Taylor's music since the sixties: A very brief
synopsis
To examine Taylor's music in practice, I have chosen to examine two specific
passages from the Cecil Taylor Orchestra at the 1995 San Francisco Jazz
Festival. The twenty-nine year leap from Unit Structures to the present
is not meant to imply that there was no development in Taylor's music during
that period rather there was a continuous development, but the focus remained
the same. Rather than undergoing dramatic stylistic shifts, such as John
Coltrane had done, Taylor continued to refine and develop his music along
the same principles that he had espoused in Unit Structures. The
performance of the Orchestra at the San Francisco Jazz Festival represents
one of the most recent, and arguably one of the most complex, manifestations
of the ideology that shaped his musical formulations from the mid-sixties
onward.
the 1995 jazz festival orchestra
Of the 42 musicians who performed in the "Cecil Taylor Orchestra"
at the SF Jazz Festival, most were local, although a few players from Taylor's
New York group were present. The skill levels of the players varied quite
a bit, as did their familiarity with Taylor's music. We rehearsed for a
week before the performance, for about six hours each rehearsal.
structure and notation
There were about four or five "pieces" in total, the two main
ones broken down into 15 and 32 sections respectively. We seldom rehearsed
the pieces all the way through. The scores (photocopies appear in the appendix)
were usually dictated by Taylor, and we wrote them down using his "letter
notation," in which the letter names of the notes are written on plain
white paper, the vertical and horizontal axes corresponding respectively
to pitch and sequence. For example, a C triad arpeggiated up and down would
look like:
Larger leaps were usually indicated by a line, often with the corresponding
interval number. For example, a leap from C to E a twelfth above would be
written:
Simultaneities were written on top of each other: 
It should be mentioned that, since the familiarity with Taylor's music varied
quite a bit between musicians, many musicians had some difficulty in keeping
up with Taylor's rapid and rather quiet dictation. He also gave us two photocopied
score pages which were written in the style described above. The musicians
were arranged in instrumental sections, and the different lines or chords
of the compositions were each assigned to a particular section. There was
never any attempt to form smaller choirs of varying instrumentation, such
as one trumpet, one tenor saxophone, and one violin; rather it always worked
that all the trumpets, tenors or violins would play at the same time. While
Taylor occasionally commented on the rhythm or phrasing of a passage, or
structured it in some way (play forward twice then retrograde once, for
example), most often the various instrumental sections were left to determine
how to play the passage. He had told us "I'm not favorably impressed
with conducting, so I would like you to discuss with your section how you
might proceed." He occasionally gave instructions or new material composed
on the spot to sections individually, so that it was sometimes difficult
to gain a complete understanding of all the material. There was no "conductor
score" which contained all of the parts.
the rehearsal process
The rehearsals consisted mainly of playing through the various sections
of the scores in a linear fashion. It took several days for the less familiar
players to understand the character of the material given them, namely that
each instrumental section had a certain amount of control over their phrases.
Each instrumental section did not simply need to play through a given phrase
once, but rather could organize or orchestrate their playing within the
score section to create more variety, mostly along the lines of accelerating
the repetitions of the phrase and/or playing it in retrograde. Taylor said
that "We will decide how the sounds pleases us, and we will develop
them as we go along." There were no designated "solos" in
the traditional sense, although sometimes individual lines would become
prominent.
It should also be noted that the instrument sections were often given words
or phrases to chant or vocalize. The manner of the vocalizations was subject
to the same manipulation that the instrumental lines were. For example,
the most extensively orchestrated vocal part consisted of the words ANO-DOR-HYN-CHUS,1 of which Taylor said: "Each participle has meaninganother
form of music, music that comes from the way you pronounce the word."
Finally, we were instructed in one composition (section 15, p.2 of the score
that begins with the violin chord G, F#, F, E)
to move about the space. We were told to begin in positions of our choosing,
move about, and then return to our starting positions, in what Taylor called
the "physicality of the inner dialogue."
While some musicians expressed uneasiness with the vocalizations and the
movement, the group generally became comfortable with the compositions.
With the consistent linear reading of the scores, we had established a kind
of group identity: We understood the orchestra as an entity which performed
these scores in a linear fashion, and had clear, established roles as individuals
within that entity. Each performer knew her or his specified role within
their instrument section, and how that instrument section related to the
orchestra as a whole and our progression through the score material. There
was a clear sense of the limited freedom allowed. Each piece would progress
as a kind of semi-determinate orchestral composition, on a microscopic level
subject to individual variation, but macroscopically fixed in a strict sequence
of events. Performed in this linear manner, the pieces were actually quite
conservative structurally, although the sonorities were complex and the
vocalizations unusual and recondite. This prompted one musician to comment
to me that the compositions "sound[ed] like contemporary music." I took this strange
comment to mean the popular conception of "contemporary music in the
Western Art tradition" as complex and dissonant, but still performed
in a strict, linear note-by-note fashion. This particular musician is well
schooled in jazz, but has had little experience with the wide variety of
forms contemporary music actually takes. An ensuing discussion prompted
another musician to compare these compositions to the work of Edgard Varése,
and another said that he was reminded of Karlheinz Stockhausen. These reactions
pointed up an interesting and important aspect: As stated above, these compositions,
while often quite beautiful and enjoyable to play, were rather conservative
formally, and to a large extent seemed to abandon the musical and artistic
formulations Taylor began developing in the sixties. For instance, the phrases
he gave each section were not "anacruses" upon which to "mirror
the inner light" as described in the Unit Structure's liner
notes; rather they were short passages, a limited sectional input into a
larger, rather rigidly structured whole. It seemed he was more or less fulfilling
the traditional European model of "composer"composing a score
in isolation which would be realized by the agents of the orchestra. While
the performers were given more freedom than they would have been in a traditional
symphony orchestra, and there was no conductor to "transform"
the "symbols," the differences between "academy's podium
angle" and the music we had been rehearsing, especially in retrospect,
seem more cosmetic that anything else. I began to wonder if he was somehow
trying to justify his music along the "European canonical" lineswas
he trying to create a jazz equivalent to Varése? And if he was inviting
that comparison, did the comparison really hold up? It seemed quite out
of character for him to invite such comparisons in the first place.
