Where the Heart Beats 7

Chapter 6, "Ego Noise (1950-1951)" begins the second section of the book, where the mountains are no longer mountains. Many characters are introduced, and I'm noticing a pattern in these introductions that gets annoying in its repetitiveness. A leap back in time to show the origins of a particular character's interest in Zen, or in contemporary music, or in contemporary art, traced forwards to that character's meeting with one of the more major figures of the book. I'm also annoyed by the shifts between past and present tense, often within the same paragraph. Speaking of ego noise, these imperfections pull me out of a merged contemplation with the subject, instead becoming aware of the writing as writing, rather than as ideas expressed. This is also the problem with the structure, such as on page 193. This was the end of a fascinating description of Cage's fourth lecture of "Empty Words" at the Naropa Buddhist Center in Colorado. The quotes by Cage disrupt the narrative, muddying the idea that the Buddhist leader, Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, had liked the confrontation of ego noise spurred by Cage's lecture performance. The author both clouds the punchline, and avoids addressing Cage's misunderstanding of his audience and Trungpa's delight in ego noise. Why is this ego noise good, if the goal is to avoid ego noise? Why doesn't Cage appreciate this ego noise? Why is the audience stupid for not being part of Cage's journey through Thoreau? (I'm using questions, just as the author likes to do when discussing Zen.) That last question reflects my frustration with Cage. He wants to create music that opens the mind, but he is unwilling to provide the same help that he got in his own spiritual journey. The four lectures go through a process of winnowing Thoreau's words, what Cage envisioned as clouds dissipating. But he got to see the beautiful cloud shapes first, before they dissolved. By delivering only the fourth lecture, Cage was doing the equivalent of showing a picture of a tiny wisp of cloud and saying, "look at that beautiful big shape!" I'm very intrigued by the lectures, but I feel that Cage was not only disinterested, but also indifferent to the audience. From page 136:

His music was headed toward disinterestedness – which is not "indifference," the word that keeps cropping up in academic writing on Cage. From the standpoint of spiritual practice, the two words having nothing in common. Indifference borders on nihilism. It has a quality of "not caring." It is "apathetic." It expresses corrosive cynicism. Ultimately, it is poisonous, both to the practitioner and to the culture as a whole."

It may not be that Cage didn't care about the audience, but perhaps was showing his own stupidity in not understanding their needs. He even faced away from them during the performance, creating more and more barriers to their understanding. Either way, he demonstrated a mighty ego in criticizing their responses as "stupid criticisms." Yes, the audience showed signs of closed-mindedness, but so did Cage in his own responses.

Where the Heart Beats 6

The fifth chapter ends the first section of the book, but rather than feeling like a conclusion, it seems to be setting the stage for future developments.  Cage's introduction to Hinduism is explored, as well as his lectures at Black Mountain College and The Club.  He meets Morton Feldman and reads Zen books at the Orientalia.  The chapter, "Seeking Silence" twists through time, jumping around not just in the titled era (1946-1950) but also forward to 1989 and back to 1907. This destroys a sense of narrative, just like in the first chapter. The descriptions of Ramakrishna's Hinduism and Meister Eckhart's Mysticism are fascinating, and Cage's development of his new artistic philosophy, "[music should] sober and quiet the mind, thus rendering it susceptible to divine influences," is laid out clearly.

Where the Heart Beats 5

"Chapter 4: Four Walls (1942-1946)" describes a very emotionally turbulent time in John Cage's life.  Different stories are told of how his marriage to Xenia fell apart, both from her perspective and from his.  Regardless of whose fault it was, it was clear that Cage was scared of the social dangers inherent in his homosexuality, but also became aware that he could no longer deny those feelings.  The author uses Henry Cowell's conviction on child molestation as an illustration of Cage's thinking.  Cowell had been driven by social taboos to seek sexual gratification with 17-year-old bullies in his neighborhood, rather than to enjoy physical affection with a peer.  The author suggests that his sentence of 15 years was caused more by Cowell's self-loathing about his sexual attractions to men than by the justice system's concern for the safety of the teenagers.  This self-loathing may be what Cage feared he could descend into, accompanied by the professional destruction that Cowell faced. 

While I'm still not happy with the author's descriptions of Cage's music, it is not because she is not trying.  She quotes performers and critics in efforts to describe Four Walls, The Perilous Night, and Ophelia, as well as including her own emotional impressions.  What frustrates me as a music theorist is that there is little or no detail on the musical structures themselves that create these impressions.  I want to know what type of chord is repeated att he end of Four Walls, what the melody line is, how much of the structure was determined by Cage and how much by the performer.

