Acousmatic Music as a Bridge to the Mundus Imaginalis

The quote above is from a paper by Henry Corbin, a scholar of mysticism and translator of texts within the Islamic world. It deals with what he calls the Mundus Imaginalis (the Imaginal World). The paper itself is short, but extremely deep, and is well worth a read.  Personally, every time I go back to it, I discover new insights and understandings. I believe that it needs to be read with little or no distractions, and more than once, for things to really start to sink in. Strikingly, you can substitute this Corbin paper with an Acousmatic music recording, change the word “read” with the word “listen,” and achieve the same deep results.  

Just reading the above quote out of context may be confusing though. In this essay, I’m going to examine what Corbin means by the “imaginal” vs “imaginary,” and attempt to show how and why the concept of the “realm of the imaginal” can (and should) be ported over to the Acousmatic music space.

At this point, let me quickly point out that I’m definitely not a subject matter expert on Henry Corbin or the related Jungian psychology tied to this. I wouldn’t be surprised if some who read this are, and if so, I would welcome any comments or especially any callouts of where I’ve possibly gone astray. This subject fascinates me, and anyone who feels like dropping a little gnosis on me, please do! That being said, just the very act of writing what follows has helped me understand, in a heightened, granular way, what Acousmatic music is and, more importantly, what it’s capable of achieving. Perspectives change, possible pathways morph into possible desires—a becoming.  An adventure I want to partake in.

I’m going to use Denis Dufour’s recently released Complete Acousmatic Works , Vol 1 (a massive box set of 16 discs covering just around 25% of his career, released in 2021 on Kairos) as an exemplar of these apparent correspondences. First, I hope to provide a bare-bones framework of the Mundus Imaginalis, and I’ll be using the above linked paper by Corbin as my primary source. I’ll then (shallowly) dive into the music on the box and derive some connections with Corbin’s thoughts and the music of Denis Dufour.

One quick caveat. At first blush this may appear as a “review.” It is in fact more of a quasi-review. I’m not going to microscopically examine every piece on every CD in this box. There is so much good music here that I would probably start sounding redundant with every gush of praise. Instead, I intend to pick my battles, so to speak, and concentrate on specific works and how they can link up to the main theme of the Mundus Imaginalis.

Acousmatic music in general, in the right hands, is a marvelous and very powerful vehicle/tool, in which the active listener/participant is given the opportunity to exercise their (if so inclined) “imaginative consciousness.” I choose Denis Dufour’s music because I personally feel his work is criminally under-covered, and besides, let’s face it: this box from Kairos is just so damn good! Everything below can easily apply to Bernard Parmegiani, François Bayle, Luc Ferrari, Beatriz Ferreyra, Francis Dhomont or any number of fine artists creating (or who have created) in the space.

Right off the bat, Corbin wants the reader to understand the difference between the words imagination or imaginary (something signifying the “unreal” or “utopian,” a fantasy) and the mundus imaginalis (an ontologically real world facilitated by the imaginative power and not to be confused with the imagination). Further, per Corbin, regarding the mundus imaginalis:

“… dimensions, shapes, and colors are the proper object of imaginative perception or the “psycho- spiritual senses”; and that world, fully objective and real, where everything existing in the sensory world has its analogue, but not perceptible by the senses, is the world that is designated as the Eighth Climate.

This is going to take some unpacking. Much of Corbin’s source material and inspirations are based on the writings of the 12th-century Persian philosopher Sohravardi, who was well read in the Islamic East but relatively unknown in the West. Additionally, he was instrumental in reviving the study of hidden knowledge of realms beyond the physical senses in the Islamic world.

Moving forward, I’m going to use the term “Eighth Climate” (an Islamic term) as a substitute for mundus imaginalis (a Corbin term), because I see them as being identical, and for no other reason than it sounds cooler. To Sohravardi (and Corbin), the Eighth Climate is objectively real, and holds an ontologically superior status to our down-to-earth mundane world of the physical senses. (I’m sure all fans of Carl Gustav Jung are completely on board by now.) How it’s accessible and what is revealed there can only be mitigated by our imaginative consciousness.

And what is revealed there? The Eighth Climate is a realm of shapes and forms that are in their symbolic state. In other words, it could be considered a world of archetypes. It allows all things, all thoughts, all desires to exist in a primal symbolic form. These are not just degraded images, as in today’s world of constant visual stimulation—these are the REAL deal. This world is above our sense-knowing world of the cosmos—the fixed stars (in Sohravardi speak, the Ninth Sphere bounded by the the cosmic Mountain of Qaf, a spiritual mountain that needs to be traversed to reach the Eighth Climate)—but, it’s below the ultimate kingdom of the ineffable… the highest sphere of the angelic intellect, the place that all Platonic and Islamic philosophers crave to reach… a place that is purely apophatic.