In retrospect, I think the rehearsal process fulfilled certain assumptions
and expectations that many of the musicians (myself included) had brought
to the music.2 The comment that it "sounds
like contemporary music," for example, demonstrates the expectation
and justification of the music functioning along the lines discussed above,
that is a "jazz" version of Varése. These considerations
aside, the framework created for the varied group of 42 musicians did work
in giving each player a certain amount of freedom while fulfilling a clearly
assigned role in the orchestra. Our relationship to the music and to each
other, our identity as a group, was clear.
the final rehearsal
All of this, of course, radically changed in the concert. The first hint
of what was to come came at the end of the final rehearsal. While various
instrument sections were rehearsing their parts, the general noise level
of the room was quite loud, and several of the tenor sax players began free
improvising together. One of the percussionists joined in, and within ten
minutes the whole orchestra had erupted into an unorganized jam, everyone
playing at once at full volume. Taylor sat down at the piano and played
for about fifteen or so minutes in the midst of this. The music continued
for close to an hour, until it was time for us to give up the rehearsal
space. It should also be noted that not all the musicians participated in
the jam; several simply put away their instruments and seemed annoyed at
the proceedings. Several left before it was over.
As we left the rehearsal, one of the musicians said to me "Wow, I guess
we really needed to let off some steam." He was referring to the long,
focused hours of playing through the scores, an activity which is not traditional,
and rather confining, for jazz players, particularly those that most often
do "free" improvisation. The confinement to the given material
had eliminated the "Plain" of group improvisation; there was no
chance for any kind of advancement into "an unknown totality, made
whole through self analysis (improvisation)."
Additionally, there was an uncertainty as to what exactly was going to happen
at the concert. Up until the last rehearsal, we were uncertain whether Taylor
was going to perform with the group at all; it had been suggested that he
was going to perform solo in the first set, and that we would play the second
set. When we left the final rehearsal, we had been told by Peter Apfelbaum
and India Cooke, who were responsible for organizing the musicians, that
Taylor would perform with us on the concert, but nothing was said as to
the ordering of pieces and whether Taylor would perform solo. How the actual
performance was going to proceed was still unclear.
Finally, the "steam" was also due to a certain amount of disappointment
within the group that no one was really getting a chance to "play with
Cecil." The desire to "play with Cecil" itself was complexit
was an artistic desire to play with a powerful and historically important
musician, a desire to have one's "talent" recognized and affirmed
by an established artist. "Playing with Cecil" was also a potential
career advancement if he decided to use you as a member of his small group,
the "Unit;" working with the "Unit" is one of the few
gigs for "avant garde jazz" musicians that pays a living wage,
and is highly prized economically as well as artistically.
The end of that final rehearsal demonstrated the disparity between what
seemed expected of us as orchestra members, and our individual desires and
expectations. The resulting tension, for so many days controlled by the
ordered structuring of the scores which asserted group identity above all
else, had finally erupted in what seemed like an anarchic convulsion of
individual expression.
instructions for the performance
This tension became the center of the performance. When we arrived at Yerba
Buena center a couple of hours before the concert, and after we had set
up our chairs and arranged the seating (Taylor's piano was set up a little
left of center stage, a little behind the clarinets but in front of the
guitarists and percussionist, placing him truly in the heart of the orchestra),
we played through a few sections of the scores and then Taylor gave us some
instructions for the performance. We were told to take all the chairs off
stage. The performance was to begin with Taylor reading some poetry and
we were to enter the stage and move about slowly without our instruments,
although the percussionists could play throughout. The vocalists were given
some phrases to perform, and we were told we could vocalize as well if we
desired. When Taylor spoke a specific passage (I believe it was "circles
turning"), we were to arrange ourselves into various geometric designs.
Some players noted that the designs related to the architecture of the auditorium.
We were to then continue moving about the space, slowly bringing our chairs
on stage, dragging them across the floor to produce sound. After this, Taylor
was to begin playing the piano, at which point we were either to leave the
stage or at least stop moving. After a bit of his solo playing, the percussionists
and guitarists would join him, and then the rest of the orchestra would
reenter the stage. When we were all finally in place with our instruments,
we would commence with the first composition, which would be the one labeled
"A," which contains the words "ANO-DOR-HYN-CHUS" discussed
above. There was no instruction as to how we were to proceed after that.
the performance
The beginning of the first set more or less followed the structure described
above, which lasted for about the first twenty-five minutes. Each idea,
the movement, the chanting, began to become more more expanded by individual
players; for example a couple string players brought their instruments with
them. Taylor himself often departed from what he said he was going to do,
wandering on and off stage- which someone later described as "playing
peek-a-boo."3 When the orchestra returned
to the stage after Taylor had been playing solo for a while, several of
the horn players began improvising with him. Taylor stopped playing and
wandered off stage, and the improvisation died down after a few minutes,
at which point the strings began their tremolo on the note A, which
begins the composition. A fair amount of improvisationhorns trading phrases,
Taylor and others chanting, percussionists filling,continued over the beginning.
