Soon I will have completed about 50 years of contact, planning, and implementing a new idea for an academic structure. My work shifted from composer to creating curricula anticipating the media and technology explosion that began around 1968. Now, in September of 2018 that chapter of my life at New York University will come to a close.
I am somewhat surprised to still be here, because in my fantasies, I always thought I would have been gone from this existence by now. I speculated over time when the end would come. In my teens, my heroes were Gershwin and Mozart. Both died at 35. I said to myself, "Fine, I will live passionately and when I'm 35, I'll be gone.
But when I turned 35, I was surprised to see I was still around. What should I do? Plan my life for retirement? But frankly at 35, I was in the maelstom of sweeping academic and administrative changes at the university. In addition, I was in the midst of sponsoring an on-campus festival and symposium in collaboration with Keyboard Magazine that introduced to the world the new breed of low-cost synthesizers that led to the revolution of musical practices and styles of the 70s. We turned the entire Education Building and Student Union into rooms that hosted manufacturers and their equipment, and artists in special workshops, with performances by luminaries, in what was later named Loewe Theatre, each evening of the three-day extravaganza.
Since I was sill around, I thought maybe the end woud come at 50, then at 60, and then surely at 70, so I never really planned for retirement. But as 80 approached, I began to realize maybe I wasn't going to die in the job. Is there life after 80?
One of the joys of working in such a dynamic department where we had managed to attract so many energetic and visionary faculty was my relationship with the Music Therapy Program when I served as Chair. I had helped the former Chair in setting up the new program, and we brought in a talented and visionary person to lead the program. As consistent with our other programs, our Music Therapy departed from the prevailing model in Academia, so much so that we left the existing association and created a new one. This was through the initiative of my mentor and Chair, Dr. Jerrold Ross who had been responsible for bringing me to the department to develop new and innovative programs.
During my tenure as Chair, Barbara Hesser, our new Music Therapy Program Director initiated retreats in the Catskill Mountains on Panther Mountain near Phonecia, New York. My first experience with the retreat was so memorable that I composed an interactive ensemble piece based on the happening of that week together with so many creative artists.
I travelled to the retreat with colleague and philosopher, David Burrows, whose book Time and the Warm Body, remains one of the most original treatments of Time that I have encountered. I remember him saying, "John, these people know something about making music that most of us do not know or understand."
The Panther mountain facility was beautifully designed and we lived in dorm style rooms. We could make our own meals or purchase simply-prepared snacks or meals. We had to clean up after ourselves, and there were many rooms where we could separate in various configurations as needed and congregate together as a group. There was no set agenda, except to share and to have conversations and mini-sessions that were like informal workshops.
Deep in the forest was a Sanctuary shaped somewhat like a teepee. A large circular building narrowed like a funnel as you looked upward, culminating in an opening at the top where you could see the sky, or stars at night.
On the first night we gathered in the sanctuary. Those of us that had instruments brought them and put them in the center. We gathered into a large circle so that everyone could see each other and the instruments in front of us.
In the sanctuary, in the middle of the forest, underneath a starry sky, we sat in deep silence. After a while, Time became irrelevant. We no longer sat in silence... we communed in silence and communed with silence. I became deeply aware of our breathing. It was almost as though we were all drawing the same breath. After more than an hour I could hear a low voice intoning a sound as though breath had discovered tone. Gradually everyone joined. Toning began to follow contours, and then melody emerged, almost as though this communion had summoned the power of music. For the next two hours there wonderful textures, melodies, emotions created as an ensemble, but punctuated with solos, duos, trios, and other configurations expressing full joy and utter despair, pain and gladness, anguish, and delight. The improvisation created its own form and after about two hours, it returned to silence. We sat again in the circle, silent, but somehow wholly fulfilled. After a few moments we began to talk and share our experience.
The retreat was all about making music together spontaneously and then sharing our work from the past year. Everyone was exhausted from the demands of rigorous programs in the different parts of the world, so as we shared and interacted, we found that the process we were undergoing Became a profound healing experience.