The cosmology is stunning. In Arabic literature, the Mountain of Qaf is the cosmic peak that acts as the exit gate from the terrestrial sphere of our apparent reality—the Ninth Sphere—into the celestial realms, of which the Eight Climate, or the mundus imaginalis, is the first to be encountered. The journey is a passing through, an experience that is only recognized sometime after its occurrence, when the participant realizes that they have departed from any earthly coordinates previously known. This is achieved not as a physical journey, but only through the facility of one’s imaginative power.

If you visiualize the Ninth Sphere, our sphere designated as a reality, as a circle, once pierced via the Mountain of Qaf the journeyer will find themselves on the convex side of our known reality. They are now on the outside of their sensory home world, the home world that we know as a “place.”

But that very act of piercing the veil and leaving the “place” of which we know can only mean that our sense of “place” has been annihilated. On the other side is the Nakoja-Abad, a place outside of place. It is not a place, but it contains what we know by our primary senses to be our place, our “where.” In the Nakoja-Abad, the question of “where” is no longer relevant to us because we are now in the NO-WHERE. The Nakoja-Abad holds within what we once thought was our external reality. This external reality has now been flipped by an interiorization of that reality, a complete perspective change. We are now in a zone where our dimensional space is meaningless, leaving only as directional signposts our inner states, our fears, desires, anxieties, and comforts as markers of positions and location.

Sohravardi describes this experience, this move… as like a drop of balm in the cup of your hand that, when exposed to the sun, passes though your palm to the other side.   

So, the Eighth Climate is a non-physical sensory place existing within the imaginative consciousness. It is a liminal place between the known cosmos / fixed stars, i.e., where you are reading this right now, and the highest realm of the intellect. It’s populated with symbolic archetypes, and, per Corbin by way of Sohravardi, it is a place only attainable with the aid of our active imaginative powers.

What is written above is less than a thimble-full of the wonderful and beautiful details Corbin describes in the linked paper. His retelling of the phenomenological experiences by some who have gained access to this world is an especially beautiful read! I’m not going to dive into that deep end, but I think I have presented enough of the basics to finally carry it over to the Acousmatic music scene.

What is it about Acousmatic music that allows it to track so beautifully within this imaginal realm? I’ve been in a deep relationship with Acousmatic music (as a listener, not a creator) for roughly 25 years now, and over the course of that time period, I’ve tried to come to grips with the intense pull this music has on me. Reading Sohravardi, by way of Corbin, has given me the, or at least an… answer. As stated above, the Eight Climate is an experiential place that is (as Corbin puts it) outside of our natural space. It’s a place where pure symbols manifest in forms, and it’s location is on the convex side of our sensory world. What’s important here is that once the Eighth Climate is attained, we are no longer held slaves to the empirical world of Cartesian logic that has held sway in the seven climates of the world we know.

As alluded to above, Corbin tells us that:

“…there is still another climate, represented by that world which, however, possesses extension and dimension, forms and colors, without their being perceptible to the senses, as they are when they are properties of physical bodies.  No, these dimensions, shapes and colors are the proper object of imaginative perception or the “psycho-spiritual senses”; and that world, fully objective and real, where everything existing in the sensory world has its analogue, but not perceptible by the senses, is the world that is designated as the Eighth Climate.”

…and later:

“It is the cognitive function of the Imagination that permits the establishment of a rigorous analogical knowledge, escaping the dilemma of current rationalism, which leaves only a choice between the two terms of banal dualism: either “matter” or “spirit,” a dilemma that the “socialization” of consciousness resolves by substituting a choice that is no less fatal: either “history” or “myth.”

This quote hit me like a bullet train! From the very beginning I had a weird sense that, for the listener, Acousmatic music relies solely on the conscious decision to engage the cognitive function of the imaginal. I have never been able to elaborate beyond the simple cinéma pour l’oreille—the cinema for the ears—experience that I would have during a normal listening session. Doesn’t that happen to anyone who considers themselves a somewhat serious music listener? John Lennon drew us a map in Tomorrow Never Knows, right? But unlike the Beatles, or dare I say any other genre of Western Music, Acousmatic music refuses to give agency to the physical, the gestural. This is music for loudspeakers; the source of these sounds (for example, a musical instrument) becomes irrelevant. Where does that leave us? I can answer this only for myself: the membrane between my ears and the cognitive imaginal faculty is disintegrated. Without a clear-cut notion of what is making these sounds, I’m left free to wander within them. This, in fact, leaves me with a gilded invitation of the pleasure of my attendance straight into the gleaming, bejeweled eye of the Eighth Climate, or, as Lord Dunsany would say, “Beyond the Fields we know.”

