well-weathered music

I don’t know why it took me so long, but I finally checked out the American Music Center’s Counterstream Radio, and I haven’t turned it off since. It’s not just that Raz Mesinai used recordings of me and Joan LaBarbara to create their “audio logo,” or that within the first half hour of turning it on I heard some of my own music I haven’t heard for a while. Nope. I’m surprised it took me so long because they play some f#%king great music! Just in the last half hour I heard some Bill Frisell, Sun Ra, Paul Dresher, John Cage…, it’s like they looked in the “favorite composers” file in my brain and created their playlist. Then other times I’ve heard wonderful music by folks I don’t know, and also by people I’ve met but haven’t yet heard their music. Now I have. There are also “on demand” and special programs I’m looking forward to hearing, like their spotlight on pianist Jenny Lin and the conversation Sarah Cahill arranged between Elliot Carter & Phil Lesh (that’s Sarah for ya’). Thank you American Music Center!!

I had a dream the other night that a friend of mine was married to Pablo Picasso. Even though they had just been married a few months, they already had 6 teenage kids. I went to visit them in the south of France, which was a two hour drive from Manhattan. They lived on a very rocky shoreline and I had to walk the last mile or so to get to their house. Once there, I sat and talked with my friend for a long time. A while later Picasso came in and sat by the window. He didn’t join our conversation for a good long while. When he heard that I was a musician, he perked up and started asking me questions about music. He asked me what my favorite piece was and I said that it was, without a doubt, this one recording of Miles Davis that was made right before Bitches Brew, and I always carry it with me. (In reality “In a Silent Way” was Davis’ recording right before BB. But the recording in this dream was made in some other dimension between these two sessions.) Picasso & I listened to the entire piece together. When we finished, he got up right away and said he must go paint. My friend had gone out to do errands. I left and climbed across the rocky coastline back to my car and woke up.

The feeling of listening to this wonderful (imaginary) music with Pablo Picasso was what stayed with me after waking.

I remembered this dream later that day as I was packing my glass instruments for a short run of solo shows; a concert at Barbés in Park Slope that evening and one the next day here in Inwood (northern Manhattan). In both concerts I told the story of this dream and played a piece called “Listening to Miles Davis with Pablo Picasso.” I, of course, wasn’t trying to recreate the Davis piece from my dream, but the feeling of the dream itself.

This is the 2nd night’s version.

Here is something more melodic, a companion piece from the 1st night.

And if you’ve had enough high harmonics, here is something more mellow.

A recent posting of mine here was about the sound of our Earth, sped up 10,000 times. The actual largest terrestrial sound possible. Well, this is a posting about the smallest terrestrial sound possible; the “sound” made by molecules. This post writes about this post from World Science magazine, which starts off by saying:

Phys­i­cists say they’ve rec­orded ti­ny vibra­t­ions of in­di­vid­ual mol­e­cules, that could be called sounds—de­pend­ing on how you de­fine sound—and put them in au­di­ble form.

You can hear the sound, here. But I doubt it actually “sounds” like that.

Okay. Now I’ve heard everything. Literally.

Our planet Earth is our “everything.” Every thing comes from it and every thing returns to it. Now, thanks to MIT seismologist John Bullitt, we can hear our home planet.

This is the sound of seismic waves traveling through the Earth’s crust from distant earthquakes over a three week period. Bullitt sped it up 10,000 times to bring it into the human auditory and temporal range.

And there’s more where that came from. Earth as the ultimate resonator. Hear more here, and buy his CD here.

I’m working on two rather involved posts at the moment (and some music, always), but don’t have time to finish either of them. In the meantime, let me just list some of the really great concerts I’ve seen in the last week. (And, of course, no time to link all these names.)

A wonderful quartet with John King, George Lewis, Zeena Parkins, and Fast Forward. Also joined by the amazing pianist Jenny Lin and the beautiful voice of soprano Charlotte Dobbs. This was part of the “Experiments in the Studio” music series (in which I’ll be performing in May) at the Cunningham Dance Studios. If you know any of these players, you know how good they can be, and they were all in top form this night.