From this experience, the idea of ARC (ARTS RECOVERY COLLABORATION) occurred to me as a possible focus for what I might implement in the future. An Arc is a symbol of connecting. Maybe it is ARTS RENAISSANCE COLLABORATIVE, or ARTS RENEWAL COLLABORATION... but the idea of reaching out and connecting with colleagues in the arts at the end of the year to celebrate and recover seems like something worthwhile to do, taking my inspiration from what I encountered in Phonecia almost 40 years ago.
Saturday, January 20, 2018
Wednesday, January 17, 2018
DEEP INTO THE NORTH COUNTRY WITH BASHŌ
From the first moment I learned of Haiku, I felt a connection with Matsuo Bashō, one of Japan's greatest authors. This Christmas I received a volume of Bashō's middle and late periods, if one can call them that, since it appears that his progression toward his rich mature style was steady and uninterrupted, even though it came at great personal sacrifice. The volume is The Narrow Road to the Deep North and Other Travel Sketches.
As was the practice of the time, a poet's work was created on journeys undertaken for the sake of creating.. I felt a parallel with the volume I received and Robert Pirsig's Zen in the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. This sensitive and thoughtful translation is by Nobuyuki Yuasa, and covers the major three journeys of Bashō.
Perhaps it is the notion of the journey that most attracted me, because I had not realized the context of Bashō's poetry before. From this reading I understand also that poetry was often a collaborative process. Disciples accompanying the master would contribute poems and often suggest lines to the master. But also there are deliberate sacrifices that must be made to undertake such journeys into a wilderness... usually by foot, but at times the terrain could be so challenging a horse would be necessary.
In my journeys, I have been aware of the spiritual quest that has always defined the issues of awareness and noticing. Listening and noticing---intimate encounters with being that provides glimpses into the nature of existence as we embrace appearances masquerading as reality.
In following Bashō's journey, I became aware that the haiku and at that time hokku, was an evolving form, and the 5-7-5 syllable form was not the only syllable structure prevalent. Nobuyuki Yuasa prefers the four-line form which seems to better fit the poems as written by Bashō. Especially since poems always appear in the context of prose passages. Scholar and translator Yuasa comments:
As many who know me have observed I have given much thought to issues of madness, and making moments tangible and retrievable through poetry. Poetry is the essence of intense noticing. This seems to be confirmed by Bashō:
As was the practice of the time, a poet's work was created on journeys undertaken for the sake of creating.. I felt a parallel with the volume I received and Robert Pirsig's Zen in the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. This sensitive and thoughtful translation is by Nobuyuki Yuasa, and covers the major three journeys of Bashō.
Perhaps it is the notion of the journey that most attracted me, because I had not realized the context of Bashō's poetry before. From this reading I understand also that poetry was often a collaborative process. Disciples accompanying the master would contribute poems and often suggest lines to the master. But also there are deliberate sacrifices that must be made to undertake such journeys into a wilderness... usually by foot, but at times the terrain could be so challenging a horse would be necessary.
In my journeys, I have been aware of the spiritual quest that has always defined the issues of awareness and noticing. Listening and noticing---intimate encounters with being that provides glimpses into the nature of existence as we embrace appearances masquerading as reality.
In following Bashō's journey, I became aware that the haiku and at that time hokku, was an evolving form, and the 5-7-5 syllable form was not the only syllable structure prevalent. Nobuyuki Yuasa prefers the four-line form which seems to better fit the poems as written by Bashō. Especially since poems always appear in the context of prose passages. Scholar and translator Yuasa comments:
First, the language of haiku, ...is based on colloquialism, and in my opinion, the closest approximation of natural conversational rhythm can be achieved in English by a four-line stanza rather than a constrained three-line stanza.Bashō took his name from the tree of that name after one of his disciples presented him with a stock of a Bashō tree. A Bashō is a species of banana tree. Bashō remarked "I love the tree for its very uselessness."
