Pierre Boulez completed Le marteau sans maître (The Hammer Without a Master) in 1955, soon after he had abandoned the strict tenets of serialism. It is one of three pieces that Boulez wrote using texts by surrealist poet René Char. Three of his poems are used here, "L'Artisanat furieux," "Bourreaux de solitude," and "Bel édifice et les pressentiments." The ensemble consists of soprano and chamber group, with the soprano singing in only some of the nine movements. This work was partially inspired by Schoenberg's Pierrot Lunaire, and Boulez has written about how these works resemble each other. He combined them in many concert programs. Taken together, these works exemplify the twentieth century avant-garde; both works are indicative of genius, sincerity, and rigor. Furthermore, they are works of sublime beauty, though the first listen often proves daunting for many. As it progresses it becomes more complex, but like Joyce's Finnegans Wake, it is the beginning that seems strangest. Once past this point, the comprehensibility of the whole work becomes increasingly apparent. By the end of the piece, listeners with an open heart will already be looking forward to another hearing.

The three poems included in the work are also indicative of three different ways of combining instruments. They are staggered and absorbed by the final movement. The soprano becomes part of the ensemble, singing lines without text, and no more prominent than any other player. Again, aspects resemble Pierrot Lunaire, which does not utilize the entire ensemble until the end. There is a train of aesthetic thought in progress here, which begins with Schoenberg's writing cabaret songs for extra income from around the turn of the century. Then, in 1912, Schoenberg's Pierrot Lunaire was a comment on the cabaret aesthetic, bringing that style of song into the realm of avant-garde rigor. Boulez continued this direction; Le marteau sans maître is much more complex than Schoenberg's 1912 masterpiece, and equally musical, though when the work was first premiered even the most well-disposed musicians were hesitant to embrace it. During the rehearsals for the American premiere, a player asked the composer where the poetry was, the warmth, in the piece. Boulez replied "Oh, it's there." About 35 minutes long, its nine movements build upon nuances of mystery and sensation that do not exist anywhere else in Western music. Yet there is never a sense of grandness that often pervades such an original work. Business as usual pervades the flow of the movements, and the modesty of that effect, that complete absence of redirecting the listener's interest to the composer, is likewise unique. It is a tenet of modernism that the self-aggrandizing of the romantic artist should be dismissed, but this idea seems rarely possible. Even in the chance operation works of Cage, specifically intended to eliminate the intentions of the composer, one cannot forget for an instant that it is Cage's work being performed. If the artist puts effort into his or her work, it is usually inevitable that something of the artist's ego will make its presence felt. Somehow, Boulez avoided this in Le marteau sans maître. It is one of the finest and most enduring chamber works of the twentieth century. Exotic and immediate, this work has been dismissed out of fear, resentment, and misunderstanding. Listeners need not be afraid; this is beautiful music.

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