When the first composition finally began, Taylor played constantlyan individual
voice set against the community identity. The progression through the piece
was fitful and slow; nobody was exactly sure how to proceed, and the progression
kept breaking down as Taylor, or someone else, would interject themselves
while the group tried to figure out what to do. Rather than progress in
a smooth and orderly fashion as we had done in rehearsal, the unexpected
interjections of Taylor and others caused the progression to become disjunct,
leaping from once place to another when members of one instrumental section
would recognize cues from other sections.
Analysis of Tape
Selection 1
A good example of the way the orchestra began to operate in the performance
is in sections 10-13 of the composition labeled "A" (the first
selection on the tape, which begins in section 10the reader may also wish
to refer to the graphic diagram Tape
Selection 1 in the appendix, which may help
with further clarification), which began about 40 minutes into the first
set. The orchestration of sections 10-12, a layering of the lines from different
instrumental sections, had a certain building character to it, and with
Taylor's insistent playing against this material, this feeling was augmented.
About midway through section 12, there was a high "cry" from one
of the saxophones, and over the next twenty seconds their was a dissolution
of the score the tenors continued their line briefly as other players joined
the screaming saxophone, then the tenors finally abandoned it as the whole
orchestra erupted into a group improvisation, reminiscent of our final rehearsal,
for about a minute and a half. The climax was punctuated by a series of
high Bs then C's from the trumpets and a couple saxes. When
they stopped, the improvisation quickly ended with a whoop and a loud descending
series of clusters from Taylor.
After this outburst, there was a moment of pause while the orchestra reoriented
itself, and the violins began section 13 with a glissando from C
up to C a couple octaves up, informing the rest of the players what
we were doing next. The tenors then came in clearly with their material,
the altos hit their first chord. Taylor had been vocalizing against this
material (at times not audible on the tape), and vocalist (Trudy Morse)
begins singing "ORA," which was from the opening vocalizations.
This unsteadied the ensemble a bit, and the strings began their chord (D#,
D, C#) without the trumpets. Hearing this chord prompted the
trombones and piano (me) to began playing our E-F diads. The
numbers 4 3 2 refer to repetitions of the chords (four times, three
times, then two times), which we clearly articulate (although not as together
as we could be). The trombones continued with their next passage, the glissandi,
while I continued with material based on the diads, as indicated by the
words "continue till basses," which refers to the phrase below
the dotted line which begins C up to E flat. The tenors and
trombones continued through their next two phrases, but when the altos came
in (E up to F below the dotted line), one of them, Marco Eneidi,
began an improvised phrase based on the rising motif, but did so in a way
that was connected to the material given by the piano. This began a brief
group improvisation which started among the altos, but quickly spread to
the other saxes and to the guitars, while the tenors continued with their
descending D to G line beneath the improvisation. When this
burst quickly died down with a sigh from one of the vocalists (Ijoema Thomas),
Taylor came in with the word "endlessness." There was a pause,
with a few vocalizations, as the orchestra attempted to assimilate the meaning
of this outburst, and how to proceed. The basses continued after a moment
with their line, the percussionist's 4-3-2-1 pattern abandoned. The
line itself was not totally clear (compare it with the clarity of the tenor
and trombone lines at the beginning of the section). As they continued,
some of the players tremoloed, reminiscent of the pedal A at the
beginning of the piece, and there was some sparse vocalization from other
members of the orchestra. The line did not end clearly either; there was
no definite B-flat, A-flat, D-flat chord to mark the
end of section 13. The cymbal sound, which was supposed to begin section
14, did not enter, and the identity of the group was once again suspended.
After a moment, some of the players began the clapping, which according
to the score, was supposed to follow a percussion section with cymbals,
glockenspiel, and sticks. The clapping itself rippled across the orchestra,
but became disorganized and dissipated rather than becoming a focusing event,
and soon the strings entered with a line from an entirely different composition.
What becomes evident from such a close examination of these few minutes
of music is that the orchestra itself was struggling for its identity. Our
understanding of our roles within the music, our intent to play the scores
straight through with limited freedom, had been shattered by Taylor's lack
of instruction, the addition of further vocalizations and movement at the
last minute, and his consistent layering of his own piano playing and vocalizations
against what the orchestra was doing called into question our roles as individuals
and as a group. The group identity was vacillating between an anarchic collection
of individuals expressing themselves simultaneously, and an orderly orchestra
progressing through the fixed music we had rehearsed for many hours before.
At the times when our former identity seemed poised to take over, Taylor
or any other member of the orchestra asserted some kind of individuality
against, though not necessarily in opposition to, the orchestra as a whole.
These assertions pushed the orchestra in one direction or another; the cry
from the saxophone at the end of section 12 pushed the group toward individuality,
the violins' glissandi at the beginning of section 13 reasserted our identity
as an orchestra. Marco's entrance in section 13 worked right in betweenhis
assertion was orchestrated by the score, but his choice of how to proceed,
by picking up on the energy of the piano and the extreme manipulation the
pitch material given to him, led us on a course right between the extremes.
Each member, then, became free to participate or not participate as she
or he wished, and acceptance of group identity became one among a myriad
of options.
the rest of the first set
The section discussed above took place right at the end of the instructions
given to us by Taylor. After the end of the composition, there was no place
given to go. However, as I hope I have demonstrated, the way we progressed
up until that point provided a direction in itself, and the rest of the
concert fluctuated between the myriad of directions that became evident
in the first part of the first set. Many of the musicians moved about the
space, sometime forming groups to play together, sometimes just moving.
Many of the players wandered over to Taylor when he was at the piano and
played with him. At times, members of some particular instrumental section
would move back to their seats and play a line from one of the compositions,
and the rest of the orchestra would follow and portions of one composition
or another would be played. Several times, when the orchestra would be in
their seats in the midst of a composition, one of the players would stand
and "solo" with Taylor another kind of dynamic which I will talk
about later. The end of the set settled down to Taylor soloing at the piano.
