My readers last ran into M & C last year with The Hippy Wedding, Part 1 and 2. A year later, they are in town and are hosting a party for their friends here in Los Angeles (they live in Washington D.C.). For the record, neither M or C are hippies. Their parents are. There are remnants of their hippy parentage: they both have amazing back tatoos; and they recently spoke to a pet psychic who channeled some comforting information to them both about their recently deceased cat.

You’d think a party of lawyers and their wives/lovers would be preppy, hip ultra-handsome model-type lawyers. Well, they were handsome and hip, but white, no. One quarter were various shades of black, several half black half Asian, a number of black and hispanic mixes, a few chicana/os, and the rest Asian. M, C, and I were the only white folks. The “pasty” ones as Mrs Y calls us.

We bought a new propane grill, assembled nobly by Daniel and M, and M proved himself to be a master griller and cooked up Korean barbeque, steaks with a Texas rub, sausages, chicken and a huge variety of vegies that he and Daniel and C got at the Hollywood/Ivar farmers market.

I retired early and fell asleep watching some Densel Washington movie. The party dwindled to M and C, with another couple, and Daniel having a Wii tournament downstairs.

Richard Lewis concludes his extensive analysis of Karlheinz Stockhausen’s “Klavierstuck I:”

An aesthetic of randomness is what governs almost all the compositional decisions made in this piece. The composer has chosen his pitches using a system of hexachords and distributed them in far apart octaves in order that they may sound random. He has disposed dynamic markings throughout the piece at points where they best break up any sense of flow or continuity in order that they may sound random. Most of his rhythmic figures are such that no sense of pulse can be derived from them; they are calculated in order that they may sound random. Every detail of the score is in place in order that the music may sound random. The only sensation of order in the piece comes from the discontinuities in flow caused by the chord bars detailed above.

This is not random composition, it is carefully calculated composition which, through its erratic sound world, is intended to give the impression of a randomly derived piece.

Got that? So I guess it’s akin to Lewis Carroll’s quandry:

Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!

From 1973 until about 1976, my composer hero was Karlheinz Stockhausen. I wanted to study with him with the same spirit as I wanted to study with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in 1971. I remember trying to analyze various of pieces. “Zeitmasse” was especially kinky for me. I couldn’t figure out what in the hell was going on, but I tried to imitate in in my own “Windquill.” While I was a Stockhausenist, major chords were the great Satan. Aaron Copland was hopelessly old fashioned. The only important composers were usually the rib of Messiaen group (Stockhausen, Boulez, Nono, Berio, Ligeti, Maderna et al) and Elliott Carter, Roger Sessions, Milton Babbitt, and Gunther Schuller. My other heroes included Harbison, Chihara, Takemitsu, Crumb, Rochberg, Perle, Druckman and more.

I composed my CHAMBER CONCERTO wanting to be like Elliott Carter, and I made it so hard that I’m afraid I qualified for Joachim’s critique of Brahms’ Violin Concerto that is was written AGAINST the instruments instead of FOR the instruments. What was interesting, was that I ended on a major chord at the end. I was trying to come out as a tonal composer, but only after subjecting the audience and performers to twenty five minutes of graduate composerly neurosis. I had just moved to Boston and I had to show everyone how tough I was (as a composer). By the end of the year, I got over him. Leon Kirchner criticized me for writing “that tonal stuff” [SWEET ALCHEMY]. By 1980 I was out of the closet as a tonal composer as well as a gay man. Whew!

This memory was evoked when I accidentally stumbled into a 38″ clip of Stockhausen’s Helicopter String Quartet where each member is in his own helicopter. I don’t know much about the structure of the piece, but my old time affection for that eccentric man got piqued again.

Just back from dinner with Lester and Devra Breslow. Devra commissioned me three years ago to compose THE BALLAD OF PAPA LESTER which I sang for him on his 90th birthday with and electro-acoustic backup I did using Logic. Lester is now 93, Devra is, well, I don’t know, 20 or 30 years younger. Maybe that is one of our bonds. Lester and Devra are old family friends of Daniel’s family since he was a boy. But guess what? Lester was an important person in all of our lives. He was the first major advocate for public health that told the world that smoking is bad for you. He also said that breakfast is the most important meal. And that we should practice everything in moderation: including moderation. He has served under presidents, in the army, and of course for many years at UCLA as a professor, Chair, and Dean.

Devra set the evening up. She put us together knowing I wanted to talk to him about leadership. He was brilliant and so darn wise. “Don’t believe gossip; ask the person directly.” “Don’t jeopardize the student’s standing in the eyes of their professor.” “If you have to fire someone, do it face to face in private, not by a letter.” “Cleaning out deadwood can revivify a school. That’s hard to do with the tenured faculty.”

