Prosthesis or Extension?


After establishing what pedals generate for me, I now turn to the question of how I relate to them as both performer and composer.

The key lies in distinguishing between electronics as prosthesis or extension of the body (instrument) or the mind (composition).

A prosthesis implies compensation — replacing something that’s missing. For example, a “freeze” pedal compensates for the guitar’s lack of long sustain. Reverb compensates for the guitar’s lack of natural resonance. These are sonic prosthetics that fill structural gaps in the instrument — or even conceptual ones, like simulating the sound of another instrument.

 

“Technologies of sound act as cognitive extensions, allowing performers to reach beyond their own physical and conceptual limitations.”
— Elaine Chew, Music and Cognition: New Perspectives (2004)

 

In compositional terms, prostheses become subtler. They don’t just realize an idea — they help generate it. For example, they might:

  • help imagine sounds that are otherwise difficult to conceive;

  • support or replace cognitive functions like remembering complex patterns or managing structural decisions.

     

Also notation software like Sibelius, in this sense, is a cognitive prosthesis.

 


“Tools used in composition are never neutral — they guide, constrain, and sometimes even suggest the content. A compositional prosthesis does not merely extend the mind; it reframes it.”

— Arne Eigenfeldt, “Composing with Intelligent Agents,” Computer Music Journal (2015)


This is where the idea of extension becomes harder to define. An extension enhances an existing function — it amplifies, rather than replaces. The sound is not just processed — it is transformed into the thought process itself, into the performance and the performer.

In this sense, generative pedals are true extensions: they don’t compensate for lack — they amplify both strengths and weaknesses, reconfiguring the input into a new dance of possibilities. Take this simplified example: 

a young guitarist wants to sound powerful and cool, so he buys an overdrive pedal. But if the notes and the intention aren’t there, the solo won’t work. In that case, the pedal is a prosthesis — a stand-in for something lacking. Later, the same guitarist falls in love with a generative delay. He wants to combine his rock instinct with the unpredictability of echoes and feedback. The result, without deep study, is often chaotic — but this chaotic result now extends his practice, his sound, and his thinking. In both cases, pedals amplify or substitute something — but always starting from human awareness and choice. There’s always a degree of the unknown — and the human controls how the tool is used.

 

Compositionally Speaking?

What is an extension in compositional terms? Take this research itself: I use improvisation through pedals as an extension of a compositional process already present within me. For example, in my Big Band piece, the basic compositional idea (form, instrumentation, context) was already clear. But improvisation, filtered through these pedals, allowed me to enrich that idea with new material I otherwise wouldn’t have discovered.

Ultimately, it’s up to us to decide how deep we go with effects — and from which angle to engage with them.

What’s become clear through this reflection is that I’ve been in dialogue with real instruments — devices that seem to have a life and logic of their own, capable of shaping my direction in ways I can’t always predict.

















 

 


 



 



 


 



 

Choosing the appropriate medium

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This chapter focuses on a fundamental aspect of my improvisational development: the interaction with an external medium — guitar pedals. I’ve spent a long time reflecting on their use and their influence on my musical thinking, as well as why I’ve been drawn to them in a different way than to general-purpose electronics.

What is my personal relationship in the chain between pedal–guitar–ideas? How do they influence the way I improvise? What do they add, and what do they take away, in terms of value to this project? How do they fit into the compositional process? Are they tools?

This chapter is an attempt to answer these questions and explore why I keep returning to them — especially as a performer.


What Exactly Is an Effect?

A question I’m often asked is: “Why that specific delay pedal, instead of a delay in Ableton?” Logically speaking, why would I spend €300 on a small aluminum box — limited by someone else's idea and the physicality of the object — when I could have complete and pure control over any parameter in any DAW on the market? In part, I agree: the end result might be similar. A delay, like any other effect, operates on physical principles that can be digitally reproduced. But what fascinates me is the human aspect behind the construction — the idea embodied in the hardware.


Just as we’re fascinated by how a composer transforms raw material (notes, time, form) into a personal vision, we’re drawn to the personality, care, and craftsmanship in something — even if it’s made of transistors, code, and plastic. That’s the beauty of a pedal: its uniqueness as a human artifact.

For me, this is exemplified by the company Chase Bliss and their pedal Habit, which became a pillar in my improvisational sessions.


