a long-standing tradition and one of the first electronic music movements in France. But at the same time, I wouldn’t say it had a greater impact than, per example, Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd, or Einstürzende Neubauten around the same period. Those had massive cultural reach.

That said, musique concrète still influences artists today. Take Jacques, for example—a French musician who plays with sounds in a way that clearly draws from that tradition. Or The Books, an American band whose work also reflects a similar approach to sound manipulation. On a broad level, musique concrète did make a difference—but when it comes to everyday music listening and mainstream music culture, its influence is a bit more complicated. It’s always important to put it in perspective and consider it alongside other movements and traditions.

PZ: Until the advent of the gramophone and magnetic tape, virtually all of Western music hinged on the idea of a “tone” – a single pitch value that relates in a specific way to all other pitches within a given tuning system. Since each tuning system allows only a finite number of pitches, there is also only a finite number of pitch relationships. These are quickly exhausted and inevitably reappear all the time, giving this form of music language-like qualities – just without fixed signification.
Duration functions somewhat analogously: when the notation system is used “correctly”, it effectively allows only for simple, rational proportions of durational values such as 1:2, 4:1, or 3:2.
Working with “concrete” sound objects instead of abstract representations, a composer is faced with an infinity of relational possibilities – not only in terms of pitch and rhythm (via the continuous variation of playback speed on a tape recorder), but also in far less tangible dimensions, such as timbre.

AB: For you, how is sound conceived in musique concrète? More as a material, an object, or an environment?

JF: A central concept in musique concrète is that of the sound object, and it’s always closely tied to the act of listening. Pierre Schaeffer defines the sound object in his “Traité des objets musicaux” as: “the coming together of an acoustic action and the listening intention.”

We tend to associate many different things with sound. For example, sound can act as an indicator—it points to a source. If we hear the sound of hooves, we don’t necessarily notice the qualities of the sound itself; we just think, “That’s a horse,” because we’ve identified the source. Or take this interview: I’m making all kinds of sounds, but what you’re actually focusing on is the meaning of what I’m saying, not the sonic texture of my voice. Now sound acts as signifier. In both cases, we listen through the sound, toward its signified meaning or source.

In musique concrète, the goal is to approach sound differently—to hear it not as a sign or symbol, but as an object in itself. This is where the idea of the sound object comes in, and it can only exist through what Schaeffer called „reduced listening“. He defines this as “ceasing to listen to an event through the intermediary of sound.” In other words, it’s about focusing purely on the physical and perceptual qualities of the sound itself—not what it represents or where it comes from.

Of course, this concept of reduced listening is more of an ideal than something we can fully achieve. It’s a beautiful idea, but in practice, it’s extremely difficult—if not impossible—because our cognitive processes are constantly trying to associate sounds with meanings or sources. Still, the entire theoretical foundation of musique concrète is built on this idea of the sound object and the act of listening in this reduced, focused way.

PZ: For me, sound in musique concrète is best understood as an object of perception – not in the abstract sense of a tone, but as a concrete, self-contained unit that invites focused listening. Schaeffer’s notion of the “objet sonore” shifts attention away from the cause or meaning of a sound and toward its morphological and textural qualities. It’s neither raw material in a mechanical sense, nor an immersive environment – rather, it sits somewhere in between: something that can be framed, transformed, and recontextualized, yet always approached through listening.

AB: How has the evolution of technology changed the approach to musique concrète?

JF: Music in general—and even more so electronic music—has always been closely linked to technology and its evolution. Technological advancements have changed a lot of things in electronic music. Back in 1948, when Pierre Schaeffer composed his “Cinq études de bruits” (Five Etudes of Noise), he was working in a professional studio with highly expensive equipment. Today, you could recreate something similar on a smartphone—recording sounds, editing, mixing—all in a matter of minutes. So, in a sense, electronic music has always been dependent on the tools available at a given moment in history.

One important milestone in the history of musique concrète came in 1974 with François Bayle—who was also a director of the GRM. He developed something called the Acousmonium, which is basically an orchestra of loudspeakers. It allows for the spatialization of electronic pieces—you can play back a recording and decide how you want to project it in space, essentially performing the music through the arrangement and dynamics of sound in a room.