Archetypes play a key role. The eastern region of the Eighth Climate is populated with the pure image, the ur-image as it was before its entry into our sensory world. In the western region is found the spirits and forms of all our thoughts, desires, behaviors and accomplishments after we have experienced them. These are the states we inhabit that determine our metaphysical location in the Eighth Climate. I believe that Acousmatic music is well placed as an inciting force to visualize the flora and fauna of these regions. The Persian mystics called these “images in suspense,” because they are relegated to our imaginal world and they do not exist as empirical realities in our Ninth Sphere. Corbin points out that they do have extension and dimension, although they are an “immaterial materiality” that has no correspondence to our sensory plane.

Per Corbin:

“In short, that world is the world of “subtle bodies,” the idea of which proves indispensable if one wishes to describe a link between the pure spirit and the material body.”

Corbin likens the active imagination to a mirror that allows us to visualize these symbolic images. Let’s consider the “Magician” archetype as a metaphorical representation of Acousmatic music (as well as its creators) and a great example. The Magician embodies the power of transformation, mystery, and the manipulation of unseen forces. Acousmatic music transforms everyday sounds into complex, otherworldly sonic landscapes. The sounds are taken out of their sounding bodies. This takes listeners on a journey where the familiar is re-imagined and transformed. Due to the extreme level of transformation, the sounds often become completely unrecognizable, which in turn allows our cognitive imaginative powers to frolic in a greenspace of newness.

I think we can run with this Magician archetype argument for a bit. As stated above, Acousmatic music often utilizes sounds that don’t have clear visual counterparts. Similarly, the Magician is associated with tapping into hidden or unseen realms of knowledge and power. The musical compositions invite listeners to explore sonic realms beyond visible and tangible sources.

Taking this even further, the Magician archetype can alter perceptions of reality. The organized sonics of this music have the capacity to alter listeners’ perceptions of time, space, and sound itself. Just as the Magician can make the impossible seem possible, these compositions challenge our notions of what is sonically achievable.

Additionally, Acousmatic composers manipulate elements of sound-pitch, timbre, rhythm, and texture to create immersive experiences. Similarly, the Magician manipulates elements of the natural world to create enchantments. I think it’s important to remember that these creators work with the unseen aspect of sound, its ethereal nature that exists beyond what is commonly viewed (and heard) as a relationship between sound and gesture. Is this not like Magicians who work with the unseen forces and energies of Nature?

These are just a few threads of possible correlations I’m able to conjure… but to tie it up, these can be reduced to one major juncture between the two. Just as the Magician embarks on a quest for knowledge and mastery of occult forces, Acousmatic music encourages listeners to embark on sonic journeys of discovery which might involve introspection, exploration of emotions, and engagement with the imagination. The intrepid pilgrim is actually given the opportunity for the (re)discovery of the self! Acousmatic music, by removing the visual context and focusing solely on sound, transports listeners beyond the mundane, compelling them to engage with sound in a heightened and immersive way.

It doesn’t take more than a quick look around Bandcamp to realize that this “big idea”—that music (or electronically transformed music specifically) as a facilitating mystical device for accessing “other places”—isn’t exactly a “big idea.” Anything but, in fact. It’s been around forever. Just at random, pick an independent music creator’s page and read some of the commentary on their recordings. Words like “occult,” “transformative,” “transcendent,” “other-worldly,” “supernatural,” and “magick” (with and without a “k”) abound. I’m not questioning the sincerity or authenticity of these thoughts, claims and descriptions, but just noting: the esotericism is everywhere these days, hiding in plain sight. The esoteric is heavily ingrained in our culture, and its allure is undeniable.

What I hope to put across here (besides me jumping on that bandwagon) is more specific. Let’s awkwardly call it: “the Acousmatic sound artist as causal agent, magician and alchemist.” I found the words and observations of Henry Corbin’s “Eighth Climate” quoted above greatly inspiring, enough to trigger a quest for an Umberto Eco-like (see Foucault’s Pendulum) demonstration of these correspondences.