Composer, soprano, accordionist Kamala Sankaram presented a short excerpt of a one-woman music theater piece she is working on, accompanied by her band Squeezebox. At the Here Art Center in SoHo. Too good to be so short. I look forward to seeing more.

My buddy Miya Masaoka had a busy weekend but I was only able to see one of her events. This night she presented “For Birds, Planes and Cello.” A beautifully constructed ambient score with the always superb cellist, Alex Waterman. At the White Box gallery in Chelsea.

Then if that wasn’t enough, Anthony Coleman presented an evening of his very complex, mostly string ensemble, recent pieces topped off with a very eloquent solo piano improvisation. Part of a new music series at the Brecht Forum.

Ya’ gotta love NY.

I’ve been getting some interesting feedback from my Stockhausen/Ike Turner piece (the previous post). I sent it out in individual emails to (as Chris McIntyre would say) “my peeps.” Three of my favorite composers answered back right away. Jay Cloidt said he was going to forward it to a zillion people. John King thanked me for the “mash-up,” which got me wondering if there is a difference between “mash-up” and “plunderphonics.” David Behrman said it brought back memories of his first driving experience, in his mother’s 1952 Olds 88 with a Rocket engine.

Then there’s my brother, who asked if the title means I believe in heaven. I was actually referring to the Ives’ piece “General Booth Enters Into Heaven,” which, admittedly, is a pretty obscure reference. But, no, I don’t believe in heaven, except as a metaphor for whatever happens after we leave our corporeal existence. My initial idea was to create a piece representing the post-corporeal spirits of KS & IT as they gradually lost their individual identity and merged together to become part of what my Gurdjieff inspired bodywork teacher used to call “the field.” I don’t mean to get metaphysical on y’all, but that sort of process (body returns to the earth, spirit returns to the ether) does make the most sense to me. It does not, however, lend itself to representation in a 3 minute New Year’s greeting. So I kept the two musician’s identity intact, and found some very interesting nexuses. I made no changes to the pitch or tempo of either piece, yet there are some places where they really do compliment each other. I can only imagine that the young Karlheinz could very well have been influenced by the Ike Turner piece. “Rocket 88,” from 1951, is thought to be the “first” rock and roll song, so it might well have sparked KS’s 1952 ears as he made his first piece in the new “tape music” medium. Is that common and reoccurring Eb, and the equally common and reoccurring 160 bpm triplet really a coincidence? Hmmmm….

My Toronto friend Andrew Timar observed that my piece obviously placed “Etude” within the structure of “Rocket 88″ and wondered, referencing Jim Tenney, what it would sound like the other way; with the pop song placed within the structure of the Stockhausen. A very interesting idea. It is of course always easier to do this sort of creative editing within a clear rhythmic grid than a rhythmic splatter, but it would certainly be an interesting project. Any takers?

Oh, and if anyone might think this kind of work is new for me (there’s no glass!!), may I direct you here; some pre-digital work from 1982.

I was just speaking to a friend who was saying how she finds everything interesting in that everything is an expression of the infinite combination of things. (Yes, she’s a poet.) I found that thought to be very refreshing.

To that end, here is what I found particularly interesting today, the 3rd to last day of 2007.

Over on his weblog, composer Daniel Wolf wonders what if…

We all wake up one morning having forgotten music, what music is, and what music does to us. Three things can happen: (1) we re-invent music, more or less as it was before, or (2) we re-invent music, but it differs in substantial ways from what it had been, or (3) we get about with our lives but without any music. What have we lost and what have we gained in each scenario? What does this suggest about the nature and value of music? To what degree do these three possibilities reflect the working methods of a composer?

I lean towards #2. If fact, that is my modus operandi as a composer. I try to re-invent music with every new piece and every new improvisation. A daunting task, certainly, but there are, after all, infinite possibilities to be explored. Earlier this year I performed with John Duykers in a song festival at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music (hear it here). At the post concert reception I found myself talking with 3 other composers. We were discussing how there is no longer any defined “school” to be a part of. It seems at one point you could either follow Schoenberg or Stravinsky, then Cage or Babbitt, but now it’s “every man for himself.” One fellow (a very academic composer) said his solution is to compose music similar to the music he likes to listen to. Being a bit of a rebel (and thinking of Xenakis), I said “Well, I prefer writing music that I can not imagine listening to.” The unimaginable is where I’m most comfortable.