Lester is fully aware that he could “go” any moment, any day. Every day is a gift. He is more active than I am. He has a trainer who works with hiim with light weights and stretching; he and Devra go for an hour and a half walk every afternoon; and he works in his garden.

Once after being heckled by an obnoxious faculty member, he, in a Yoda-like fashion I presume, took it like water off a duck’s feathers. He confessed that he tolerated it because he was the best teacher in the school. You’ve got to cut your colleagues some slack from time to time. He later turned out to be one of the great innovators in public health innovation. “Is that because you let him do and research what he really loved to do?” I asked. “Yeah, I guess that’s true” Lester said looking to the left as if trying to remember an old memory.

Devra’s food was terrific. The salad had fresh lima beans, corn, onions, and other fresh crunchy stuff that was delish. Omaha steaks smothered in onions that Lester grew himself. Lester made the martinis (Hendricks for the men and vodka for Devra). A bit strong on the vermouth, but I figured it was a generational thing so I cherished it. The vegie was rainbow chard from Lester’s garden and the dessert was chocolate ice cream on papaya. We left at a civilized time, 9:30, and wound our way back home along the swervy Sunset Boulevard from the Bellagio area to Hollywood.

[Photo by Reed Hutchinson. UCLA Photgraphic Services
Public Health Professor Lester Breslow leads a crowd of emeriti on their weekly walk around the campus.]

Our plumber of the last 5 years has been Izi, and his company is called Izi does it. I have no idea what his name is in reality, Isadore I presume, but who knows. He is a short Brooklyn Jew, pudgy, is a heavy smoker, is very funny, has movie star glasses (more like goggles), and the top of his crack always shows when he bends over to adjust something under the toilet.

Today he fixed two running toilets and a drippy faucet. When he finished he insisted that I flush each one. As I did, I cooed at his success. The second one, he got down on his knees and listened to the sound inside the toilet. “Listen. listen!” he said. “Shh! See, you can’t hear it any more AND the toilet fills faster.” Wow. It was a real zen moment.

Izi always calls us on Christmas Eve to wish us a Merry Christmas. He loves to go to Las Vegas and gamble. He has 228 shot glasses in his shot glass collection. “I had a bigger one before, but one of my former psycho roommates broke ‘em all.” He appreciated my out-of-control martini glass collection as his was even more out of control.
As he left I asked whether he had a website: “No, I don’t even have internet. I used to but got addicted to playing games online all night long.” He smiles and waves in the sunlight, his orange T-shirt with bright blue letters that say IZI DOES IT glows in the bright western sky.

Last night we went to dinner with Angie, her sister, and Clark. It is a terrific restaurant (”BLD” whiich stands for breakfast lunch and dinner) but it’s one that you have to yell at each other to be heard. This, as a trend I’m happy to report, seems to be falling out of favor in restaurants in Los Angeles, but sadly, not here. Angie, who has taken up smoking again, has thrashed her voice from trying to be heard in loud bars and restaurants in New York. As a result, her voice is hard for me to hear. At my ripe old age of 54, I have a hard time hearing some women, especially ones with a relative monotone speaking voice. Add that onto a very resonant acoustic space, and you up the stress level of your dining experience.

At the end of dinner, Clark launched into an hilarious monologue about “chunky money” which is the ability of a man (he was going on about men’s abilities to get women at a bar) to pick up hot women (or men) because of their wealth, even though their body is many pounds over that of a hot young guy with 6-pack abs. The only problem with this is that he wouldn’t stop. His voice got louder and louder, and more and more funny. This also made everyone else at other tables hav to talk louder, so this little room became a collage of shouting people tying to eat. I wanted him to stop but he didn’t. So, as we had paid the bill I took matters into my own hands and stood up, obviously as a gesture to leave. As if choreographed, everyone else stood up as well, ready to leave. I made the move, or else we all would have been trapped in this non-stop comedy club style banter.

The night before I attended a reading of Graham’s new script, NORMAL FOLK, for his new film project that deals with autism and Aspberger’s Syndrome. The readers, many of whose faces I’d seen in TV shows or movies, all sat the great round couch. The handful of listeners, of which I was one, were invited to offer feedback on the script. Graham and the handsome Australian chap sat at the fireplace directing and read the action descriptions for the script.

G told us that they would read “through page 55″ but we had no idea of how long that might be. So we settled in to hear the story. He urged us to NOT get up a go to the bathroom for this first part. As expected, within the first fifteen minutes, several people made the move and got up to use the facilities. Then, no one got up for what seemed like an hour or more. It was hot; sweat was pouring down the back of my hair. I needed some water NOW. But I couldn’t cuz G told us not to. Screw it. I got up and went into the kitchen to get some water. Again, several others got up at the same time to do various things as if choreographed. Like a slingshot, I guess we had all been pulled back, ready to hurl forward to our pressing desires like peeing or getting some water.

