Tuesday, July 14, 2015

David Papas's "Certitude and Joy: anatomy of a black box opera"


Bob
  1. 1)  I play the composer, I play Erling, Erling Wold, and also, they are all sort of aspects of the same character but Erling Wold, Jesus Man, the prophet on the street, sort of the street version of God, kind of God's twin brother, lower twin brother, and Erling, and there used to be a couple of other characters but it's pretty much morphing back-and-forth between that and one of the prophets in God's prophets, the mourning poses and a lot of movement. It's really Blakean to me, seems like William Blake stuff.

  2. 2)  Yeah. And the Jesus Man, the Jesus man. But then again we're all sort of aspects of her vision, of LaShaun's vision, raising some of the questions that intellectually we might call theological questions to her was just like do I have to follow what God says in terms of hearing voices, and it's really a profoundly tragic story, one about the narrow line between what is hearing God and how do you judge that, or do you judge that, and I think that is one of the things that is raised, you certainly don't affirm it, but can you understand.

  3. 3)  Yeah I do repertory stuff but one of the things I pride myself on is a range but this is really more in my pocket. I do a lot of first time out developmental pieces and developmental works and a lot of things that are musically involved, where I'm involved in that capacity directly or indirectly that kind of timing stuff. But I've also worked at ACT and Berkeley Rep and stuff, but Berkeley Rep is more first time pieces like the Jim Jones project Tectonic and there was William [actually Steve] Tesich did another play there that I did there. A lot of those are even kind of, well they may have been first time out somewhere else they're new works. Speed of Darkness was the Tesich play.

  4. 4)  Well basically in order to do it and to do it the way I think it's really a unique piece I get the fortune most of my life I've been involved I could say that with lots of works but but also really it's like going to church it really is I really believe in the coming from the Jerzy Grotowski tradition Towards a Poor Theatre I really believe in a sacred, in the theater of the sacred or kind of a secular sacredness and I think this is like going to church and ironically in a secular way, not in a theologically predetermined narrow way but in terms of the questions that it asks. I was also born and raised fundamentalist Lutheran, more fundamentalist than Erling, but Erling's father was a Lutheran preacher and says his brother and his brothers wife I believe were both Lutheran ministers, so we have, there's a common theological understanding there, but this raises, goes beyond the bounds of theology, really asks big questions, but I think it is like going to church, it's a ritual I think, it is a ritual and one would hope in the cosmos that maybe somewhere it helps LaShaun, wherever she is, doing whatever it is she's doing, I mean the understanding is that she's never snapped into a reality in which she realizes what she's done, and in a way you would wish that she would, you would hope that she never would, in the sense of compassion, but we have to be careful about what we choose to be called for sure. I also think that it's a morality tale. I have that one line which says that you know where we live in a world where there is much focus on the terrible actions caused by religious certitude, and the attempts to confine me to a very fundamentalist approach. As a child, one of the very first things I became aware of was the hypocrisy amongst adults, where you talk the talk but you don't walk the walk, and so that put a lot of cracks in what people, what my elders, my parents wanted me to be. I tried to follow the form, but that way's too narrow. It says in the Old Testament narrow is the way, yeah well, that's just too narrow.

  5. 5)  Oh yeah, theology. Yeah and continue to be I think a lot in the cast, and it's a great crew, everybody really gets along but everybody's committed to it, everybody's got big skills and I think everybody feels the special, sacred – I don't have any problem with the word – but I think everyone feels the show is a kind of ritual. I've worked with Jim Cave a long time, he's the only guy that's ever directed my solo works I think, and how he put it together is really terrific, and Kerry and Erling's composition, and everybody's work you know, it's been a combination of collaboration but under his guidance and choice and choosing of stuff.

  6. 6)  Oh yeah, I mean just just because of the pace of life and because of the shortness of the rehearsal process and because the way things are these days, no funding for art, no money really, what Erling and Jim were great about, everyone had jobs, we all had things we had to do that helped us survive, and they accommodated and did a complicated schedule, we did a lot of work in a short amount of time and one of the other things that was the nature of the language, the language was unique, it's kind of baroque and gothic and fitting it to the context of this kind of music, I do deal with music, but this is not R&B. There are micromoments where you might classify it as R&B, but that's just fitting it to that time.

    7)  Oh gosh there's all sorts of moments between the characters, between things actually. Erling's, in Erling's, when I come back as Erling and say that I feared passing into a chemical psychosis from which I could never return and then Jo pops us as God and sings that thing full blast into my face it's just Blakean and
  1. 8)  Oh gosh, it's just marvelous. And here's Jo now. This is the real God, this is the real God, I have to go back to the dressing room and OK, but just one more, I have to take off my microphone, lead the idiot out of the room.
Erling
  1. 1)  I'm the composer, I'm the producer and the chief bottle washer as they say. I tend to do a little bit of everything. Primarily the words and the music. I'm the one who came up with the idea for this. It's a semi-autobiographical piece so I'm very personally involved with the piece.

  2. 2)  You know, I used to be very goal oriented, when I was younger, a younger composer. I would work nervously on the whole thing and wouldn't really enjoy the final result, but I've realized it's the artistic process that is the great joy of these things, these projects. Working with the set of people that are on this project, they are all great, it's just wonderful. I love the social aspect of doing this artwork together. I get wrapped up, caught up in my part of it, the words and the music, they are done more privately, and I do enjoy that too. I actually enjoy writing music. Some people talk about it being a painful experience, but I don't have that experience, for me that is a very fun – oh what's the word I'm looking for – it's a moment when I separate myself from the rest of the world and get lost in the music. I definitely am when I'm writing. I'm sometimes imagining the audience, you know, listening to it, things like that, but most of it is just very internal, personal.

  3. 3)  It is a very autobiographical piece, I mean, I may not have even realized that when I started writing it. The first section I wrote is the section where she killed her children, but then I realized it was you know I don't know what really know what is going on in her head, or what was going on in her head when she did that, or – I don't know if anyone can really know – so I realized that, from the beginning, it was my take on that, my thoughts about it, and it really expanded from there. I mix in some of the words she spoke, but really almost all of it, is really just out of my own head, and a lot of it does talk about my religious upbringing. It was my reaction to this tragedy that was the thing that I found interesting myself and I have discovered – I mean there's something kind of strange about putting yourself on display – what is it that's so interesting about oneself that makes it so interesting to other people but in reality people love autobiographies because you often find so many points of connection between you and the person writing the autobiography. We all live such similar lives in many ways, you know we all have hopes and fears and worry about death and all of the big questions, so I found that to be true – of all the pieces I've done, this seems to be the one that is most provoking of conversation. Everyone wants to have theological conversations and talk to me about their upbringings. It struck a chord in myself and I guess that hits the same chord in other people.

  4. 4)  It's funny how many rehearsals ended up being half rehearsal and half discussion and I just allowed those discussions, I guess Jim Cave and I, the director, both just allowed it to happen. It added a lot. The process I followed with this piece was a little different from some of my others. I didn't just write the words and the music and come up with a score and drop it in front of people and say ok, just go do it. I thought of this in the past, when you write music, when you set words to music, they are very set in time, and even in their dramatic structure, you give a lot of the drama with the undercurrent of sound and music, and actors normally are very free with the timing of their words, usually that's something they bring in the moment, when they react to the other actors, when they react to the staging in that moment, and I thought it would be interesting to work with the performers at an early stage, so I wrote the words first and we read it like a play, and we did it a number of times just as a play, and working on it as a theatrical piece before I really wrote the music. I can't remember now the point I was getting to – the question you asked – but it definitely was different, but to talk about the way that people interacted with it, the performers themselves, when they had these discussions about it, I loved that, it definitely affected the way I presented it, or the way I thought about it myself, the way I thought about the words, sometimes they would shade the words in ways I hadn't thought of, and when I wrote the music it was in my mind, and also, I had those same kinds of discussions with audience members, quite a few.
  1. 5)  No, well, it depends on where you talk about it in the rehearsal process. You may not have been involved in it from the very beginning, but in the early days we just had the words, and I started writing some of the music halfway through that process, so we had bits and pieces of it, so that kind of workshop rehearsal process started long before the music.

  2. 6)  It happened in a number of ways, which is typical for me. I don't know how other composers work. I actually – even though I said we only had the words to begin with – that's not 100% true – I started writing some musical sketches even before I had the whole text done, just because things would come to my mind, and they weren't necessarily tied to any particular words, they just were maybe textures or emotional things that struck me in a certain way, that I thought connected to the story just in general. I ended up using a lot of that music. Some of it I didn't and some of it was just written from the words directly, which I think is more typical, given that it seems like most people work with the librettist, that's not themselves, I think it's typical to have the words and just set them, but with me it's often a much more mixed-up process, sometimes the music is first and the words are fit to it, sometimes the other way around, sometimes they kind of collide and change each other in different ways.

  3. 7)   This is a repeating chord progression – ah – it's a little cycle of four, a pattern of four chords, very simple. It actually forms one of the kernels when she is killing her children, and that was a thing I had written long before it was all put together, it actually is in an orchestral piece of mine I also wrote around the same time. I'm really a bad pianist. There are some very sweet moments like that which also gather more dissonance as the piece gets more intense, more kind of clashing. Some parts are very big to begin with. One reason I used two pianos is I really wanted this kind of thundering sound I wanted that big thunder sound and when you have both pianos it gets pretty loud and that's very nice. I've noticed that they've, the more performances we've done, the more they've kind of come into that. They've realized the moments when they can just ring out and they definitely do it, and I'm sitting right next to them for most of the show and I definitely feel it in my bones.

  4. 8)  Right, it's one of the advantages of using opera singers is that they can be very loud. They have a certain style that puts people off sometimes, although I think these people I work with can really fall into various, they can sing in different styles, and they kind of cross those boundaries, but I do like that ability to project a great deal of power sometimes, when it's necessary. Oh, absolutely. And Talya has a beautiful voice. I was really impressed. That was not what we expected, she was going to be an actress, actor, but it turned out we heard her sing at the very beginning and I said OK we'll use that. If I had known she was such a good singer I would have done more of kind of a duet nature, but sometimes she sings moments, she sings some parts herself and sometimes with Laura, which is a really pretty combination.