As many who know me have observed I have given much thought to issues of madness, and making moments tangible and retrievable through poetry. Poetry is the essence of intense noticing. This seems to be confirmed by Bashō:
What is important is to keep our mind high in the world of true understanding, and returning to the world of our daily experience to seek therein the truth of beauty. No matter what we may be doing at a given moment, we must not forget that it has a bearing upon our everlasting self which is poetry.In The Narrow Road to the Deep North, Bashō undertakes a journey to what is regarded as the unknown forces of the universe in order to be the poetry that makes the world profoundly eloquent. Having composed a song this summer, "If This Be Madness", I wrote:
If this be madness,What a revelation it was to come upon this poem by Bashō:
It sets me free,
From all the sadness
That once was me.
But is it madness
To look with love
Beyond the limits
That we’re made of?
We each have madness
Somewhere inside…
A touch of genius
From which we hide
Perhaps its madness
Or just naive
To want to live my life
As I believe…
And even now I hear
A distant song
I know it’s somewhere near
Where I belong
And even now I see
That I must go
There’s a different me
And there are worlds
I’ve yet to know!
With a bit of madness in me,And so I seem to have come full circle as I continue my journey of 81 years, remembering that as a child, the essence of the world was its poetic presence.
Which is poetry...
Monday, January 08, 2018
DEATH OF A STAR
Going quietly into the night, NOHO STAR shuttered its doors forever on New Year's Eve, 2017. There was no fanfare, and the lack of public outcry was disappointing.
I learned of the proposed closing from Ted Coons, a colleague of mine at New York University over breakfast early in December. I was saddened that the owner George Schwarz's son had decided to close both neighborhood fixtures, NOHO STAR and TEMPLE BAR after more than 30 years in order to convert the building to rental property. George passed away December 14, 2016.
Adding to my dismay was that I was scheduled to leave Manhattan for Asia before the closing. I never heard if there was an appropriate wake to mourn the loss of the NoHo Star. I saw many celebrities there during my 30 plus years of using this landmark bistro as my true office, with countless meetings with students, meeting with colleagues, meeting with artists in planning sessions, Many a project was launched over breakfast, brunch, and dinner.
NoHo Star opened after I had been with NYU for about 17 years when NoHo Star opened at 330 LaFayette Street. I saw the transformation of the area south of Houston Street into SoHo in the late 70s. Before that it was an industrial area filled witth factories and industrial sites, warehouses, and various tradesmen.
This was a block from where I lived, and I watched artists tranform the area by invading on the weekend and using factory spaces to perform and exhibit exper innovations in technology that were experimental artwork, much of it using technollogies begun in alliances with scientist and artists in the 60s in New York, It was a time of Happenings. Everything was free and in the moment. I remember wandering around the warehouses and coming upon works such as a darkened room filled with low and high frequencies and fluctuating projections on the wall. As I grew accustomed to the dark, I saw the artist on the floor hooked up to biofeedback.
I remember how quickly artists were replacing factories and warehouses with lofts and studios. Then, quite suddenly, the area was officially dubbed SOHO, and the area hurtled toward gentrification. Now all the artists have fled and what is left are upscale stores and businesses, with Apple occupying the old Post Office Building on Prince Street.
SoHo --- because it was South of Houston Street, but also it borrowed cachet from the area in London which was also Soho and known as an area for the music, theatre, film, the arts and the pornographic industry.
I always had the fantasy that when George Schwarz acquired the building just north of Houston Street, he dubbed his eatery The NoHo Star, and inspired the christening of those few blocks north of Houston as NoHo.
It is sad to witness the death of an era in NYC which was such a mecca that it drew so many artists from the midwest and around the world, including me. Unfortunately Manhattan has been captured by a strict business mentality where the arts have a place only if they are part of the establishment. The artists have left their strongholds of SoHo and Tribecca and headed to Brooklyn, where there appears to be a renaissance in all aspects of the arts. Yes, there is a revival of young artists in te Lower East of Manhattan that is gathering momentum, even though the city politics and institutions are rigged against them.
The closing of THE NOHO STAR is the dissolution of a giant star. In my small universe, NoHo Star was a massive star, perhaps its debris of a supernova will seed new generations from the many projects and ideas hat were created through casual and not-so-casual meetings of creative people discussing, creating, and launching new ideas over coffee, tea, and the tasty fare from morning on into the night.
