long ago, galaxy far away
The recent passing of one of the creative titans of 20thcentury music prompted me to dig through my hard drive and find the following, which I wrote in May 2002, right after returning from a short tour with said Creative Titan…
…waiting for cecil (2002)
Upper level negotiations aside, we're informed that a collaboration with Cecil will, in fact, take place: contract signed, dates set – he’s commissioned to write a 40-minute piece, for him and us, to be premiered in Vienna in May, 2002. My own experience with Cecil is: somehow conning my way into the Jazz Showcase in Chicago as a teenager, where he poundedthe piano for 90 minutes, after which Joe Segal came out to check for broken strings. It was probably the only direct contact I had with the legendary Joe – him looking up at me from inside the piano and saying, ‘don’t laugh, last night he broke 3!’ I also remember seeing large sheets of runic notation on the piano after the show. And I remember in college Robert Moore doing an in-class analysis of Unit Structures- I was 19, and I think I still have the mimeograph. Finally, I remember Cecil getting his MacArthur a few years back, and hearing from that a friend of [name deleted had had some kind of bad experience with him; I also remember [same name, again deleted] telling me that Cecil was 'a user.'
At any rate, we wait for Cecil at a rehearsal; then we leave, and then we're informed that he's waiting for us at Tobacco Road, the bar below [the old] Carroll's [41stand 9th]. He's a flamboyant raconteur, many tales of Roger Woodward and Max Roach, lots of cryptic dish, and my own realization that I'll definitely have to remind him of my name every time I see him: we are his audience. He is extremely interested in our nascent collaboration with Ornette (another story, for another day).
Another rehearsal is set, and Cecil arrives for this one, late as expected, but there. He has an assistant of amorphously European accent, a stunning outfit (which he changes before the rehearsal), and many sheets of music, but no copies for the band. We suggest that his assistant make copies, and we then all set up, with Cecil standing in front of us, staring at his own sheets. Many minutes of silence, after which I ask him if there's anything we might want to work on.
"I think it might be better to wait for the music."
So we wait, for another 20 minutes or so, until the assistant returns.
The music is in Cecil's own notation: letter names and contours, with various brackets, parentheses with positive or negative numbers, a few other symbols. This is all eventually deciphered as being melodies and chords, with the numbers indicating distance of the first note from middle C. None of this is explained at any point: 'let's start at the beginning…' Some sounds…'no, let's try it again…' eventually, order emerges: comments about phrasing, directions on orchestration, suggested diversions from the score, ways of improvising, etc. After each pause we start from the beginning. We are allowed to ask questions about our own playing but not to make any suggestions about the totality or about what others might do. All this is - to me - tedious but absolutely valid: the score is a framework, a jumping-off point, and we're meant to find our own way through it, under his supervision. This can only emerge slowly and collectively. It is also unquestionable that Cecil knows exactly what he's written: when he does go to the piano, he plays the exact notes, quickly and forcefully, and it sounds like, um, Cecil Taylor. (It should also be noted that I'm also aware that Lisa is at the grand piano and Cecil is left with the upright…this seems slightly odd to me but on the other hand Lisa is playing and Cecil is not, and in any case, it's not my position to step in…)
Three hours later, we've gotten through one page, it takes about 7 minutes, but it sounds pretty good, and very different from any of Cecil's music that I've heard. The assistant tells me as I'm leaving that he's amazed at how quickly we were able to 'realize Cecil's vision.'
Weeks or months go by. We try to arrange our rehearsals for the spring. As usual with us, it's difficult to find times when all six people are available, and in the end we can't agree on any extra days to meet with Cecil. This is reported to [our manager] Kenny, and a cyber dance begins…we hear rumors that Cecil is upset about this, so we make a decision to simply make our entire rehearsal schedule available to him: any time he's able to show up, we'll clear the books and work with him.
We don't see him again until Vienna.
Actually, I see him a little before then, as I board my connection from Paris. He's sitting in first class, ensconced in a novel, a stylish Stetson straw hat on his head. I greet him, remind him of my name, but he does seem genuinely pleased to see me, excited about the gig. We are to be met by a 'representative of the Konzerthaus,' or so I'm told, but Cecil informs me as we walk to our luggage that, instead, we'll be met by some 'friends.'
As we walk through the terminal, I ask him if he tours a lot - 'just enough to keep things interesting' he says….
