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ISBN 9789080804319
PRINTED IN BELGIUM
BONE
A TRIBUTE TO STEVE LACY
TO EVA
Foreword
This book was written as a goodbye present for Steve Lacy on his departure to
Boston after a thirty year stay in Europe.
This is not a definitive biography of Steve Lacy, nor a complete musicological
analysis, but a collection of highly individual reactions to Lacys art.
First, we collected reactions of several of Lacys longtime friends and collaborators
such as Fred Van Hove, Evan Parker, Mal Waldron, Mikhail Bezverkhny and
Jolle Landre.
Jazz connoisseur Fernand Tanghe was best placed to write a comprehensive
musical biography of Steves prodigious musical output.
Next, Olivier Braet wrote a personal essay on Lacys literary roots and his favourite
writers.
Rita De Vuyst took the challenge of highlighting Lacys appearances in Ghent
(imagine every city Lacy has a connection with to write a book like this that
would make a collection!), his fertile cooperation with Evan Parker and the
exhibition that was dedicated to Steve Lacy.
Last, we added the full transcription of a long interview with Lacy about his ideas
on art, literature, the jazz scene and his most fruitful collaborations.
We end with a personal appreciation by Rita De Vuyst of Steves concert cycle
Blossoms, his goodbye present to Belgium and Europe.
We are very grateful for the valuable contributions of (in alphabetical order)
Mikhail Bezverkhny, Steve Boone, Chris Culpo, Shiro Daimon, Cedric Dhondt,
Caroline Forbes, Michael W. Huon from Studio Odon 120, Jolle Landre,
Vincent Lain from http://senators.free.fr, Jackie Lepage home.pi.be/~jlepage/,
Evan Parker, Roger Parry, Alfred Vandaele, Fred Van Hove, Bernard Van
Overmeire, Wim Smets, Tamara Swalef, Fernand Tanghe, Paul Van Gyseghem,
Mal Waldron and first and foremost Steve Lacy for the lengthy interview and his
additional input.
Short Bios
Mikhail Bezverkhny
Violinist (1976 Queen Elisabeth laureate) who has just found the road to
improvised music through Steve Lacy.
Shiro Daimon
Developed his unique blend of traditional and modern Japanese dance.
Jolle Landre
Energetic torch-bearer of free (double) bass improvising.
Evan Parker
A leading figure and exceptional instrumentalist in the world of avant garde
music.
Fred Van Hove
One of the pioneers of European free improvised music.
Mal Waldron
Keeping Ellingtons and Monks flame burning in his inimitable fashion.
a period?
No. Well, you could say I lived there for short periods, yeah. I had a house
there. When I played in Japan, I would go to live in my house, but that was
about six weeks at a time, and then I would come back.
Its also very tiring because you dont have any privacy. Because everybody
knows you, and they approach you and they want autographs. You go down
to get a pack of cigarettes and youd be out for hours because people are
stopping you and asking and talking to you.
But you are easy to spot in the streets, of course.
Oh yeah! (Laughs)
Do you feel that Steve still hasnt gotten the public attention he deserves?
Oh yes, certainly. For sure.
Was your first impression of Steve positive?
My first impression was not too positive, no. Because he didnt really swing
the way I was used to swing. But little by little I accepted his way of
playing. Right now we can go together and really swing, you know.
Monk was one mutual point of interest. The other one was Duke Ellington. I
was with him on several of his Monk records of the fifties. The first one was
in 1958 I think. That was with Elvin Jones (d) and Buell Neidlinger (b).
My favourite records with Steve are Moods from 1979 and Mal Waldron
with the Steve Lacy Quartet from 1972 (with Aebi, McGhie, Potts and Kent
Carter). Also Duquility, dedicated to Duke Ellington, I like very much.
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Stewart, and many more. Yet Lacys unpredictability soon started showing:
he met Cecil Taylor and participated in his experimental searches for five
years. Lacy exchanged tradition for the avant-garde in a short period of
time. From one extreme to the next? That diagnosis would be too simple.
The fact that he can pick up the most varied styles and identify with all of
them does not mean that he is a chameleon. It is more an indication of an
anti-dogmatic mentality, of a music making style that is adverse to fixed
codes and shows real, inherent openness. It soon became apparent that the
unpredictable would remain the thread throughout his career (if this saying
is at all possible here): after years of exploring the free jazz waters and
every detail of the experimental territory he would still occasionally recontact traditional jazz players and record with Bobby Hackett and Kenny
Davern (1964 resp. 1978). This indicates that he felt just as at home with
them as in his debut years. Moreover, parallel to the cooperation with
Taylor, he remained active in combos that played jazz, which was a
combination of Dixieland and swing (led by himself or with trumpet player
Dick Sutton).
Simultaneously, Lacys music studies took a more systematic course
(courses at the Schillinger School in Boston and the Manhattan School of
Music) and his instrument arsenal broadened: other members of the
saxophone family and the flute. But not for long: after a while Lacy started a
love affair with the soprano sax. Whoever wants to take this demanding
and jealous mistress seriously, must limit himself to an exclusive
relationship. The soprano sax is after all a treacherous instrument: extremely
difficult to master, as if it is naturally out of tune. During the period of
classic jazz it was only used sporadically. As arrangement and combined
play grew more complex it almost completely disappeared from the scene.
15
Before Lacy, Sidney Bechet was the only musician to use the soprano sax as
his main instrument (but not exclusively: he always continued playing the
clarinet); Johnny Hodges had also successfully played it once in a while in
Ellingtons orchestra, but after some time he stopped for good. Until the
fifties, Bechet was of course associated with soprano sax in jazz music and
thanks to him Lacy fell in love with it, yet he did not use Bechets
technical or stylistic approach as a model. On the soprano, Bechet had
developed an inimitable style and particularly a unique timbre, instantly
recognizable with its widely spread out vibrato. Admired by devoted fans
and a source of irritation to others, Lacy considered this constant resort to a
distinct vibrato a trick to get round the instruments intonation problems:
this way Bechet could smooth over its intrinsic 'falseness'. Lacy would on
the other hand not
reconcile himself: he would tame
this 'devilish' instrument, even
correct every note if necessary; but
he did realize this would require
extreme continuous effort and
ascetic discipline, and that he
would get very frustrated along the
way; the effort it took was
incompatible with playing other
instruments. In this search Lacy
would not only explore the known
weaknesses
but
also
the
unexpected possibilities of the
soprano sax. He did not only learn
to control and adjust the official
register; he also developed new
16
Sidney Bechet
Between '63 and '66 Lacy continued to work with avant-garde musicians,
among others: Paul Bley, Steve Swallow, Mike Mantler, and he cooperated
on recordings of Carla Bley and the Jazz Composer's Orchestra. Meanwhile
he stayed in Europe for increasingly longer periods: Sweden, but especially
Italy, where he engaged himself beside musicians like Giorgio Gaslini and
Enrico Rava. The latter was also part of the quartet that Lacy toured
Argentina in '66 with. It was meant to be a short tour but the project turned
into a forced nine-month stay. Lacy, who had referred to his quartet as a
'Revolution in jazz', was unfortunate to land in Buenos Aires in the middle
of a military putsch. It was the wrong music at the wrong time and place
all the more because they had not intended to 'free jazz', but also as Lacy
himself puts it: 'hermetically free'. After having survived the Argentine
adventure, he returned to New York for a while, where he again started
recording with the Jazz Composer's Orchestra as well as recording several
albums with vibraphone player Gary Burton. However he soon returned to
Europe. He stayed in Rome from '68 to '70. He sometimes performed there
and recorded with (among others) the aforementioned musicians, but also
commenced continuous musical cooperation with singer Irene Aebi, who is
also his life companion. However he soon became frustrated by the
undersized offer of all-round jazz talent in Italy. This time he moved to
Paris, which has been his home base for 25 years now (in the mid-nineties
he left and 'emigrated' to Berlin, but his desire to live in Paris returned in
'97).
