Whichblog

For some time now I have been working my way through the book Blue Highways by William Least Heat-Moon. I am taking my time, soaking up as much of it as I can, rereading passages before moving on. Besides being beautifully written, the book appeals to my ever-present desire to take a road trip, to take time to reflect, going nowhere in particular. It captures the spirit of discovery - both internal and external- better than any book I have come across.

The desire to drive, to get away, is especially strong on days like today, when after opening the window blind next to my desk I am greeted by the bleak Western Pennsylvania grayness. But as yet I know of no way to take music publishing on the road. And I'm pretty sure there isn't a big market for travelling oboe players.

One of my favorite passages in Blue Highways occurs during the author's visit to the Monastery of the Holy Spirit in Georgia. Here there are two moving musical references:

I looked at the faces. Quietude. What burned in those men that didn't burn in me? A difference of focus or something outside me? A lack or too much of something? To my right a monk sat transfixed, eyes unblinking, and his lips, the tiniest I'd ever seen on a man, never moved. I thought if I could know where he was, then I would know this place.

There was nothing but song and silences. No sermon, no promise of salvation, no threat of damnation, no exhortation to better conduct. I'm not an authority, God knows, but if there is a way to talk into the Great Primal Ears - if Ears there be - music and silence must be the best way.

and

"You don't have second thoughts?"
"Second, third, fourth. I go with as much as I can understand. And I've gotten little signs. Like listening to Beethoven. I loved Beethoven. Been here two years, and one day I just went over and turned the stereo off. Beethoven was too complex, I guess, for me. My tastes have developed toward simpler things. Merton calls it 'the grace of simplicity.' Haven't broken myself of Vivaldi though."

Most musicians have their own short list of memorable pieces and performances; I am no exception. I still vividly remember the first time I heard a Mahler symphony performed live (it was #2). I remember sitting quietly in The Rothko Chapel in Houston while remembered fragments of Morton Feldman's Rothko Chapel played in my head. (Two very different composers, I know.) There are a few other pieces I could mention, some written by members of the great Dead German Fraternity of Composers, some by more contemporary folks. Sometimes the moments occur at a concert, sometimes while listening to a recording. But they all have one thing in common - they are very hard to write about. My personal connection to these pieces is so complex and personal that it is only during times of deep reflection and lucidity that I can begin to understand why they move me. Tonight is not one of those times.

So instead, I will turn to performances that were memorable for a more superficial reason - they were terrible. Years ago, Peter Schickele devoted an entire program of his Schickele Mix radio show to performance mistakes. The highlight (or lowlight) was an unnamed tenor falling apart during the climax of an aria from La Boheme. I haven't heard it since, but it's still fresh in my mind.

Even though those performances on Schickele Mix were less than good it doesn't mean the performers themselves are terrible. It could have been a fluke. One mistake in an otherwise stellar performance. Too bad kid, you'll get 'em next time. I'm sure it has happened to everyone at some point.

But what of performances where everything goes wrong? I submit for your listening pleasure a recording I first heard in December of 2002. The song: the Christmas classic O Holy Night. The performer: Who knows? His name wasn't given. I can't imagine why he would even allow a copy of this recording to survive. The entire song is available for download here from NPR. (Scroll down about half way; the link is on the left.)

Yeah, I know Christmas is still 11 months away, but doesn't that still put you in the holiday spirit? It has become something of a Christmas tradition for me. Besides the sheer humor of it, what I find most appealing is the sincerity. You can hear it in this guy's voice. Despite all the setbacks he pushes on until the end, where he tells us that it was, indeed, "dee-vine". Could it be that he doesn't know he's doing a terrible job? Could it be that he doesn't care? If only we could all be so oblivious while performing.

From Charles Ives' Memos:

Once a nice young man (his musical sense having been limited by three years' intensive study at the Boston Conservatory) said to Father, "How can you stand it to hear old John Bell (the best stone-mason in town) sing?" (as he used to at Camp Meetings). Father said, "He is a supreme musician." The young man (nice and educated) was horrified - "Why, he sings off the key, the wrong notes and everything - and that horrible, raucous voice - and he bellows out and hits notes no one else does - it's awful!" Father said, "Watch him closely and reverently, look into his face and hear the music of the ages. Don't pay too much attention to the sounds - for if you do, you may miss the music. You won't get a wild, heroic ride to heaven on pretty little sounds."

I believe Grainger called it "humanness".

I wonder what Ives and Grainger would think of our anonymous crooner. Music of the ages or not, at least it is interesting, something a lot of other performances aren't.

"Nonmusician" Zac at John Cageblog is working his way through the recorded output of John Cage.

For those interested in hearing Cage's music live you still have time to catch this performance of ASLSP in Halberstadt, Germany. No need to rush; it's not scheduled to end until 2639. According to organisers, the performance will help us "rediscover calm and slowness in today's fast-changing world." I doubt I will be around to catch the final chord, but I must say that a little calm and slowness sounds appealing.

"Everything you do is music and everywhere is the best seat." This famous quote is attributed to Cage but I have no idea where it originated. Anyone know what book or interview it came from?