  5. 9)  Yes, and Jo kind of took on a mentor role too, which is very nice. Talya is young, she is just starting, I think she has very good stage presence, and, no, she's drawn really close, especially to Laura, who in a way is her alter ego in this piece. They both are, if anyone is LaShaun, as you know, you've seen the piece, the words are kind of laid on different people, all the characters kind of shift from person to person, but if anyone is LaShaun, it's the two of them.

  6. 10)  Oh, right. You know, I think I may have said this to you before, but this one was very stressful, you know, in a lot of ways, and it's almost all logistical stuff. Being the producer as well, it's crazy. Having a job, and a life, and writing the music and then being the producer as well, and then Jim Cave decided I should be in the piece, which was an additional source of, I had to actually learn some lines, and I'll tell you, I mean, I should know all the words, I know all the words, I sit there and mouth every single word that everybody says, but of course when I go up to say the line I am supposed to say, like it's just a completely different thing, the tendency is to draw a complete blank, you know, where am I, what am I doing. So, we had a number of logistical issues, there's all the usual production stuff, you have to organize it all, raise the money, put it all together, you worry about it being a disaster, that's a stress, because realistically I vacillate between it's the most brilliant thing ever and I'm a worthless piece of crap, I was going to use a different word but the camera inhibited me. But then, yes, the theater's brand new so it's had some growing pains. It's been great, it's a beautiful space and I like the people here a lot but this is the first rain that they had had and yes, the water started coming through the roof, the elevator broke luckily just after we had moved the pianos. Luckily the group of people have been great and they are all people I can rely on to handle whatever it is they need to handle. I've been in productions before where you know you have to not only have to deal with all the stuff you have to deal with but all the stuff that the other people are generating, the love triangles and all the other problems that can happen.
  1. 11)  Audience members came up with questions that were different than what anyone else had asked me about. One person asked if there was any light or any illumination that comes from this piece, cause they thought it was exceedingly dark. I didn't come up with a good answer for that, it could be that it's just exceedingly dark, I don't know.

  2. 12)  Well, I mean I think there's something about just facing one's issues that is illuminating in some way, or helpful in some way, even if you can't come to an answer, the piece definitely doesn't give an answer. My nephew last night seemed very upset with me that I didn't have the answers. He kept asking me, as if I know, because I'd put this stuff together. He said it's irresponsible of you to put these questions out there without having these answers, well, yeah, I don't have the answers, you know, to the meaning of everything and whether life has value and faith, yes.

  3. 13)  Jim Cave is a genius and a beautiful person. Hey there's Jim Cave right now.
Jim, Jo, Erling

  1. 1) [My nephew] was upset with me last night that I didn't have the answers, but I think there's something to be said – why should there be an answer – because that's what folks want – well, they can figure it out on their own – just sitting focussing on it for an hour is an interesting thing in and of itself - I think so too – and difficult to open a space up where they are willing to before the night's over – but theater's about asking questions, it's not about creating answers for anything – but he just wanted the answers – well, then he needs to do some work himself finding his own personal answer – well, I see it a different way – give me his email address and I will get in touch with him – I told him that I would write out the answers if he really wanted me to – well, I told him that I would actually write out the answers if he wanted me to – what are the answers – well, that's the thing, the point is that that is actually ridiculous – that's his way of telling you he is in the question, he wants the answers, but that just means he is in the question, he doesn't necessarily know that that is the best place to be, but the fact that you opened up his mind to step into the question is the bonus – sure – how old is he? - oh, he's in his twenties – oh shoot, he can have plenty of time to figure out answers – but answers are not interesting, as interesting as the questions, or the road to discovery of that stuff – there not – one could say that there are no answers - would you like to say that? - there are no answers – you just did a show called Certitude and Joy - I know – it implies – it never implies an answers, it implies certitude – what do you think an answer is, I'm now certain – I'm not so sure of that – go on – I'm just not so sure of that. Certitude can be that you are certain in the question – ugh – the beginning of the problem with religious certitude is that they think they have the answers, especially in the fundamentalist way, but even that, not even fundamentalist, people that think they know are really not interesting, to me - I think that's one of the difficult things about doing this piece, is that you have to put in the question, you have to say well maybe there aren't certitudes you can rely on, especially in the framework of religion, but in doing that, you already establish and define a different path – I think you can also be in certitude, I mean i've known people that are absolutely certain of the power and presence of Jesus, absolutely certain of that, and their certitude is childlike, I don't mean that in a pejorative way, there's an innocence there, but they don't then try to – what's the word, impose, a missionary, not a propagator , not convert...
Jim
  1. 1)  I'm the director of Certitude and Joy and this has been a particularly collaborative process so I think more than anything as a director I kind of hold everything together and let people do what they do well and not get in their way, and it's been an interesting process because it's been the first one of Erling's shows that was not fully written when we started. The libretto was written, but it was only written in two voices, the voice of God and the voice of LaShaun, so we had a series of very informal workshops to just kind of explore the material a little bit, first to just read it and we had the cast early on, and reading it we – the idea was all of these voices in the text were in LaShaun's head, that was the original idea, and then I took it and kind of divvied it up amongst people and we played with it, we listened to it. I think what Erling got out of it, he didn't want it to be all sung, he wanted there to be some spoken language in their too, not just the introduction, the Proem, but interspersed throughout the entire show, so I kind of took that on, to divide that amongst the cast, and it wasn't – I think when we first got the libretto, what I heard in the language was LaShaun's voice was multilayered, it was the voice of a young girl at some times, and then it was this poetic voice, and then a voice that was Erling's voice, so I kind of separated those voices out to a certain extent and divvied them up amongst the performers and we went back and forth, it took a while for us to land on it, and it wasn't straightforward too, there are some times when Jo, the character that plays God and the court psychiatrist also takes on some of LaShaun's lines, so it gave kind of a multilayered voicing of the whole thing, and that the idea of character is flexible and permeable. We do kind of focus on Talya as LaShaun, as one aspect of LaShaun, and Laura as another aspect of LaShaun, but even Jo has LaShaun lines, Bob has some, so it's – my role, yes – holding it all together I think more than anything else.

  2. 2)  Well, there is, but holding it together is a big deal. You have to keep the process moving, and The biggest challenges were dealing with – well, the first biggest challenge was dealing with this space, because we had kind of conceptualized it as OK, we'll have audience on either side and we'll have this kind of ramp in the middle, but when we actually got in the space, I realized oh, the performers have to keep moving so that the audience can be – on either side – can be included, and that was really challenging. It was challenging for them to ultimately get that and I think that when we finally got an audience here they realized oh yes well I have to share this to everyone who is in the space. So, I'm really happy with how that worked out. Everybody's doing that really beautifully, including the audience in, so it's not this hermetically sealed little thing that's happening, but it's a shared event, and because the audience is on either side, the audiences are kind of witness to this ritual that's being enacted, but at the same time members of the congregation as well as people who've paid for tickets to come and see the show. The role of the audience is multilayered also, and that happened – you know – it's not like oh yes, this is what we'll do, that is what it evolved.

  3. 3)  It always takes me a while to get into the material, even though I may have had it months in advance. It takes me a while listening to the performers, watching the performers to kind of really sync into the material itself. One of the really special things for me was to get Talya into the show. She's been a student of mine in Stagecraft, which I teach at Laney, and has been in the theater department there and I'd seen her performance and I thought well, you know, I wonder if Talya would do this or if she could do it. So she was up for the challenge and jumped right in and right away was real present with everything, and early on in the rehearsals I was all over her, you know, I was on her back the entire time and then, at a certain point I just let go and let her figure it out for herself, and that was a really beautiful thing. The other thing that was really great for me was that Erling had always seen Travis and Kerry in the show – he saw Kerry as God and Travis as the kids originally – and it was really wonderful to work with them. I had worked with Kerry once before a long time ago and to have them in the show was – to have so much movement in it – and Kerry and Travis both did a great job with that and encouraging everybody else to move. Bob's already a mover. Talya was hesitant at first, but now she has kind of totally jumped into it, although today on the way over she was complaining that her legs hurt, but whatever.
  1. 4)   So, one of the other things that's special for me is that it's a total piece,
    in that there's movement and dance and acting and language and spoken language, singing, music, but they're not separated out, it's not like OK here's the dance number or here's the acting, here's the scene, or we're going to have the pianos play the thing, it's a total thing and I really like that.

  2. 5)  I didn't have to do that. They did that for themselves, and at some point everything kind of clicked and I think that – cause we didn't have everybody early on in all the rehearsals so that was kind of a struggle – what can we focus on in rehearsal, so we had a number of rehearsals with a few people and we were able to do a little bit here and there, but once we got into the space and people's schedules kind of opened up a little bit more we were able to sketch the whole piece out eventually, and the first run through we had was really terrifying. It was kind of like – nobody could – it wasn't that it was a total mess because we actually got through it, but it takes everybody, and not just these guys, but any performer a while to get the piece in their bodies, and so that when we had our first run, it was not in everybody's body yet, but now it's totally in their bodies. It's a felt piece all the way through. There's a lot of tactileness about it, a lot of touching, a lot of detail that – and people are still discovering moments, and those moments kind of shift and change from night to night also, or those discoveries change from night to night.

  3. 6)  And it was also, it was the closest – the first thing I worked on with Erling was A Little Girl Dreams of Taking the Veil, and at that point I'd never done opera, I mean I don't know music, I can't read music, he had never produced anything and somebody, a guy named Miguel Frasconi got the two of us together and we talked about it and looked at the material for about a year and got some collaborators together, but at that point I had no idea how to work with singers, not that I know how to work with singers now, although I have a little more experience with it, but I made sure that I had two actors in the show that I knew could – whose work I knew and I knew that they were movement oriented and I knew that they could anchor the piece for me if I couldn't figure out what to do with the singers, but it turned out that everybody was totally open to moving and that piece was similar to this, it was a very small space, a multilayered set in that, a multileveled set, the orchestra was inside the performance and the areas of performance were very small, somewhat similar to this and the entire performance was almost on top of the audience, so – and that was just a wonderful experience for me, it kind of – kind of moved through that one, and this one is equally as a surprise and equally as engaging for the audience and equally in the audience's face, but the thing that blows me away, and I just wait for it every night, is the final blackout, because its – people don't applaud, and all they hear in the black is Talya breathing and it takes a while for them to come out of a moment of being stunned, and that's really amazing. It doesn't happen every night, but most nights it does.