During the seventies he found a formula that has determined his group
efforts: a sextet where the ranks have been renewed over the years, but is
supported by several loyal pillars; mainly Steve Potts on alto and soprano
sax, temperamentally very different to Lacy yet still his musical
19
complement, Bobby Few on the piano, Jean-Jacques Avenel on the doublebass (he was also a member of, among others, accordionist Richard
Gallianos group from 1991 tot '93), and Irene Aebi, who sang poetic and
literary texts that Lacy had put on music (by Blaise Cendrars, Apollinaire,
Eluard, Char, Beckett, Braque and others) and also played the violin and
cello parts.
Parallel to the activities of his own group, Lacy increased the amount of
meetings, experiments and recordings with other musicians (among others):
Mal Waldron, Misha Mengelberg, Eric Watson and Ran Blake (piano),
Derek Bailey (guitar), Maarten Altena (bass), Evan Parker (soprano sax).
He also repeatedly performed with Japanese jazz musicians, on the occasion
of regular tours in Japan. In due time he started to have a real preference for
two demanding and also rather ascetic formulas: performing and recording
in duo (with the aforementioned players) and as an unaccompanied soloist.
Until very late in the history of jazz unaccompanied solo recordings (accept
for pianists) were almost unconceivable. In 1948 Coleman Hawkins was the
first to dare to take the step: his 'Picasso', a solo of about 3 minutes (one side
of a 78 record) was then considered revolutionary and was not followed for
a long time. When the free age came this was of course less exceptional but
because of his numerous solo albums, Lacy remains unique in this 'genre'.
He turned the unaccompanied solo into a full formula: it perfectly answers
the challenge to explore the limits of the soprano sax, while the listener
never experiences the absence of a rhythm section as a flaw. In between
Lacy also experimented with a more extensive strength (more or less big
band-sized), but the results give quite a hesitant impression and are less
convincing. Throughout the years he has also explored other musical
worlds: Monk remains a passion, often honored on record, but there is also
the exploration of Ellingtons and Billy Strayhorns uvre (Sempre Amore,
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1986, with Waldron), as well as that of Herbie Nichols and Charles Mingus
(Spirit of Mingus, 1991, a beautiful CD in duo with Eric Watson). Apart
from that, his own compositions have increased in importance and amount.
In this regard it should be noted that Lacy identified with free jazz for a
rather short time: as a revolutionary innovation it was unmistakably
important, he says, but by throwing all musical structure overboard it soon
became monotonous and sterile; people thought they were completely free
but after a while it all started to sound the same, night after night.
Sometimes radical steps are necessary to save the spirit and inventiveness of
music; but what is more important is what you do after this revolution. Soon
people started to realize that the discoveries should be exploited more
methodically and controlled. Freedom is not the same as playing just
anything, real freedom is what you get by laying open boundaries,
according to Lacy.
21
rhythm, form were reintegrated but had undergone rejuvenation, they got a
more refreshing style and were open to a variety of possibilities; they were
no longer used 'defensively', but were now serving as a way of finding more
freedom and creativity, of both independence and mutual involvement of the
musicians.
Finally the vocal element would also take an increasingly eminent place in
Lacy's music (partly due to the influence of Irene Aebi). This became
evident through the use of instrumental voice sounds, adding verbal-melodic
or rhythmic cells in the composition but especially through putting literary
and poetic texts onto music ('lit-jazz' Lacy calls it). In certain recordings the
music is completely centered on the voice. This is no coincidental evolution,
there are several reasons. First it means a return to the vocal essence and the
roots of jazz. Moreover: have we not always expected instrumental jazz
soloists to be good storytellers? That their sound, style and inflection tells a
unique story, as if the instruments language always tended towards the
word and verbal communication? (Of course the latter does not apply to
Lacy: communication in the crude, utilitarian sense of the word; if music
expresses something then it is only itself and the player is an actor and
vehicle involved in 'his' music, he does not own it, rather the opposite). In
any case, real jazz musicians aspire to use their instrument as a voice, they
try to create a kind of immediate bond between the conception and
expression of a musical idea that is so typical of the human voice: whatever
their instrument, they are singers. In some cases this takes on even more
tangible forms: people like Lester Young or Dexter Gordon based their
improvisations on the texts of the themes used.
That is also Lacys intention: playing with words of a text. Every text, be it
poetry or even aphorisms or speculative texts, contain an inherent
'melodicity', suggesting a characteristic melody; it can always be transposed
23
of all it frills; each note gets its own intensity and is also provided with its
own emotional dimension. Lacy is one of the rare people who understood,
as Nietzsche put it: the art of ruminating. His sense of silence also
indicates an open ear for his fellow players. The fact that every note gets a
special relief does not mean that it causes the melodic debit to be blocked.
On the contrary: conspicuous are the long, sometimes labyrinth like lines in
Lacy's improvisations. These sentences, interlarded with silence yet also
drawn out, give shape to a meditative discourse: cautiously, step by step, the
musical train of thought develops, deconstruction leads to reconstruction;
Lacy combines the art of slow exploration with a logic that is very limpid in
its conclusions; rigor, also conceptually, it feeds the power of expression
and vice versa. Sometimes his music is ascetic and inward, like the
meditation of a Buddhist monk, but this does not mean it is without passion
or emotion (neither is it incompatible with sometimes burlesque humor).
It sometimes appears minimalist, but it is the minimalism of abundance.
Lacy is first and foremost a unique stylist, and in that respect I would place
him in line with jazz musicians who have not gathered a huge following
despite their grandeur: people like Johnny Hodges, Ben Webster, Paul
Desmond, even Sidney Bechet. He has created a unique, inimitable sound
on the soprano sax: he has given the sax, which used to be considered a
circus instrument with its irremediable approximate intonation and shaky
vibrato, a definite patent of nobility. But his influence on other jazz
musicians is primarily indirect; it is situated on a level of inspiration; others
see him as a lesson in making high demands. Contrary to people like
Coltrane he is not really a textbook example. Most jazz musicians who play
soprano sax today (yet usually as additional instrument) follow Coltranes
example.
Lacy on the other hand does not really have followers, no multitude of
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26
Bob Kaufman
I have folded my sorrows
27
Journalist:
Joyce:
The constructive tension between jazz and literature constitutes the heart
and soul of the compositions of the American soprano saxophonist Steve
Lacy. By exploring this realm between literature and jazz, he goes back to
the historical roots of jazz music, and adds to this mix his unique, personal
interpretation. Although blues is in essence an oral tradition, it is hard to
understand why music critics have often failed to fully appreciate the
dialogue between jazz and literature. Typical of the neglect of the crossfertilization between jazz and literature is the way in which the vocal
contributions of Lacys wife Irene Aebi (cellist, violinist and vocalist) have
been treated with silence by the jazz critics.
When asked for a personal explanation, Lacy answered that it was because
it hits their weak side. Most of them dont know beans of literature, poetry,
the beat poets, none of this stuff. Theyre very channeled thinkers of jazz.
They may know Louis Armstrong and Dexter Gordon and all that, but they
dont know even Dostoyevsky or Van Gogh or Beethoven or none of that
stuff. A lot of them. Not all of them.
The unique relation Lacy has with certain writers grew gradually, or as Lacy
28
calls it, organically. He does not see it as a coincidence that he met his
wife through literature.
The dialogue between literature and jazz offers Lacy surprising creative
possibilities. If the music is based on literature, you're going to have very
unusual forms. You're not going to have regular 4, 8, or 12 bar sections;
you're going to have 9, 11, or 23, and measures of 3, 5, 6 or 7 next to each
other. Very few words fit into those standard forms. We use poetry, prose,
newspaper clippings, postcards and telegrams, and it almost never falls into
4-bar phrases and almost is never in 4/4. The words determine where the
music is going to go. In this way Lacy arrives at what he has appropriately
baptized lit-jazz.
It is beyond the scope of this article to make a musical-technical analysis of
how texts reappear in Lacys music, which would be work for
musicologists. Our purpose is to describe Lacys position within the artistic
world, in order to understand why he feels sympathy and respect for certain
writers. For this, we have to go back to the fifties and early sixties, where
Lacys artistic roots lie.