The whole performance lasted over an hour and forty minutes.
analysis of Tape Selection 2
When asked what he wanted for the second set, Taylor said "Let's just
pick up where we left off." The orchestra had become used to the spontaneous
organization and disorganization, the pull and flow between individual assertions
and group identity, and the disjunction between the two were getting stronger.
A good illustration of this comes in Marco Eneidi's solo, which took place
about thirty minutes into the set. During the solos most of the orchestra
would remain quiet, and usually seated, while a single player stood and
played. A "solo" was really a dialogue between Taylor and the
player, the percussionist, and occasionally guitarists. Soloing fulfilled
the player's desire to "play with Cecil," and became the ultimate
assertion of individuality. The relationship between the individual and
the group becomes more complicated at these points. Eneidi is also a powerful
and accomplished musician, who is very familiar with Taylor's music and
has performed with him a number of times before.
The portion I will
talk about (the second selection on the tape also see Tape Selection 2 in the
appendix) begins in section 7 of the composition which begins with the violin
chord G, F#, F, E. It is immediately apparent
upon listening to the vocalizations of "having made gestures,"
that the group as a whole is using the material more as "anacrusis"
rather than just a phrase to play throughthe whole orchestra has picked
up the phrase, not just the vocalists, and the variety of responses create
a rich texture; a "plain" of activity where the individuality,
the "strata" of each voice is definite yet supports a group identity.
Taylor plays delicately against this material, clearly set off from the
group yet responsive to its shifts. Here we can see how these scores, which
had once seemed to alien to Taylor's musical formulations, has, through
the struggle between group and individual identities, become a clear manifestation
of his aesthetic.
The tenors played slowly through their next line, as did the trombone, who
waited until the tenor's crescendo on E to accelerate the end his
descending line. Even in this short passage, the group's identity can be
seen as more solid that in the earlier selection; more spontaneous choices
about how to perform the material are being made based on the playing of
other sections and players. The orchestra functions as a single unit more
effectively, moving smoothly instead of haltingly as before.
The trumpets, altos, and bass clarinet entered next with their F#,
E-flat, D chord, but the differences are interesting. It is
hard to tell, but I believe it is the bass clarinet which actually began
the passage. The trumpets and altos quickly followed, but in very different
ways. The trumpets stuck closer to the score, playing together on the F#
in a clear and mannered way four groups of six repetitions. The altos and
clarinet, on E-flat and D respectively, merely used the notation
as a suggestion, and played quick repetitions without regard for the number
or grouping of repetitions. Taylor picked up on and augmented this energy,
beginning in a low register, then moving quickly to a higher one in sync
with the altos. The trumpets held their last note as a counter and support
of the insistence of the altos, but then dropped out. The altos, however,
had asserted themselves clearly as a section against the rest of the orchestra,
and the new assertion of the identity of this group unhinged the previous
clarity of orchestral identity. The trombone and bass clarinet played their
chord (D, D-flat, C), and some of the tenors played
their chord (B-flat, A-flat, F, E), but it did
not necessarily create coherence, rather it added to the increasing energy
and dissolution of the group identity. Next, Eneidi parted ways with the
repetitive altos and continued with their next line, the one underlined
with the number (17). Free from the group, he freely interpreted the line;
the first phrase was transposed up a half-step, and he resolved from B
to B-flat rather than down a major seventh to C. He then played
another phrase, one which was not written in the score, but was audibly
based on the line which preceded it. While several other horn players also
parted from the material, Eneidi was really setting himself up for what
was to come. At the end of the phrase, there was a slight and momentary
ebb in the group sound, and here was where we got the first burst of soloistic
material which bears Eneidi's unique stamp. The end of this phrase was punctuated
by a cluster chord from Taylor, who seemed uniquely aware of the occurring
situation. By punctuating Eneidi's phrase, he was helping to draw him out
and distinguish him from the orchestra. Taylor continued in the upper register
of the piano, but the orchestra was held in stasis for moment the sound
had not died down sufficiently for Eneidi to wholly emerge from it, and
his interjections remained one among many. The group as a whole was unsure
of who they were for a moment, just as Eneidi was unsure of his place yet.
For close to thirty seconds the identity of the orchestra hovered, not proceeding
to section 9, although a few instrumental sections played through some of
their lines, and not fully capitulating to the anarchic expression of individuality,
although interjections from several horn players suggested that direction.
The coherence of the group had been fragmented by the short but strong assertion
of Eneidi's unmistakable identity.
In the last ten seconds of this episode, Eneidi began a varied repetition
of a phrase, something which I suspect he had developed out of the material
from the end of section 8, although by then it was beyond recognition. He
expanded this material through those last ten seconds, as the group attempted
to reorient itself, so that when there was a break, a hesitation in which
the percussion dropped out momentarily, Eneidi easily stepped into the vacuum.
I believe this is the place where he stood up to clearly demonstrate his
intention.
The beginning of the Eneidi-Taylor dialogue was interesting. To begin with,
there was a clear connection between him and Taylor, an obvious familiarity
with each other's playing. The exchange of information between the two was
rapid, and provides an excellent example of what in Unit Structures
Taylor described as "the piano as catalyst feeding material to the
soloists in all registers." Additionally, the phrase that Eneidi used
as the jumping off point of his solo is an excellent example of the function
of the "anacrusis". The interaction between Eneidi and Taylor,
then was the "Plain," where "patterns and possibility converge."
The percussion and guitars supported this relationship. However, right at
the beginning, where the majority of the orchestra had let Marco step forward,
the string section began playing a phrase. They dropped out quickly, but
one violinist (I am unable to identify the performer) remained playing incongruously
over the top of the Eneidi-Taylor interaction. To be fair, I must remark
that the recording is not necessarily and accurate presentation of what
the musicians heard on stage, for most of the concert, and especially the
during passages of significant volume, the strings were inaudible. At this
particular moment, I am sure no one heard the violinist but him or herself.