  4. 7)  Well, they were the two actors this time, and Kerry and Travis were the two dancers, and Laura and Jo were the two singers, but they all come together. Everyone has their own expertise but it's a total thing, right Kerry? - yes – it's a total thing, I mean everybody is everybody, you know, in the show, I mean, everybody is engaged in this event, in this thing, and it's – every night is special, every has its own strengths and challenges and mistakes and discoveries.

  5. 8)   Right, right, and I think he whipped off the libretto pretty quickly and when he first gave it to me, didn't have the Proem, the introduction, and kind of a month or two into the process, he said, oh, Paul Dresher asked him to write something about what inspired the piece, so he wrote this thing that was for a grant and I said this is great, let's put it in the opera, so we put that in as an introduction. In a lot of the stuff that I've worked on with him there's been a narrator and there's been kind of an introduction to the material, so wasn't kind of unknown to us, but it really sets - I think the original libretto was more focussed on God and LaShaun, and having the introduction there brings Erling more into the piece, and then at a rehearsals, I think over at 210 we just kind of – we didn't have everybody there and I just pushed Erling into the show and he stayed in the show.

  6. 9)  So, I think that was challenging but it was also I think really good for the piece because it's so personal, and to actually see the composer there as part of it, kind of being challenged by the action which he's set up is – I think is good theater, although some people it wasn't but, I did, I thought it was good theater. I continue to think that.

  7. 10)  These guys are just stunning. I mean it, it just is really – I – opening night I took one note, and that was to the lighting designer Clyde, that the opening cue just needs to go slower, and after that I was totally engaged in what was going on, and I did not want to put a critical hat on, although I realized afterwards that there were a number of notes that were in my head that I did give people, but it's so wonderful to experience the piece every night. I just go to the dressing room, have a glass of wine, you know, hobnob with the people and then come out and get into this, you know it's a privilege to get to see what these guys do every night, it's stunning, and it's not me, it's not about me, it's about how these guys work, how they've embraced the work, how they've embraced the piece, how they've embraced the music, and discovered what they discover, and it's a privilege to be part of that, and I like that. I like that, I like that role.
  1. 11)  Never again, fuck it with opera, no more fucking operas. No, I'll probably work with Erling again. 

  2. 12)  A lot of it was at the beginning was really hard to get started because the material was challenging, the language was challenging, the subject matter was challenging, and a little intimidating, and there was a point in the process where I kept saying – kind of skirting the killing scene and then finally said we've gotta – It's a big piece, it's like 12 or 13 minutes along – I think we'd better address it and I had no clue how to go about it, and Kerry said – we listened to it – Kerry said I have some visual ideas and then she laid the whole thing out and it was – you know it's only changed in a minor way since then. It's been tightened and shaped and focussed more, but you know that's all Kerry, as well a lot of stuff is all – you know – Kerry kind of taking the lead with a visual idea and then everybody then jumping 

  3. 13)  Yeah, Jo, I had worked with Jo before in the first opera The Little Girl Dreams of Taking the Veil and in that piece too he was just totally, just jumped right in and there was no attitude about anything. He was singing, but he was as much an actor as he was a singer, and a mover, really delightful to work with, as was Laura, so – they were wonderful. I have no complaints. Yeah, and no weird tension between people either, none of that is happening, which is really a relief, and I guess in most of Erling's things, I haven't really kind of come across a lot of tension between people, everyone seems to be very engaged in the material, and musically its challenging, so they have to really stay focussed, so – and I think that in this piece the degree of focus is wonderful, phenomenal, so it's great to see that, and then no private moments, everybody's just hanging out there the whole time.

  4. 14)  No, not really, no. I didn't visualize it, I didn't pay attention to it. The pianos are here, oh well, that's a new thing, the pianos – oh the stage is here, well that's new, well I guess we have to start working with that now. It didn't throw my off at all. I at first was a little concerned that the pianos could be very strong, but these guys are very sensitive to kind of modulating to the needs of the performers here and of the space, so you know everybody adapted. It's just a real, it's an organism, it's a thing, it's an entity.

  5. 15)  I was doing a show over at the Intersection which is over at the Chronicle building and the tech guy over there, Alejandro, had mentioned to me that this space had been renovated, and so I thought that – because we were looking for a space – and the space is really important, because its an essential part of what the experience is going to be, and so we got over here and it turned out that Tony Kelly, who I had worked with or worked in his space before at the Thick House, was programming half of the year here and we talked to Tony and he was totally up for it and liked Erling's work and my work and so coming here was really interesting, and not only the space itself, which I like and which I think works really well for this, but the neighborhood, and I thought the neighborhood was going to be really dicey, you know 6th street has always been one of the worst streets in San Francisco, and I feel so comfortable on this street, although the other day I was in the alley and you know there was a fight happening right in front of me, but I just skirted around it, but I feel like this piece and the neighborhood, there's some kind of thing, it kind of vibrates between the two of them that's really interesting, that's special, so let's say this piece were to move to Artaud or move to the Magic or move to one of those more traditional spaces, for me it would lose the character of the neighborhood which kind of – it's full of people like LaShaun, you know, maybe not as extreme as her situation, but people who are down and out, schizophrenics, people out on the streets with all different kinds of illnesses and that don't have a buck in their pocket, so I think it would be curious to talk to some of the audience members how coming through into this neighborhood and then seeing this piece has impacted their experience of this piece. Sometimes things just kind of come together in this perfect storm and it think it worked well for this piece, even the drips and the leaks.

  6. 16)  We got it at a really good price and we didn't use all of that time, but it was nice to know that it was here and we didn't have to set up the stage every time and break it down, so it was nice to kind of own it for a while. I think that really helps a piece. You done with me?
Jo
  1. 1)  Well, sorta. The bug got – I got bit in D.C. I was singing but I didn't know how to sing. Well, I got lucky, I got a teacher, I came across a teacher who was amazing. Well, it depends on what you mean by study. Where did I have my most effective studies? It was a private teacher named Salvatore DAura. Yeah, I went to the conservatory and I went to Catholic university.

  2. 2)  The story is about this girl and she supposedly has voices in her that told her to put her sons into the Bay, and in this show there are many voices, one of which is God, who she said told her to do this, and God has many voices, God is in her head, God is in Erling's head, God speaks to our religious place and we can't test who or what that is, and I'm trying to put together some semblance of a God that has no answers.

  3. 3)  Yeah, no. God normally is a bass, I'm a baritone, with good low notes, but God is never the tenor, let's be clear about this, God never is and never will be a tenor. The devil sometimes is a tenor, but I'm the instigator. We don't know if LaShaun actually spoke to God, we don't know if she was crazy, because we really don't know does God really exist, and I guess that's what I wanted to illustrate, that we don't know. God could exist, she may be crazy, and in the end I want to give folks a little bit - maybe he's there, maybe he's not, maybe he's a figment, maybe he's real, let the folks at the end decide.

  4. 4)  I tell you, it's difficult to know what the show is from a perspective, from the audience out, because our relationships have been so intimate during the process of creating this thing. All we can do is search a truth, and embody that truth in our relationships onstage, and I love playing with truth, I love playing with, like I was telling you about how my mom was neither – she told me she was neither Republican nor Democrat. She's a radical, because she really wanted to get to the root of things, the truth of things, and this has sort of molded who I am, and every night we're finding new truths, and it changes from night to night, and it changes from night to night, you won't find the same show from night to night because the relationship morphs, it breathes, and we find different things, and that's what I really love, continually discovery going throughout the show.

  5. 5)  Well there are vocal things. In a traditional opera, they generally ask you to sing full resonance, full voice throughout to between 500 and 3000 people. This is an intimate setting, that's not necessary, but with that you have a wider range of available sounds that you can pick and choose from, and you have to find a way to do those well, to do those effectively from the very gentle soft passages to the very large magnanimous gestures that come upon and flow into the ether, and so I had to make those decisions, I had to make those choices, just how to sound, what kind of sound to use and the you know very small things that happen within the framework of what we're doing, but they're little teeny tiny choices that add up to what kind of character has been created, and it's in a different world than a general opera, and trying to make those decisions is – and then there's Erling. Erling has a tape that shows us the notes and see he's sings himself and he's singing boopeeboopeeboopee all the time and you think that's how he wants it, and then you learn it that way and he says no, that's just the way that I sing it, , so yeah, figuring out.

  6. 6)  You know, we had a really special, special ensemble. You know I asked Jim how did he find us, how did he find each, you know because it's not just what we do, it's these people that are doing it, and we started out as a workshop but during that workshop it was all about sort of creating trust and creating relationships between us so that ultimately we could be with each other intimately on stage, and I think that was critical, and you have to get the right folks to be able to do that, and these are such – you know they wear their hearts up their sleeves, they're so dedicated, you know Talya's backstage beforehand and her focus is – it's Zen-like, it can't be – I don't speak to her five minutes before the show because she is so locked in, and when we get on stage all of that blossoms out. You know we have little mini communications between the two of us that I have no idea if anybody sees, and that's not really significant except for the fact that it helps us find a truth for that moment, and that's a rare thing. It's you know – somebody came backstage and pointed that out and noted how that's a difficult thing, well it's very easy if you've got the right folks in the right set of circumstances, but creating all of that to come to a head is rare, and I'm very privileged to just sort of live in all of that. Good folks, we got good folks. That counts for a lot.