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Lacys writers
Lacy fits in a tradition of artists that rejects the romantic image of the
tormented, lonely artist who, during spells of genius, produces his work. Just
like writers as James Joyce or William Burroughs loved to brag about the
fact that they didnt invent one plot, Lacy is proud of the fact that everything
he knows has been picked up and remembered until the appropriate musical
situation emerged. The notions of originality and genius attain in this way a
completely different meaning. Art is mainly hard work. Thousands of ideas
are lost, only a few of them are fit for publication. In this respect, Joyce and
Burroughs had an almost medieval view on being an artist. Their artist is
more of a reporter than a creator. The personal contribution is one of
ordering and explaining. The most important difference with the medieval
artist is that the artist has to try to report as good as possible his own
impressions I am a recording instrument. (Burroughs, Naked Lunch: p.
174) and therefore has to keep his senses clean: This is Revelation and
Prophecy of what I can pick up without FM on my 1920 crystal set with
antennae of jissom. (Burroughs, Interzone: 136 and also ad verbatim in
Naked Lunch: 180).
Lacy stands in the middle of this modernist tradition, where one treats
tradition with respect, without copying it blindly (like some jazz musicians
are doing now in neo-bop). At the same time this respect for the
predecessors does not stop artists from striving for innovations. Lacys
modernistic orientation reveals itself most clearly when you look at what
writers inspire him. They are tinkerers who (like Marcel Proust, one of the
modernistic giants) rework fragments, memories and sensory impressions
into unexpected and personal combinations.
31
A common element of Lacys favorite artists is that theyve all taken the
collage as an artistic starting point, although he himself has never used the
technique as such. In music John Cage did a lot of snipping, as Lacy calls
it. In painting all the cubists, surrealists and dadaists did it in one way or
another. Paul Klee also cut up photographs, and before him Czanne
combined in his landscapes different perspectives.
Lacy: Optics is one of my fundamental tools. I would say
that most of what I do in music, and the way I found various
things and the way I work, is through optics. You know,
magnifying certain things and isolating certain things.
Theyre optical phenomena, theyre ways of focusing. And
certain elements in the music and certain elements in
literature, and all that. In speech. And its a way of well
its a focus. I think focus is a very, very important
concept in my own work.
Tips from 1979 (with Steve Lacy on soprano; Steve Potts on alto and the
vocals of Irene Aebi) is based on the texts of the French Painter Georges
Braque, together with Picasso one of the founding fathers of cubism.
32
he met Steve Lacy in Milan, whose soprano-saxophone inspired him for the
rhythm of his poems.
35
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Hal Chase, Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, William Burroughs, New York,
1944
The most important similarity between these authors is that they all turned
away from the ruling highbrow definition of what art was supposed to be.
For this, they oriented themselves towards the more primitive European
avant-garde of the interbellum, such as Surrealists, Dadaists, Louis
Ferdinand Cline, Joyce, Kafka and Beckett. They averted themselves from
the left-wing activism that had become characteristic for the academic
avant-garde (if such a thing even exists). How this came to be, will be
highlighted in the next chapter.
38
Lacy also was strongly influenced by the French avant-garde of this period.
Lacy: That was one of the things that attracted me before I
even came to France. You know in New York, back in the
fifties I discovered like the French cinema, some French
music and French literature, poetry and things like that. And
some of those were the things that attracted me, even before I
came here. Also I did study a little bit of French in high
school. You know, Michaux and Genet and Sartre, some of
the poets like Appolinaire, I knew those things before I even
came here.
At the same moment, the American Action Painters also rejected the pure
aestheticism of the puritanical ethos, propagated by the conservative elites
of Boston, as well as the left wing snobbery of the progressive elites of New
York. They used techniques that everyone could apply, thereby achieving a
democratizing effect: anyone can produce art. Robert Rauschenberg used all
sorts of found garbage in his paintings. Jasper Johns combined dirt with
mass cultural icons. Willem De Kooning tore womens lips from fashion
magazines. The most famous American from this period, Jackson Pollock,
dripped his paint on the canvas instead of using a brush.
For these painters it was not so much the product obtained as the action of
painting itself that became important (hence Action Painting).
39
The jazz avant-garde felt closely connected to these painters. In The Five
Spot, one of the important locations where experimental jazz was played,
these artists met. Steve Lacy testifies: The painters came there even before
our engagement, and especially when Monk was there. There was De
Kooning, Franz Kline, Herman Cherry, David Smith and Pollock. In Cedar
Bar, all the painters were there. Also at the Club, where they met once a
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week to discuss painting. Franz Kline liked jazz very much, and De
Kooning too. For Monk, they were there every evening. ("Interview with
Steve Lacy by Alain Kirili", from Sculpture et Jazz - Autoportrait, Alain
Kirili, Stock, Paris - 1996)
The beats as well as the action painters were convinced that the old avantgarde would find their techniques vulgar. In Kerouacs case the effect
wasnt as strong, but Burroughs or Gysin succeeded surprisingly well in
their aims. With their cut-up technique Burroughs and Gysin aimed to shock
the academic avant-garde. They introduced the use of modern technologies
such as TV-sets and tape-recorders into the literary field, and had an image
of the writer as a language-engineer who dissects words with the same
precision as a doctor operates a patient. In the following quote we meet
Burroughs alter ego Dr. Benway, who levels pure artistic creation with
art for arts sake, and at the same time propagates some sort of a
handicraft view on being an artist.
Dr. Benway is operating in an auditorium filled with
students: Now boys, you wont see this operation
performed very often and theres a reason for that. . . . You
see it has absolutely no medical value. No one knows what
the purpose of it originally was or if it had a purpose at all.
Personally I think it was a pure artistic creation from the
beginning. (Naked Lunch, p. 59)
In most of Burroughs and Kerouacs novels and in the poems of Ginsberg
the action of writing itself is the purpose of the writing. This is the principle
of artistic autonomy brought to its bare essence: writing in order to be
writing. Kerouacs criture automatique was actually already old hat in
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painting at that time. But William Burroughs and Brion Gysin came a lot
closer to this practice-oriented, activistic way of creating (without giving
direct political connotations to the term). Ginsberg stood between Burroughs
and Kerouac with his Zen Buddhist theorem First thought, best thought.
Ginsberg called his improvisational technique in literature composing on
the tongue, and other beat poets in one way or another used this method.
Gregory Corso wrote a poem about the sun wherein he was (so-to-speak)
completely spontaneous: Sun hypnotic! holy all protracted long and sure!
firey goblet! day-babble!, etcetera.
music than traditional, European poetry. As Ted Joans, poet and friend of
several beats said: "I could see that [Ginsberg] was picking up the language
and rhythm of jazz, that he wasn't following the European tradition".
Ginsberg saw his poetry as equivalent with the improvised music, because
he let the length of his phrases depend on the length of his breath. Often he
inhaled deeply at the end of a long sentence, and restarted with the same
word he had ended with. Traditional jazz and beat poetry also put more
stress on the second and fourth measure, as in traditional African music,
while European music and poetry puts more stress on the first and third
measure. Beat poetry in general follows a more loose and syncopated jazzy
rhythm.
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than their artistic talent, the economic depression formed their lifestyle, is at
the same time completely correct, but by saying it mockingly he rejects the
new avant-gardes out of the pantheon of good avant-garde.
In another Partisan Review article of the seventies, critic Barbara Rose
describes the American avant-garde of the fifties with terms such as
puerilism, self-pity, self-hatred, self-mutilation. She sees the
movement as a purely aesthetic phenomenon stripped of critical content
where the use of chance itself as a method to form creation implies a large
degree of passivity toward the external world (Barbara Rose 1973 in
Kurzweil). Notice how she comes very close to the truth when she sees the
use of chance as their most important aesthetical principle, while at the
same time ignoring the aesthetic consequence of her utterance.
As an illustration of how much the beats despised these critics, a quote from
a letter from William Burroughs to Kerouac and Ginsberg, where he says
about the Partisan Review that: publishing in those obituary pages is really
the kiss of death, the very fuck of death (The Letters of William Burroughs:
293).
