I.
This morning I was listening to Steve Reich’s “Music for 18 Musicians” on my headphones sitting outside drinking coffee, a 56-minute commitment to listen to in its entirety. The score is recorded live in one take; the instruments played so uncharacteristically that they sound put through a sequencer. Much of Reich’s music is about timbre, acoustic capacities, and the melodic “negative space” between syncopated notes. When some bass clarinets came in pulsing thick and strong, I felt deep droning reverberations in my chest cavity, so visceral it was, so moved by the spiritual score — until I realized a large truck approaching behind me, shaking the ground, its driver the 19th musician.
II.
Once in college, flipping through an Agnes Martin monograph, I noticed the faintest “blur” emitting from within a painting; so subtle, its boundaries unperceptible, only felt. Martin, in my mind, is a mathematical abstract expressionist, her work evoking the palpable presence of the forms through a system of grids made by either monochrome tonal shifts or by a methodical invented syntax of tiny marks. Her work is about harmony through human imperfection, of things seen vs. felt. The blur — or, more great, the evocation of a blur — was a complete success, an epiphany, until I flipped to the next page and realized that the blur was simply a darker painting on the other side of the page.
III.
Those of you born before ~c. 1980 will remember the Walkman/cassette tape, and how the latter plays when the former is running low on batteries. One night in 1988, so excited to have just bought Van Halen’s “OU812”, I listened to the first half of Side A at around ~20% normal speed, convinced that the ponderous incomprehensible drones caused by the weakening barely moving spindles were the band’s brave venture into the avante-garde. I thought “Jesus, these guys are really pushing the envelope,” slightly annoyed, yet impressed, by the pretentiousness. It occurred to me, about 20 minutes into this avante s l o w n e s s, that my batteries were running out.
IV.
When I was 15 or so, I had a weird growth, the size and feel of a milk dud, in my left nipple. Fearing it was a cancer tumor, my mom took me to the doctor, who simply attributed the growth to puberty. Around two weeks later, my dad, a neurotic who can’t stand traffic jams and pretty much anything else, drove past the jam on the shoulder of the road for half a mile until we were pulled over by a cop. (We were going to Macy’s or something.) My dad, a semi-quick thinker, told the cop he was rushing me to the hospital because I had nipple cancer — placing the entire verity of his case on the growth in my nipple, and invited the cop to see for himself. The cop (looking back, I feel molested), removed his leather gloves, came around to the passenger’s window (which I was instructed to roll down), and leaned over to inspect my nipple using a series of surprisingly thoughtful pinches. His diagnosis was that I had cancer, and we were set free.
—
Faith is not possible without doubt, however dumb that faith is. I’m glad these things happened, that they continue to happen. I used to wipe my ass pulling the toilet paper and residual fecal matter forward over my balls; until circa 1985 I had “brown balls,” literally. Confusion is the spice of life, ignorance is a muse. Smear your shit everywhere, and best of luck.
Tags: Agnes Martin, steve reich, Van Halen
This is just fantastic, cuts right to the core of the mysterious capacity of art to move us. Sometimes the errata can touch us in ways that the design never could, ways neither the audience nor the artist could anticipate. This made my day.
cancer set you free… i’m going to get in the habit of writing my own quartets every so often. seems like a learning experience, a way to keep things flowing out and in.
beautiful
Jeenyus.
This is lovely, Jimmy.
i’ve only recently started frequenting this site, but jimmy, i consistently dig what you contribute. your mind is fascinating.
holy shit jimmy
bravo
Love it.
haha. nice job. this reminds me of this live recording by leo kottke that i love, air proofing, and there’s a point where someone in the audience in the way back screams “yeah!” like as loud as he can, and it happens on this perfect beat in the song, but he’s so far back the recording barely picks it up, but that yeah has become so part of the song for me now.
I love you.
It’s pathetically reassuring for me that other people have had similar experiences listening to music. I realised that much of what fascinated me about the music used in Cremaster was purely the layering of different textures of music when I’d accidentally have two music sources from different bands on myspace playing at the same time. So, this is an interesting combination of typifying Cage’s call to listen more closely to the world post-4’33 and revealing of superficial compositional techniques.
Jimmy—Along with Coltrane’s Ascension and Feldman’s Crippled Symmetry, Reich’s Music for 18 Musicians is my favorite piece of music. I’ve listened to it dozens and dozens of times in many different places, but never with a truck as the 19th musician. But now I can imagine it, thanks to you.