Larson does do a good job in showing how Cage's personal concerns affected his aesthetic philosophy, as he became concerned that the emotional energy he poured into his works was not recognized by the audience, critics, and fellow artists.  It was in this personal and artistic confusion that Cage found Zen Buddhism to be a lifeline; a way to survive the divorce from Xenia, a way to come to terms with his sexuality, a way to find better reasons for writing music.

Where the Heart Beats 4

Chapter 3 of Kay Larson's book, Where The Heart Beats, is titled "Merce Cunningham" even though he is not a major character of the chapter.  Yes, this is the first time Cage meets him, but their connection is not significant at this point.  Rather, it is Cage's connections to dancers such as Bonnie Bird and Martha Graham, and artists like Mark Tobey that influenced his life at this point.  Larson describes the visual arts very well, and the dance repertoire adequately.  But her musings on Cage's music itself is lacking.  She makes the claim that Cage invented live electronic music in 1939 with Imaginary Landscape #1, showing no awareness of the theremin (invented in 1919) or the ondes martenot (invented in 1928).  And her descriptions of the invention of the prepared piano lack the momentousness that this amazing development deserves.  The interaction between Zen and Dada is very interesting, and I'm amazed at the luck Cage had to be in the right place at the right time.  He got hired at the Cornish School of the Arts, the location of the first radio lab in the country.  He was involved in a summer percussion concert at Mills College that suddenly became a Bauhaus workshop with the arrival of László Moholy-Nagy.  Granted, Cage did exhibit courage to make his own opportunities, by moving to New York with no money, only a shady promise from Max Ernst for housing. 

Where the Heart Beats 3

Chapter 2 is entitled "John Cage 1912-1938."  Considerably longer than the first chapter, it is broken into different titled sections:  "The View From Pacific Palisades," "The Shape of the Future 1: Men," "The Shape of the Future 2: Music," "The Shape of the Future 3: Art," "Buddha of the Bathroom," "Luigi Russolo," "Arnold Schoenberg," "Oskar Fischinger," and "Walking Water Walk."  Many more Cage quotes are used to create pseudo-conversation.  The opening sections have fascinating descriptions of Cage's early adult life.  He really bluffed his way into just about every aspect of his life, from painting to music to love.  I had no idea that Cage got married, though the author uses quotes to make the very good point about the underground lifestyle forced upon homosexuals in the 1930s that Cage found untenable.  Plus it sounds like he was very confused about his whole sexual identity, falling into and out of love very quickly.  Slowly, as Cage encounters more movers and shakers of the avant-garde, he moves from dabbling dilettante to serious practitioner.  And the seeds of his influences from Dada and Futurism are explored, though more from the perspective of Marcel Duchamp and Luigi Rossolo than from Cage's perspective (so far).  There are hints of the connections to Buddhism as well.  The quotes flow much better than in the first chapter, and the chapter ends with a tease about Cage's later success with Water Walk to show the results of those early influences.

Where the Heart Beats 2

Chapter 1 is part of the first section: Mountains are Mountains.  Everything is as we understand it, before Zen makes us unpack everything.  D. T. Suzuki is introduced through his influences on the Beat Generation, notably Gary Snyder, Allan Ginsberg, and Jack Kerouac.  With the Beat set up, suddenly we are shifted to Project Manhattan and Robert Oppenheimer for a brief look at Dr. Atomic's association with Vishnu, before sweeping over to Japan for a biographical account of Suzuki's early life.  The descriptions of life in a Zen temple are very appealing.  They filled me with peace, and got me thinking about starting to meditate again.  I'm also impressed by Suzuki's dedication to Zen, even though he never formally became a monk.  While at university, he would walk over 30 miles to sit zazen (meditate) instead of going to class.  He was brought to the U.S. by the abbot of his temple, Soyen Shaku, to serve as a translator both for Soyen and for Paul Carus, who wanted to translate ancient Buddhist works into English.  Suzuki is portrayed as an incredible workaholic.  He translated many works, wrote his own texts, and traveled all over the world to study different philosophies and to give lectures on Zen Buddhism. 

After 14 pages, Cage is allowed to quote a koan as part of the supposed conversation on which this book is structured.  But the author does not respond to this quote as part of a dialogue.  Rather, she explains where Cage heard that koan, and some of the first works Cage composed based on Buddhist ideas.  The chapter ends with another koan, written as if Cage is quoting it, but not why.