  7. 7) We did A Little Girl Dreams of Taking the Veil, an equally bizarre piece of music – Erling! - where does he come up with this. You're a sick man, you know this, don't you? A Little Girl Dreams of Taking the Veil, how do you even think in a direction that would say I'm going to do a story about a little girl trying to become a nun based on a book going on a hundred years old? What's the matter with you? And then the next thing you write about that I know about is another little girl. Another little girl, by the way, I'm not gonna say nuttin', but another little girl. Killing her kids. You could of done a story about Britney Spears, there's plenty of material there, but no – you're a sick man – I love it. I love it. Cause you embrace all of your – I say that everybody has a cross to bear and you just embrace all of your crosses. Most people run away from them. It's just bringing the internal to the external Most folks don't want to do that. Most people do think it's kind of sick – what's the word you used – to think about things that everybody thinks about I don't know that they think about it, I know that it lives for them, it's present for them, but this is the kind of stuff we don't want to think about. I mean when you hear a story throws three kids into the Bay, what's your initial response – fucking people are crazy, and then you move on, you define, classify to make it easy for you, and you move away from it as fast as possible. Which is so easy to do, to write them off I think it is bad to dismiss it...
Kerry
  1. 1)  [I was like] Genghis Khan or something, I don't know. How would they know if he had that? ... Maybe I'll save it for later. ... During the sex scene I'll get it on my butt, that'll be nice. ... You're recording, so no more funny faces. ...

  2. 2)  No, my mom always said that my face would totally freeze that way if I kept on doing it. She's kind of right. ... Knock on wood. ... OK ...

  3. 3)  Travis, what are my responsibilities? Well, I'm a performer and choreographer. ... Why did you ask? ... Do you know anything that I don't know? What are my responsibilities? ... Yeah, it's been a great great group, love working with Erling and Jim and yeah. I have no complaints, except for it's ending tonight. I'm very sad about it. It's going to be hard to leave this process. In a process such as this, everyone gets so close that in the end for me it really is like a divorce, or your parents being split. I get that postpartum depression sort of thing for a while. You know, a lot of performers get that, but I think especially in a project such as this where we really do get to a point where we have to trust each other so – I don't know – intimately.

  4. 4)  Yeah, I mean it's been a very open giving group, and it's just a – everyone is so professional. It's been a very rich experience, and the fact that from the very first day everyone really did – we could tell it was going to be a good group, we were going to trust each other immediately, we were going to love each other immediately, from the first exercises that we did with each other. It's a special group.

  5. 5)  A lot of challenges, I mean it was very hard subject matter that I did not want to take on. When Erling and Jim contacted me and Travis about two years ago I think it was, Erling was writing this opera and he told us what it was going to be about and my heart just sunk cause I don't want to take this one on, I just really didn't. I remember hearing about it, I remember being really really upset by it. I teach preschoolers, I have to pass that pier weekly to go teach my preschoolers, and it's – even when it just happened, having to pass that pier was a difficult thing for me, and just trying to understand why – how something like this could happen. I still don't have any answers. How could I have any answers for her, but I have compassion. I think we all – you know – learned a bit of compassion for her situation and situations such as this. I think we have had a lot of respect for people involved – that I really appreciated from all the performers, that everyone had an amount of reverence and respect for this. That helped it, helped it to be a little bit easier for me. I guess that was a huge challenge and I'm glad I didn't run away from it, but every time Jim said tomorrow we're going to work on the killing scene, and I'd think no no no no no not yet I'm not ready not yet, and I'd get to rehearsal and be so nervous and then it wouldn't happen and it was like – it started becoming torturous, it's like I'd get myself into this state of now we're going to do the killing scene and then it would happen and then maybe tomorrow, so yeah I did not want to deal with the killing scene.
  1. 6)  Yeah, maybe he kept on pushing it off. ... It was one of those things that kind of happened somewhat organically, I mean it was really good to get together with Jim and Erling and talk about different scenes and ideas for different scenes, but that was one that we kind of kept on pushing off, but when the ideas came it seemed so natural, I almost felt like why was I having such a problem with this, but I think there were particular scenes that because of their - because of what they were they were difficult and it took us working on something else that would inform the next thing to come. In a lot of ways I think that there was you know we had created information that made what that was to be so apparent, whereas even the day before I was like gaaaah I have no ideas here, but I was very glad when they came. And it worked.

  2. 7)  Ah. ... Yeah I'm always happy when I get my Travis. We've had a couple of – quite a few years together actually. We met in 2005 and he was my hydraulic system, my forklift. The first day he lifted me I thought aaaaah I've died and gone to heaven. This man is so strong, and knows me so well already. I love working with him. I'm starting to tear up. Makeup!

  3. 8)  No, this was my first opera. I've worked on a couple of dance theater sort of theatrical pieces where they wanted more dance involved – music theater, things like that, but never an opera, so this was an exciting experience, and it was kind of nice, when I tell friends they're like we didn't know you sang and I'm like I don't, and it was kind of nice to say yes, I'm in an opera. And I love Erling's work. I love his mind. He comes up with his – so very Erling. No one like him. It's been wonderful working with his words and his music.

  4. 9)  Yeah, we all have come from different religious upbringings and it was very interesting to talk about the differences and some similarities and how that kind of connected what we did. Maybe that's not the right word. This is where you are going to have to a long cut, splice, the word I'm looking for is. Yeah, sorry. Ah see, I told you there were questions you should not ask me, and that's one of them, and you just asked it anyway, didn't ya? You're pretty proud of yourself, aren't ya? I came from a Mormon background so – little different. We still think we're Christians too. A lot of people don't know that about us. See, I don't even know anything about that man , all I think is oh please, do not let him be president. This shouldn't be in there either. Was he swearing? Well, some of the people that I love the most are Mormons.

  5. 10)  But, yeah, it was very interesting talking about our different religious backgrounds and how it affected what we were doing and gave us information – it gave me a lot of information for a lot of the movement – having to dance in front of my mother's relief society group of women came back, those liturgical sort of dance things. Where I grew up? I grew up mostly in Utah where a lot of – yeah. Did know him, sorry.

  6. 11)  Well, um, he basically had most of it by the time we were coming in for rehearsal. Before I even listened to the music I went through the script and just read it and wrote down ideas and then I'd go through the script while listening to the music, and most of those got thrown right out the window – some of it stuck, but it gave me information to play with, but a lot of it actually did come from seeing what was happening with the group, where we were going. Without that information I'm not really one that can really just choreograph some stuff and say here, do this: 5 6 7 8. A lot of it was very organic, how it was coming about. Yes, I had some ideas, or some visual pictures – I often see visual pictures and try to create that, but from the information I had gained from the script, the feeling of the music and the people – all of us working together kind of – that's the thing that made things happen I guess.

  7. 12)  The people that are in the work. Really, just – I feel a special connection with them all. Like I say I'm going to go through a postpartum depression – sorry I just patted that – but it's going to be hard to let these people go and I hope to work with them all again in some way, shape or form, I really do, because they're all so incredibly giving, talented, amazing people.
Laura
  1. 1)  I'm playing the voice – well, it's more than the voice – I'm playing an aspect of LaShaun Harris – which is up for interpretation really. My interpretation is that in one way I'm a physical amalgam of Erling and LaShaun, also physically because she's a woman and he's white, and his language that I sing is a lot more heightened, also sort of operatic, and also the singing itself is so stylized, it's not really the sort of pedestrian speech that Talya uses, so I'm in part of her essence and the way I see it is I'm the part that's one with the divine. I hear the voice of God – I'm the part that hears the voice of God and that has those sort of ecstatic union moments which ultimately plays out in that long scene of dropping the babies into the bay, which is played really with a lot of serenity and like – I play it extremely so because to me she is in a trance state in that moment, and she's just completely following this strong tie to the divine, so I'm sort of the madness in its lucidity, and I go through phases in it where I'm the madness in it, the filthiness, and I think that she has to – in my own interpretation – she resolves – she cleanses herself of that filthiness by acting out what God tells her to do. That make sense?

  2. 2)  The process was extremely difficult for me because I don't take it lightly to play a real person who is still alive – and this happened really recently. It's not a mythical character, it's not the story of a character, it's not somebody who died 50 or 100 years ago even, somebody whose alive, so I had a lot of questions of like why are we actually doing this, and not wanting to play at madness, but really to explore it, became sort of destructive in a way and then I found my own boundary for it, so I think that was a really powerful part of this process was going within myself through movement and through the text and through my imagination into for instance that state of feeling like bugs are crawling on you and you're filthy and your crazy out of control and then finding – like feeling it all the way so far that I actually got sick, got a cold I think because I let myself open up, and I'm very open, and then I got overtired, but that was really you know just part of this process, you know, and then I found I can't go that far every time, but you go that far and then you find what it is and then you find how to animate it physically and vocally and then there's the way to bring it to life without endangering your own mental health. So that was a good challenge for me in this process, and I think because it's a real live person I treated this sickness as honestly as I could, however I also feel that my role in the act of doing the show is very different from Talya because as a singer I have to always have a level of distance from the emotion because you have to be able to – it's like being a puppeteer – you have to be able to operate the instrument and to get those sends that are so full of emotion I have to step back to be able to operate my voice, so it's really a great experience to play something that's so charged with emotion and find the line of it where I could let the emotion fill the singing, like fill it, make even more color and more emotion come through the singing rather than emotion overwhelming my instrument so I would choke up or get runny nose or not be able to breathe fully, and that's the art of singing opera. That make sense? Yeah.

  3. 3)  Good ... thank you ... thank you ... < long question > Well, I have a lot of dance movement background, so I wanted to move more than I ended up moving, but I think it all – we all did our strengths, we all had our moments for our strengths, our real strengths, and then we had our moments for the bridging between the genres, so that was good, and it was really great to feel Talya drop into it and be comfortable with the singing, and to sing with her was like really – she's such an honest performer and an honest singer – it's like a different kind of singing, you know it's just sort of – and also the singing we did was very childlike, so that was really – it was great to mix those kinds of singing.

  4. 4)  Just once – yeah – but we're actually really close friends. We just worked that one on Sub Pontio Pilato – actually my first professional opera – in 2003 – and it was a great experience and then he and I became like really close friends so he's come to visit me in Rome and Amsterdam and New York and Seattle so it was really great to get to make something with him again, something also so powerful, you know, what a special thing that my good friend is a composer who writes – and then we rewrote that whole long killing scene to my liking. because he had written it really on one pitch and it was – would have just strangled any singer, so we wrote the line so they had more modulation and more depth and more height, so much melodic and I think satisfying piece, so that's the best thing about working with living composers, is that you can rewrite things to suit you. ... Yeah.
  1. 5)  I could but there's another way I can answer the most important thing, but just like I think I can also say an extension of the challenge, not just the madness, for me this piece was in a step in my own personal evolution of being a channel for whatever, for the music, and for the story. Cause I think that's what I do, that's what I want to do, so – especially having this space and the spaciousness of that huge scene, and the buildup before it of course, so that the audience knew where we were and I could take them on a journey, and I can just step out of the way and let the music speak through me. That was a great part of this, you know, getting out of the way and letting the sound come through, and I think that because of the sacredness of the whole thing, the audience was really rapt, and the space is so small, there's this intimate feeling and I was able to experience that sense of being one with everyone in the room, which is rare, which is especially rare in a big theater where you just see bright lights.