Then, came the digital age, MIDI, Ableton Live, and other tools, which changed both the creative process and the accessibility of musique concrète. Even the fact that we all now carry microphones in our smartphones has a huge impact. It’s important to recognize how much technology shapes the way musique concrète is made, and even how its theory is conceived. The tools not only influence the sounds we can produce, but also the way we think about sound itself.

PZ: In its early days, electroacoustic music was very much a business of repurposing machinery – often even military equipment – to produce, store, and manipulate sound. Having intricate knowledge of how these machines worked was virtually mandatory, and still, the compositional process remained a time-intensive and highly meticulous affair. That’s why many compositions of the mid-20th century were carefully planned out on paper before being realized in the studio, in order to make the most of limited access to equipment.

In the digital era, however, consumer-oriented tools like digital audio workstations, synthesizers, and samplers have streamlined the process immensely and made limitless experimentation possible – Ctrl-Z is always an option. This development has clearly democratized the field to the point where, with only a brief introduction, virtually anyone can begin producing their own music.

But there’s a downside to this: since we are no longer subverting machines but using software as intended, it’s easy to fall into standardized production patterns that may limit creativity and experimental curiosity. The exploratory spirit of those early days survives, however – particularly in fringe practices like circuit bending or glitch, where tools are once again pushed beyond their original purpose.

AB: How important is context in how we interpret or appreciate a sound?

JF: Context is something that plays an important role—especially in musique concrète. I don’t think we need to force ourselves to completely detach from context in order to appreciate musique concrète. In fact, some composers deliberately work with the meanings and associations that sounds carry. For example, there are pieces where composers quote recognizable musical works—like Denis Dufour’s “Variations Asymétriques”, which is actually a pretty playful and accessible piece. It includes references to Paganini’s Fifth Caprice, among other things, mixing familiar musical elements with more abstract sound material. It’s a good reminder that musique concrète isn’t always this “hardcore” experimental stuff—there’s room for humor and recognizability, too.

Concerning the context of composition of a piece, you can of course appreciate a composer like Bach without knowing about his life or Leipzig in the 18th Century. The same goes for musique concrète: you don’t need to have studied Pierre Schaeffer’s Traité des objets musicaux, or know all the details about the technology used, to enjoy the music.

Take Luc Ferrari’s piece “Presque Rien”, for instance—it’s like an audio montage of a long walk through nature. You don’t need any theoretical background to enjoy it. If you do know the background and concepts, it can enhance the experience, but I wouldn’t say it’s absolutely necessary. It is still about listening, but to know about the context of the piece can be a bonus.

PZ: Context plays a crucial role – perhaps even more than the sonic material itself. A single sound can be perceived in radically different ways depending on how it is framed: aesthetically, culturally, or technically. Schaeffer’s “objet sonore” already highlights this point – by isolating a sound from its source and presenting it in a neutral or manipulated form, we are invited to hear it differently, as something abstract, sculptural, or musical.

Technological context matters just as much: whether a sound is heard via headphones, on tape, in a concert hall, or as part of an installation changes how we relate to it. The shift from analog tape to digital media has expanded this even further – today, sounds circulate globally and often arrive without clear authorship, source, or intended meaning. In such cases, the listener’s context becomes the determining factor: prior experience, cultural background, even the interface through which the sound is accessed can reshape its interpretation. In that sense, context is not just a backdrop – it actively co-produces meaning. A field recording, a snare sample, a synthetic drone: none of these carry an inherent artistic value. It’s the framing, the gesture of inclusion, the listening attitude that turn it into something to be appreciated.

This article is brought to you by ON Cologne as part of the EM GUIDE project – an initiative dedicated to empowering independent music magazines and strengthen the underground music scene in Europe. Read more about the project at emgui.de

Funded by the European Union. Views and opinions expressed are however those of the author(s) only and do not necessarily reflect those of the European Union or the European Education and Culture Executive Agency (EACEA). Neither the European Union nor EACEA can be held responsible for them.