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Thoughtful analyses of the arts and workplace issues, with some poop jokes

Philip K. Dick on Wagner’s opera, Parsifal

From Philip K. Dick’s novel, Valis:

‘Pity’s highest power’ is just bullshit. Pity has no power … Everyone knows this, everyone who has gazed down helplessly at a sick or dying human or a sick or dying animal, felt terrible pity, overpowering pity, and realized that this pity, however great it might be, is totally useless.

Parsifal is one of those corkscrew artifacts of culture in which you get the subjective sense that you’ve learned something from it, something valuable or even priceless; but on closer inspection you suddenly begin to scratch your head and say, ‘Wait a minute. This makes no sense’

I can see Richard Wagner standing at the gates of heaven. ‘You have to let me in,’ he says. ‘I wrote Parsifal. It has to do with the Grail, Christ, suffering, pity and healing. Right?’

And they answer, ‘Well, we read it and it makes no sense.’ SLAM. Wagner is right and so are they. It’s another Chinese finger-trap.

Stravinsky recalls the premiere of The Rite of Spring

Today marks the 100th anniversary of the premiere of one of the essential musical compositions of the 20th century, Igor Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring. Below, from Stravinsky’s autobiography (Chroniques de ma vie, 1936), is a description of that notorious evening (the date of which Stravinsky misremembered). Historians warn us that Stravinsky’s remembrance of his appraisal of Nijinsky’s choreography 25 years after the event, and nearly 2 decades after Nijinsky went insane, might be unreliable.

I have now come to the spring season of 1913 in Paris, when the Russian Ballet inaugurated the opening of the Théatre des Champs-Elysees. It began with a revival of L’Oiseau de Feu, and the Sacre du Printemps was given on May 28 at the evening performance. The complexity of my score had demanded a great number of rehearsals, which Monteux had conducted with his usual skill and attention. As for the actual performance, I am not in a position to judge, as I left the auditorium at the first bars of the prelude, which had at once evoked derisive laughter. I was disgusted. These demonstrations, at first isolated, soon became general, provoking counter-demonstrations and very quickly developing into a terrific uproar. During the whole performance I was at Nijinsky’s side in the wings. He was standing on a chair, screaming “sixteen, seventeen, eighteen”—they had their own method of counting to keep time. Naturally the poor dancers could hear nothing by reason of the row in the auditorium and the sound of their own dance steps. I had to hold Nijinsky by his clothes, for he was furious, and ready to dash on to the stage at any moment and create a scandal. Diaghileff kept ordering the electricians to turn the lights on or off, hoping in that way to put a stop to the noise. That is all I can remember about that first performance. Oddly enough, at the dress rehearsal, to which we had, as usual, invited a number of actors, painters, musicians, writers, and the most cultured representatives of society, everything had gone off peacefully, and I was very far from expecting such an outburst.

Now, after the lapse of more than twenty years, it is naturally difficult for me to recall in any detail the choreography of the Sacre without being influenced by the admiration with which it met in the set known as the avant-garde —ready, as always, to welcome as a new discovery anything that differs, be it ever so little, from the déjà vu. But what struck me then, and still strikes me most, about the choreography, was and is Nijinsky’s lack of consciousness of what he was doing in creating it. He showed therein his complete inability to accept and assimilate those revolutionary ideas which Diaghileff had made his creed, and obstinately and industriously strove to inculcate. What the choreography expressed was a very labored and barren effort rather than a plastic realization flowing simply and naturally from what the music demanded. How far it all was from what I had desired!

In composing the Sacre I had imagined the spectacular part of the performance as a series of rhythmic mass movements of the greatest simplicity which would have an instantaneous effect on the audience, with no superfluous details or complications such as would suggest effort. The only solo was to be the sacrificial dance at the end of the piece. The music of that dance, clear and well defined, demanded a corresponding choreography — simple and easy to understand. But there again, although he had grasped the dramatic significance of the dance, Nijinsky was incapable of giving intelligible form to its essence, and complicated it either by clumsiness or lack of understanding. For it is undeniably clumsy to slow down the tempo of the music in order to compose complicated steps which cannot be danced in the tempo prescribed. Many choreographers have that fault, but I have never known any who erred in that respect to the same degree as Nijinsky.

Always Nice to Get a Little Recognition

Well, 2013 has gotten off to a great start for me, thanks to Natalie Axton including my work for the LA Weekly in her roundup of the best criticism from 2012 at her blog, Living With Criticism.  Ms. Axton writes:

The future of classical music writing may well look like what Christian Hertzog is doing at LA Weekly.