This is where Denis Dufour comes into the picture. Dufour has been flying under the radar of the Acousmatic music scene for too long. He is rarely mentioned when people name drop the Schaeffer-ian generation of French Acousmatic artists (like Bayle, Parmegiani, Henry, Ferrari, Reibel and others), but he should be included in that group, having studied under Schaeffer in 1974. His big Kairos box is, and deservedly so, considered a massive tour de force… and it’s from here that I’m going to select a few pieces that I think connect well with the general theme of this essay. Namely, the accessing and explorations of the world of the imaginal via sound. Let’s begin at the very end, CD 16 entitled Moments musicaux, Vol. 1. Even though each piece (there are eight) has a stated intention by the composer, as an alternative, let me suggest to the listener to just… follow your own path. You will find that path to be quite the Lewis Carroll experience. The disc is long, almost 80 minutes and, in this case, that’s 80 minutes of head nourishment that takes the active imagination on a trip unforgettable! Trust me when I say, there is not an ounce of filler here… it’s a long, strange pilgrimage.

Like many of the Masters, Dufour has the knack for combining the “electro” with the “acoustic” in ways that create signatures that can only be attributed to him. Just like hearing a “Parm sound,” or a “Bayle thing,” or a “Dhomont moment”… Dufour has his “isms” as well. Throughout his music, there is an ubiquitous eiderdown of alienness that permeates every corner of the listener’s perspective. He constructs mini-narratives lasting a few minutes within a much longer plot line, which he uses to lure, or beckon, the traveler into AND allows them to become comfortable within the larger shroud… till it’s no longer “alien” but somehow familiar in its strangeness. Eventually, they are politely ushered out the back door into the next set-piece of would-be symbols.

This is a constant M.O. on this disc (and across the whole box for that matter). Regardless of the composer’s intent on these pieces, Dufour makes it easy for the psychonaut to forage their own way through this Eighth Climate, on their own terms. Who knows what they’ll find… but one thing’s for sure, it will be memorable!

Let’s stay on point and consider Dufour’s intentions here. There is a suite of pieces on this disc called Le Livre des désordres (The Book of Disorders), based on mood cycles inspired by individuals with bipolar disorder. I personally didn’t listen to it with this in mind until I read the notes in the box, but it’s certainly possible to use disembodied sounds, textures, and transformed aural artifacts to symbolize the emotional depths of these states of mind.

Since Acousmatic music is sound-based music in which the source is hidden from the listener, this may be a suitable approach for expressing and communicating the inner worlds of personal emotional experiences. The listener doesn’t see the sources of the sounds that may mirror masked emotions and memories, instead, this abstracting out of gestural motions helps to eliminate visual distractions. Sound, and sound alone, can evoke impressionistic and symbolic experiences, taking listeners on a journey through inner worlds and allowing them to explore otherwise invisible emotional and psychological depths, perhaps on a deeper level. All of the above is complete conjecture on my part, and I in no way speak from experience of bipolar disorder. I’m just trying to draw lines between Dufour’s compositions and how they can relate to the unseen aspects of certain individuals, and perhaps, by extension, to all of us.

Pivoting back to CD 3, entitled Melodramas, Vol. 3, there are two major pieces worth mentioning here. The 30-minute BlindPoint, Op. 183, is a lay-up in illustrating the dichotomy between humanity’s inundation of visual stimulation in today’s world vs. the pure symbology of the ur-image you find in the Eighth Climate. Quoting from the notes in the box:

“Rattled by sensations as visual and tactile as sonic prompts, plunged into a sort of pan-optical blind test, the audience is invited to explore the blind spots in our ‘society of the spectacle,’ greedy for distractions and eager to over-eat any and all hypnotic images and reconstituted footage that take away one’s ability to foster any form of interior reclusion, or free oneself to go a little off the beaten track.”

and further:

“In these stormy times of information and misinformation, the concept of a blind spot takes on new, particular importance. It has become common now to confuse information with knowledge. But in the absence of common knowledge, infobesity hovers over us. It buries us under a mountain of inhibitions and confusions out of which our reflexes, as opposed to our reflections, have become the first port of call for many of us.”

These two quotes, written by Thomas Brando, fit Corbin’s words like a glove. In today’s Western culture, the human animal lives, breathes, and gorges themselves on sensory overload, especially of the visual kind. To Corbin, this is a complete dilution of image where things become meaningless and totally inconsequential.

