Lou Harrison: "A Life Tuned to the Sound of California"

From: Paul Moor (Texas-Paule@t-online.de)
Date: Sun Feb 09 2003 - 06:50:23 PST

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    [This article from NYTimes.com has been sent to you by
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    A Life Tuned to the Sound of California

    February 9, 2003
    By JOHN ROCKWELL

    LOU HARRISON was born in Oregon, lived for a decade in New York and died at
    85 last Sunday in Indiana. But he was always a California composer.

    As such, he had to combat a persistent New York prejudice against California
    music in general and his own music in particular. (Not that he ever really
    combatted; he was a pacifist through and through.) In New York, the "uptown"
    avatars of dissonant hyper-complexity, in their heyday a generation ago,
    scorned not just what they heard as simplistic, popsy, maybe even
    drug-addled downtown music but especially what they saw as its dopey pre-New
    Age source in California.

    Even more generous souls sometimes grew testy with Harrison's relentless
    devotion to sweetness and beauty, born of his California spirit and his
    lifelong interest in the music of the Pacific Rim, especially Asia. Bernard
    Holland of The New York Times, in a 1997 review of a
    Harrison concert, referred to the "cult of pleasantness" and "the lowered
    level of psychic energy" in his music.

    "Every piece on this program seemed to have a nice day and wish us one,
    too," Mr. Holland added.

    Before World War II, New York music was more wide-ranging stylistically.
    Aaron Copland flourished alongside Roger Sessions. Harrison's allies Henry
    Cowell and John Cage, the dual fathers of downtown music, both came from
    California but managed to work here happily.

    Of course, the tensions don't reflect just East Coast versus West Coast or
    Europe versus Asia. One wonders if there is also a straight-gay tension here
    expressed in stereotypes: tough-guy straights versus soft and pliant gays.
    Charles Ives used to rail against "sissy" ears unable
    to accept dissonance.

    But here the conceptual waters become murky. There have been dissonant
    composers on the West Coast, and efforts to pin down gay musical
    characteristics have always foundered.
    It was Harrison, unashamedly gay, who prepared and conducted the first
    performance of an Ives symphony - the Third, in New York in 1947 - and it
    was he who, with Ives's blessing, edited performing editions of many other
    Ives scores.

    In recent years Harrison had his fervent New York allies, too, and they
    weren't all downtown composers. Mark Morris, above all, choreographed dances
    to several Harrison scores and commissioned one - although he may count as a
    West Coast fifth columnist, coming as he does from Seattle.

    Raised in California and a longtime admirer of Harrison's music, I have
    always resented seemingly prejudiced judgments against the state and its
    music, and I have been pleased to see the rise of softer, more welcoming
    compositional alternatives to the fiercest dissonance.

    Minimalism, for one. Harrison was no Minimalist in the normally understood
    sense of that musical style. But Terry Riley and John Adams are
    Californians, and Steve Reich honed his style there. Philip Glass went the
    other way around the world, to India, to help shape his East Coast variant
    of Minimalism.

    One needn't be defensive about California music; one can be proud. For the
    last three-quarters of a century, the San Francisco area alone has been a
    source of some of the most influential artistic, social and technological
    movements: Beats, hippies, campus protests, regional cuisine, gay culture,
    Silicon Valley and more. It's hard not to link the spirit of sometimes
    self-indulgent innovation to the optimism and sensual contentedness of the
    state.

    Musically, California has long looked West at least as much as it has looked
    East. Harrison and I once shared memories of attending opera performances in
    San Francisco's Chinatown as youngsters. Like Cowell, Harrison was grounded
    in the European tradition but fascinated by the world: by the variety of its
    aesthetics, its instruments, its tuning systems, its compositional
    practices, its sheer manifold beauties.

    But unlike, say, Colin McPhee, Harrison was less interested in replicating
    or evoking Asian music than in learning to compose using Asian techniques.
    "I actually study that music and learn to play it and comprehend it as
    closely as possible," he told me in 1990. "It's the procedure that interests
    me. I don't try to imitate."

    IT would too easy to make sweeping geopolitical generalizations about the
    California mind-set. The longstanding presence of Asian communities on the
    West Coast has clearly influenced composers living there. So has the gentle
    climate. And perhaps Caucasian New York
    composers look back fretfully and enviously at a European continent they or
    their forebears fled, rather than looking outward to a seductive new world
    on the other side of the Pacific. Fearful refugees versus optimistic
    pioneers.

    Despite his success here, Harrison never felt comfortable in New York,
    professionally or personally - particularly as he compared the gay scenes of
    the 1940's in New York and
    San Francisco.

    "I had what they call a nervous breakdown in New York, and it took 10 years
    to recover from it," he told me. That recovery took place in the 50's, when
    he had moved back to California, more particularly to Aptos, on the idyllic
    coast south of Santa Cruz, at the north end of the Monterey Bay.

    Once "home," and once he had formed a relationship with the craftsman
    William Colvig in 1967, Harrison seemed sunnily content with the music he
    wrote and the attitude toward life he espoused. He had composed serial
    scores in his time, good ones, but moved beyond all that. For him, life was
    heightened play, a constant lively curiosity about the world and its
    manifestations.

    "I don't think increasing complexity is the answer to anything," he said.
    "In California and in the West generally, we're not afraid if a thing sounds
    pretty, and we're not out to terrorize everybody. I don't think significance
    is opposed to beauty."  

    http://www.nytimes.com/2003/02/09/arts/music/09ROCK.html?ex=1045780155&ei=1&
    en=837556625d829fec

    Copyright 2002 The New York Times Company

    Paul Moor
    <Texas-Paule@Sigmund-Freud.Org>
    D-10715 Berlin
    Telefon (4930) 8639-5784
    Telefax (4930) 8639-5785
     



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