  2. 6)  Yeah. ... Yeah ... way. Because I had way more say. I staged that whole piece myself, and yeah, I just like having more of a creative input than what usual standard opera would allow. ... It was extremely collaborative.

  3. 7)  sssss – my next performance is in Berlin. I'm going to perform this – the Baroque opera L'incoronazione di Poppea by Monteverdi in collaboration with a breakdancing company called Ish so the piece is called Monteverdish, and we already toured it last Fall but we're going to perform it in Berlin in April, so I'm going to fly out there for that and do some auditioning, and then come back here to stage another one- woman opera about – called Not Medea based on Medea, another woman who kills her children. I can't do it. I need a break. Now I'm going to go play a bloodthirsty ruthless emperor Nero – that's much more easy – not a baby-killing mother. I don't think I could do this after I have children. ... Hamlet the opera by a woman.

  4. 8)  It's extremely long and there's not a lot of action so they way we did it is way better, because there's a lot of action, and I dance, I really dance. I just always trained in dance. ... Erling Wold, my dear friend. You did great tonight. Um yeah You really did, you really did. It was interesting being in the middle of it all. You sexy beast. I know, look at her. Erling's angels. So shall we go party? I want to. Are you coming?
Talya
  1. 1)  I played a 23 year old woman who was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and she had a mental illness, and I was like the main actor. ... It was, I remember when Jim first – he showed me the script and he wanted me to work on this project, and I'm like, you believe in me that much to take on this role, with only seeing me in a few shows, you know, I was kind of happy then again I was kind of afraid of taking it on because I never did a part that was so challenging, and still being a fresh artist, I thought that was an honor for him to do that.

  2. 2)  I guess so. With the help of my cast – I love these people so much they just don't know. I think with them by my side and helping me along the way it gave me a boost, and for them to believe in my and to have faith, and a 22 year old who likes to party and do all these things – I'm very grateful and thankful for them(?) you bet(?)

  3. 3)  Yeah, I do a little bit of singing, yeah I mean I sometimes say I'm not a singer but you know people would be like you crazy girl you are a singer, but I say I act like I'm singing since I – which is kind of weird, but I do sing a little bit.

  4. 4)  Yes, she was like a big sister in this whole process along with Kerry, you know they just support me whatever I choose to do, whatever I'm being angry about not trying to do – I don't know if that makes sense – I just got a lot of support. If I needed help with a note, Laura was there. If I needed help with movement, Kerry was there. I just felt love all the way around.

  5. 5)  I felt when I first met everybody, I felt kind of intimidated by everybody because you know they have their degrees and you know they've been around, they're older than me and I'm like – OK, so why am I here, you know? But it's the process and I think that I've grown from it and I'm very grateful.

  6. 6)  My biggest challenge was becoming LaShaun in my own – you know, in my – being my own individual as well, but I got help because you know one of my family members – he is actually a schizophrenic and it's kind of sad to see people who've been diagnosed with this mental illness that is – it's very like – it hurts my heart, and I love my uncle so much, and every time I see him I just stare at him because it's just so hard to look at him and see him talk to himself or say – or him talking to me about things that seem kind of off sometimes or – and then him just wanting to be his own individual cause I see him fighting for his real self, who he used to be, and not who he is now and it's very scary, it's very – I don't know what to say – I mean – but I think that this whole show just gave me a new perspective on how to look at this, and how things are, and...
  1. 7)  uuuuuuuh

  2. 8)  Yeah, um, I was taking his stagecraft class and we met through there, and he was just always the coolest
    person that you could mess around with and joke around with and I started calling him grandpa and then from there we just started a relationship, and he's just – he's very down to earth, very intelligent, smart man to talk to, to be around, and I just love his company.

  3. 9)  Yeah I'm surprised. I'm really like – I don't know – I'm – sometimes I have a hard time like giving my all to something and what I mean by that is like sometimes I don't believe in myself and I think a lot of people don't know that about me. I don't believe in myself at all sometimes and I think it hurts me a lot with things I want to do, or with things I'm trying to do, and just to see an individual is saying she has potential, she looks good, I think she could do this part, she can do this, she can do that, I think that was very inspiring, and he just makes me want to do more and more and more.
Travis
  1. 1)  I'm one of the performers, predominantly in dance, and I get to sing a smidge, and say some spoken word a smidge, but mainly dance.

  2. 2)  I'm one of the performers. I'm a dancer-performer in this piece, a little bit of spoken word, a little bit of singing, but a lot of hurling around, rolling around, dripping off of things, lifting things up, hurling people through the air, and all sorts of other fun antics that help support the piece. It's fun for me to do – I realize the subject matter is pretty serious.

  3. 3)  Yeah, I feel like I'm an extension of God and God's will acting upon LaShaun and what he's asking her commit, but I also become one of her children who is being acted up, at times I feel like I weave in and out of those different roles.

  4. 4)  Yeah, we have some really rock star folks who can either sing things or say things and I think I was a little more outmerited there, and I think if it's not broke, don't fix it. ... I try ... Yes, very used to working with Kerry. ... We have. We have fun on stage. Yes, we've had full on wrestling matches on stage with spoken word ourself, so this is familiar territory for both she and I. 

Sunday, May 17, 2015

Recently flowers of roses were given by the Pope

Back in Firenze, my mind drifts, and my thoughts are filled with The Dome, that of Santa Maria del Fiore, invisible from where the Empress and I are staying, but last year ever-present, sometimes inviting, sometimes forbidding, yet always breathtaking. I loved when a visitor, invited in, would talk and walk and suddenly be stopped dead at our breakfast table exclaiming what?! or, on occasion, holy Jesus fuck.

Consecrated on the 25th of March 1436 by Pope Eugenius IV, who presented (as popes do quite often - did you know?) a mystical and rare rose of gold, representing satiety, joy and love, and even I would think that one can never have enough joy or love, popes have different opinions, and they are known to concern themselves with all sorts of limitations, eschewing the modern dictum of do what thou willst being the whole of religious law. But that rose also represented the rod of Jesse falling on his foot and the fruit bearing forth and, along with the lion lying with the lamb, and the child leading them all.

So now, let's have another gelato, and while we do, let us listen to the work that accompanied the consecration of that Cathedral, titled by the act of the rose recently given, written by Dufay:

It's a incredibly well-structured piece, and thrilling to music theorists and historians and intuitionists alike. Historians as it sits at the inflection point between the isorhythmic style that preceded and the freer polyphony that followed; theorists as it is chock full of rhythmic devices, including the 6:4:2:3 integrally changing mensuration, not quite diminishing; intuitionists as the work is immensely satisfying as it accelerates to its pretty end. It's hard to imagine that, with such a powerful and affecting work, Mr. Dufay didn't find the pope, or at least one or two of the members of the choir, deigning to consecrate him, like the cathedral, by their sacred hands and holy liquors, this being the reason we composers do what we do. 

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Magical Thinking

There is no logical line of reasoning which would lead one to choose a career in the arts. It is a hopeless endeavor, guaranteeing only such anxiety, ridicule, disfavor and failure as to bring one to an early death. Even worse is to have additionally ordered, out of the menu of life's idiocies, a soupçon of great expectations sprinkled over top, as these will lend even a bitterer taste, that of a bright future tragically unmet. Yet every day, we see bags of newly-minted and fresh-faced young folks unloaded off the trucks arriving in the Big Art City, fresh from the farm, dreaming of the stardom that they so deserve and so clearly must achieve that they can hear its metallic clang ringing just off in the distance.

We feel the specialness of us in ourselves, we understand that we are the ones who will be chosen, if we just believe, if we just work hard, if we just climb hand over hand without stopping nor questioning. Studiousness and perseverance are our tools, and we set our faces determinedly toward the sun. But, someday, we will have to scratch the sparkling silver foil from off the lottery ticket, and see revealed all the possibilities left unfulfilled: two out of three liberty bells, mismatched dollar amounts, a not-quite diagonal bingo line. We try to get back to the 7-Eleven® to buy another, but they are there no longer, replaced long ago by a Chinese restaurant now out of business, fortune cookies crumbling on the sidewalk, their enclosed slips of paper blown away or so faded they can no longer be read.

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

A day out

I say, let's play a game. I'll be your daddy and you will be the prodigal son, the one I sent away when he came out, singing and dancing and tying his shirts at the midriff.  But now you have come back, and now that I see you all grown up, I'm beginning to have feelings I've never had before, even tinglings. Oh gosh, shall we really say that? Ting-a-lings? And why not, fuck it, when I see what a man you've become, just like our Lord compleat in all parts a man, born of a woman, but now one big manly man.

A tenor friend once told me a story: heading into a gay establishment on the outskirts of the big Texas city, who should he see but his own father sitting at the bar, who turned to see him there and who then simply said we will never speak of this.

My wife, the Empress of all things beautiful, so much a woman, and my woman when she allows herself to be, tells me every day how much action I would get if I simply came out, and I suppose she means first to myself, finding that truth like the love that dare not say whatever, and I too could find how natural it can be "when the elder man has intellect, and the younger man has all the joy, hope and glamour of life before him," and the two meet in that closeness that can be no closer, one to another and again and again.

So come now and sit on my lap and cuddle up. Maybe after we'll go fishing or play ball or the other things that fathers and sons do. But first the loving. First the consensual torture. First the slippery slope, unabridged.

In porn, there are simple rules. If someone is seen on camera, they are going to fuck or be fucked by something, and if two people are seen together in a room, or out by the pool, or in a school or examining room or boxing ring or shoe store or malt shop, or when the pizza is delivered by someone who is cut like diamond, they are going to fuck each other, and here I use the word fuck in the sense that my wife uses it, the broadest sense, that is something that you do that you may not want to tell your wife or boyfriend about if they the singular they are not excessively broadminded, and may include such as nipple pinching and a rubbing of a clothéd crotch and slapping so hard across the face that their hair flies and they laugh out loud, slapping you back and you both fall over into each other's arms and the kissing begins.