BlindPoint, Op. 183 is a mixed work adding (the involuntary participation of) flute, oboe, double bass, and viola, along with recordings of the human voice. The latter is frequently transformed electronically by Dufour. I would consider much of Dufour’s work on this box to be quiet but highly detailed, and this is no exception. Listening to this work, I wouldn’t have equated Dufour’s intention with the quotes above, that is, of the experience of an onslaught of degraded images. It was the occasional warped and stretched voice uttering “INFORMATION OOOOOOVERRRRLOOOOOOADD” that gave it away. Still, the masterful job of spatializing the various sounds within the head-space was my golden headphone ticket to the elusive elsewhere.

On the same CD, the 18-minute “Tapovan” is another slam dunk comparison to Corbin’s thoughts. The word can be roughly translated from the Sanskrit as “Forest of Austerity.” Dufour is equating this with something akin to pious spiritual practice. Again, from the liner notes:

“In India, a place—or a person who embarks traditionally on a spiritual retreat—can be referred to as a Tapovan, even if there is no forest. The same goes for whole areas where caves and hermitages are found in which wise men and Sadhus had lived.”

Admittedly, I haven’t actually looked into the methods and practice of reaching the Eighth Climate, but my interest has been piqued after reading the Corbin paper. I wouldn’t have been devoting time to writing this if it wasn’t. I am quite sure, though, that to reach the high level of interior reflection that is needed would not be achievable without an aspect of intense, devout spiritual devotion of sorts along with, or in addition to (in our modern time), some knowledge or study of Jungian psychology, perhaps even a trained guide.

For my personal experience in listening to Tapovan, it was no stretch for me to conceive of such a place as either a journey’s end after an arduous trek of getting there, or… a beginning, a crossing over the aforementioned Mountain of Qaf into the interiority of the self. Inspired by Corbin, a beautiful image presents itself of… in the blink of an eye and being unnoticeable… leaving all earthly map coordinates behind and suddenly finding oneself in “a place outside of a place.”

Tapovan is another very quiet piece with lots of perceived acoustic sounds. Again, the detail here is in abundance. I hear a lot of what might be ceramic bowls being moved around augmented by quiet sound manipulations. Headphones and silent surroundings are your best friend on this one. (I can say that for many pieces on this box.) I get notions of the tired wayfarer, the devotee steeped in hyper-deep meditation bravely reaching inward towards a dimensionless no-place searching for the true self. For me, the appreciation comes from concentration, because what Dufour does, as all good Acousmatic magicians do, is create the opportunity for an external reality, thus allowing for the phenomenological experience.

One major point I want to stress before I complete this very incomplete survey: this whole box is a gem. Honestly, I can’t think of one work here that is sub-par compared to the others; it’s that good!

On CD 9, the work called Dix portraits, Op. 31b needs to be included in this essay, not because the composer’s intentions were to evoke any kind of esoteric concept, but because, for me, the piece demonstrates the “alienness” that is prevalent in his music, and also, because it’s one of my personal favorites from his oeuvre. It’s a perfect example of brain + Acousmatic Music = a place visualized whose coordinates are NOT represented on any known map (as Corbin would say).

From the notes in the box, just for some perspective:

“This composition, the electroacoustic compliment to the original mixed music piece, revives the French tradition of the portrait for which Denis Dufour has chosen ten people among his closest friends. On tape, he musically illustrates the character traits of his friends as he perceives them.”

—Jérôme Nylon

Dix portraits is a piece I’ve been familiar with for quite a few years, and while the stated intent is interesting—especially when you compare the music with the portraits—I always followed my own mind-trail with it, and it always leads to the same places. It’s a rare Acousmatic work where I come back to the same representations with each listen, and they aren’t portraits, in fact… they aren’t even remotely human.

Sure, I think it’s probably common when listening to music like this to spin up images of vast otherworldly landscapes, deep dark voids of space or glimpses of the eschaton, but in this case, the uncanny qualities of sound that flow through the work somehow achieve other states of weirdness—states that always repeat themselves with only small variations each time I visit.

Briefly, it goes something like this: It starts with an abduction, continues with being laid spread eagle on a shiny cold metal table in a twilight consciousness, and finally, with being observed and talked about in muffled voices by blurry, shadowy figures standing (?) over me. It ends there, but it’s a very similar movie each time. Now, I realize that this sounds pretty cliche, even quaint, but here’s the thing: the description I just put forth above is just bare bones. What takes it into the uber weird category is, first, the clarity and lucidity of the visual aspect (yes, I see you, I may not be able to make out your details, but in my mind’s eye, I see you) but more importantly, the physical, tactile sense of the environment. It’s always a cold damp place and the distinct sense of dread, anxiety, and fear always hangs heavy. Synesthesia is a thing! Sounds like fun… right?