With the refocusing of the group onto Eneidi, the orchestral identity had
once again been fragmented, but when the tenors entered with a spontaneous
ascending chromatic crescendo, the identity had solidified as supporters
of the soloist: The tenor line and the brass stabs which accompany it were
clearly created to aid and amplify the dialogue between Eneidi and Taylor.
There was also a participatory aspect to the accompaniment, but the instrumental
sections were functioning on the terms laid down by the predominant individuals.
Following the climax of the supporting orchestral assertions, Eneidi and
Taylor continued, energized by the interjection of the group identity into
their dialogue an inversion of the previous relationship had now come about.
Instead of the group identity taking precedence and individualistic musical
assertions interjecting themselves and jostling the whole, here the identities
of Taylor and Eneidi took precedence, and the orchestra reacted to them,
actually recreating its identity based on its relationship to them.
At the end of this passage, one of the trumpet players joined in, as an
individual, with a short blast from his horn. The other trumpets joined
him, and the focus on the Eneidi-Taylor relationship shifted into a group
dynamic of individual voices. As some of the tenor players and a guitar
joined in, Eneidi dropped out, and within a few seconds, the whole thing
dissolved. In this case, the additional entrance of several individuals
into the music dissipated the group focus instead of increased it, since
the music had been so concisely constructed along Eneidi and Taylor's interaction.
As the short group improvisation dies out, Taylor continued along the lines
he established in the dialogue with Eneidi. As the tenors came in with their
line that begins C - A-flat - G -F, the orchestral
identity that had been in operation during sections 7 and the beginning
of 8 returned, but Taylor's continued forceful individualistic assertions
against the group dynamic of the orchestra forced the tenor phrase to come
out. The trumpet, borrowing the F from the chord at the end of the
score section, punctuates the group dynamic, reinforcing the identity of
the orchestra as performers of the score. When the chord swell that marks
the end of score section 9 arrived, the entire orchestra had solidified
in their identity. Eneidi, who moments before had been defining the criteria
for musical exchange, returned completely to a functioning member of the
group, indistinguishable from the rest of his section and reinforcing the
group dynamic. It is at this point that Taylor changed his playing to accommodate
the direction the orchestra was taking. The tenors repeated the phrase demarking
the end of score section 9. Since the orchestral identity as performers
of the score was clear, this line was performed in a more delicate manner
than before; it became a simple melodic passage rather than a forceful reassertion
of group identity. The chord swell was also more delicate this time, and
the orchestra moved easily into section 10.
Taylor's music as an "actual society"
As I hope I have demonstrated above, Cecil Taylor's music is not merely
a "mythic representation" of society, but an actual society. It
is a society struggling to find its identity as both a "Unit"
and also as a collection of individuals. The definition of an individual
to the group is unfixed and in constant flux. There are times where an individual
voice is given room for unfettered expression, times where she or he lays
outside the group plays asserts their individual voice against the group
identity, and times where they willingly join in as an active participant
of group identity. This, I believe, is what Taylor meant when he said "The
instrument a man uses is only a tool with which he makes his comment on
the structure of the music." In the context of Taylor's aesthetics,
the instrument becomes the identity, the "strata" of the individual,
and the way he or she defines that strata in relationship to the entire
"Plain" of group activity, the depth to which he or she has "mirrored
the inner light," determines how they operate in that environment.
I used the example of Eneidi's solo because I thought it was a particularly
successful moment in the music, a riveting "Naked Fire Gesture."
When I mentioned this to him after the performance, he said "Yeah,
I knew I wanted to do it at some point." Eneidi knew how to operate
successfully in the environment Taylor had created; you can hear through
the second example how he begins to set himself up, skillfully nudging and
redirecting the orchestra until a space for him is created. He also exerts
a similar influence with his more subtle actions in the first example. He
is able to do this because he is an accomplished musician in this idiom.
He has a distinctive and powerful soundin Taylor's terms he has found his
"speech to oneself," discovered his individuality through his
body-rhythms and is able to translate that into sound. And this individuality
fits well with Taylor's. The dialogue between them is a manifestation of
the "rhythmical celebration . . . the magical lifting of one's spirits
to a state of trance." The multileveled interaction between Eneidi,
Taylor, and the orchestra, between the individuals and the group as a whole,
is clearly what Taylor describes as "the most heightened perception
of one's self, but one's self in a relationship to other forms of life."
As I stated earlier, the sonic interplay between the individual and the
collective is what creates the spiritual aspects of the music, the "religious
forces."
individuality and multiple aesthetics
However, not every musician in the orchestra was able to function as skillfully
as Marco Eneidi. As I stated before, Eneidi has worked with Taylor several
times before, is very familiar with this idiom, and has found a unique and
powerful voice on his saxophone. He is very comfortable in the kind of environment
which the performance created, just as he is comfortable in shifting his
role in relationship to the group. There were a number of complaints from
other members of the orchestra, such as the inaudibility of the strings,
and the seemingly incongruous playing of some of the musicians, such as
the violinist at the beginning of Eneidi's solo. The whole "playing
with Cecil" aspect was problematic. Some of the interactions were quite
remarkable, while others, particularly those who were less familiar with
the specifics of Taylor's music, were described by some as "embarrassing."