Back here now. Slip off your shirt, and I will put my hand on your toned chest, and then undo your pants and I will sit you astride me, looking into my eyes while I look into yours, and I notice the moistness of your lips and the touch of your beard on my face, and let me live with you here for always in a sphere of copper and gold that holds against all the world.


Saturday, April 4, 2015

Truth

Duncan and Nikola as Pushkin and Stalin.
Photo by Lynne Rutter.
The truer version of the hoary quote of Camus is that fiction is a lie through which we tell a lie, and the world loves fiction for exactly that. The illusion of artistic truth, that somehow the artist has a special insight into life, that her characters and settings and narratives are somehow more real than real, and are clear and cogent keys that she manipulates to elucidate the real world, is simply baloney. In truth, her characters and settings are false, her plots calculated, and the best and most successful fiction, by design, bears only the most superficial resemblance to reality.

Audiences want to believe that the world and their lives are something like the artistic version of truth, i.e. a book or movie or play or opera featuring a compelling and compressed narrative. A clear line is by its nature unlike real life, which has no plot and which offers no cathartic tears nor laughter. People prefer the shined-up shit, the perfect take, the tuned vocals, the edited scene, the crafted page and the polished bronze, and in a modern age where something close to perfection is possible, those arts that can best make use of it - the phono-recordings and the talking pictures - have risen in stature, and those arts which do not allow such a glossy overcoating to adhere have found themselves both troubled and troublesome.

John Cage once said: "In the immediate present we don't love; life is too much with us. We lust, wilt, snort, swallow, gobble, hustle, nuzzle, etc. Later, memory flashes images swathed in nostalgia and yearning. We call that Love." This is the heart of the problem. If two people fall in love in front of you, do you feel their love? If someone kills another in front of you, do you feel the anguish? No, it is only in the lie, the untrue version of the experience assembled by me the artist after, the fiction, using all my craft and charm and artifice, that the average audience finds the connection.

When an artist desires to assemble a truly live performance, a performance happening in a real space with real actors in real time, pressuring real sound waves formed in space by real sounding bodies, not unduly amplified, diffusing real light reflecting off real objects in motion, unmediated by projections of prepared imagery, and not allowing for cuts and retakes and careful reconstruction, she finds herself facing a fork in the road.

To the left, she sees fiction and its seductive clarity of narrative, a lie that lies about its connection to reality, but, even though that way lies easy success and an easily beguilement of the audience, she will find herself able to achieve something only less than perfect, an illusion never complete, the spit of the actors brushing past one's cheek and the sound of the ropes changing the backdrops allowing too much real reality to seep in past the barriers erected around her created world. It is an uncomfortable place, a step too close to the truth to be truly believed. She can try, as many do, to build up the barricades, to caulk the seams, to add more lights and brighter costumes, or to fall off the path of true performance completely, to reduce actors and dancers to automatons in a carefully constructed world of computer-controlled photons and phonons.

However, if she follows the less-traveled road, she will find there a bright welcoming light. Here the performance is simply a real experience, performers and audience experiencing a world together as it happens, with some showing off their abilities to sound and move with grace.

When the Empress and I were in Barcelona a number of years back, and we stumbled out of a Greek restaurant after the second complimentary ouzo handed to us by the laughing and singing waiter, and I started drunk-dialing my female friends back in the States to flirt and confess my love, Lynne wandered off to find one more thing to drink, and was waved in by a flamenco bar which was closed but not completely closed, and found herself with an overfull glass, in a circle of men passing the guitar one to another, an example of true performance, no fiction, real and present.

But is such immediacy the only possibility? Can one not use any of one's skills to organize or to compose if one wants to provide a true experience? I think so. Like the Pushkin / Kharms character of UKSUS (as played by Duncan Wold above), I am interested in nonsense. The best parts of UKSUS, like the best parts of A Little Girl Dreams of Taking the Veil, are those moments where the audience is at a loss, understanding nothing, but allowing themselves to be carried along. The skill of the creator comes in seducing the audience into a place where their normal requirements and expectations - spoon-fed a narrative and slathered with the fake truths of art - have been set aside. Some watchers find it easier. Some really don't care at all. My son's friends, who come from the comedy world, had no issue with the never-ending non sequiturs, whereas some who loved my previous works, most noticeably Certitude and Joy, had the most trouble letting go. But maybe I was lacking in my ability to seduce them, assuming that my love of incomprehension is shared by all. Or maybe I should have processed through the air vents a mild psychedelic, to give them the softest shove towards the euphoria I know they craved.

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Inscrutability

A few years ago I got it in my head that I wanted to do an opera based on Solaris. I reread the book a few times, a book about the impossibility of connecting with an alien intelligence or, for that matter, even knowing if one is confronting an alien intelligence, as well as the psychic shock of such a confrontation and its attendant uncertainties.

There have been at least three films adapting this book, two better-known versions, one by Andrei Tarkovsky and one by Steven Soderbergh, the latter even more than the former concentrating in its Hollywood way on the romantic relationship between the main character and his deceased wife. Lem himself was skeptical of both these adaptations, writing that "the book was not dedicated to erotic problems of people in outer space." No, the book is about the Solarian ocean, its incomprehensibility and its reaction, possibly intelligent or possibly automatic, like one's skin pushing out a splinter, to the human ants crawling in space above it. As my lovely wife the Empress Rutter has pointed out, films which adapt a book make choices out of the necessity of time, somewhat like operas that adapt a book, but the power of films lies in their reach to the masses, and a film's point of view often becomes the book's point of view, even if the film's point of view has little to do with what the book is about.

I agree with the book - the book unsullied by the movie biz - and its contrarian attitude as to aliens, that they aren't attractive human-like creatures more-or-less like people around us now but wearing less clothing, nor monsters which do not yield to reason nor emotional appeal, but just love to cut through us like knives cutting through cubes of warmed butter ready to be spread on cinnamon toast. I have always been amazed at the naïveté of Voyager's Golden Record, of the SETI project and the Drake equation, of the notion that humans are the pinnacles of evolution, and that supposed scientists fall for this kind of religous thinking, wanting to believe that we are special, that we still are at the center of some aspect of our little universe, that other beings are even beings, that we will all get together on a Sunday afternoon and, after we deal with a few small impediments about their different language, which will be more-or-less like ours but have different words for iPhone and cupcake, they will want to chat with us about mathematics and physics and home economics. In the common scientific world, the Copernican revolution upended only the weakest notion of the religion that came before, the foolishness that we are sitting still while the suns and planets whiz about us, but retaining the foolishness that our particular whims and fancies are at the center of it all anyway.

It's difficult enough to understand the person who sleeps in the same bed with you, or who lives next door, or people that live in another country, those who line up and shoot others who minutely differ from them theologically, and almost impossible to understand people who lived at a different time. All of these people are really quite different from you and me, and you are quite different from me. We try to explain ourselves across this gap, even here in this essay, but the lack of understanding is unbreachable, its nature unknowable. In Certitude and Joy, the chasm between the protagonists, living in the same time and place, is wide, even though one desperately wants the worldview held by the other.

But, like most project ideas, it will probably never happen, and this may be made even more so by my recent discovery that one of my composer friends is also toying with an adaptation of the book, someone who once before informed me that another of my vague projects was being done by someone else, in that case Steven Mackey's Ravenshead, which adapted the Donald Crowhurst story. I suppose I could just do it anyway, and maybe that would be an asshole move, or maybe we could have a mini-festival of Solaris operas, followed by a dance where, late into the drunken and darkened night, we would find ourselves trying to reach that ultimate connection, that miniature death where ego disappears and two or three or more are one.

Thursday, January 29, 2015

UKSUS: a major contemporary writer, neighing

The English language score of UKSUS (by way of the Russian УКСУС) is done and we are now skipping to production at Dance Mission 6-8 March, the first weekend of March that is, and only one weekend of March 2015 AD.  Tickets, which you must purchase, are available at uksus.org.

The music has been expanded since Austria, and more narration added in that gasbag Erling Phd style, taking the hand of, and leading, the audience through the maze of Kharms and the OBERIU, their rise and fall, laughter and death.

Once again I get to work with the incomparable Jim Cave as the director, a thought that even now chills me - Oh I shiver and cry. My wife, the most talented and beautiful Lynne Rutter, is putting together the scenic elements and telling me now what colors I may next paint my nails (black, white, red, with some blue and yellow, primary colors, bright, with occasional occurrence of acid green or bright orange in small amounts acceptable), and Laura Hazlett is costuming us all once again - squee. And I can't forget that Bryan Nies, the glue that held together the revival of Queer and assembled Certitude and Joy, is conducting.

The cast includes my number one son Duncan Wold (thanks to Mission Control); my long-time partner in music and surrogate daughter Laura Bohn; the talented Nikola Printz, who I just saw in Rossini's Italian Girl of Algiers at San Jose, an opera that is bizarre and incomprehensible to someone like me for whom old-fashioned opera is Lulu, Einstein on the Beach and Private Parts; Bob Ernst, who goes way back with Jim and me, having choreographed the knife fight in the original A Little Girl Dreams of Taking the Veil; where you would also have seen Mary Forcade, again here; and Roham Sheikhani, the mute presence in Dieci Giorni.

Now the band, the band, the all-star band. This is maybe where my heart truly lies, most fervently and even with some palpitations, as I wonder, am I really good enough for them? Beth Custer clarinet, Chris Grady trumpet, Joel Davel percussion (drums even), Diana Strong accordion, John Schott guitar, Ela Polak violin, and Lisa Mezzacappa contrabass.

Now, let's hear a story, that of Aleksey Tolstoy:
Olga Forsh went up to Aleksey Tolstoy and did something. Aleksey Tolstoy also did something. At this point Konstantin Fedin and Valentin Stenich leapt outside and got down to looking for a suitable stone. They didn't find a stone but they found a spade. Konstantin Fedin cracked Ol'ga Forsh one across the chops with this spade. Then Aleksey Tolstoy stripped naked and, going out on to the Fontanka, began to neigh like a horse. Everyone said: There goes a major contemporary writer, neighing.

