There is nothing to see in a sound exhibition. This confuses the visitor; one expects something other from a "visit to an exhibition" than a discotheque extending over eight galleries. The permanent bombardment by sound during opening hours leads to self-definition of the various rooms, and challenges the user to behave in a certain manner. It is my conviction that in working with electronic sound generators, broadness is not only inevitably given, but forms part of the special attraction of the medium. The objects exhibited at best explain themselves. What both visitors and gallery attendants lack is an invitation to linger in the rooms, and by this I am thinking less of chairs and benches than of an enlivening of the exhibition rooms through a reconsideration of the concept which says "It's finished, and now don't touch it any more!". In a discotheque, the DJ determines the sequence of pieces he or she has selected; they are manipulated, and occasionally words are spoken or music is played in conjunction with them. In a sound exhibition, nothing of this kind occurs. The adult visitor is accustomed to being told what he or she must do or imagine in particular situations. One wanders around in the rooms and is disorientated. The absence of human interpreters prevents one from simply consuming what is presented. One looks for meaning, wants to have something to imagine, wants to know why he or she is here. What can one say about it? That he or she was bombarded for half an hour by umpteen loudspeakers? That it all somehow has something to do with salt, and so on? That they record natural sounds and then alter them, that admission is free, but WHAT IS IT MEANT TO REPRESENT? I find myself in the belly of the whale. I have a lot of space. I could run around, sing along, or go to sleep. However, this is an art exhibition, and moreover it is music, so I go inside and try not to disturb the artist at work or the rest of the public in their enjoyment. Only, no practising artist is present, and the volume level is generally so high that one could only possibly disturb another person by trying to do so intentionally. I ask myself what I am to do with the feelings I normally have in concert halls and at exhibitions, i.e. the inhibiting feeling that I must control myself. A whole installation orchestra plays uninterruptedly for nine hours every day; I can see no-one and am entirely reliant upon myself. I feel as if I am in a huge furniture store; I am accustomed to consuming person-less music at home, in the car or in bars, and in these contexts I do not behave as I would in a museum or at a railway station. I cannot spontaneously construct the feeling of a private sphere as I would in large rooms which are mostly empty except for loudspeakers, and which are accessible to all. I sense the urge to justify my presence both to myself and to others who may be present. I want to conceal myself behind a purpose. The descriptive label is the only reason for being here. The presentation of the various works occurs in a manner which, by reason of my listening habits, would lead me to private conduct, but the label "Art Exhibition" prohibits this, and pushes me towards opinion, explanation and seriousness. I am my own captive, and stand before an enigma.

Without joy, the greatest seriousness has no purpose. Zeitgleich minus is a collage of sounds heard and produced by myself during my time as a gallery attendant, as well as from various music interpretations and listening habits which I observed in this period. The quotations and styles are arranged in unison, and a monophonic melody results. Rooms of various sizes are constructed, arranged associatively according to both a visitor's statement and the exhibition galleries themselves. Placards are designed, so to speak, inciting use of the sounds on offer. What I am familiar with is set in relationship to what is offered me. The rest is music, and in the present instance (catalogue text), silence. To characterize my radio compositions Zeitgleich + / -, I would cite a quote by Sherrie Levine: "My pictures are really ghosts of ghosts". Playful use of existing sounds is often viewed with mistrust. In the case of natural sounds, live microphones, etc., OK, but music from music, where's the unique element in that, recycling, WHAT'S THAT MEANT TO BE? Football and cycling prohibited. In "Plus", the installation sounds become instruments, and there is no linguistic connection between the exhibition and the structure of the piece. In the last of the three sections, the relationship of the sounds to one another becomes purely rhythmic. Nothing is prescribed. There are no control organizations and no police. No obligation to make a statement, and no compulsion to participate. Instead of water, sound flows from the installations.

At the same time as the sound exhibitions, the opening of a far more mobile and industrial event took place which, through the raising of several millions, had the task of bringing five principal musicians and numerous supporting performers into contact with the public. It achieved this goal in a manner also employed in classical music spectacles: reaching out to and entertaining an "audience of millions" (in the case of the Rolling Stones or Pavarotti/Carreras/etc., it is numbers that are meant, and in the case of the Salzburg Festival or the like, more the wealth of the consumers) as part of the artistic achievement - fame becomes part of the musical act; the performers are figures of integration, the President an artist. I see the political aspect of the sound exhibition as residing less in the confusion of the local authorities through the *evening play of lights/sea of lights in the evening than in the absence of ersatz performers, in the absence of pointers to enjoyment. Sound ghosts are presented, nourishing themselves on electrical current, and if, in the hi-fi household, the dog may be equated with Mick Jagger, and the cat with Mozart, then here a menagerie of largely unknown species is presented. Domestication appears only to take place in the form of banishment to stereo format, where one is accustomed to hearing and utilizing music and sounds without the help of human performers. The documentation of an exhibition on CD presents the works without the influence of an interpreter, the format is familiar, the living room becomes an exhibition hall, studio recordings alternate with room recordings, the orchestra integrates the recitative; it can be listened to. The familiarity of our own CD player banishes timidity, and within the haven of our own listening habits, it is possible to attain the state which, among all exhibition visitors, has remained almost uniquely the province of children: LISTENING.

That no serious technical problems arose during the month-long exhibition was due to the care and attention of the two technical supervisors Rupert Huber and Gerhard Mittermayr, both of whom are musicians and composers.
Under the impression of the exhibition Rupert Huber composed two radio-pieces "Zeitgleich +/-", which were broadcast on ORF KUNSTRADIO in autumn 1994.