I'm intrigued by Suzuki's story, and want to hear more about how he influenced Cage.  But the structure of this book is bothering me.  Perhaps I'm being too Western-minded, expecting a linear logic that isn't appropriate here.  But I certainly feel that the author is flitting from subject to subject without making clear transitions. 

Where the Heart Beats 1

Several months ago I was asked to write a review of Where the Heart Beats: John Cage, Zen Buddhism, and the Inner Life of Artists by Kay Larson.  I just got the book last week, and started reading it.  Since I haven't been blogging much lately, I thought I would do a "live blog reading" of the book, posting my impressions with each chapter, instead of waiting until I was done to give an overall review.  The book is in fifteen chapters, plus a prelude, epilogue, and the Maha Prajna Paramita Heart Sutra.

The prelude introduces the three main characters in the book: John Cage, Daisetz Teitaro Suzuki, and the author herself.  The description of Suzuki is intriguing, telling that he was not a Zen master, though still considered an expert on Zen.  He was not formally educated, but clearly a master of languages, having taught himself Sanskrit, Tibetan Sanskrit, and Pali, and fluent in Japanese, English, classical Chinese, and "several European languages."  It certainly makes me want to learn more about him.  The introduction of John Cage did not teach me anything new, and did not do much to evoke the avant-garde sense of wonder that I associate with his works.  4'33" is naturally given the main stage, but just a taste is given.  Perhaps the book will delve more deeply later, giving only a teasing taste in this Prelude.  The author describes her own path to Buddhism, and explains the structure of the book.  Grouped in three sections, the chapters are meant to follow a Buddhist arc of revelation.  And within the chapters, quotes from Cage are used to create a sense of conversation with the author.  This could work, or be very annoying as a conceit.  I shall see.

Top of the YouTube Charts

Okay, not at Ahmed the Dead Terrorist levels, but the music program at a New Jersey Episcopal Church has reached 1.4 million hits with its YouTube videos of the pieces performed during services. Bravo to Wayne Burcham-Gulotta for putting these videos up in an effort to educate and serve his parish. It is a model that all music programs should consider, though ticket-selling groups may have to consider how best to navigate rights and dilution of product. Give audiences the opportunity to rehear a work so they can understand it better. Provide an analysis so they can appreciate some of the nuances. Spark a desire to learn more about the piece, the composer, the ensemble, the genre, or the time period. In the case of religious groups, combine musicology and theology in the education process, or provide musical sources of pastoral care. I've been thinking about the mission of musical groups lately, and the clear rightness of these videos (simple, no splashy production values but with good information added) really speaks to me.

Just Feet It!

The organist of Trinity Episcopal Church on Wall Street in New York City gave a tribute to Michael Jackson for the organ postlude:

Inauguration stuff

I'm very excited about the upcoming inauguration.  I just saw an announcement of an opening celebration 2 days before the actual ceremony, to be held at the Lincoln Memorial.  Classical music is represented at this event by Renee Fleming, but what I find quite interesting is that Bishop Gene Robinson will be giving the invocation.  He is the openly-gay Episcopalian Bishop of New Hampshire, whose elevation to the episcopate caused a riot among conservative Anglicans across the world, though mostly in Africa and in the US.  The selection of Robinson++ should calm the fears of many who were concerned about Rick Warren, and apparently I am correct.

At the actual inauguration ceremony, a new piece composed by John Williams will be performed by Itzhak Perlman (violin), Gabriela Montero (piano), Anthony McGill (clarinet) and Yo-Yo Ma (cello).  They will play between the oaths of Biden and Obama, so a very prominent spot.  I wish someone other than John Williams had been picked to compose the work, I'm afraid it will be rather Olympic in nature.  But then, his music in the film Munich was very interesting, so maybe I'm selling him short.

Play Donkey Kong!

An Episcopal priest has been making Youtube videos to drum up business. In one video, Father Matthew plays a Super Mario theme on his church's carillon:

What clarity?

Today at church we were discussing the history of church music. During this discussion I had a thought. It is widely accepted that the Council of Trent wanted simplified music so congregations could understand the words. However, these masses were being sung in Latin both before and after the Council of Trent. So, who in the congregation would understand the Latin in the first place? If they recognized the typical Mass sections, they should have been able to do so in pre-Trent masses, to the level that they knew the basic theology of Latin masses. Were the changes in musical style for under-educated priests, or for the educated ruling classes? It certainly wasn't for Giuseppe Lunchbox. Could it be that Pope Julius III just preferred Palestrina's music and decided to encode it into Catholic theology?