In those moments, the assertion of individuality seemed more of an empty
gesture, even egotistical, and their playing and Taylor's seemed not like
a dialogue, but rather an incongruous projection of sonic disunity. The
intensity of Taylor's playing easily overshadowed the soloist, who seemed
unable to react to Taylor's assertions. Again, an example of this is the
violinist at the beginning of Eneidi's solo; for a substantial period of
time, he or she does not follow the direction that the soloists or the rest
of the orchestra is taking, and is not asserting any kind of clear alternative
directionrather he or she is just "noodling" on their instrument,
absently playing, oblivious to his/her surroundings. It is quite a while
before he/she begin the scratching sound with his/her bow, which fits more
comfortably with the other sounds being produced at that moment. From this
perspective, one still has to wonder why he/she is playing at this particular
moment at all. Yet many people have found this kind of incongruous playing
quite beautiful; Chris Brown described this particular moment as "Ivesian."
This points up an important element in the kind of freedom allowed in this
performance: While any member could really do anything at any moment move
anywhere, make any soundnot all activities were equal, or had equal effect
on the group. Nobody stopped the violinist from playing, but his or her
ineffective assertion of individuality seemed to be ignored by the orchestra
in favor of the highly skillful, and notably much louder, voice of Eneidi.
Yet an aesthetic acceptance of the incongruous accepts that the violinist's
playing may not be unsuccessful at all; in fact the more I have listened
to this passage, the more I find it impossible to hold it to a single aesthetic
standard. In a group of individuals, multiple aesthetics, and multiple definitions
of success and failure according to those aesthetics, coexist. What I find
fascinating about this particular passage is that it is a moment where these
seemingly contradictory aesthetics flourish without canceling each other
out.
gender and Taylor's formulations
While the violinist demonstrates an aesthetic multiplicity within the proceedings
of the concert, there was also a deeper force at work on the ways individuals
related to the group, which was brought to my attention in an exchange just
prior to our beginning the second set. The makeup of the orchestra was diverse,
both racially and gender-wise, but men far out numbered women. As we were
assembling ourselves on the wings, waiting for the second set to begin,
I was standing next to tenor saxophonist Jessica Jones when French Hornist
Krys Bobrowski walked up to us. Jones commented to Bobrowski "Oh good,
I didn't want to be alone over here. All the other ones are over on the
other side." She was referring to the fact that, except for her, Bobrowski,
and pianist Dana Reason, all the other women were string players or vocalists
and entered from the other side of the stage. I said to her something along
the lines of "Feeling outnumbered, huh?" and she replied "Oh
yeah. Didn't you notice all the women? We were the ones standing up taking
all the solos." I should mention that her tone was ironic and funny
rather than bitter, (she has a great sense of humor) and the three of us
laughed. When I mentioned to Jones that she could take a "solo"
if she wanted to, she replied "No. That's just not me."
Her comment cast a new light on the proceedings for me. Jones is an accomplished
musician, runs her own band, and certainly has no problem asserting herself
as a soloist. Yet, from the performances that I have seen, she usually works
out the set list and solo order prior to the appearance on stage. Each musician
is given time to express themselves individually with the support of the
group in a traditional fashion, even though the harmonic or rhythmic materials
may not be typically "mainstream." The aspect of the performance
that she seemed to be saying that was "not her" was the whole
dynamic of individuality expressed as a struggle against group identityher
individuality was not expressed that way. She also connected her concept
of individualityone supported and expressed through a group, rather than
against it, as connected to her gender.
From this perspective, Taylor had created a music that required the musicians
to actively insert themselves into the process, even disrupt it, in order
to assert their individuality. Even though there were moments when everyone
was able to "blow," when the orchestra had become the "anarchic
convulsion of individual expression," even that dynamic operated on
the assumption that individuality was best expressed by casting oneself
into the fray. The structure of the music did not support one's individual
identity, rather it was a constriction from which the individual was to
break free, and in breaking free, the "self metamorphosising life's
`act,'" the musician was supposed to come in contact with "religious
forces." As Taylor himself stated, emotive and individualistic expression
is "aggressive participation." What if that was not true for everyone?
It seemed clear from Jones's comment that she believed the way the performance
was being conducted, and in particular the "playing with Cecil"
aspect, was really just a "guy thing"a male hierarchical struggle.
Who she was as a woman was at odds with the whole construct Taylor had presented.
She was implying that the music was a form of male discourse, and therefore
the basis of that discourse, Taylor's assumptions and subsequent musical
formulations, favored the way males are socialized over the way females
are socialized.
Pauline Oliveros and Cecil Taylor
With this in mind, it is interesting to compare the Taylor concert to a
performance some three weeks before of Pauline Oliveros's work at Mills
College. Oliveros is an interesting comparison to Taylor; they are about
the same age (one year apart), and although they have taken quite different
aesthetic paths, they deal with similar issuesimprovisation, individual
and group dynamics, spirituality, ritual, phsyicality, and poetic imagery.4 Oliveros, too, has sought for an egalitarian music, which
would reflect as well as influence society. In her essay "And Don't
Call Them `Lady' Composers," she states "Certainly, the greatest
problems of society will never be solved until an egalitarian atmosphere
utilizing the total creative energies exists among all men and women."5 Where for Taylor equality is defined along racial and ethnic
lines, for Oliveros it is along gender lines. Taylor utilizes "African
Methodology" which he sees as ultimately inclusive of all people, while
Oliveros' approach is feminist, which she sees as promoting "creative
interaction with everyone."6
"Approaches and Departures"
In Oliveros' concert at Mills, there was a premier of her piece "Approaches
and DeparturesAppearances and Disappearances," a large group piece
which also involved a certain amount of improvisation. The score was a text
in which the instrumentalists were instructed:
Approach a pitch in as many ways as possible. What ever pitch is selected stays the same for all options. Each performer selects and plays independently. Each approach or departure should be unique distinctly different in style and elements.7
For this particular performance the instrumentalists
were placed outside the performance space, and their instruments amplified
so as to be audible from within the auditorium. There were included several
"actors," all Mills College students, who used the stage as their
"note," entering and exiting the auditorium in their approaches
and departures to the stage.