“Musical instruments are not only in charge of transmitting human expressiveness like passive channels. They are, with their feedback, responsible for provoking and instigating the performer through their own interfaces.”
— Sergi Jordà, “Idiomatic Patterns and Aesthetic Influence in Computer Music Languages,” Organised Sound, Vol. 7, No. 3 (2002)


It’s precisely in this provocation and challenge — like in human dialogue where ideas collide — that I find inspiration. As Morton Feldman reportedly said: “Tragedy is when two people are right.”

This resonates with my desire to use tools that challenge me, force me to change direction, or disorient me — rather than tools that offer total control. A fully programmable effect might give me exact results, but it won’t push me the way a more unpredictable one will.


Playing With Another Myself

Working with other people and their ideas inevitably leads to compromise and limitation — but it’s exactly this that makes collaboration exciting. The same principle applies to effects: they introduce limits that paradoxically enable creativity. They help me not to get lost in the ocean of infinite possibilities, but instead allow me to drift inside a lake where I can still see the distant shore.

In this sense, I consider pedals to be tools of creative limitation — and they fit perfectly with the broader definition of musical tool I’ve developed throughout this research. 


But how does someone else’s idea — the designer’s, the engineer’s — fit into this framework?  The answer is that creative limitation, in this context, is always guided by an external idea that still leaves space for personal growth. Two sides of the same coin — playing with another version of myself.

My own input is digested and processed by someone else’s idea (the pedal) and sent back to me — amplified, modified, destroyed, or transformed. What fascinates me is that the input remains mine, but returns with an attempt at fidelityand a human effort toward personality — like someone giving their opinion without worrying too much about how closely it resembles the original.


“Performers… negotiate prosthetic devices (microphones, loudspeakers, pedals, sensors)… interacting with invisible chamber music partners.”
— Elizabeth McNutt, “Performing Electroacoustic Music: A Wider View of Interactivity,” Organised Sound, Vol. 8, No. 3 (2003)


Understanding the Other Myself

This quote by McNutt leads to a deeper reflection on how pedals influence me — and their role in relation to the instrument. The term most commonly used is “effect,” but I find it insufficient.

“Effect” suggests something additive — a flavor layered on top of the original sound without altering its essence. These are what I call additive effects, which maintain a clear connection to the original signal. A classic example: reverb. It supports and enhances the original gesture without fully reshaping it. But not all pedals should be reduced to simple additives. If that’s the goal, then you must use them sparingly — otherwise the sound becomes diluted.


On the opposite end are what I call generative pedals — those with the following characteristics:

  • they embody a clear human musical idea;

  • they oscillate between faithful reproduction and radical transformation;

  • they create a sense of interaction with an invisible performer;

  • they contain a degree of uncontrollability, making them feel alive and autonomous.


“In electronic music, sound transformation is not a side effect. It becomes the gesture itself.”
— Michel Chion, Guide To Sound Objects (1983)


Most modern pedals blend both additive and generative elements. But their effectiveness lies in knowing how to alternate between them. Leaving a generative pedal always on can overwhelm the texture — just as too much reverb can make things blurry.

Once again, this leads to a form of sonic organization, pushing the performer into a hybrid space between composition and performance.



 

 

Conclusion on This Project


After exploring what pedals are and what role they play, the question becomes: how did I approach them within the context of this research?

Whenever I encounter a new pedal, I tend to treat it as a real instrument — one that I must master fully.
When I finally learned all the parameters of the Habit pedal, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction. But that satisfaction was not entirely balanced by the act of playing — because the knowledge itself passed through too many layers: human, technical, and specific to the pedal’s architecture.

This feeling of disorientation is something we often resist — especially when we deal with familiar instruments or when we’re composing. We crave control.

But this reflection — the realization that full control is impossible — raises important questions about why I sometimes feel uneasy with pedals, or why I feel the need to justify my sonic palette. These insecurities reflect onto the compositional side of the project and onto those who play alongside these tools.

That’s why a certain degree of clarity and structure in a project like this is essential. It allows me — and those performing with me — to stand on solid ground while exploring.

For this reason, the pedal itself was not placed at the center of the research. Not because it wasn’t important, but because of its inherent instability, and because of my own limited experience in working with it in a truly deep way.

I believe the key, for me, is to embrace the fact that I will never be able to control everything — and to welcome this creative instability that continues to fascinate me. 

ex. generative

good balance 

ex. additive

generative to extremes

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Working within pedals in this way inspire me to dig within repetions, loops and connections between composition and pedals. 

Work's of Fred Frith always inspired me searching somethin within my instrument