On 10 May 1989 pianist Philip Mead was engaged to play Tippett's Fourth Piano Sonata at Birmingham University on the occasion of the composer receiving his honorary doctorate there. This was preceded by an afternoon workshop on the piece with lively discussion between composer and pianist. Two days previously, on 8 May 1989, in preparation for the concert, Mead played the work privately to the composer. The information in this article, which is almost entirely drawn from those two meetings, begins with a brief description of working with Tippett. Then, after an overview of all four sonatas it makes general points about the structure and style of the Fourth Sonata. Finally, each movement is discussed in turn using ideas, many of which were initiated by the composer, developed by the pianist.

One of the most striking aspects of Claus-Steffen Mahnkopf's Kurtág-Cycle (2001), is the abundant use of intertextual references: Mahnkopf includes references to compositions of his own, as well as to works of other composers (e.g. Mark Andre). He also refers to literary sources, such as texts by Borges and Nietzsche. In first instance, this article provides a detailed inventory of these many musical and extra-musical references. Second, we highlight some of these interconnections by zooming in on the relationships between the different compositions within the Kurtág-Zyklus. A music analytical approach reveals the compositional strategies adopted by Mahnkopf in this work. Third, we examine the motivations behind Mahnkopf's specific choices: Why does Mahnkopf include references to certain composers such as Mark Andre and György Kurtág? And which underlying aesthetic, ideological or personal points of view guided the composer when establishing these specific connections? This paper presents a critical assessment of the interrelations between the two aspects of Claus-Steffen Mahnkopf's work: his theoretical writings and his musical compositions.

The rise of information science and its effect on contemporary arts is a topic raised in Stravinsky and Craft's Memories and Commentaries in 1959. It makes sense to inquire how the fundamental priorities and exact discriminations of communications science might have altered the ground rules of musical invention and contemporary listening habits. Answers lie thin on the ground, the few composers most deeply implicated in the information revolution – Babbitt, Boulez, Stockhausen and Cage in particular – having chosen to remain silent on issues relating to the hidden side of the avant-garde. ‘No gossip!’ said Stockhausen to me, in a blunt email in 1998.

The recent loss of composer Robert Ashley (1930–2014) prompted in some of us a grab-bag of reflections – private but perhaps peculiarly shareable. My first encounter with Ashley's music was when I was working in college radio in Chicago. We used to receive CDs from the label Lovely Music Ltd., among others. I suppose it was my first full-blown exposure to what we now call post-minimalist music, although these CDs did include earlier sound-art minimalism such as Alvin Lucier's. I'm not sure whether I got to hear William Duckworth's, Joan LaBarbara's, David Behrman's, Robert Ashley's, or ‘Blue’ Gene Tyranny's music first, but despite some scepticism, I did find all of this music strangely attractive in ways I didn't expect.

It is now six weeks since I stepped between the train and the platform at Frankfurt am Hain, rushing to catch the slightly delayed 17:34 train to Darmstadt Hauptbahnhof. I'm not sure why I was rushing – the first concert was not until 20:00, so I had plenty of time. My right foot fell through, and the front of my leg hit the step of the train quite hard. I thought it would bleed, but it didn't. It just turned to a very hard bruise (haematoma I was later told). You couldn't really see the raised bump with the eye, it wasn't sore, but if you ran your hand over my leg you could feel it. I had booked my train from Liverpool specifically so I could see Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker's Vortex Temporum once more. I had seen it at Sadler's Wells and had been pleased, but was lucky enough to see Rosas performing Work/Travail/Arbeid as an installation at the Turbine Hall at Tate Modern. There, it was a revelation. Whether it was the space, the extra forces, or just the freedom to walk away, I was entranced. Best of all it was free. She was there herself, making comments, keeping an eye on things.

In the preface to the 2016 International Summer Course for New Music programme booklet, the festival's artistic director, Thomas Schäfer, repeated a question that Irvine Arditti had put to him when they were discussing the Arditti Quartet's concerts: ‘shall we attack the future or dig up the past?’. This question, posed in order to establish some form of discursive framework for the course, became a subliminal trace throughout the festival. The participants' bags, for instance, were imprinted with the slogan, ‘attack the future’ and Schäfer ended his preface by stating, ‘let me call out to everyone involved, and to our audience: let's attack the future!’. The air of the festival itself, however, seemed slightly more reserved throughout its lengthy 17-day span. There were, of course, moments of theatrical flamboyance, such as Fantasises of Downfall (2015) by Johannes Kreidler, metalized void (2015/16) by Claus-Steffen Mahnkopf, The Lichtenberg Figures (2014/15) by Eva Reiter, Sideshow (2009/15) by Steven Kazuo Takasugi, EVERYTHING IS IMPORTANT (2015/16) by Jennifer Walshe, and Living Instruments (2015) by Serge Vuille. Yet, overall the atmosphere of the festival seemed to be one of quiet vigilance as events unfolded.

The 2016 Darmstädter Ferienkurse für Neue Musik took place from 29 July to 14 August. That's more than two weeks of concerts and lectures. As anyone who has been to a New Music festival knows, you can't see everything, and you'll end up missing stuff that winds up being extremely important.

In the midst of the wealth of music available at this year's Aldeburgh Festival, a vintage bus tour around Snape of churches and their organs seemed an unlikely treat. Every church organ is designed for the same purpose – a sacred instrument of the liturgy to accompany congregational and choral singing and, occasionally, to blast from above – but each has a different personality.

Jörg Widmann is a German composer who is acutely conscious but certainly not in awe of his musical forebears. His best-known string quartet, no. 3 ‘The Hunt’ makes dramatic use of – and has great fun with – Schumann. His 2011 concerto Flûte en suite, performed at the 2014 Proms, more than nods to Bach and baroque elegance. In Armonica, commissioned by the International Mozarteum Foundation to celebrate Mozart's 251st birthday in 2007, Widmann surprisingly and yet unsurprisingly features the glass harmonica, the distinctive instrument that Mozart featured in his own last chamber piece, the Adagio and Rondo for glass harmonica, flute, oboe, viola and cello, K617. Mozart teamed the instrument with the quieter representatives from the wind and string families; Widmann places it against the whole orchestra.