This is just fantastic, cuts right to the core of the mysterious capacity of art to move us. Sometimes the errata can touch us in ways that the design never could, ways neither the audience nor the artist could anticipate. This made my day.
cancer set you free… i’m going to get in the habit of writing my own quartets every so often. seems like a learning experience, a way to keep things flowing out and in.
beautiful
Jeenyus.
Happy accidents. Is faith a happy accident? I liked this alot. Once i thought i broke my coccyx. The doctor confirmed it. It turned out though that i had a cyst on my ass from sleeping in my clothes too oftent. I went to the dr again when something foul smelling burst in my trousers. He said the ass cyst was common in truckers…in people who sat down too much. The nurse was kind but fascinated. I told people i was common in truckers. They said it was my epitapth. I got a weird transgressive thrill from it.
I don’t if this relates. I dont feel very sharp.
This is lovely, Jimmy.
i regret my opening sentences. This is perfect: ‘Faith is not possible without doubt’. I mean, to act as if you know is a complete betrayal of faith, totally negates its premise. Faith is almost the condition for privacy.
why cant i delete these?
i’ve only recently started frequenting this site, but jimmy, i consistently dig what you contribute. your mind is fascinating.
holy shit jimmy
I don’t know, it’s the software… but, hey, if it’s any consolation: I liked that post.
thanks all for the nice words
bravo
Love it.
haha. nice job. this reminds me of this live recording by leo kottke that i love, air proofing, and there’s a point where someone in the audience in the way back screams “yeah!” like as loud as he can, and it happens on this perfect beat in the song, but he’s so far back the recording barely picks it up, but that yeah has become so part of the song for me now.
I love you.
It’s pathetically reassuring for me that other people have had similar experiences listening to music. I realised that much of what fascinated me about the music used in Cremaster was purely the layering of different textures of music when I’d accidentally have two music sources from different bands on myspace playing at the same time. So, this is an interesting combination of typifying Cage’s call to listen more closely to the world post-4’33 and revealing of superficial compositional techniques.
Jimmy—Along with Coltrane’s Ascension and Feldman’s Crippled Symmetry, Reich’s Music for 18 Musicians is my favorite piece of music. I’ve listened to it dozens and dozens of times in many different places, but never with a truck as the 19th musician. But now I can imagine it, thanks to you.
Happy accidents. Is faith a happy accident? I liked this alot. Once i thought i broke my coccyx. The doctor confirmed it. It turned out though that i had a cyst on my ass from sleeping in my clothes too oftent. I went to the dr again when something foul smelling burst in my trousers. He said the ass cyst was common in truckers…in people who sat down too much. The nurse was kind but fascinated. I told people i was common in truckers. They said it was my epitapth. I got a weird transgressive thrill from it.
I don’t if this relates. I dont feel very sharp.
i regret my opening sentences. This is perfect: ‘Faith is not possible without doubt’. I mean, to act as if you know is a complete betrayal of faith, totally negates its premise. Faith is almost the condition for privacy.
why cant i delete these?
I don’t know, it’s the software… but, hey, if it’s any consolation: I liked that post.
[…] ::inspiration by jimmy chen:: […]
i tried to make music.
thanks all for the nice words
i tried to make music.
— a ritual: i choose a new record once weekly, play on repeat, starts to seep, i soon know its innards. and then on the weekend, use a winamp plugin to alter the pitch and/or speed, play it slow shrill and loud, or deep and frenetic. everything is relative. I commented earlier of my love of the variation form, fuck cold finality. it disarms the mind to find newness or imploding truth, uncover intricacies. this is what makes me an Anything-ist. One only needs the right angle for appreciation.
— i had one of those puberty nipple-cysts also, but no such corollary experience.
— is that why some people just smell like shit all the time?
— a ritual: i choose a new record once weekly, play on repeat, starts to seep, i soon know its innards. and then on the weekend, use a winamp plugin to alter the pitch and/or speed, play it slow shrill and loud, or deep and frenetic. everything is relative. I commented earlier of my love of the variation form, fuck cold finality. it disarms the mind to find newness or imploding truth, uncover intricacies. this is what makes me an Anything-ist. One only needs the right angle for appreciation.
— i had one of those puberty nipple-cysts also, but no such corollary experience.
— is that why some people just smell like shit all the time?
i love your ‘reading’ on ‘music for 18 musicians.’ i could never concisely expess what was so goosebump-raising and moving about this Reich piece.
i love your ‘reading’ on ‘music for 18 musicians.’ i could never concisely expess what was so goosebump-raising and moving about this Reich piece.