When I first came to UCLA, many of my colleagues referred to this chap as “Jamie”–a nickname he now supposedly loathes. He did his Masters work at UCLA, was a TA, a classmate of Mark Carlson, and was on the way towards getting a PhD, but the Roger Corman films started coming fast and furious. Juliana was an undergrad with him at USC. My dear friend and patron, Ronnie–who lets me stay in her Palm Springs house to compose and goes with me to new music concerts in LA–is his cousin. And despite all these connections, I had never met James until last Thursday when he came to speak to our composers about his work on Avatar.

He was soft-spoken at first, and as the two hour session went on, he became more forceful and clearly enjoyed talking and teaching these young and eager students–also his biggest fans. Many of them stayed afterwords to have their picture taken with James. He graciously stayed late to pose and speak with them.

Some memorable quotes and paraphrases:

• He has tremendous respect for John Williams. “In a class by himself.”
• Cameron was clear that he did NOT want any themes or melodies. “A tuneless score.” [WOW!]
• JC kept a tight hold on the reins for the entire score.
• JH graciously acceded that it is JC’s vision, his movie, his world. He pushes until it’s right.
• He spoke about his collaboration with Wanda in their effort to find a sonic palette “unlike anything we’ve ever heard.” Of the 25 instruments he culled, JC rejected 20 of them. JH ultimately blended these sampled instruments into his orchestration.
• He seemed proud of that his orchestration, “which I do myself” is rooted in tradition, but adding these new [sampled/world] instruments transforms it.
• JH, when asked what his favorite score was, admitted that he couldn’t pinpoint one film, rather cues from a variety of films.
• Juliana asked whether he would ever write an opera; he said ‘no’ but he would LOVE to write a ballet.
• “I could never make people cry in my concert music. In my music for film, I can. [...] I loved having the opportunity [in TITANIC] to help the audience fall in love with two characters; and knowing that they will both die offered me a unique musical challenge.”

I found James to be a true gentleman; a smart businessman; an excellent teacher; an sensitive artist with a big heart; and a composer who loves the art of collaboration, despite not always getting his way.

When the composition area at UCLA interviews perspective undergraduate students in composition, one of the questions we ask them is “Who are your favorite composers?” James Horner has been at the top of that list for five years running. I confessed that statistic to Horner as the session wound down. He was clearly touched. Another student [winner of this year's Jerry Goldsmith Award] confessed that James was his childhood “hero.”

For someone who had been described as quiet, shy and private, I saw a gracious, generous, sensitive but outgoing and humble man. He promises to come back for a future visit.

I remember when Frederic Rzewski came to visit us at Harvard in the composition seminar. I remember when Musica Electronica Viva came and performed at UW Madison. “The People United…” is emblazoned into my brain. I have the LP and he played it for us in the seminar. He reminded me that one shouldn’t ask questions about anything over 10 years ago as he doesn’t remember — which turned out NOT to be true, as he remembered plenty of amusing stories from his past.

Today he came to UCLA for a visit with our student composers. I was delighted to see a good turnout. FR was in great form. Cantankerous, funny, and blatantly honest about the various questions. Gloria Cheng served as the interviewer and did an excellent job. He doesn’t believe in styles (”some have them, some don’t”), there are no commonly accepted master composers in America, most young people are mostly concerned with money (”we thought our music could save the world, we were wrong, but at least we believed in something”), and (and I agree), the 20th century was filled with technique-isms — methods not unlike machines for cranking out music. “Life is not symmetrical, logical, or necessarily always pretty. Music should imitate this.” Someone asked whether he knew a technique (sic) for freeing the mind of such machines: “Shut the door? Turn off the phone? Light some cannabis? Everyone has their own method.”

The most shocking story of the day was the history of his famous “The People United will Never Be Defeated.” Before he wrote the piece, he asked the composer of the tune itself, Sergio Ortega, whether he could use the tune in his piece, to which Ortega responded “of course.” The problem was: it wasn’t in writing. Ortega died of cancer in 2003. Ortega’s publisher refused to give Rzewski permission, so they now own Rzewski’s piece. Curious, maddening, but unfortunately, true. [Moral of story: don't use or quote music under copyright without permission.]

[Photo of Rzewski (L) and Bourland (R). Bourland doing HIS best to also look cantankerous.]