Mr. Wolf’s premise can also be explored when a musical instrument that has been developed for a specific music tradition becomes part of a drastically different music tradition. Like the use of the western violin in Indian Carnatic music. Or, most strikingly, the use of the piano in traditional Burmese music. Just as it is fascinating to imagine what sort of new music human beings would come up with upon losing all known music, it’s amazing to hear how western instruments are played by folks who have zero knowledge of western music. Here is the incomparable U Ko Ko, Burmese pianist.

Okay. Not the world, but Toronto certainly is. And no major bridges; or at least not like the George Washington or Golden Gate. That was my first impression flying in over TO in my first visit back in 5 years. Toronto was the city of my 20s. It was the place where I learned to be an active performing composer. I was still spending time in the NYC/CT area, but TO was the place in which I paid rent for a good 9 years. But this is only the third time I’ve visited since 1986. I occasionally think that my attitude toward being a composer in society is still quite Canadian. I still hold on to the idea, despite much evidence to the contrary in the USA, that being a composer of new and unique music is a valued profession. When I lived up here, the Canadian gov’t was actively trying to find it’s own unique Canadian Culture and they poured $$ into the arts. It’s not quite like that now, but government support is still way more than any artist in the US is used to. I do believe Canada would still rather support it’s artists than build tanks and robot jets.

I think it’s also a question of education. As far as I know the arts are still a valued part of public education up here. I think the reason why there are so many people listening to music on their cell phones (at least in NYC) is because people are no longer taught how to listen to music. Sure, Cage said all sound is music, but that worked because at some point he was taught how to listen to music and could then appreciate those same qualities in all sound. Without some sort of guidance at a young age (or at least hearing live music at the community level) music gets reduced to a snappy rhythm, a melody with a hook, and a brand name. All things adequately conveyed over the dime sized speaker of a cellphone.

But I digress. Actually, not really. It seems, on the surface anyway, that the general aesthetic standards in this small but large country called Canada, or at least this city of Toronto, are of a higher standard than what I’m used to in the USA, or at least NYC. Maybe I’m just being a Toronto-phile, or seeing things through 20 year old memories, but things just feel quite different up here than they do in The States.

There are two dear composer friends I have stayed in touch with over these many years. One is the pluderphonicist & altered sax player John Oswald, and the other, bassoonist turned suling (Indonesian flute) master Andrew Timar. John takes every opportunity to do something new and absolutely unique (while still managing to coax strange and wonderful sounds from his plastic reeded saxophone as he did 30 years ago). Andrew has dedicated himself to Indonesian music, specifically the suling, even to the point where he no longer composes on a regular basis. But, damn, that guy can play suling, and is a wellspring of knowledge about most things Indonesian.

Here is a bit of Andrew Timar playing suling (with the gamelan I helped start 25 years ago, The Evergreen Club), in a piece by Lou Harrison (google readers see below):

And here is a video excerpt of John Oswald’s one-person “opera” (with the wonderful Susanna Hood performing).

I performed last night and friday night in Okkyung Lee & Andrew Lampert’s show at The Kitchen. The show was quite wonderful. Okkyung’s music was scored for a quartet of cello (Okkyung), violin (Cornelius Dufallo), string bass (Trevor Dunn), and me (glass, analog electronics, toy piano, & computer). Andrew Lampert’s contribution was a sort of performance filmmaking, with a number of 16 & super 8 projectors projecting on all 4 walls. Andy had 2 assistants, Emily Davis & Jared Abramson, moving projectors around, changing films & light filters, and splicing film loops on the spot. In one section Andy also projected directions and questions for us musicians. My 88 year old dad came to the show and said it reminded him of an event he saw at MoMA back in the mid ’60s. It sort of had that multi-media “happening” feel to it.