The analyses of these Partisan Review critics were based on the ideas of the
godfathers of American left-wing criticism: Theodor Adorno and Max
Horkheimer. These German philosophers had fled the Nazi-regime in the
late thirties. In the U.S. they quickly attained huge influence among New
Yorks intellectual elites. They were shocked when they found a (according
to them) cultural desert in the United States. They were especially
dumbfounded by the popularity of jazz music.
A Jazz-musician who plays a piece of serious music, who
47
No wonder then that Burroughs had such an anti-left reflex. Not only did he
identify the Swedish model as a nightmare in Naked Lunch. During his
university studies he always kept his distance towards the left wing students,
since he distrusted their Horkeimerian mister-know-it-all-ness. After the
Second World War there were several communist cells and left-wing
professors active at the East Coast. Burroughs reacted strongly against these,
and seemed to follow the general public opinion as if he was supporting
senator McCarthys communist witch hunt.
My opinion of labour leaders and unions is very close to the
views so ably and vigorously expressed by Westbrook
Pegler, the only columnist, in my opinion, who possesses a
grain of integrity. (The Letters of William S. Burroughs:
24/12 1949)
Pegler was the prototype right wing anti-communist columnist. But
Burroughs isnt completely serious here. He writes in the idiom of the
English, in the legitimate accent of the puritanical Bostonians (so ably and
vigorously and in my opinion). Ginsberg quickly saw through this. He
reacted a month and a half later by calling Pegler a mouldy fig with nuts.
He correctly identified Burroughs right-wing opinions as just a W.C.
Fields act.
Lacy also has his unique way of playing with right-wing influences. He
adores Zamyatin, the Russian writer of the dystopian novel We, wherein he
predicts the whole system would collapse. And Steve has dedicated a whole
cycle to the dissident, anti-communist poet Marina Tsvetayeva, which
nobody to this day seems to be willing to publish.
49
51
52
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style, even though he has constructed complete paragraphs out of paperclippings, radio- and TV-shows, advertising messages, song texts or
fragments of other writers. Gysin was also educated in Burroughs writing
and life, and exaggerated when he said that one single high-powered
Burroughs word could ruin a whole barrel of good everyday words, run the
literary rot right through them. One sniff of that prose and youd say, Why,
thats a Burroughs.
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Thelonious Monk
and through it, his life and sanity at stake when he paints.
(The Letters of William S. Burroughs: p. 398: Letter to
Ginsberg on 10/10/1958).
The collage-experiment is at the same time a political standpoint, just as
the free verse came to be out of resistance against the alexandrine, against
everything the alexandrine implicated aesthetically but also socially and
politically. (Pierre Bourdieu: Les rgles de lart, p. 251)
For Lacy poetry and politics are alike: Nobody asks us to play jazz, its us
who want to play it. I take orders of no one, except maybe from Louis
Armstrong or Duke Ellington. I am standing in the middle of a tradition, but
I only play the music I want to play, and only with the people who have the
same opinion. That demand is political. [] Cecil Taylor taught me that it
was a political act to fight for being able to play the way you want to play.
(Drle d'poque, "Secrets et Silences", spring 2002 nr 10)
Lacy: Playing with Cecil Taylor immediately put me into
the offensive mode. This was the avant-tout garde; we were
an attack quartet, (sometimes quintet or trio), playing
original, dangerously threatening music that most people
(musicians, organizers, club-owners, and critics) were
offended by, doing everything they could to hold us back
and prevent us from getting work. In the six years I worked
with Cecil Taylor (1953-59), I received an excellent
education, not only in jazz, but also in politics and strategy.
The same orientation towards action can also be found in Thelonious
Monks compositions, as Lacy so vividly points out:
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Lacy: "All his music can be sung and swung, and derives
fundamentally from, and towards, dance. Rhythm and
melody were one for him. He told me that when he was
young he was excellent at mathematics, and I believed him
because his sense of time and space was uncanny. In jazz,
and especially after the bebop revolution in the forties (of
which Thelonious was the leading strategist), the mise-enplace was opened up as a source of new lines, and the
rhythmic content was greatly enhanced. (From "Foreword
by Steve Lacy " in Thelonious Monk: his life and music,
Thomas Fitterling, Berkeley Hills books, 1997)
And the same orientation towards action one can find in Ornette Coleman,
pioneer of the free jazz.
Lacy: "He came in and blew New York away. He divided
and polarized the scene so that either you were for it or
against it. Of course, I was for it from the beginning. Even
before I heard him live, I heard the record. And I loved it
because it was vocal. It was language. It was spoken as if he
was speaking the saxophone. It was so free, it was just like
speech.
Lacy got acquainted with Ornettes sidemen Don Cherry (whom Lacy
admires most), Billy Higgins and Charlie Haden in the beginning of the
sixties. After Free Jazz, the groundbreaking record with the double quartet
(which, by the way, showed on its sleeve the Jackson Pollock painting White
Light), Lacy replaced Eric Dolphy in the double quartet for a life show of
Free Jazz. Its in this period that Coltrane heard Lacy playing the soprano,
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and decided to give the instrument a try. Together with Colemans octet
Lacy experienced one of the most disappointing episodes of his career,
during their first tour.
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.
Ornette Coleman, 1958
Lacy: The gig was in Cincinnati. There were eight of us, a
double quartet, and we got to the theatre where we were
supposed to perform. The marquis was marked "Ornette
Coleman- Free Jazz" and there was a line around the block
of people waiting to get in. But they didn't want to pay.
"Free Jazz." People were saying, "It's free. What do you
mean? We have to pay for this?" People refused to pay
because it was marked "Free Jazz." And so we didn't play.
We couldn't get paid and we didn't play. We got back on our
plane and went back to New York. We got back discouraged
and depressed. Everybody was poor and that was our gig
and that was the end of free jazz in America as far as I
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know."
Lacy packed his suitcases, and left disillusioned for Europe, where he has
been working for over thirty years now. Coming next year he will teach at
the New England Conservatory in Boston together with, among others, the
illustrious George Russell. Today we can safely say that, besides the few
who guarded the flame of freely improvised music (such as Steve Lacy or
Evan Parker) free jazz is dead. After the genre first died a noisy death in the
US (as Lacy shows in the funny anecdote), the genre is in Europe at a
popular low not taking into account some die-hard fans. The only jazz that
receives some public attention is the sterile copying of style figures of swing
or bop. Neoboppers do not differ in any way from the folkloristic jazz of the
Dixieland bands.
Lacy: Well, you know, if its boring its boring and theres
a lot of recreative stuff going on. And jazz recreation just
doesnt excite me. I mean I find it very uninteresting, and
actually much jazz that I hear, really, is sort of just without
interest to me, at this point. Cause Ive heard that before. I
wanna hear something Ive never heard before. And thats
the point. Even if I play myself I wanna hear something I
havent heard before. Its not that I play what Ive already
played, I wanna hear something new.
Lacy received the title of Commandeur des Arts et des Lettres from the
Acadmie Franaise this year, just like William Burroughs just before he
returned to the U.S. in the seventies. Could it be Europeans only start
appreciating their expatriates if we realize were about to loose them?
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67
68
Marina Tsvetayeva
From the Insomnia cycle
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71
Irene Aebi
Muhammed Ali
Ronnie Beer
Henk Bennink
Tot Blanke
Peter Brtzmann
Sigi Busch
Kent Carter
Pierre Courbois
Willy De Bisschop
Patrick De Groote
Julie Driscoll
Bobby Few
Mongezi Feza
Burton Greene
Malcolm Griffiths
Beb Gurin
Ron Herman
Jerome Hunter
Al Jones
Robin Kenyatta
Siegfried Kessler
Steve Lacy
Byard Lancaster
Ronals Lecourt
Didier Levallet
Frank Lowe
Al Mangelsdorff
Nol McGhie
Chris McGregor
Misha Mengelberg
Louis Moholo
Sunny Murray
Jean My-Truong
Nolle Neels
Cel Overberghe
Evan Parker
Steve Potts
Dudu Pukwana
Bobby Reed
Willy Roggeman
Paul Rutherford
Jacky Samson
Manfred Schoof
Irne Schweitzer
Jeff Seffer
Kenneth Soeller
John Stevens
Kenneth Terroade
Firmin Timmermans
Kenneth Tyler
Franois Tusques
Paul Van Gysegem
Fred Van Hove
Martin Van Duynhoven
Maarten Van Regteren Altena
Jasper van t Hoff
Trevor Watts
Frank Wright
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Jean-Jacques Avenel
( Jackie Lepage)
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Steve Lacy and Evan Parker during the recording of Chirps (1985)
( Caroline Forbes)
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Steve Lacy and Evan Parker live in the Sint-Kwintens Kapel, Ghent 2002
( Jacky Lepage)
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Steve Lacy and Evan Parker live in the Sint-Kwintens Kapel, Gent 2002
( Jacky Lepage)
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Steve Lacy and Evan Parker live in the Sint-Kwintens Kapel, Gent 2002
( Jacky Lepage)
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Fernando Pessoa
Sometimes, on days of perfect and sharp light,
When things are as real as they can be,
I slowly wonder
Why I ascribe beauty
To things.