Monday, January 12, 2015

Blake Eckard, Coyotes Kill for Fun

Writing a film soundtrack is difficult for me. It's hard to get into someone else's world so intensely, and we know that music is in fact intense in film. The well-known exercise of repeatedly playing the same silent footage against wildly different musical selections demonstrating the point most clearly, viz., that sound enters at a lower layer in the human software than the visuals, arguing or supporting or twisting or even simply stating clearly here, this is what they are, take them. With such great power comes great anxiety over its misuse, and this anxiety for me has never been pleasant.

However, I have written some of my favorite music when asked to write for film. The Bed You Sleep In is still one of my best-self-loved works after all these years, in large part because I wanted to give Jon what he wanted, and in doing so an aspect of myself was revealed to me. But I still remember the chastening experience when the producer, Henry Rosenthal, shrugged his shoulders upon hearing the soundtrack and said "Well, Jon does like when the music doesn't really relate to the film." You know, while I was writing it I sure thought it did, and after he said it I realized he was right, but after now these many years, he is simply wrong, since the music and the film are just an old married couple, always seen together at their table at the diner on the corner, not necessarily talking, but still there day after day.

I've thought that, given the importance of choosing the right partners in sound and vision, what makes more sense, and what is way better for my apoplexic health, is when the filmmaker either (1) writes the music themselves, or (2) simply takes some music that has already flowed into the channels of their psyche and uses it. Like paper-clips, one might think there is enough shit-tons out there already that you don't need to make any more, but I suppose there's always one more bit of divine harmony left to be mined from the heavenly vein of sound as yet unheard.

And so, I just finished writing some music for another of Blake Eckard's movies, the first being the grim Bubba Moon Face and the current one, his newest even grimmer and more frightening Coyotes Kill for Fun. The fright in this movie is the fear we have when we face a world that doesn't care about us at all, that tells us whether we live nor die is no matter. The sociopathic lead blows through the action leaving many dead, and maybe it is just for fun, or maybe it's just because of nothing at all. And, best for me is that I had to only fill in a few parts, as Blake used mostly existing music of mine, in particular the Second Mordake Suite and In the Stomachs of Fleas (with Pete von Petrin), which both find their way to being a little scarier.

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Against cutesy-ness

Lying in bed last night reading Barry Mazur's When is one thing equal to some other thing?, I came across a throwaway line about the category of sets and how it is like Odette is to Swann and guffawed, and the person in bed with me, checking their Twitter feed and playing Solitaire, said "what?" and I shrugged it off, as one doesn't really want to be caught out laughing at a Proust reference late of the night, especially a Proust reference in an article on categories, since, as the children say, nothing kills a boner faster. But again I had a wistful longing for a proper Jesuit education, an education that really was an education instead of just hanging out in the library kicked out of class because it was so fucking deadly boring and hadn't I already learned it all during discussions at the synagogue and the moose lodge that the teacher took some pity on me and told me to come back later when all the rest were done for some special instructions and to earn the requisite grade of A or maybe even A+ through some extra credit hanky panky later back behind the quonset huts.

But what really irks me in this undereducated world is listening to yet another piece by a fellow composer overwhelmingly attracted to the cutesy and clever and wanting to share their cutesy cleverness with every person in dead-cat-swinging distance. Ah, even as a boy I could not understand the moments in some profound masterwork when suddenly the chicks in their shells start to prance about and one has to run, hoping to vomit one's guts out behind the cold water fountain in the lobby instead of down the neck of the patron a-fronting. And then, even worse, the composer who thinks hey I need some text so why don't I just knock something out here and there, yes, that's as dorky as it can possibly be, since why wouldn't everyone love to share some incredibly twee wordplay, forgetting that, just as the person who defends themself has a fool for a lawyer, the composer who has themself as librettist is most likely going to write a really shitty piece.

When I went on about this with my friend who we will, for the sake of argument, call "Jay", I was painfully aware that I myself have written my own texts but I said, slightly louder than maybe I should have, "who wouldn’t be interested in every little thing that happened to Erling Wold and every  thought that Erling Wold has ever had?"  And I was stewing about all that when I remembered the next piece setting some journal entries about having some coffee and cleaning one's underpants and stuff and I rolled my eyes and said to myself Jesus Lord in Heaven. 

Saturday, October 18, 2014

The Great War


Now, at the 100th anniversary of that conflict, I find myself writing several pieces that connect to it: an opera of sorts on the sinking of the battleship Szent István for the wonderful Klagenfurter Ensemble, my favorite favorites; a longish solo piano work for the fabulously talented Slovenian pianist Davorin Mori that is a series of portraits of anti-war activists from the period; and a commissioned song for Heidi Moss as part of a multi-composer project of Lieder Alive!, in German, a setting of a war poem, Schlacht - Das Maß, a strange work which had even a stranger history after the first world war. So many people love war - absolutely love it - and that period of European and specifically German history at the beginning of the 20th century to the middle of it, seemed to be so much about that love, and it's very hard for me to understand. I'm trying to put that difficulty of understanding into the music somehow, probably too subtle but whatevs.

Saturday, September 6, 2014

My mother, and the coming war against men



Marge Wold, with creatures

My mother died a few weeks ago, and, since then, stories of my life with her have come bubbling up. She, like me, wanted to do everything, to create everything. She was fiercely ambitious and trained me to be the same, with the good and bad attendant: all the achievements and all the dissatisfactions.  A few weeks before she died, she wheeled herself to her neighbor's, told him she wanted to talk, and announced: "I'm 95 and I haven't accomplished anything." This from a woman who wrote ten or so books, speechified throughout the world, was the goto troubleshooter for Lutheran churches, who founded day nurseries across the country for newly single working mothers, who raised five children, and who, when the family bought a silent 8mm camera, immediately wrote a wordless story and had me and my dog at the time act it out in the sprawling parsonage in Grand Forks ND. 

But one of my oldest and most favorite stories is of the time she sat me down, when I was about ten years old, and told me that, one day - and I suppose I assumed that that day was fast approaching - women would have to take up arms against men, this to right the many wrongs of the many millennia of the many oppressions. I knew that most wars are won by attrition, and that there are more women than men, so I resigned myself to being on the losing side, and would even now be willing to surrender if asked nicely, if we could once again find those Viking soldiers buried with their sword and shield so long mis-gender-identified, but no such battle has come, no such victory, and we see that, even today, women find themselves living in a world of shit. 

Saturday, August 16, 2014

The Audience, and Nixon in China, and the Dissonance canard

I ran into fellow composer Michael Fiday at Lisa Moore's fabulous concert a few weeks ago and buttonholed him about one of his recent Facebook posts quoting Peter Gelb to the effect that composers were finally again writing music that audiences want to listen to. Michael's point was that this has been going on for a long time, but even better was one of the comments consisting of a link to an article in the San Diego Reader discussing the difficulties of the San Diego Opera which said:

It is doing John Adams’s Nixon in China next year. But this is risky. These works may be on contemporary themes, but they feature dissonant music.

And at the Opera Conference in Vancouver in 2013, a man in the back stood up and said that it was a mistake for opera companies to try to modernize by playing pieces like Nixon in China, since, like all modern operas, there was not one memorable or singable tune in the entire piece. I looked across the room and caught Kent Devereaux mouthing the words News news news news, matching exactly what I was thinking, along with the now-part-of-the-standard-aria-repertoire piece I am the wife of Mao Tse-tung, which consists almost entirely of simple triads and the outlinings of those same triads in the melodic line. 

Next story: when I was a graduate student, I was hanging at my research advisor Al Despain's home, a brilliant man with simple musical tastes, one who listens to what he likes, and he was at that moment playing some music he liked, some light jazz, some jazz with a touch of the electric, maybe a bit of rock fusion, music I thought simple and straightforward to listen to, and I attempted to join with him in the clear enjoyment of his simple musical pleasures. Whereupon, one of his other students entered and said What is this, John Cage? 

An even earlier story: when my college roommate and I were both taking various composition classes and raiding the local record stores for music that pushed the edges of the world we had known, I picked up a copy of Pierrot Lunaire, and that first time I listened it to I found it very strange and unappealing, mostly the vocal style, but really almost everything about it, and I thought to myself, when I eventually love this music, which I somehow knew I would, I will have to remember this moment, and remember how far my tastes have traveled, how distant they are from even those of other sophisticated listeners, as I was, having for many years listened to just about everything I could get my hands on. 

But all this, and the conclusions therefrom, are obvious. When the reviewer said 'dissonant' he just meant unfamiliar. Clearly any kind of semi-scientific Helmholtzian or musico-historical Tenney-ian Dissonance Meter's needle would remain during Nixon in China on the low end of the scale, most assuredly lower than Wagner and lots of popular others. And my fellow student meant by "John Cage" the whole incomprehensible world of music that lies outside of  the ten corporate-sponsored tunes of the moment. 

Is there really music that is inherently popular or elitist?  Or is it all just about what the populace is conversant with?  If the mass public hears something a hundred times, it can become - by that process alone - likable. If not, then why does each generation seem to love the music they grew up with and find the music of the succeeding generation unapproachable?  Why do those growing up in different cultures by and large love the music of their own culture and find the music of other cultures incomprehensible?  Clearly popularity is learned. 

So, when one is asked take the audience into account, one has to respond, which audience? Not me, obviously, as my tastes have long since departed this realm.  And if I am not the audience, then how can my tastes be relied upon to judge whether other audiences who are not me might respond?  Almost surely I'll get it wrong.  There is nothing sadder than the composer who gives up her own tastes and desires to attempt to connect to the audience and who fails in this attempt.  Oh to be a composer most fortunate - financially fortunate - whose musical tastes happen to coincide with that of the largest and most well-heeled audience. 

A couple new scores

A couple of new short simple pieces here and here, two that I played at the show with Laura Bohn last week. From the notes:

As I was just telling Beth Levin a few minutes ago, there are few dynamics and few indications of tempo, but they are flexible. I personally played the first piece moving the soft pedal very slowly, and in synchronization with my own small dynamic movements, giving the feel of an organ crescendo pedal. The third piece can be even slower than indicated, and quieter, and una corda. The last should have some frenzy, wide dynamics fine, a caesura before the change to the soft part.

