Part 2
Collaborations can take on many forms. What role do they play in your approach and what are your preferred ways of engaging with other creatives, writers and possibly even the artists you’re interviewing or working with for a piece?
I don’t think I’ve ever really done that, at least in a strictly critical format. I’ve participated in several projects where my writing or art was an element that were greatly rewarding. One was a realization of Cage’s ’49 Waltzes for the Five Boroughs’, organized by Kurt Gottschalk. I stood on a nondescript street corner on Staten Island for 45 minutes one Sunday afternoon, and wrote a few pages on the sounds I was hearing. Forty-eight other people were, at the same time, doing something elsewhere in New York City and the thought of all this synchronous but separate activity was somehow very moving. Afterward we met, described our experiences. A couple of years ago, in Sokołowsko, Poland, I was shanghaied into a project of Keith Rowe’s involving a back and forth between visual imagery and music. I had to do a drawing based on music I was listening to (which was, itself, derived from looking at a visual work) which would then be used as a score by other musicians. A fascinating experience.
Can you take me through your process on the basis of a piece that’s particularly dear to you? How did you decide what to write about, what did you start with, what sources did you draw from for research purposes and how did the piece gradually take shape?
That’s a tough one. The first thing that comes to mind is the piece I did upon the release of ‘Duos for Doris’, by Keith Rowe and John Tilbury, on Erstwhile Records. It’s dearness to me rests on two facts: 1) that Jon Abbey and I were in attendance at the recording in Nancy, France in January 2003, the only ones in the theater apart from the musicians and a recording engineer somewhere behind the scene and 2) that the subsequent recording is possibly my all-time favorite piece of music. So writing about it at length for Bagatellen (it’s no longer accessible online but is reproduced in my biography of Rowe) was something special. I really tried to immerse the reader both in the experience of being with Keith and John for the several days around the session, all that transpired, and went into the resultant recording in great depth. No research as such, but really concentrated listening and recollection of events.
Could you take us through a day in your life, from a possible morning routine through to your work? Do you have a fixed schedule? How do music and other aspects of your life feed back into each other - do you separate them or instead try to make them blend seamlessly?
Well, I have music on almost all the time. I have a longstanding habit of actually listening through my collection, which takes years. At the moment, I’m in the J’s (because, of course my collection is arranged alphabetically; we music geeks are nothing if not anal) and have on the Jeph Jerman/Tim Barnes album, ‘Matterings’ which, coincidentally enough, is also on Erstwhile. But I’m also constantly trawling You Tube, Vimeo etc. for music I’ve never heard, often from traditions I know less well such as acoustic blues, musics from various areas around the world, etc. Rabbit hole after rabbit hole. Then there’s the pile of things I’m supposed to write about. I typically listen to a new item once, fairly casually, just to get a feel of what’s there. I let it sit for a while, then get back to it with greater concentration, giving it what I feel is the required number of “spins” to be able to write something at least semi-intelligent about it, usually around four, sometimes more for more complicated things (or things that I’m having particular difficulty understanding). But it’s not a fixed schedule. I leave time for reading, movie-watching, art-making, cooking and much other stuff.
There are many descriptions of the ideal state of mind for being creative. What is it like for you? What supports this ideal state of mind and what are distractions? Are there strategies to enter into this state more easily?
Hmm. For me, it’s largely having blocks of time where I don’t have to worry about anything other than the project at hand. I like to get any errands or other necessary but bothersome activity out of the way first thing in the morning, so I have the rest of the day to do whatever it is I’m concerned with. That said, I’m pretty relaxed and adaptable and will try to fit in what I can where I can.
How is listening to the actual music and writing or reading about it connected? What do you achieve and draw from each experience personally? How do you see the relationship between improvisation and composition in this regard?
In this area of music (free improvisation), it’s difficult not to descend into strings of descriptives. When composition is involved, it’s often “easier” to latch onto something because, say, there’s a system in effect that can be described or specific intentions on the part of the composer. With improvised music, I have to intuit those intentions (if any) which leads one into tricky territory. It’s hard not to impute at least somewhat programmatic content onto music that, often, purports not to have any. Plus I can always use food metaphors. :-) Whether there can ever really be such a thing as pure improvisation is a question that comes up frequently enough. My guess is probably not, but I don’t care one way or the other.
There has been an exponential growth in promotion agencies. What's your perspective on the promo system? In how far is it influencing your choice of artists and topics, in how far is it useful for pre-selection, in how far do you feel it is possibly undermining journalistic freedom?
Happily that issue is one I rarely encounter as it’s typically the musicians themselves doing whatever promotion is necessary. On occasion, I’ve managed to get myself (without intending to) on the list of this or that somewhat larger label who insists on sending me things. Out of politeness, I’ll give the item a listen but, in all honesty, it’s not uncommon that 15 seconds tells me all I need to know and it goes into the trash. I didn’t request it (I never solicit recordings), didn’t agree in advance to listen to it, so I have no problem with tossing it. If it’s an individual who’s taking it on his or herself to send me a copy, I feel much more obliged to give a serious listen, even if it turns out to be not really in my area of so-called expertise. Of course, in recent years, one gets deluged with review requests in the form of e-files. I’ll typically glance at them to see if it might be something of interest. Usually it’s not—one can quickly tell by virtue of the awful promo-speak that’s employed in the accompanying text—and into the trash file it goes. Quickly.
Art can be a purpose in its own right, but it can also directly feed back into everyday life, take on a social and political role and lead to more engagement. Can you describe your approach to art?
My own art is very quiet and not overtly political or socially oriented. I do small figurative painting or drawings of everyday objects (stones, sticks, tools) or small abstracts, often very light, almost not there. The music of the composers associated with the Wandelweiser group has been very influential in that regard. I use various approaches that derive from improv as well, even in the figurative work, such as not setting up a particular object or set of objects, instead working from whatever I happen across. Or not cleaning the watercolor palette I used for a previous work, instead using the existing colors and muddles of paint for a new one, one that might not seem to lend itself to that palette. Small things like that.
It is remarkable, in a way, that we have arrived in the 21st century with the basic concept of music journalism still intact. Do you have a vision of journalism, an idea of what it could be beyond its current form?
No, no vision as such. Just the old-fashioned idea of simple honesty.