A flower for example, does it have beauty?
Is there perhaps beauty in a fruit?
No : they exist, nothing more.
Beauty is the name of something that doesnt exist
And I give it to things in exchange for the pleasure they
Give me.
It means nothing.
Why then do I say of things : they are beautiful?
Yes, even me, who lives only from life,
Visit, invisible, the lies of people
With regard to things,
With regard to things that simply exist.
How hard it is to be yourself and only see the visible!
(Translation Dries Boucherie)
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phrases and the tunes would be a little different every night, but for me that
wasnt enough. It reached a point where I, and many other people, got sick
and tired of the beat and the bars everybody got tired of the systematic
playing, and we just said Fuck It.
But I think the question of appetite is very important. Some people are of a
progressive bent and some are not. And you cant ask either of them to
change. Some people are interested in carrying on an old tradition and they
can find their kicks in shifting round patterns and they are not in any rush to
find new stuff. They can rummage around the old stuff all their lives. People
become obsessed with not just maintaining a tradition bur with perfecting it.
Some people search for the perfect arrangement of the old patterns and that
is progress for them. Other people want to beat down the walls and find
some new territory.
What Cecil Taylor was doing started in the early 50s. And the results were
as free as anything you could hear. Bur it was not done in a free way. It was
built up very, very systematically but with a new ear and new values. But
there was complete opposition to what he was doing in the 50s. Then when
Ornette hit town, that was the blow. On the one hand there were all the
academic players, the hard-boppers, the Blue-Note people, the Prestige
People, and they were doing stuff which had slight progressive tendencies in
it. But when Ornette hit the scene, that was the end of the theories. He
destroyed the theories. I remember at that time he said, very carefully,
Well, you just have a certain amount of space and you put what you want in
it. And that was a revelation. And we used to listen to him and Don Cherry
every night and that really spread a thirst for more freedom.
But I think the key figure just then was Don Cherry. Cherry was freer, in a
way. He didnt worry about all the stuff that Ornette was worrying about
and his playing was really free. He used to come over to my house in 59
and 60, around that time, and he used to tell me, Well, lets play. So I said
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O.K. What shall we play. And there it was. The dilemma. The problem. It
was a terrible moment. I didnt know what to do. And it took me about five
years to work myself out of that. To break through that wall. It took a few
years to get to the point where I could just Play.
It was a process that was partly playing tunes and playing more tunes and
finally getting to the point where it didnt seem to be important and it didnt
do anything for you, to play the tunes. So you just drop the tunes. And you
just played. It happened in gradual stage. There would be a moment here,
fifteen minutes there, a half hour there, an afternoon, an evening, and then
all the time. And then it stayed that way for a couple of years. No tunes,
nothing. Just get up and play. But it all had a lot to do with the musical
environment. You have to get some kindred spirits. And at the time that was
in the air. It was happening everywhere. But I think that jazz, from the time
it first began, was always concerned with degrees of freedom. The way
Louis Armstrong played was more free than earlier players. Roy Eldridge
was more free than his predecessors, Dizzy Gillespie was another stage
and Cherry was another. And you have to keep it going otherwise you lose
that freedom. And then the music is finished. Its a matter of life and death.
The only criterion is: Is this stuff alive or is it dead?
(Reprinted with permission from Steve Lacy)
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(*) Afterthoughts of Evan Parker, 2003: Thirty years later I now realise that attempts to
characterise Improvisation as something different in kind from Composition was a
category error which could only lead to absurdities. A better distinction would be with
Notation but even that leads to pitfalls when dealing with systematic and memorised
materials as they are routinely used in so called Free Improvisation.
.
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recognise differences between the score and the performance. Things are
added, altered or taken away. While this has presumably always been the
case, the gap between score and performance is perhaps wider in much
contemporary music than ever before. Aloys Kontarskys comments on the
contrast between the austerity of an Earle Brown score which contained only
black horizontal and vertical blocks and lines and its performance in
Darmstadt are very interesting: So the performance contained trills,
glissandi, crescendi, sforzati and even all kinds of solo licks which could not
have been derived with even the best of intentions from the scanty design on
the page. Leaving aside the score as the embodiment of an ideal
performance, a score can also be considered a recipe for possible music
making. Thats an idea I can have much more sympathy with, taking into
account as it does much more than the composer and his music. Other
ingredients that a composer with this attitude might include are:
performability, how much rehearsal time, which musicians will be playing
the piece, where it will be played, even possibly how the audience might
react. Nonetheless the most careful consideration of all the unknowns before
the event cannot guarantee that the music will fit the occasion. There will
still be some slack to be taken up between what the score says and what it
means.
I suppose the implication in all this is obvious. Im suggesting that if anyone
in the production of a music event is dispensable, it is the score-maker, or
the composer as he is often called. My ideal music is played by groups of
musicians who choose one anothers company and who improvise freely in
relation to the precise emotional, acoustic, psychological and other less
tangible atmospheric conditions in effect at the time the music is played.
(Reprinted with permission from Evan Parker)
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Herman Melville
Art
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Olivier: I just brought one book, this is one of my favorite books, its the
Letters of William Burroughs with letters that he wrote to Gysin, Ginsberg
and Kerouac.
S: I read most of those letters of William Burroughs. I dont have that
particular book, but I read a lot of them. Burroughs said that Gysin was the
only man he respected.
O: He loved Ginsberg.
S: Sure he loved Ginsberg, yeah, he loved a lot of people but he really
respected Gysin.
O: Exactly. Did you know that the first time Gysin is mentioned, Burroughs
calls him a paranoid bitch on wheels?
S: Oh yeah? (Laughs)
O: Its typical for paranoid Burroughs just to say that. But later on he started
respecting him.
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S: They both knew quite a bit about paranoia, but I think that Brion had
mastered his, whereas Burroughs was fighting his all his life actually.
O: He always remained very suspicious and had a lot of conspiracy theories.
S: And with good reason, too. Some of it is very true! (Laughs)
O: I just wanted to quote one thing, a typical Burroughsian rant, about his
relationship with his publisher. This was after he published Junky, and was
working on Queer. The publisher didnt quite like the Queer title. He
wanted to call the second part Fag. And Burroughs goes into this hilarious
rant in a letter to Ginsberg.
Now look, you tell Carl Solomon I dont mind being called
queer. T.E. Lawrence and all manner of right Joes was
queer. But Ill see him castrated before Ill be called a fag.
(HE WANTS TO CALL PART II FAG. IMAGINE!)
Thats just what I been trying to put down uh I mean over,
is the distinction between us strong, manly, noble types and
the leaping, jumping, window dressing cocksucker.
Furthechrissakes a girls gotta draw the line somewheres or
publishers will swarm all over her sticking their nasty old
biographical prefaces up her ass (The Letters of William S.
Burroughs 1945 to 1959: p. 119: Letter to Ginsberg on
22/4/1952).
S: [laughing] Yeah he was so funny. Wow.
O: Concerning your relationship with publishers. You constantly have to
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poets set to jazz with a quintet of Irene singing all 10 pieces. Its been done
in December, its been mixed. Its gonna come out in April. Now this is
against all odds, really. That they make so much money with certain artists
that sometimes they can afford to do something with people like me.