Kyle Gann has spoken about this on his blog - the skepticism of the new music community at music they perceive to be understated.  I thank him his clarity on the issue.  And yes, I agree with him.  I'm happy if someone tries to control every aspect.  I myself used to do tape music, and that's a highly controlled medium, except for wires and speakers and amplifiers and the room in which one listens, but I also think that performers - including myself - should be able to mangle my pieces any way they wish.  They do anyway, so why not just acknowledge it?

Monday, July 28, 2014

Our love runneth over: a summer’s eve most dearly spent

The most excellent Laura Bohn is coming to town, and we've talked for years about doing something with just the two of us so now we are: songs and scenes from my operas and solo piano, August 9th at 8pm at the Center for New Music, 55 Taylor Street in San Francisco, a lovely space at the edge of the Tenderloin, near Pianofight's about-to-open theater. Tickets only at the door: $15 general / $10 members.

Included are the flashy Veracity; the "big and gorgeous monologue of Wagnerian intensity" aka the killing scene from Certitude and Joy; Brightness, on Dan Bellm's poem; the brand new solo work The Knife Thrower, inspired by Erin Langley's poem inspired by the Steven Millhauser book of the same name; and at least the First Prayer (the bandage hour) from A Little Girl Dreams of Taking the Veil. There will be food and drink and time to hang out, and if there is any money left over it will go toward the upcoming US premiere of УКСУС (UKSUS (vinegar)).

Saturday, May 31, 2014

There are no rules

There are no rules. Really, there are no rules. It's a hard thing to accept, but it's true, and the difficulty of accepting this simple truth is because most of us really do want there to be rules, and that maybe by following those rules we will insure that everything works out OK.

I'm sitting downstairs on the patio at the Empress's parents' home looking out over the harbor, a cool breeze blowing off the water, activated by the wind so that it sparkles in the sun, the slight tang of diesel, the planes rocketing off in their high-G noise abatement pattern while her father dies upstairs. When someone dies, there are always questions: how old is he, what did she die of, did they eat too much meat, did they drink too much, did they love the wrong person, attempts to look for answers that will give us the rules of life that will guarantee that we never ever die.  My mother believes it, that she won't really die. At 95, she believes she will see my father again, and I don't know what that would be like: an eternity where there is no hope for the future, no ambition, no pain, no fear of death.

When a beautiful piece is made, there are always questions about process, about the tools used, about how to analyze the sounds or the chords or the way the melody peaks or troughs. These questions are an attempt to understand what makes something good or bad or effective or full of longing.  We hope that knowing the answers will give us the rules that will help us create, but they don't.

The Empress says I would be a bad teacher because, being in close contact with a class full of fresh-faced and excitable young people I would surely be arrested for something. But I know I would be a bad instructor because I would stand at the front of the lecture hall and simply say "Hey, guess what, there are no rules" and then I would sit back down and wait for something to happen, and that's not what they are looking for.  They want someone to be their guide, to help them through, and I suppose I do know something: I can tell them if they want to sound exactly like someone else to study what that person does or did and to imitate it.  That works, and it's what harmony and counterpoint books assemble: simplistic and descriptivist rules developed after the creative act, that explain some small average aspect of the group behavior of a set of composers culled from a particular time and place, aspects that are actually unimportant, beside the point, at least when it comes to the Ineffable Wonder of Composition.

Really, I'm serious, there are no rules, say it to yourself 100 times each day.

Friday, May 16, 2014

The idiocy of 'finding your voice'

The delicious dogs and cakes by P. Amblard.
The Empress' friend and fellow peinture décorative Pascal Amblard and family were visiting the Palazzo Rutter-Wold née Valori in the waning days of our Firenze adventure, and at one point he said that he had listened to the works on my website and wondered at the fact that my music didn't seem to be of one style or another but rather wandered around like the doomed sinner who taunted Christ and was forced to potter about without rest or respite until the end of the world or sometime near that. I felt like I should respond, to defend myself against what I perceived as a jab of the hated ἐκλεκτός but the shock of it struck me dumb. Why, haven't all my friends ridiculed me for writing the same music again and again? And aren't we, in the modern art world, supposed to do exactly that, aren't we supposed to have a voice that is so obvious and so marketable and so succinctly expressible in a single sentence that everyone knows before they've heard the tune what it will sound like? 

But then, I thought, isn't even your voice not somehow the human voice, the voice of everyone? As many before me have said, we live in the eternal now and the everywhere, the world of fixed media where all things are available to all, and isn't it true that there are no distinct cultures anymore, and thus no cultural appropriations possible?  I think it was Henry Cowell who said - that I first noticed anyway - that there are no pure cultures and that was many years ago and now it's so much more true, as all artistic space and time is all there from the moment one appears on the Earth or at least the Internet.

But then I remembered that Donald Aird told me that we can't not write The Music of Our Time, since we are of our time, and formed and shaped by all that exists around us  Even this above-mentioned washing over us of all things is different than what has been before, and none of us now or before perceive it like any other, as even the frameworks through which we perceive and approach the universe are of our time and no other and it's hard for us to think past that. Which reminds me of the story where Wittgenstein asks why do we believe it was more natural to think that the sun went round the earth than the earth turned on its axis, whereupon his friend replies that it is because it looked as if the sun went round the earth and at this point Wittgenstein says "Well, what would it have looked like if it had looked as if the earth turned on its axis?"†

And I wonder sometimes why it is that what I listen to is not what I write: Ligeti's Lontano or his Kyrie, Chiyoko Szlavnics' Gradients of Detail, John Luther Adams' Dark Waves. I feel a deeper personal connection to that music than my own, and, as wonderful as the latter may be, the former has a perceived ineffability - I can't touch it; it is just out of reach.

† An introduction to Wittgenstein's Tractatus, Gertrude Elizabeth Margaret Anscombe

Saturday, May 3, 2014

Everything








Three months is hard to summarize, but if I don't try I will forget what has happened, and Firenze will fade further into a dream, a dream of Donatello's TransDavid, named by Shaunna, at the Bargello just around the corner from our palace, and the cat Lorenzo, who visited us on his rounds from roof to roof, who might also have been a girl, and so much more drinking than I do in my normal life. When we came to Florence, the Empress had a clear mission - to write her book on ornament and to photograph every square centimeter of Tuscany that had been touched by a painter's brush - but I had no plan except to drink it in and to cry for all those who had died there before me. And this I did each night, on the roof terrace, the wind and rain and sun and clouds riding over the city laid gloriously before me, the Duomo so close I would find myself reaching toward it, reaching with the hand that didn't hold the glass of honey grappa bought from the Badìa just around the corner from our palace, the same place we went for vespers, thick with incense and with the pure voices of those who, one wishes to believe, have no doubts about this world and the next.

While the empress pursued her course, I drifted about, washing ashore in Klagenfurt to record the UKSUS band, the Talltones Extended, for example the third of the Boeuf Bub interludes:



and the Divan Song:



While in Carinthia, I started on another project, a commission from the Klagenfurter Ensemble, to do a piece around the sinking of the Szent István, with Peter Truschner as the librettist. I've taken it on faith - I really have no idea how the subject will be handled, but I love the KE, and I trust that I can take whatever is given to me and turn it into something wonderful, and starting an opera in the birthplace of opera - well, isn't that a portent?

But the best part of the trip were the visits from many lovely people: my son Duncan and his girlfriend Bill, who mostly slept through the Florence days, venturing out only at night; Bunnywhiskers, with whom we and our friend Alison went to see Silvia Colasanti's beautiful opera of La metamorfosi; our more-or-less daughter and collaborator Laura, who connected us with the tenor Gregory Warren, who snuck us into a rehearsal of Tristan, and who lent his voice to the videos I was making with the beautiful dancers pictured up top, Elizebeth and Shaunna - I'm pretty sure more will be seen here about what we all are working on - with whom I went on a tremendously drunken trip to Panicale and stayed in an almost-as-ridiculously-beautiful-as-our-palace villa that overlooked everything, from the lake to Assisi and across the farms of Umbria; and meeting up with some San Francisco costume friends in Venice for Carnivale; and more and more I'm sure I'm forgetting.

Oh well. The end has come more quickly than I thought it would, and I knew before we left that the time would disappear. As always, one has only memories and hope for more to come.

Arrivederci Firenze

Goddamn you Florence, feckless lover, not able to manage even a drizzle, this morning dampened by crocodile tears you bring to your beautiful eyes while already turning away, already welcoming to your bed: the Dutch ladies; the next boatload of earbud linked tourists from China or the US or Germany following an unopened umbrella; the American students; the pilgrims and gelato eaters. You take them all, your beautiful eyes sparkling with each union, no matter how hurried, your bright light impinging on a hundred thousand silicon slabs each most sensitive to light, each made by light themselves in the hot foundries of Korea and Taiwan.

In my jealousy, while you sleep, I kiss your cheek and, pulling the covers down, expose your skin of cool marble, shot through with veins, blue and white, and take my unconsented pleasure, and then, childishly, pilfering from your nightstand into my carryon bag: a bust of Papa Francesco, two pairs of stockings, inhaled dove rocket smoke, all the truffled pizzas I could ever eat, a cake, much chocolate, an injured leg, music and - what I will miss most - the unbridled joy of our guests, who, seeing you from the terrace crowning our palace said what and what and what and laughed in your pleasure.

Oh please, bring back the hail and the rain and the lightning and the thunder, ground all the planes and let the busses and trains have a strike day where they can join us in your bed of stone and mortar and frescoes for one last love making, to smell your sweat and let my tears fall upon you my dear fickle love, la mia vita.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Beauty and light

Half my life is gone, and I have let the years slip from me and have not fulfilled the aspiration of my youth, to build some tower of song with lofty parapet.
Not indolence, nor pleasure, nor the fret of restless passions that would not be stilled, but sorrow, and a care that almost killed, kept me from what I may accomplish yet;

Though, half-way up the hill, I see the Past lying beneath me with its sounds and sights,-- a city in the twilight dim and vast, 
With smoking roofs, soft bells, and gleaming lights,-- and hear above me on the autumnal blast the cataract of Death far thundering from the heights.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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