Ash Wednesday

Yes, I've got a very nice and distinct black ash cross on my forehead. It's so distinct that the priest who made it was admiring it afterwards, and others were commenting on how it matched my black outfit. I've decided to give up playing the Wii (sob!) for Lent, along with meditating every day. And starting tomorrow I will be going to bed by 10:30 no matter what. In all three cases its not about punishing myself, but rather opening up space in my life to listen to God and myself.

I also want to listen to more Sibelius, damn you Alex Ross!

Tradition and Innovation

Many of the participants of DePauw's Post-Classical Symposium have already blogged their views: Tim Munro of eighth blackbird (Part 1, Part 2), Greg Sandow (Part 1, Part 2), and Eric Edberg. What finally got me stirred enough to comment was a lecture given yesterday by the Dean of Seabury-Western Theological Seminary. He was talking about the concerns of the Episcopal Church, with declining attendance and lacks of connection between clergy and laity. Dean Hall has been exploring ways to change seminary education to train priests for today's environment. Replace church with concerts, seminaries with conservatories, and priests with musicians, and you have the discussions from the Post-Classical Symposium. In both cases, there is a tension between celebrating tradition and pushing for innovation. In classical music tradition is found in theory and history classes, ensemble repertoire, and the canon studied in lessons. Religious tradition holds to certain interpretations of Scripture, core values of morality, etc. But because not enough people are going to concerts or churches, there are moves to innovate, by altering the canon (Episcopal pun intended) or the organizations. Emphasis on chamber music and lay ministers, rock-influenced classical music and rock-influenced liturgical music, these efforts to progress and grow can also be taken as disrespect for traditional values. Listening to Greg Sandow and Joe Horowitz, it is clear that these gentlemen greatly respect the traditions of classical music while looking for ways to change it. And just as the tensions in the Episcopal Church could be alleviated by realizing the respect for tradition as well as growth, the tensions involved in "saving" classical music also need these reminders.

Intelligible scores

One of the Episcopal blogs is having a debate on the meaning of scripture. One person, William Witt, wrote a comment stating that Scripture is inherently intelligible. Thus any "competent reader" will agree on the meaning of a given text (something that any theological discussion will prove false almost immediately). What I found interesting was a second comment Mr. Witt made, defending his assertion against a very persuasive argument by Father Kimel. In this second comment, Mr. Witt uses Mozart as an analogy.

To provide a parallel example, the score of a Mozart symphony has an inherent intelligibility to those who know how to read music, and especially to those who are trained classical musicians. To me, who has a minimal ability to read music, and no musical training whatsoever, it is just notes on a page. However, this does not mean that even my amateur ears cannot pick out a Mozart symphony when I hear it played--at least those pieces with which I am familiar.

The intelligibility, however, is not provided by the listener, nor even by the classically trained symphony. Mozart who was, of course, part of a musical tradition himself, provided the intelligibility, and the trained musician does his best to be faithful to the text. Should a new Mozart score be discovered, trained musicians could play it because of its inherent intelligibility.

None of this has anything to do with “private judgment.” Someone (either with or without the relevant musical skills), who just decides to wing it as he goes along rather than follow the score, is not “playing Mozart.” Someone with amateur skills, who does her best to follow the score, will nonetheless be playing Mozart, even if not with the adequacy of a classically trained musician.

In both cases, the inherent intelligibility is in the text. In the former, it is ignored. In the latter, it is revealed. The question of whether or not the musician correctly interprets the text is not provided either by the private musician, or even by the skilled guild of classical musicians. It is only because the text has an inherent intelligibility that skilled (or even unskilled) musicians can listen to a performance, and respond: “That is (or is not) Mozart.”

I'm not going to attempt to argue about Scripture, but Witt's claims about Mozart were perplexing. It comes down to what a musical score is, and what relationship it has to a musical performance. Is the score of a Mozart symphony the actual symphony, or instructions on how to perform the symphony? I would say the latter. I disagree that the intelligibility of a performance "is not provided by the listener, nor even by the classically trained symphony." Those are exactly who determine the quality of the performance, with most of the emphasis on the listener. Thus to some listeners a Mozart symphony has no intelligibility, just as to some listeners a Schoenberg symphony has no coherence.

As for the dividing line between the performance being "Mozart" or "not Mozart," I think it is much more nuanced than Mr. Witt makes it. I've heard improvisations that are very much in the style of Mozart. Since they are inspired by Mozart's compositions, do they not have some "Mozart" in them? I've also heard performances of Mozart's compositions that were not played in the style that Mozart envisioned, and therefore did not sound like Mozart. Are they still "Mozart?" I'd argue that both of these situations have some "Mozart" as long as the listener (me) still perceives Mozart's influence (his intelligibility?).