That event reminded me of a passage I read recently where an experiment where the subject was instructed to NOT think about polar bears for exactly five minutes. If I were that subject, I could imagine thinking “well, I wasn’t thinking about polar bears at ALL just a second ago, but now…” And if I were told as a boy, to not get into the cookie jar, I probably would have made the move and snitched just one, but had I not been admonished to refrain from doing so, it would likely not have occurred to me. This is likely “human nature” in some personalities, or perhaps it was me, the son of a minister, bound to prove to people that I was not a goody two shoes.

I recalled hearing the premiere of John Adam’s GRAND PIANOLA MUSIC in 1983 in New York. After the closing chords, I was so impressed that Rob jumped up and started booing as loudly as he could. He didn’t care what anyone thought, he hated the music and let it be known.

I then flashed back to the story of “The Emperor’s New Clothes” where one boy had the courage to make a move and state the obvious that the emperor was indeed naked. One aspect of people with Aspberger’s syndrome is that they will say things that may be insulting, hurtful, or rude, but be oblivious to the impact of what they have just on that person. Would the boy who stated the obvious, be labeled as autistic these day? The emperor’s society “learned” to group hallucinate his fabulous attire, but the one who wasn’t in on that delusion, stated nothing more than the obvious (”out of the mouth of babes”) and the others reacted in horror.

The courage to stand up and say good night, the courage get up a pee when you were just told not to, the ability to block out thoughts on command, and the ability to state the obvious are all actions the probably come from the same part of the brain (the frontal lobe), but it is a part that many of us are hesitant to activate for fear of social scorn. On the contrary, I am finding that using this part of the brain to “make the move” to be socially liberating and a great tool in creating your OWN reality.

[Illustration by Edmund Dulac.]

Crosby, Still, Nash and Young perform a Stephen Stills song from their first album “You don’t have to Cry” on the Tom Jones Show (London 1970).

My dear young man, don’t take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It’s quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that’s all. …
[Emperor Joseph II; from "Amadeus"]

A question composers have to answer for themselves is “how much music shall I compose in my life?” Some of us feel compelled to crank it out on the level of a Bach, Telemann or Vivaldi. Others are happy with a Webernian trickle. In the world of so-called Classical music, I have to acknowledge that the world is NOT beating down our doors for our latest compositions. John Adams, who is probably the most popular living classical composer today, puts out an average of one piece a year and compared to Sting or Madonna, is not really very famous. Stravinsky and Schoenberg had similar outputs. Mahler and Webern had relatively small outputs, although one never thinks of Mahler and smallness in the same sentence.

Statistically, by writing as much music as you can, and having those pieces played in a wide variety of places, I’d imagine that one has a better chance of “becoming famous” (whatever that means). But I remember those lonely shelves filled with old Italian operas by composers I’ve never heard of, sitting untouched in the music library.

I think the answer is that we write as much music as we are inspired to or paid to write.

From the Coen Brothers classic film “O BROTHER WHERE ART THOU?” here is “Man of Constant Sorrow” by the so-called Soggy Bottom Boys featuring George Clooney as the lead singer. The video is taken from the movie, so if you’ve never seen it (rent it!), you’ll get a nice little overview of many of the memorable scenes. George is from Maysville Kentucky which ain’t far from Flemingsburg where my parents’ lived as kids. Get out on your dance floor and do a little 2-step for your afternoon exercise.

Yee haw!

And just to be thorough, here is Bob Dylan singing HIS “Man of Constant Sorrow.”

This just in from Chad and Michael who have twins. They are considering buying coming out insurance: just in case.

I’ve tended to like the softer side of the Rolling Stones, like this video of “Lady Jane.” The competition with the Beatles was very real in those days. I seem to remember that this was their answer to the Beatles’ “Yesterday.” I’m not postitive what the plucked instrument is, but it looks like an electric dulcimer, I had incorrectly assumed it was a sitar. That instrument is played by the late Brian Jones, the Stones first lead guitar player. Check out the haircut. I love how he bobs his head, I guess for vibrato’s sake. And the out of control screams of the adoring fans.

My sweet lady jane
When I see you again
Your servant am i
And will humbly remain

Just heed this plea my love
On bended knees my love
I pledge myself to lady jane

My dear lady anne
Ive done what I can
I must take my leave
For promised I am
This play is run my love
Your time has come my love
Ive pledged my troth to lady jane

Oh my sweet marie
I wait at your ease
The sands have run out
For your lady and me

Wedlock is nigh my love
Her stations right my love
Life is secure with lady jane