O: On the side
S: On the side. Even though it doesnt make them lose money.
O: A prestige thing.
S: Its prestige. Richard likes what I do, hes a fan, you know. Ive known
him for a long, long time. The record should do well enough so that its
justifiable. That they sell fifteen, twenty thousand over a few years and all
that. This record contains the whole lit-jazz thing. It has Kaufman, Kerouac,
Ginsberg, Burroughs
O: Gysin?
S: No Brion Gysin, although the whole record is dedicated to him. Theres
Rexroth and Lew Welch, and Waldman.
O: Important that you mention Irene. You have composed very often based
on a text, and Irene has very often sung these texts on your music. Its seems
amazing almost that jazz journalists have given so few attention to the
dialogue between you and Irene.
S: You know why? Because it hits their weak side. Most of them dont
know beans of literature, poetry, the beat poets, none of this stuff. Theyre
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very channeled thinkers of jazz. They may know Louis Armstrong and
Dexter Gordon and all that, but they dont know even Dostoyevsky or Van
Gogh or Beethoven or none of that stuff. A lot of them. Not all of them. Bill
Shoemakers very intelligent. And the guy in Chicago John Corbett knows
quite a few things. Also Art Lange, Peter Kostakis and a few others are the
few people that are up on it. But a lot of the producers, when you say the
word poetry, they panic. And the critics, you know. First of all, they cant
pick on me, so they pick on Irene. Theyve been doing that for twenty, thirty
years now.
O: You wrote an angry letter to Downbeat on this matter.
S: Yeah, I got tired of them picking on her, you know. It was stupid.
Because they cant pick on me, see, they pick on her. Its stupid because if
they realize what she does and how great she is. I think with the new record
theyre gonna eat their words. This one. Before, she came out with like two
pieces on the records, and the critics said: Shes a major distraction. Well,
what can they say now? Shes on all ten tracks. And the words are fantastic.
The Corso and the Ginsberg, theyre beautiful. The lyrics are really high
quality. So Im very curious to see what this record will do.
O: They cant walk around this one.
S: They cant. Its gonna hit them. But well see. Im a little bit weary
because very often before I made a certain record I said: Oh boy oh boy
If this one comes out its gonna open all the doors and people are gonna
blablabla, and it didnt happen, never happened. (Laughs) So, you know,
something can go wrong. The company can go out of business. Who knows?
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O: Im not going to ask anything personal about you and Irene, of course.
Were talking about the literature, you, and Irene.
S: Literature was one of the things that brought us together. She was in San
Francisco in the early sixties, before I knew her. She knew Jack Spicer. She
knew Lew Welch. She knew some of the poets. She was just a young girl
with a guitar. She was out there, and some of that stuff she introduced to me.
And a lot of it I showed her. And together we explored that area of writing.
Anne Waldman is an old friend of mine, an old member of my family,
really. And I knew Ginsberg from the fifties too. Burroughs I knew very
well, all of them. So, theres an organic reason for all that. This project, The
Beat Suite, is an organic project that took years to mature, develop and all
that, and finally came together and here it is: recorded.
But well see what happens. It would be nice to perform that stuff in
public. We did a few gigs like that, and we recorded it, and thats it.
But in the meantime Im going to college, and George is teaching in another
college and its hard to perform and survive, you know. Especially when
you do stuff like that. Its unheard off to have a jazz record to come out with
ten vocal pieces and a lot of improvisation.
O: That brings us in a way to some of the techniques the Beats used.
Contrasting and putting together of unsuspected elements as in the collage
technique and the cut-up technique of Gysin, later adopted by Burroughs.
S: Thats what Ive never used myself.
O: You havent.
S: No. Ive never used that. I know about it and Ive enjoyed the results of
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that and Ive even recommended it to other people. Actually, Mikhail, the
violinist was here yesterday and we were talking about that. Hes
improvising for the first time in his life, really, with me. And he enjoys it
very much. He has such a (sic.) knowledge of classical music. He knows
hundreds of things, so he has all that what we call baggage, and hes trying
to create his own language, improvising language. And he came to the
conclusion that if you just take a little bit of this and a little bit of that and a
little bit of this, he comes out at his own language, and I said to him: Thats
cut-up technique! And he never heard that before. I said: Thats the cutup. Thats a literary technique they used it in the fifties, and you just find it
for your own playing, you know. And that was true, see. Now he, hes
using that cut-up technique. I never needed that. My stuff was organic, from
a long, long time ago, and I dont need to cut myself up.
O: So you dont use the technique, but you find writers who use it
fascinating.
S: Oh yeah.
O: Not only Gysin used it.
S: John Cage used it in a way. John Cage did a lot of snipping, thats for
sure. And Paul Klee also. Hed choose pictures and cut them up and put
names to them, and all that, you know.
O: Even Czannes landscapes are in a way a combination of multiple
perspectives.
S: Yeah. Optical. Well now, optics is one of my fundamental tools. I would
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say that most of what I do in music, and the way I found various things and
the way I work, is through optics. You know, magnifying certain things and
isolating certain things. Theyre optical phenomena, theyre ways of
focusing. And certain elements in the music and certain elements in
literature, and all that. In speech. And its a way of well its a focus. I
think focus is a very, very important concept in my own work.
O: You also dedicated an album to Braque.
S: Oh yeah. Actually were doing a workshop down in Orleans in the art
school this month, for a week, with non-musicians. Young students, art
students. And were gonna do the Braque piece. Were gonna have the
students painting them and were gonna discuss all those little aphorisms.
Thats very interesting. You know that Braque book?
O: Ive never read it, never even held it.
S: Its a small book full of wisdoms for artists. Now that was an interesting
work. Tips. See, that is a work thats been out of print for years. Thats one
of the arguments we have with the producers. The records go out of print,
they dont have a chance.
O: Heres Burroughs talking about Gysins paintings.
He regards his paintings as a hole in the texture of socalled reality, through which he is exploring an actual
place existing in outer space. That is, he moves into the
painting and through it, his life and sanity at stake when he
paints. (The Letters of William S. Burroughs 1945 to
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a Tsvetayeva cycle. Its been twelve years Ive been trying to get that
recorded.
O: Now were touching something that can go very far in a discussion. A lot
of innovative music is typified by that fact that the public doesnt yet own
the artistic categories with which they can situate the music, appreciate it,
and accept this new form of artistic expression. So these categories are
everywhere, even in appreciation, not only of the executives, but also of the
public at large. And the other way around, even musicians. For example,
you spoke about the distinction between offensive and defensive jazz. And
you said that both forms can be fertile. When well played they are both at
the brink.
S: Well sure, jazz itself is like out there.
O: And Ive been thinking that could it be that the highest sensation of
freedom could be attained when youre playing defensive music? In that you
dont have to the rules of the music are so internalized and youre so used
to them that you can freewheel and you dont have to think at all while
playing it. While your music doesnt strike me as freewheeling, defensive at
all.
S: No. Ive always taken chances and always playing beyond my control, a
little bit. I mean Im going faster than I should sometimes. Like driving a
car. Its very much like driving. But what you said of the defensive, or the
traditional, you know it depends on the quality, man. I dont care about
anything except quality. I mean if I hear like a Harry Edison playing the
trumpet, or somebody like that, who is an absolute master. And what you
play could be considered like old-fashioned, traditional, or defensive, its
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just not true. Its just not true. You see the quality is so high that that puts it
in a category by itself. Which is much more important than those other
categories. Defensive, offensive, that dont mean shit. I said that, you know
thats a cute thing to say for a moment, but its not a real distinction. I was
just trying I was just sort of bragging because my music was more
modern than theirs. I wouldnt take that too seriously, really. It was just to
fill a space, in a way. Its true what I say, but its just not that interesting.
Like Harry Edison is, or somebody older, older, like Benny Carter. What
about Benny Carter, really, you know. Is that defensive or offensive? I mean
its high quality; its such high quality that you wouldnt demean it by
giving it a qualification like that?
O: You do give the impression of looking down on the, for example, the
neo-bop.