Oliveros's conceptions of individuality
The structure Oliveros provided allowed for a great variety of individual
expression and interpretation, and the focus of the performance shifted
between the people involved in the realization as people entered and left
the auditorium, both physically and audibly. There was no single moment
where any performer really dominated the focus of the group; there were
no "solos." As pianist Dana Reason described it, "It was
about a group voice, about never having your voice above and beyond anyone
else's." This implies, however, a specific kind of aesthetic within
it is assumed that one's individual voice would feel natural, and with Oliveros,
that aesthetic is one of a meditative tranquilityher own single approach
and departure to the stage during the performance was described as moving
"at a Wilsonian pace."8
Oliveros describes music as "a multidimensional, dynamic process unfolding
as a relationship between an individual or a group of individuals, and sound
vibrations."9 Yet that did not mean that
everything everyone did, the way each individual's "voice" was
expressed, was seen as an appropriate manifestation of the "relationship".
Apparently as skilled a musician as Julie Steinberg had some trouble during
the rehearsal process, and was perceived as playing "too many notes."
This was resolved during rehearsal and was not a factor in performance,
but it points out that there were strict aesthetic limits on the nature
of individual expression. Steinberg's' most natural interpretation of the
score disrupted the "group voice," but the aesthetic parameters
of the "group voice" were the narrowly defined limits of Oliveros'
particular beliefs about the nature of spirituality through` tranquility
in individuality. While Oliveros herself states "I wish for my work
to be beneficial to myself and all who experience it,"10 her conceptions
of the nature of "group voice" and the subordination of individuality
to that aesthetic has caused one prominent feminist critic to describe Oliveros's
work as "fascist."11
Taylor's and Oliveros' formulations as gendered discourse
I do not by any means do justice to Oliveros' work with its brief mention
here.12 I have brought it in because, if
we are to consider the possibility that Taylor's music is a form of "male
discourse," then we must look at what would then be its counterpart,
and since Oliveros's music deals with some of the same issues that Taylor's
does, it seems the appropriate place to look for a "female discourse."
Have we found one in "Approaches and Departures?" The question
really remains unanswered while Oliveros considers her music feminist, and
straightforwardly addresses issues of gender and composition. In "A
Conversation About Feminism And Music," Fred Maus mentions hierarchical
struggle as "characteristically male," and Oliveros replies "That's
the competitive mode. And competition is part of the human condition, it
has to play a role but not totally at the expense of cooperation and collaboration."13 For Oliveros, then "cooperation and collaboration"
would be a form of female discourse, so from this perspective "Approaches
and Departures" would seem to be just that. Yet, clearly not all women
find themselves comfortable with the structure Oliveros created, whether
it was playing "too many notes," or perceiving the whole "cooperative"
dynamic as "fascist." On a more simple level, members of both
genders have found themselves resonant with each structureStuart Dempster
with Oliveros's, and Marilyn Crispell in Taylor's, for example.
So is Taylor's music, then, a form of "male discourse?" The answer,
to quote James Joyce, seems to be "Nes and Yo." If Taylor's music
is constructed on "self-analysis" and the assertion of identity,
then gender must play a role in the that assertion, since it is an essential
part of one's "self". Yet to state that a musical formulation
is purely a form of "male" or "female" discourse is
to essentialize the relationship an individual has to their gender. While
disjunction between Jessica Jones's mode of discourse and Taylor's was seen
by her as a disparity between their gendered selves; she stated clearly
"That's just not me;" just the opposite seems true for Marilyn
Crispell. In an interview with Graham Lock she describes talking with a
colleague about her music prior to her explorations into jazz:
I told him, if I were going to improvise this
is how I'd do it, and I improvised atonal stuff the way I do now. I said,
it's really crazy, nobody would listen; he said, it's OK, you can do that,
but I went no, no, no. Then, later, I heard a Cecil Taylor record and it
was YES, YES, YES! Like a door opening.14
Clearly, the musical discourse that Taylor has created resonates deeply
with Crispell's "self"she had in fact developed a similar discourse
herself prior to hearing Taylor's. When she found a connection with Taylor's
music, she said that it was "Like being able to talk to someone who
will finally understand."15
Where Jones had felt
a gulf between herself and Taylor's music, Crispell found a close affinity.
For Jones the gulf was gendered, but Crispell does not see gender playing
any kind of role. If we place equal weight on each one's perceptions, we
can see that there are multiple understandings of the role of gender in
Taylor's music. Just as multiple aesthetics coexist, so to do the perceptions
of Taylor's music as gendered discourseit simultaneously is a form of "male
discourse" and is not. As Jones perceives, Taylor's formulations seem
to favor the way males are socialized, but that does not mean that it is
an essentially male construct.
androgynous music
The question, then, arises; Is Taylor's music an androgynous discourse?
In her Essay "Rags and Patches," Oliveros asks "I wonder
what androgynous musical form would be?" She then immediately relates
the following:
Brahms' Y'all
I dreamed: A Brahms' symphony was to be played. Someone has interpolated a jazz section. The orchestra plays. The jazz section is quite smooth. As I suspected, the orchestra starts to break down at the transition back to Brahms. The horn player completely muffs his entrance. Only miserable puffs of air come out. The conductor keeps flailing away but the string players become increasingly confused and ragged. The conductor finally agrees to stop and begin the transition again. I see the horn player putting his horn away. I tell him to go back and try again. He rejoins the orchestra. This time the solo comes through clearly. Then the horn player breaks briefly into speech about his Southern United States background. He continues playing and the solo has a decided southern inflection.16
This passage deals directly with musical manifestations of identity, and
it has interesting parallels to the Taylor performance. In addressing the
issue of individual identity within a larger, established musical structure,
Oliveros envisions a breakdown of the traditional European symphonic practice.