It was the quarterly visit from Matias and Jenny, with baby Katie (18 months) this weekend. As I’ve said before, having visitors in your home makes it feel like a vacation. The energy was dominated by Katie, who is now running and learning words at an amazing rate. Daniel, her godfather, was called “Tito Dan” (Tagalog for Uncle Dan) and that seems to have given away to “Daniel” pronounced quite well. And my name is now Rajhzi, as RoJER seems too tricky to say now. She chases the dogs — they tolerate it and growl from time to time, but nothing more. The entire house becomes Katie’s playpen, which is fun, although the silence of this morning is deafening, now that they have returned to Sunnyvale.

Lynn Harrell, photo by Christian Steiner

You’ve already read about part of the weekend (see “The New Couch”) and the remainder was also entertaining. Daniel and I were invited to Dale and Don’s for lunch on Sunday. I got to meet Lynn Harrell for the first time and his wife, Helen. Lynn is a real sweetheart and a true gentleman. We chatted about where he had been teaching for the past 15 years and confessed to missing it. We also are both in intergenerational relationships, and we couldn’t help but share stories about that. Rachael Worby was there too and it was fun to catch up with her.

Although full from the lunch, we had an early reservation at Mozza with M&J. On the way in I nearly knocked over Elvis Costello. Sitting across from me there was Lisa Loeb. We were surrounded by all kinds of celebrities, most of whom I could not recognize, but then the Grammys had just gotten out, so such is LA life.

Today I go in and talk about 3rd species counterpoint, visit with some students, and tonight go to the Green Umbrella series to hear two old/new warhorses– “Eight Songs for Mad King” and “Pierrot Lunaire” with my concert pal, Ronnie Rubin.

More rain headed towards SoCal and that’s a good thing.

A new commission is in the works where I’ll be composing a new piece for Vladimir Chernov. What a joy!!

While I go feed my dogs and birds and brush my teeth, here is a gem from Lynn, the Faure Elegie, Op.24.

Photo credit: Christian Steiner

I was greatly saddened to see the passing of Kate McGarrigle, mother of Rufus and Martha Wainwright and sister of Anna and Jane. I thought her cancer was in remission but evidently it returned. She touched many lives and helped shape the aesthetic of one of the great songwriters on the planet, Rufus Wainwright.

Like many Americans, “Heart Like a Wheel” sung by Linda Ronstadt was our first introduction to this great talent. A big heart she had. She will be sorely missed, and I am sorry for her family’s loss.

And a recent and final performance of her lovely “Tell Me of Mendocino” — funny banter between Rufus and Kate at the beginning. Touching harmony.

And her final composition and a touching performance of the December 2009 Royal Albert Hall performance of “Proserpina.”

The LA Times reported that the family stood around her bed singing as she died.

Mmm, I’m having a summer flashback. In our trip to southern France, we ate at home several times. One of the highlights of those meals was Jenny and Daniel searing a demi-lobe of foie gras, with salad, a lovely Gigondas wine, stinky cheese, French bread, and ham. That was lunch.

Jenny was perpetually photogenic as she cooked. Nicely framed by the kitchen window, I snapped this Vermeerish picture.

Leon Kirchner © Jamie Cope

Leon was my teacher at Harvard between 1978 and 1983. I remember fondly our coffee breaks between classes; the composition seminar was slow but good. I preferred Earl Kim’s analysis seminars. Private lessons with Leon were always thrilling.

He guided my Masters degree which was “Sweet Alchemy” for orchestra, (commissioned by ALEA III). We had to play our own music at the piano, no matter what it was scored for, so I composed the piece so that I could play it, but also using my new tonal language. I played it for the seminar one day and his only comment was “Why do you have to write that harmonic stuff?” I replied that I was tired of thinking I had to grow up to become the next Elliott Carter, or Karlheinz Stockhausen. It’s not who I am, I insisted. He smiled and went on to the next composer. Leon used the same phrase–that harmonic stuff–when John Adams (who was also a Kirchner student) sent a cassette of “Shakers Loops.” Kirchner played it for our composition class.

Leon retired the year after I graduated for what I thought was a medical reason (his heart?). Of my professors at Harvard, Kirchner outlived Earl Kim, and Ivan Tcherepnin — Tison Street is alive and well in NYC. I mowed Leon’s lawn one summer. He introduced my to Randall Thompson in 1980 for whom I served as a personal assistant.

Leon always wished that he were better respected as a conductor. “Ah c’mon, you’ve had a great career” I replied.

I told him that I had figured out the style of this music: “It’s Russian Mysticism” out of the rib of Scriabin. He roared with laughter and we went back to our lesson.