Links

Cognitive Daily on Absolute Pitch.
One point about this study that Dave didn't emphasize is the bimodal distribution. Many people, myself included, regard absolute pitch as an ability that exists on a continuum. But most of the participants of this study either had no AP ability, or had very strong AP ability. Some of this might be due to the task, unlike the Levitin study that showed how many people can sing their favorite music within a semitone of the correct key.

Mind Hacks on epilepsy in rap music.

The Last Protestant Dinosaur on 20 ways to make the Episcopal liturgy more welcoming. Points 5, 6, 9, 15, 16, and 20 are about the music. One quote: "THE GLORIA (ack, ick,) this is praise? no, this is impenetrable dogma set to shitty music."
I like the Gloria's from most of the masses sung at the cathedral. And priests have such potty mouths!

The Chicago Cultural Center is hosting a discussion on the music industry going green.

Closing the book

I just got back from blowing shofar at the closing service of Yom Kippur. It was a lovely service, the student rabbi has really become comfortable with the DePauw community. Unfortunately an argumentative comment knocked me out of the balanced place I had found, so I'm not much for blogging tonight. I'll provide two links, and knock off until Monday. Both links are from Mind Hacks:
1) Musicogenic epilepsy, when music causes seizures. Not to be confused with Celebrity epilepsy.
2) Clive Wearing, the pianist who has forgotten everything except how to play the piano and that he loves his wife. Elaine Fine has also blogged about this.

The purpose of prayer

I get many visitors searching for the purpose of music, so why not build off of that?

But really, this post is inspired by Chad Orzel's two questions and his conclusion, particularly by a comment made on the religion post.

I pray every day, at least once at night before going to sleep. Most of my prayer is indeed to "understand what [I'm] thinking and feeling," but there is more. I exercise my emotional muscles by reminding myself that I care for those who are sick, poor, or afflicted by injustice. I remind myself that there is much to be thankful for, such as my family, friends, nature, music, good food, good books, and the improvements I have seen in my own life. These daily reminders are a big part of my self-improvement. They don't have to be in the form of a prayer, but I like it that way, knowing that there is someone listening.

I disagree with Rob Knop's distinction between prayer and meditation or reflection. I've been informed by the lovely seminarian living in my house that there are many descriptions of prayer that do not include words. Meditation is a means of feeling the connection with God that Julia described so well. Reflection is a prayer not specifically addressed to God. Washing dishes, running in the woods, or performing music can also be a prayer, either consciously or unconsciously.

So, I pray to be aware of what I value. I pray as a means of strengthening my connections with friends and family. I pray to work out issues I am dealing with. And I pray to explore my relationship with God (Julia is a wordsmith).

Grant to those departed eternal rest

My heart goes out to the friends and family of the shooting victims at Virginia Tech. One of my colleagues does her research on public tragedy and the grieving process, particularly at universities. I can't imagine how I would feel if some of my students or friends were injured or killed in such a way. I was shocked when a colleague was injured in a bad car accident a month ago, and that is nowhere near the scale of the Virginia Tech shootings.

There have been several prayers on various religious blogs I read: the Admiral's and Father Jake's are particularly eloquent. I just finished reading Anne Lamott's latest book, Grace (evenutally). One of the main points is the difficulty but necessity of forgiving those who sin against us. It is maddening to admit our own errors against others when they won't admit the same. It is painful to acknowledge that people who do horrible things are God's beloved creatures. It is frightening to open up our hearts to those who have wronged us, as they could hurt us again. But it is also necessary, if we are to build the world God intends, if we are to live a life of grace.

I pray with the Admiral that the gunman is judged mercifully by God, and that his living victims can find forgiveness in their hearts.

From Plato to Oshkosh

Fred Clark, the blogosphere's theologian, has found a YouTube sermon by Alan Ives on ungodly music. According to Mr. Ives (Charles is spinning right now), three categories of beats are not Gospel: Boogie Woogie, Back Beat, and Break Beat. As Fred points out, this fine musician has been convinced that the pleasure he clearly takes from music is evil. It is very sad, since he does have talent, and is clearly devout as well. Something has broken down in his life to make this disconnect between what he needs and what he thinks he needs. I can only hope that this is his public persona, that Mr. Ives gets funky in privacy. Perhaps he is dissembling, borrowing from Plato in feeling that music should be used to manipulate the public. He doubts the devotion of his congregation, so he discourages them from listening to "physical" music. It is still wrong, but not as sad.