Interestingly, this breakdown is the result of the "jazz interpolation"an
of "intercultural infringement,"17 and
this "infringement" acts as a catalyst for the exploration, assertion,
and affirmation of individual and ethnic identity, manifest in the horn
player's "decided southern inflection." Like the "anti-jazz"
musicians the sixties, whose assertion of cultural identity was connected
to the overturning of the "mainstream" conceptions of jazz, Oliveros
sees the assertion of the horn players cultural and individual identity
as a result of the overturning of traditional conceptions about the functioning
of a symphonic orchestra. This also parallels the Taylor performance, where
the undermining of the established orchestral identity brought about a reconfiguring
of the individual in relationship to the group. Where the "anti-jazz"
artists saw the establishment of individual identity as connected to race
and culture, Oliveros additionally sees the connection to gender. The gender
connection, however, is implicit rather than explicit: Oliveros herself
states that "Brahms' Y'all" "is certainly not an androgynous
form,"18 but she clearly raises the
idea that the realization individual identity, and its connection to culture
and gender, induces the breakdown of established modes of group functioning.
gender and music constructions
Oliveros proposes that the mere act of questioning the role of gender in
music undermines traditional conceptions of musical form and identity, and,
amazingly, the scenario she envisions through the exploration of music as
gendered discourse bears a striking resemblance to the Taylor performance.
The Taylor performance, however, is really the inverse of Oliveros's proposition:
Through the undermining of the orchestra's identity, the disruption of what
the orchestra thought as the "form" of the music, conceptions
of gender are brought into question. It should be noted, too, that the questions
about the conceptions are not resolved either, as I hope I have demonstrated
above, seemingly contradictory understandings of the nature of the musical
discourse existed without negating each other.
Taylor and his music
Taylor's music is about the continuous flux and redefinition of the individual
in relationship to the group and to a superimposed musical structure. Taylor,
operates on a definition of individual identity that arises from the separation
of oneself from the group, and within that context, the individual is actually
allowed absolute freedom. However, the utilization and exploration of that
freedom, and even the gendered meaning of that freedom, may mean the alienation
of those who do not share the same definition of individual expression.19
Finally, what is most central to Taylor's music is Taylor himself. While
Oliveros's composition could have been performed successfully without her
presence, Taylor's certainly could not. It was he who both created and then
called into question the group identity of the orchestra, and throughout
the entire three hours of music, he constantly asserted his individuality,
never once becoming "just a member of the orchestra." As Alvin
Curran stated, "It was if you were all riding on his back, on his energy."
In conversation with several of the performing musicians afterward, we all
agreed that if we had attempted this undertaking on our own, without Taylor,
there without his unique, powerful, and constant assertion of individuality
to focus and challenge the group, it would have seemed empty, pretentious
and rather silly. With him, however, it was at times transcendent.
1 Taylor described this word
as "the name of an animal," but was unspecific as to what animal.
Apparently it is a kind of South-American bird with long claws. There were
numerous references to Native American peoples, African and Afro-Cuban deities,
Aztec methods of spatial measurement, healing images, etc. It is beyond
the scope of this paper to trace down all the allusions made in the concert,
however if it were ever done, I am sure it would be exceedingly interesting.
back
2 The expectation was not without
some justification, however. In February, Taylor had been in the Bay Area
for a week stint at Yoshi's Nitespot with his quartet. While there, he formed
an orchestra, just for rehearsal purposes. Many of the members of the Jazz
Festival orchestra participated in those rehearsals; I had just observed
them. Those rehearsals also consisted of playing through scores in the same
manner described above. No performance was ever intended or given. back
3 From a description posted on
the internet news group rec.music.bluenote the day after the concert. back
4 Oliveros has also been influenced
by the Black Mountain poets. The texts of "Three Songs" (1957)
are poems by Robert Duncan and Charles Olson. back
5 "And Don't Call Them `Lady'
Composers," Software For People (Baltimore: Smith Publications,
1984), 49. back
6 Pauline Oliveros and Fred Maus
"A Conversation About Feminism And Music" Perspectives of New
Music (Vol. 32, No. 1,Winter, 1994) 190. back
7 Oliveros, Pauline "Approaches
and Departures - Appearances and Disappearances" (Deep Listening Publications,
1995). back
8 Alburger, Mark. "Pauline
Oliveros at Mills College," 20th Century Music Vol.2, No. 11
(November, 1995): 19. back
9 Oliveros, "The Noetics of
Music" Software For People, 110. back
10 Heidi Von Gunden, The Music
Of Pauline Oliveros (Metuchen: The Scarecrow Press, 1983), 151. back
11 This comment was related to
me first hand. The critic, who shall remain nameless since it was not a
public pronouncement, made this comment as an aside after being asked why
she had skipped out of a musicology conference and headed to the bar rather
than participate in an event Oliveros was conducting. back
12 There are many interesting
parallels between this Oliveros piece, and much of Oliveros's work, and
Taylor's musical formulations. However, it is beyond the scope of this paper,
with its focus primarily on Taylor's musical formulations, to continue to
explore those parallels. back
13 Oliveros and Maus, 179. back
14 Graham Lock, Forces In Motion:
The Music And Thoughts Of Anthony Braxton (New York: Da Capo, 1988),
179. back
15 Ibid., 180. back
16 Oliveros, Software For People,
112. back
17 Ibid. back
18 Ibid. back
19 The exact same thing could
be said about Oliveros's piece as well. back