Okkyung’s compositions are wonderfully unique, with beautifully flowing, through-composed melodies and rhythmic cycles emerging in and out of group and solo improvisations. She chooses her musicians carefully. One must have the ability to go from the written page to a non-directed improvisation without it sounding like there’s been a sharp turn in the road. It’s nothing like having a “head” then 16 bars to blow. Nor is it anything like interpreting an aleatoric score. One must be a composer to play her music. One must know that when she says “just improvise,” she’s not giving you permission to use every trick you have, but to place your sounds in the context of the moment and to play exactly what you believe is needed, no more, no less.

Her music fits perfectly into the way I have been thinking about composition & improvisation for a long time now. I believe (as Cage did) that the act of creating is a series of questions and answers. The questions one asks oneself when creating any music, through-composed or improvised, are all subsets of the same basic question, “What happens now?” (High, low; fast, slow; sound, silence; etc…) The only difference between composing and improvising is the amount of time it takes to answer these questions. When composing, there is time to mull things over and even go back and change your mind. With improvisation one has to come up with an answer almost as soon as one gets a hint of what the question might actually be. The act of composing relies on the intelligence of one’s brain. The act of improvising relies on the intelligence of one’s entire body. One acts before the brain even has time to form the question.

I used to study bodywork with an old Kurdish rug merchant (in Oakland), and he used to say, “The brain likes to think it’s in charge. But the brain does not tell the heart to pump blood, or the lungs to take in air. All our organs have intelligence, and the brain is simply another organ.” This bodywork, called Breema, was taught technically yet practiced intuitively. The structure of the session is set (start at the feet, end with the head), but what one does in each session is improvised.

I always have a hard time calling myself a composer and improviser. I see them as essentially the same. It’s just that when one sits down to create something “through-composed,” one of our internal organs gets to spend more time with our questions than the others, and when we improvise, all of our organs get to listen & react. Perhaps that’s what makes Okkyung’s music so special; “improvisation” and “composition” end up just being words and every part of every one listens and creates.

I am now trying to write here at least once a week; aiming for every sunday, but monday will have to do. I’m playing in a wonderful concert at The Kitchen this coming friday & saturday. The sublime cellist/composer Okkyung Lee is presenting two evenings of her work with filmaker Andrew Lampert and a quartet with Okkyung, me, Cornelius Dufallo, and Trevor Dunn. I’m very much looking forward to that. I’m sure it will be a wonderful world.

I realized I don’t listen to much music (except when I’m playing) but I did yesterday. Here’s what I’ve been listening to:
The Shaggs. If you’ve never heard them, check ‘em out. They were a teenage sister pop trio in the ’70s. They don’t play in time or in tune and it’s wonderful. They were Zappa’s favorite band.

Terry Riley’s The Descending Moonshine Dervishes. One of Terry’s solo electric organ and tape delay concerts from 1975. I remember seeing him perform one of these pieces at the old Kitchen back around that time (part of a four day series with Lamonte Young, Jon Hassell, and David Rosenboom). Terry’s music is amazing, inspiring stuff. No one pulls off “minimalism,” improvisation, and sonic exploration like he does.

(By the way, that series at the Kitchen was amazing. I believe it was 1976, right about the time I started working with Jon Hassell. I must have the program or poster for it somewhere. I hear Jon just got a deal with ECM records, so maybe we’ll be hearing more from him. Check out his new site, it’s very interesting. For a while there, I thought LA had swallowed him up.)

And right now I’m listening to some old AMM recordings from the ’60s. An improvisation trio with Cornelius Cardew, Keith Rowe, & Eddie Prevost. I find this stuff to be very ear cleansing.

One more thing. I came across my (signed) copy of Lou Harrison’s Music Primer (Editions Peters) the other day. This and Cage’s Silence were my 2 music bibles when I was a young composer. Here is an excerpt that I seem to have taken to heart.

“Making an instrument is one of music’s greatest joys. Indeed, to make an instrument is in some strong sense to summon the future. It is, as Robert Duncan has said of composing, “A volition. To seize from the air its forms.” Almost no pleasure is to be compared with the first tones, tests & perfections of an instrument one has just made. Nor are all instruments invented & over with, so to speak. The world is rich with models - but innumerable forms, tones & powers await their summons from the mind & hand. Make an instrument - you will learn more in this way than you can imagine.”

Speaking of which, I am in the middle of re-building (or re-arranging) my glass harp. Should get back to it.