In my first set of qualifying exams, Leon asked me what the iambic rhythmic figures were in the section just before the development in the B flat Sonata, first movement. I said I didn’t know. (I do now.) Because of this error, the committee (Leon) decided to give me a John Knowles Paine Traveling Fellowship to go to LA and investigate film music, and come back in a year to face a second set of oral exams where you will be expected to tell us the difference between Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven as exemplified by their complete string quartets, piano sonatas and symphonies.

I returned the following year and was grilled on Varese’s “Ameriques” and Debussy’ “La Mer.” Leon didn’t attend as he withdrew from all graduate teaching for a year — I have no idea why. I worked hard on that, and they didn’t even ask me about it.

It was Leon Kirchner who called Henri Lazarof to recommend me for the job at UCLA. That telephone call changed my life.

Farewell Leon. Thanks for everything. You had a wonderful life!

A man, who I’ll call Arthur, died in 2006 at age 60, leaving everything to his mother. He was a professor of zoology. In the case that he died before his mother, which he did, his mother was to give certain things to UCLA. Some were earmarked for the Music Department. His mother died recently and several boxes of stuff were left for us to come pick up. I went down and went through them. Several boxes of LPs, mostly old recordings of romantic violin music; lots of not terribly good paintings and odd photographs that he made; a photocopy of the manuscript of the Brahms Violin Concerto; framed pictures of Rodin sculptures, and other house pictures. Also, was a large book of his poems, writings, and philosophic musings — really, a kind of diary of his life. In his living trust, besides his violin and money, the most important item that is mentioned many times is his diary. I decided to take the diary home and read it, which I did this morning.

The poems were not very good poems, rather stream of consciousness observations of the world, and whatever was going on in his life at the end. There were many pages of scientific musings that, not being my area of expertise, may or may not be of interest to the scientific world. He includes an unanswered registered letter he wrote to Stephen Hawking in the ’70s. There is a chapter on his mid-life crisis, written on his 40th birthday. There are some photos in the book, but they are all of him, standing in front of statues or buildings around the world — and no one else. He doesn’t mention anyone else in the whole book except for a beautiful Spanish boy that he met in 1967 whose hand he had the pleasure of kissing.

The wizened, older Arthur revisits the wild and crazy younger Arthur with annotations in pencil, made and initialed by him later in life with comments like “not true” or “not the whole story.”

My guess is that Arthur was a big pot enthusiast, as most of the book seems like stoned ramblings. But where was his life? It all seemed inside his head. If this guy was a zoologist, you wouldn’t know it from any of his personal writings. If he was a professor, there is no evidence that he ever had a student in his life. This diary was his escape from everything and everyone. I did a search on his name and found only an appearance of his year of birth and year of death, and that a year before he died, he and his mother made a contribution in the memory of a friend to a their synagogue. Other than these two citations, he had no internet presence at all.

Why did you die at age 60, Arthur? Did you like people? What did you do when you traveled all over the world? Did you meet anyone, other than the people who took YOUR picture?

The most amazing part of reading the book was landing on the final page. He had an order form for the book. One copy would be $52; he then made a list of the prices if you purchase 5-10, 10-20, 20-50, and if you bought over 100 copies, they’d be $34 each. I couldn’t believe that he really imagined that this book had any commercial potential. But clearly, this was one of his most sacred and prized possessions. And it is now in my hands. I really don’t know what to do with it, but keep it, like I do so many other things, and show it to the appropriate person from time to time. What happen to the millions of other diaries that get left to be found by family or strangers?

I hope someone misses you, Arthur; and if not, I certainly am thankful for inheriting your strange little time capsule.

[Top picture: Self Portrait of the Arthur (no date); Lower picture: Arthur's Fantasy (1981)]

Some good friends had dinner with Kathleen Turner last week. The conversation that stood out was KT relating one of her pet peeves: fans complimenting her.

“OH MISS TURNER, I LOVE YOU!”

(In a grouchy voice) “You don’t love me, you don’t know me; you love my work.”

Tell it like it is girlfriend!

A raw, angry, and provocative must-see interview from XXXXX, music critic of many publications, who has seen the need for and income from his reviews plummet. Bloggers (I guess, like me, although I have no plans of replacing a music critic: they’d have to pay me to do that) are doing it for free. It’s a transition to a new way of thinking about music criticism. I’ll leave it to much smarter scholars than I to sort out what lies ahead. I know that my blog readership is higher than some well respected music critics, but I think that that is only the case because I’ve been doing it longer ON THE WEB. Bloggers who stick to it, build readership. My readership statistics show a very slow rise since January 2006. Any blogger or critic on the web who sticks to it, will show a gradual rise over the years.

via videosift.com