S: Well, you know, if its boring its boring and theres a lot of re-creative
stuff going on. And recreation, jazz recreation just doesnt excite me. I mean
I find it very uninteresting, and actually much jazz that I hear, really, is sort
of just without interest to me, at this point. Cause Ive heard that before. I
wanna hear something Ive never heard before. And thats the point. Even if
I play myself I wanna hear something I havent heard before. Its not that I
play what Ive already played, I wanna hear something new.
O: OK. Lets really get into the writers now. First I wrote down here The
Russian Connection. You do have a Russian connection. For example the
one record you would take with you on a deserted island, you once said in
an interview, was Le Sacre du Printemps from Stravinsky.
S: Its gotta be a good performance though.
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O: Well Im a big Bartok fan, and ow no no. Boulez also does Bartok,
nah no not. But thats personal.
S: He was a difficult person, Boulez.
O: I like Bartok conducted by Georg Solti, for example.
S: Aha, yeah. Very good, yeah. Hungarian.
O: Youre working on a cycle on Zamytin?
S: No. Im not working on a cycle by him, but hes one of my literary
heroes. But Ive never done anything with the words of his because its a
novel, you know. It would make a great opera. We, its a book called We.
Its one of my favorite books; Ive read it many times. I recommend it to a
whole lot of people. I think its a masterpiece.
Rita: Its hard to find.
S: Really? It used to be easier to find. Its a magnificent book. Really
brilliant. To think that he wrote that in the twenties. He saw the whole thing
coming. All that whats happening now. He saw that back then, its
amazing.
O: I gave you the little short introduction on Mikhael Bakhtin. [A Russian
cultural philosopher from the 1920s.]
S: I had a little difficulty because those terms that he uses, theyre
meaningless to me. And you know, like, we who are in this music are so
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much closer to this stuff that for us He used terms like, its unthinkable.
But you could imagine a baker in a boulangerie, and hes dealing with the
stuff, hes making bread, you know. What kind of words you think he would
use to talk about that?
O: He would say: Gimme tht, or gimme this and that.
S: Yeah. Pass that shit over here, or this stuff over here. He wouldnt use
terms like those Bakhtin terms; they would be absolutely meaningless to
him. And thats the way I feel about it, you know. I dont need that kind of
elucidation, and that kind of, you know, that kind of distance. Thats an
anathema for me, you know. I run away from that. Adorno, Bakhtin, all
those eh No baby, not for me. Not my, not my eh cup, its not my thing.
It doesnt help me. It makes it harder.
O: Yeah. Its too abstract.
S: Yeah its too abstract. Theres a bunch of people like that around, you
know. Barthes, Derrida, all these people.
O: Bourdieu died the day before your date with Waldron and Avenel at Le
Duc de Lombard.
S: Yeah. We bought a book of his. Absolutely unreadable for me. Both Irene
and I agree that its even more difficult than Lacan, which we also tried.
You know theres a level youve got to find your level. In language, in
wine, in living, the altitude, music, clothing, you have to find your own
level. And you have to live within your level. You cant stick your head up
there and try to live like that, its impossible. It hurts your neck. So I cant
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handle those. You know I can handle all this stuff here, but I cant handle a
whole lot of other stuff. You know. Theres a lot of poetry thats out of my
ken, its beyond of my depth. A lot of French I cant handle, music I cant
handle, food, you know. You have limits.
O: But you have bought a book of Bourdieu? A French book?
S: Yeah, the other day we bought one, yeah.
O: I can imagine its eh
S: I couldnt. Not even one sentence made sense to me. It may be great, it
may be wonderful, it may be useful but I, its not for me. Gregory Corso I
understand. That I can get. Burroughs I understand perfectly. Brion Gysin.
Have you seen the Brion Gysin reader that just came out?
O: Ive seen it yeah. I havent bought it yet.
S: He was brilliant. He was really a genius. I mean, he could really write.
And he could really paint. And he could really perform. I mean, he did so
many things. With photography he was sensational.
O: And people couldnt believe that he did all that.
S: People didnt believe that the one person could do all that, that well. I
mean there was Burroughs who believed it, but a lot of people didnt believe
it.
O: They thought that could not be serious, while Gysin was above all that.
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record out, Scratching the Seventies. Cause it was a scratching period. But
all chickens were on the same level. So there were no stars in Paris at that
time, in that music. There were people more or less well known, but they
werent local stars. Like there are now, theres a few big stars. Like in those
photos. It was a beautiful period then in the seventies, you know.
O: You went to Germany, Holland,
S: Germany, Holland, Italy. There used to be a very important radio and
television program. I guess it was television, really, or radio. In Germany,
Hamburg, called Free Jazz Workshop. And they invited all kinds of
people there to work together and present these on broadcast. And that was
very important. Thats where I contacted with Mengelberg and Derek Bailey
and Han Bennink and all those people. Don Cherry and I were there. And
Irene. It was a wonderful opportunity to work and prepare things and present
them. Then that producer died though. And thats the end of that.
O: So. Lets talk about Lets check my tape Its almost finished. But
I've got second one. I guess we can take a pause.
S: Do you want a beer?
O: I think I could handle a beer.
S: (To Rita) You want a beer?
[ Lacy gets beer Heineken from a can.]
[ Changing of tapes ]
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S: Oh, it's very different, very different. First of all, the Tao is one thing, and
Taoism is another thing. And the Tao itself is fragments of what remains
from Lao Tzu. Teachings. And there's more practice in there than religion.
It's not religious at all. However people came along and made a religion out
of that. And that had nothing to do with what its all about, really. Because
what its about is heaven and earth. Theres no god mentioned in the Tao at
all. Its really nature and life and people and correct living. Theres no
religious element in that. But priests came along and made a religion out of
that. And to me thats ridiculous. It has nothing to do with it.
Now Zen also is not a religion. Zen is nothing, nothingness. It examines. Its
a kind of view, Zen. But its also an experience very much like jazz, like
improvisation. Improvisation and Zen is very, very close. Thats why we
were all interested in that. Also painting and Zen is very, very close. Zen is
close to everything because its nothing. And nothing is very close to
everything. Nest ce pas?
The Zen came in, as far as I can remember, back in the fifties, and the
sixties. It came in strong through certain books. Mister Cage was into it. It
was very important and still is very important to me, in fact a cycle I wrote
three years ago is a cycle of Zen, Songs, ten of them. And two of them were
recorded on a record with Roswell Rudd, Monks Dream. The other eight
have never been done, really.
Also, Irene and I are also very much into Trungpa.
O: Rinpoche. He founded the Naropa Institute.
S: Weve both been to Naropa. Theres a whole conspiracy there. The
Buddhist thing is very strong, very important, really.
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O: Did you read Burroughs account on his stay in Naropa? Its very funny.
S: No, I didnt. But I heard the other end, when they told me about his stay.
They said he was fun. He was funny and weird, you know. They enjoyed
him being there. He was amazing, he kept everybody on their toes. He
surprised everybody. I heard some tapes he made there, actually, when he
was there. Lectures that he gave, and they were wonderful.
O: Burroughs wasnt allowed to bring his typewriter along, because these
were just distractions, Rinpoche said. Then Burroughs writes: But
distraction is fun. Whats wrong with this? I sense an underlying dogma
here to which I am not willing to submit. Why not have fun? And then he
writes on all sorts of practical stuff. He writes stuff like: And some spacedout Buddhist has put the fire extinguisher behind the Coleman stove. I can
see the flames already falling, while Im trying to reach the fire
extinguisher. Put the fire extinguisher somewhere else! And then he wasnt
allowed to kill bugs either. Then of course you strike a sensitive chord with
the exterminator in him.
S: The Exterminator! Yeah, thats right. And he couldnt bring his gun
either too. Poor Burroughs.
O: No, no. And he once saw a centipede. And he grabbed for something to
smash it. But it was gone. And he saw that as a small miracle. Because
afterwards he realized the climate is too harsh for them to grow any larger.
S: Well, Burroughs was learning to the very end. It was admirable. Because
he was humble enough, in his own genius, to still be able to learn and take
in certain things. He was a child to the very end, really, you know.