I learned of the proposed closing from Ted Coons, a colleague of mine at New York University over breakfast early in December. I was saddened that the owner George Schwarz's son had decided to close both neighborhood fixtures, NOHO STAR and TEMPLE BAR after more than 30 years in order to convert the building to rental property. George passed away December 14, 2016.
Adding to my dismay was that I was scheduled to leave Manhattan for Asia before the closing. I never heard if there was an appropriate wake to mourn the loss of the NoHo Star. I saw many celebrities there during my 30 plus years of using this landmark bistro as my true office, with countless meetings with students, meeting with colleagues, meeting with artists in planning sessions, Many a project was launched over breakfast, brunch, and dinner.
NoHo Star opened after I had been with NYU for about 17 years when NoHo Star opened at 330 LaFayette Street. I saw the transformation of the area south of Houston Street into SoHo in the late 70s. Before that it was an industrial area filled witth factories and industrial sites, warehouses, and various tradesmen.
This was a block from where I lived, and I watched artists tranform the area by invading on the weekend and using factory spaces to perform and exhibit exper innovations in technology that were experimental artwork, much of it using technollogies begun in alliances with scientist and artists in the 60s in New York, It was a time of Happenings. Everything was free and in the moment. I remember wandering around the warehouses and coming upon works such as a darkened room filled with low and high frequencies and fluctuating projections on the wall. As I grew accustomed to the dark, I saw the artist on the floor hooked up to biofeedback.
I remember how quickly artists were replacing factories and warehouses with lofts and studios. Then, quite suddenly, the area was officially dubbed SOHO, and the area hurtled toward gentrification. Now all the artists have fled and what is left are upscale stores and businesses, with Apple occupying the old Post Office Building on Prince Street.
SoHo --- because it was South of Houston Street, but also it borrowed cachet from the area in London which was also Soho and known as an area for the music, theatre, film, the arts and the pornographic industry.
I always had the fantasy that when George Schwarz acquired the building just north of Houston Street, he dubbed his eatery The NoHo Star, and inspired the christening of those few blocks north of Houston as NoHo.
It is sad to witness the death of an era in NYC which was such a mecca that it drew so many artists from the midwest and around the world, including me. Unfortunately Manhattan has been captured by a strict business mentality where the arts have a place only if they are part of the establishment. The artists have left their strongholds of SoHo and Tribecca and headed to Brooklyn, where there appears to be a renaissance in all aspects of the arts. Yes, there is a revival of young artists in te Lower East of Manhattan that is gathering momentum, even though the city politics and institutions are rigged against them.
The closing of THE NOHO STAR is the dissolution of a giant star. In my small universe, NoHo Star was a massive star, perhaps its debris of a supernova will seed new generations from the many projects and ideas hat were created through casual and not-so-casual meetings of creative people discussing, creating, and launching new ideas over coffee, tea, and the tasty fare from morning on into the night.
CAMELLIA HILL: THE FLOWERING OF ADVENTURE
There were shops, coffee houses, green houses, statues, a
Japanese garden, storybook characters and icons scattered throughout the
terrain. As we walked I was 
Further on you might see a coffee house and restaurant and then wander through a Japanese Garden, beautifully sculpted, coming upon an exquisite Japanese Bonsai Tree near a rock formation called Crouching Dragon. The garden invites meditation, maybe a place to return to when there are fewer people. The Crouching Dragon seems to be sleeping. I noticed that the English sub-title beneath the Korean name was "Couching Dragon,"---a typo or merely descriptive of a lazy dragon in the afternoon sun? The afternoon unfolded like an adventure, perhaps emulating the great English Parks of the 19th Century.
Finally we found ourselves in front of an elegant greenhouse, and on further investigation discovered it to be a coffee house still decorated for the holidays and almost gleaming inside from the afternoon sunlight pouring through the glass.
Here we were in the midst of winter, but on an idyllic adventure that might be typical of a Spring day elsewhere. A few days later I would be waking to see a blanket of snow on the farmland outside my window.
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