I felt I had to incorporate Dix portraits into this essay, if only because of the highly evocative qualities it has. While other Dufour works tend to deliver a grounded or terra-based landscape, Dix portraits comes in as pure alien-borne. It’s another quiet, yet busy piece, and one that seems different than all the others in terms of sounding more synthetic. The source material seems more computer generated as if it were crafted in an… (you guessed it) alien lab. Your mileage may, of course, vary. (And it will, I’m sure of it! And this is a good thing.)

The final piece I’ll include here is the entirety of CD 7, a 70-minute work called Allégorie, Op. 83. The work celebrates the cycle of the journey of light… into shadow… into darkness… into light.

“Allégorie invites the listener on a dream-like and minimalist odyssey; an alternative path through the forest of hidden (or secret?) signs that guide us like impish spirits towards the real world. Pygmy chants and Eskimo songs mark the worldwide presence of those cultures that take Mother Nature as guide, model and archetype. In these tropical and sub-polar climes, the cycles of sunlight and shade fulfill themselves in opposing manner. But a joyful acceptance of these cycles created in Nature and in the life of humankind provides the direction for an entire collective existence of wisdom and true knowledge.”

—Thomas Brando

I consider this final piece to be the clearest instance in this whole collection of painting a sound picture. For me, it’s a perfect sonic illustration of the passing from Sohravardi’s Mountain of Qaf—the sensory world—into the mundus imaginalis, the Eighth Climate.

One of the most compelling and beautiful passages, as told by Sohravardi in Corbin’s paper, is a description of someone who has gained the aptitude of reaching this world attainable only by the active imagination. It’s worth repeating again: “that makes him like a balm, a drop of which you distill in the hollow of your hand by holding it facing the sun, and which then passes through to the back of your hand.”

I love that Sohravardi is describing the actual moment of emerging OUT OF our sensory world—being on the outside or convex side of the spherical realm we inhabit now, and finding ourselves in the mundus imaginalis! As in this image:

Allégorie, Op. 83 sounds like it’s strictly a tape piece with all, or at least mostly, acoustic sounds assembled and organized in the manner of a classic literary quest novel. Think Cormac McCarthy’s The Road or Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick or Homer’s The Odyssey. It’s the sonic equivalent of The Wizard of Oz, perhaps. Sound motif after sound motif act as a transport device to the interior of a realm of symbols, where the true self resides.

In this piece, Dufour joins the ranks of artists like Francis Dhomont, François Bayle, and many other sound/image masters in creating a truly comprehensive “sound novel.” Just as light’s unending journey to shadow, to darkness, and then back again to light, acts as a set piece for a monomyth of sorts, the ready and willing listener is given their own opportunity at becoming a Hero. Achieving access to the Eighth Climate certainly can’t be an easy quest, but it’s one which, if taken, allows the Hero/Self to return forever transformed.

It’s the classic “quest” story, only this time it can arguably represent the “quest for the real,” if listened to with that predilection. Like the cycle of light to darkness and back again, Allégorie, Op. 83 is EPIC!

I’ll stop it there, but just know that the quality of the material on The Complete Acousmatic Works Vol. 1 doesn’t end with just the few pieces I’ve mentioned in this essay. Across its 16 CDs there are hours of good listening. If you are unfamiliar with Dufour’s work and are inspired to hear any of it after reading this, I envy you… because you’ll get to experience it for the first time.

Using Denis Dufour’s music as a model, I’ve attempted to verbalize what I consider a compelling “way” of listening to Acousmatic music. Personally, it provides me with a deeper appreciation of what I consider a prime, if not THE prime raison d’être of the style: a vehicle to stimulate the active imagination. Henry Corbin’s brilliantly realized translations and thoughts have succeeded in crystallizing the beautiful and sometimes terrible force that Acousmatic music can be. I always knew it was there, lurking somewhere, rattling around the inside of my skull. Henry Corbin has put into words what I experience—maybe not to the extent of the Islamic holy men and prophets—but, we all have to start somewhere, don’t we? The examples I’ve given are there only as suggestions to a listener who might be open to them. For this listener, though, they are pathways to profound possibilities. 

A much shorter version of this essay appeared in Avant Music News in 2023.