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O: Ive got a beautiful picture of him, sitting on the front porch of his house,
with his shot gun on his lap. And the first thing I had to think of were the
words of Joseph Goebbels: When I hear the word culture, I reach for my
gun. I could imagine Burroughs saying the exact words, but him saying it
of course reverses the whole thing. Cause he shot at his paintings also.
S: Well yeah, that was part of his technique. But Brion had done that before.
A lot of what Burroughs did in paintings was a copy of Brion. And so not
quite so momentous as when Brion did it. He just started too late, you know.
It was more of a hobby for him. Its ironic that his stuff sold like crazy and
he [Brion Gysin] couldnt sell anything.
O: Well, thats the hype machine I think we should leave it at that.
Weve been talking for so long.
S: Well. We can do more, if you want. Just a little bit.
[Changing of tapes]
S: Were talking about thirty or forty years of work. Or fifty years of work
with the saxophone. So I could go on and on and on, bla bla bla bla bla, for
forty years.
O: I know. Were just scratching the surface.
S: Voila, scratching, yeah.
Rita: Music can express a lot of things in a very short time.
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S: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Its as rich as anything. Quotes are like that. You
can see one paragraph who can galvanize you for the rest of your life. For
the one thing that you see in one paragraph, in one phrase. You never forget
it. In music and in painting and in theatre and all that there are lines, there is
proportion, there is harmony, you know, there is cadre, there is space, color,
theres intensity. All those things are common to many different artistic
endeavors. So theres a unity of all artistic endeavors to me, whether its
painting or theatre or music or dance or cinema. I mean, theres a unity
there.
R: Do you visualize? Like Mal visualizes colors?
S: I like to do music that I can see. I can hear it and I can see it. And also
theres a lot of paintings that I can eat. You can like taste it. Consume it.
There are certain paintings that are so delicious where the surfaces are like
Turner, Monet, Kandinsky. With my teeth. You could just avaler a, you
can eat it you can consume it. You can take it in like a wafer, like the holy
wafer. Some of Pollocks things I like. Some of De Koonings. Some of
Rembrandt. Some of I mean, really great paintings can be consumed,
literally. I can like (makes slurping sound) just like (slurp) take it down. And
music is like that too. It can really fulfill.
O: Yeah, you can eat music.
S: You can eat music. There were even a movement in painting some time Eat Art it was back in the sixties, Eat Art, you know! (Laughs)
O: That sounds very much like the sixties!
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Inside.
S: (Laughs) Oh yeah, The Cat Inside, Brion made the Its true that the
normal edition of that book doesnt have all of the wonderful drawings that
Brion did. Theyre only in the
O: It was a limited edition, yeah.
S: Yeah, it was a limited edition, but its very expensive, I dont have it.
O: No, neither have I.
S: Actually some of those drawings he got from our cat.
O: Yeah he did?
S: Yeah, because he didnt have a cat. He wasnt that much into cats. He
could do anything though. But the Brion Gysin reader is very interesting.
O: Im gonna buy it.
S: Yeah. Its very good. It just came out. I mean, he wrote so well. Did you
read The Process? You know that is one of the best novels I have ever read.
I read it three times. Its so good that it gets better every time you read it.
When you read it you cant help of being astonished how could this guy
write so well. I mean the writing is really so good! But even his very first
book about Uncle Tom, you know, the real uncle Tom. Its a master that
was a gem! And its so well written. He had such good style such craft.
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literally blew away the noise of glasses coming from the counter. After the
concert, Steve Lacy joined Mal Waldron at his table.
In contrast, the solo concert of July 26 in the Zebrapad Workshop was
conducted in an oasis of rest and intimacy. During the first set of the
concert, Steve quoted from Monks repertoire. In the second part he delved
deeper in his roots with Sands. He also played the composition Art,
based on a text from Melville. Before playing Resurrection, a moving tune
dedicated to the recently murdered drummer Oliver Johnson, he quoted
without any irony Jesus Christ: Follow me and you shall live forever.
On July 27 Steve again played in the Sint-Kwintens Kapel with Mikhail
Bezverkhny on violin. Mikhail, who has a classical formation, took the
challenge of playing several of Lacys soloworks. The recording of this
concert is, thanks to the professional work by Michael W. Huon, a
wonderful document.
Mikhail started of with a beautiful rendition of six studies from Lacys book
Practitioners. Then, Steve brought his lifes work: the Tao cycle. The cycle
consists of six parts: Existence, The Way, Bone, Name, The Breath, and Life
on its way. Of the cycle, Lacy played the first three parts. First, Existence, is
the book of change and possibilities, and symbolizes dawn. The Way is the
literal translation of Tao, and refers to the morning. Bone symbolizes
vitality and resilience, and refers to the noon.
In the second part of the concert, Steve improvised with Mikhail on several
of Steves themes. First they brought the Precipitation Suite, a suite
consisting of four parts I Feel A Draft (dedicated to Mal Waldron),
Cloudy, Rain and Splashed. Next, Steve and Mikhail played Cross
Purposes, a piece specifically composed by Steve in February of 2002 for
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136
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Jolle Landre and Steve Lacy live at the Belga Caf (Brussels). Top
right: Lacy blows his horn backwards. Bottom right: Lacy exclaims one
more time
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Epilogue
The long road
As I composed this puzzle with the findings and the aid of people I was able
to reach, I soon realised that some pieces were missing. So I widened the
circle and stretched it to Japan.
On the solo CD Ten of Dukes of Steve Lacy, produced by Senators Ive
found the address of the Egg Farm near Tokyo where this CD was
registered as homage to Duke Ellington. April 7th 2003 I arrived at the Egg
Farm, just as the sakura (cherry blossoms) were blooming. In Fukaya
station, a city 100 km west of Tokyo, Iris Verfaillie, my journey companion,
and I were welcomed by the daughter of Mr. And Mrs. Saito, the owners of
the Egg Farm. We exchanged our CDs. I received Blues For Aida
produced by Space Who (the former Egg Farm) in 1996, and registered
during a live concert on the 10th of September 1995. Blues For Aida is a
eulogy for Akire Aida, who presented Lacy for the first time in Japon. Blues
For Aida was also the opening tune of the Blossoms concert in duo with
Shiro Daimon, 23.07.02 at the Sint-Kwintenskapel in Ghent. I handed over
the CD The Holy La (Free Lance FRL-NS 0201). Both CDs have the
same opening tune of Theloniuous Monk, Shuffle Boil, and both contain
the tune Retrait with the words of Thomas Gainsborough.
Viewing the concert list of Mrs Saito, who is the driving motor behind the
concerts which she started from 1985 at her own house, it felt strange to see
that we both invited the same musicians such as Mal Waldron, Jolle
Landre, Evan Parker and Steve Lacy. It felt even stranger to see that Fred
Van Hove (Antwerpen, Belgium) had so many concerts there. So that was a
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direct indication to put Fred Van Hove ahead of my concert list for the
future.
We visited the new concert hall Egg Farm, situated next to the old family
house. We climbed the stairs of the old family house to the old attic where
Steve Lacys Sextet performed on the June 3rd 1989. Driving us to our
pension, Hotel Kintou Roykan near Fukaya station I showed my gratitude
with another gift : Scratching The Seventies ( Saravah SHL 2082). and a
T-shirt which was left from the Blossoms Concerts with the lines of
Basho:
As the bell tones fades
Blossom scents take up the ringing
Evening shade.
Parting we didnt need any invitation, I said : I come back, Kazuko Saito
said: I come to Ghent. When is the next concert ?
For those who also want to visit the Egg Farm :
Space Who
Kazuko Saito
140, 1 Kushibiki Okabe-Machi Osato-Gun
Saitan-Ken 369-0212 Japan
E-mail : spacewho@ikn.co.jp
Rita De Vuyst
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Robert Creeley
The long road
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Mother Goose
1 3. Sands
a) Stand
b) Jump
c) Fall
4.
Naked Lunch
5.
Dead Weight
6.
Mother Goose
7.
Ring of Bone
8.
Traces
9.
Revenue
(7:35)
(7:50)
(3:45)
(5:20)
(4:55)
(5:10)
(4:02)
(5:36)
(4:30)
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