Sure, I’ll take whatever praise can be mustered for my work, but when it comes from a fine, perceptive writer like Natalie Axton, I cherish the kudos even more. Do yourself a favor and read Natalie’s candid, compelling essay about how she walked away from what most people would define as success, and found happiness in so doing.

He knows if you’ve been potty

Santa wants to receive your warm human wastes

Santa wants to receive your warm human wastes

Santa Claus is no. 1 at covering no. 2! That’s why I wrote this review on Amazon for this delightful product. If you enjoy the review, please be sure to vote that you find it helpful!

The Night I Walked Into a Mission District Coffeehouse and Encountered a USMC General

Two decades ago I spent an evening hanging with my old UCSD roommate in San Francisco. We were in the Mission District, and Scott wanted to grab some coffee, so we walked into the first coffeehouse we came across. We were going to sit down and catch up, but a very obnoxious stew-bum who reeked of alcohol and week-old sweat was loudly pounding the table, insisting that he had been a general in the Marines. It cast a pall over our nostalgic reunion, so we got out of there as soon as our orders were filled. A few days ago, Scott found a thank-you-note/comic I drew memorializing “General” Brooks and passed it along.

The last panel is a close-up of the General’s eye as I remembered them–red veins blotting out the white of his cornea, his tear ducts exuding a viscous brown substance.

Happy Birthday, John Cage

The page in Silence, by John Cage, which produced the title of my toy piano suite, Anything Therefore is a Delight. I was directed to this page and that particular line through a random number generator, and I could not have picked a better title

John Cage was born on this date 100 years ago.

The older I get, the more beauty and inspiration I find in Cage’s music. His compositions, writings, and thoughts have become essential parts of my life. I’ve written elsewhere on this site about how embracing chance procedures led me to a compositional breakthrough. The result, a toy piano suite, can be heard below.

A copy of the score, which is free to download, may be found here.

Go out and hear some of Cage’s music performed live this week., the official site of Cage’s estate, has an events list which you may find useful.

If no Cage works are being performed in your area, sit down somewhere–preferably a place on whose sounds you would never think to focus. Don’t talk. Don’t read. Don’t write. Just listen.

The Curse of the Obama Chair

Poor Paul Ryan. All he wants to do is read a little Ayn Rand, but invisible Barack Obama won’t let him.

William Wellman’s Track of the Cat

Track of the Cat: special collector’s edition DVD
Paramount (2005)

If Eugene O’Neill wrote a Western and Nicholas Ray directed it, you might get something like William Wellman’s 1954 film, Track of the Cat. It depicts one of the most dysfunctional families ever filmed for a Western. Robert Mitchum plays the macho, competent, but unlikable son, Curt. Tab Hunter is the youngest son, living in Curt’s shadow and afraid to do anything on his own. Dad is an alcoholic constantly searching for his bottle of whiskey (hidden by those “thieving women”) and Mom is a mean, Bible-thumping harridan. During a bitterly cold winter storm, the sons track a cougar killing their livestock. While this advances the plot, the real story is the poisonous interaction between the family members. William Wellman filmed this in Technicolor–yet the color design is all black and white (except for a few things that pop out of the screen like Curt’s dark red jacket). When a family member dies, the deathbed and the grave literally blot out most of the Cinemascope shot, overshadowing any living people in the frame. Roy Webb’s music underscores the family angst. I enjoyed the DVD extras, in particular the one about Mitchum’s horse, Black Diamond, a famous Hollywood horse who puts on a show here pawing, shaking his head, rearing up, and running across a mountain without a rider. Track of the Cat is a powerful psychological drama enhanced with in-your-face visuals and dissonant music, that ranks just below Nicholas Ray’s studies in tormented families from the same time

What does Frances-Marie Uitti remember most about John Cage?

The brilliant and lovely cellist Frances-Marie Uitti on John Cage:

I remember John Cage laughing, always laughing no matter what happened. When the Frankfurt Opera House burnt down disastrously, right before the premiere of his Europera, he said “That’s marvelous!” and laughed.

And it was remarkable how he listened intently to whoever spoke to him. Fully present.

What an energy.

Along with his works, it was his laughter that I remember.

Claude Akins for U.S. Senate!

When I recently heard that Claude Akins was running for U.S. Senator in the Show Me State, I was elated. That ol’ boy Sheriff Lobo could sure show them politicans in Washington a think or two. So I made a poster for his campaign.

Well-meaning friends have told me that Claude Akins can’t run for office–he’s not alive. Well, that didn’t stop the great state of Missouri from electing a dead man as their Senator before.

So this November: Go Lobo!

I’m Claude Akins, and I approve of this denture adhesive.