Getting the luggage is benignly indicative: we need carts, which require coins, and Cecil somehow ends up at a Bureau de Change, shoving dollars at the befuddled clerk - 'two please'…that failing, I'm instructed to flag down a porter, and to find his two bags, 'one brown, the other a Gucci.' Through customs, we're met by Tony O. and his wife Tutta, who've trained in from Dusseldorf, and Cecil decides we need to sit and have a drink before going to the hotel. I should mention that at this point I know nothing about Tony, I don’t say this with any pride, but I don't know that he's a drummer, Cecil's frequent duo partner, or that he's done a lot of the logistical work for these gigs. The driver is nowhere to be found, so I pay off the porter and unload the bags, at which point the driver emerges, grouses about the lack of luggage carts, and goes off to rent them. He then spends the next 90 minutes hovering and glowering, while Cecil and Tony catch up with on another - much opaque conversation about code-named friends and enemies, old friend stuff (sample: "well, there is a young man named Jed, who was last seen sleeping on his stomach in my apartment - so I don't know what that was all about - and Jed has given me his phone number, he'd very much like to see me, I can call him at the 'club' - which he seems to think he's going to inherit from the Dragon Lady, but young Jed doesn't seem to realize, regarding the Dragon Lady, that only the good die young!')…also, some interesting conversation about an aborted project in Italy, with the La Scala orchestra, in which Tony continually makes the point that 'they could be the best musicians in the world, but they're not right for you!', until finally my jetlag trumps my sense of decorum, and I ask that we go to the hotel.
On the walk to the car, Tony asks if we'll be rehearsing at 4 as planned, and Cecil replies, 'oh no, I'm far too tired for that, I'll need to rest.' Tony mentions that we could rehearse without Cecil, and when I say that this is not really possible, as we don't really know how to rehearse Cecil’s material without him, Tony says, 'but you've got that one sheet, don't you?' This is echoed by 83-year-old Trudy, a free spirit, Sun Ra veteran, and last member of the entourage, who meets us at the hotel. She says we should also rehearse without Cecil, and when I say that we can't really do this, Cecil says that the band should do 'whatever makes them comfortable.'
For me, that's sleep; for Cecil and Tony, that's sitting at the bar all afternoon, until we all congregate to go to rehearsal, rescheduled for 5:30. Standing in the driveway, we're informed that Cecil doesn't feel like rehearsing, and the provokes some dissension in the band: Lisa in particular is insulted, but the group comes to a tentative decision to go rehearse our other material anyway, in the hopes the Cecil will show up. If he doesn't, we'll end early and have dinner. I go to my room to get my music (I had assumed we were only rehearsing the Cecil material), and when I return, Mark and Lisa are screaming at each other. Lisa departs, and Mark and David are recruited by Kenny to interface with Cecil at the bar.
15 or 20 minutes later, Mark returns, reporting that Cecil is 'on the warpath' about Kenny…Lisa has returned, and we all proceed to the Konzerthaus, to rehearse the rest of the program.
In fact, Cecil shows up not much later, and we have what in the end turns out to be an extremely productive rehearsal. The first half-hour is pretty annoying, with Cecil posturing and lecturing, acting the auteur, maybe Antonioni or Martha Graham. The breakthrough is the realization/recollection that the notation is just a jumping off point: as soon as we start doing something interesting, notated or not, Cecil also starts playing, and we end up doing some quite interesting things together, moving seamlessly (when it works) from the notated materials to improvisation, then into the next section.
We take a break, at which point I notice all of Tony's drum cases sitting in the hall, and when I ask Kenny about this, he tells me that this is just for convenience, as Tony and Cecil are doing some duo gigs between Vienna and London. Despite this assurance, after the break, Nico the promoter asks Tony (who's in the hall) if he should 'set up the drums now,' to which Tony immediately yells "NO!!!" in a way that I find slightly disconcerting…It's absolutely clear to me that Tony is planning on playing with us, and that for whatever reason this is to be sprung on us at the last minute. At any rate, the rehearsal continues: we're given syllables to recite - Ka! - and instructed to walk around the hall saying them. At the end of the rehearsal, Cecil seems very happy, excited, and tells us to bring poetry to the concert as well.
We go to eat, Mark and Lisa get in a fight about the check, business as usual.
The next day is the sound check and the gig, and we arrive to find Cecil and Tony rehearsing on stage. Tony's drums are in the exact middle of the stage, which actually makes some kind of sense, as it's the biggest area not being used by us, and it would allow us to do our normal set up were it not for a few cymbal stands, which jut into my area, making our normal setup impossible until the drums are moved. This is not in itself a huge problem, as Andy and I decide that I'll simply set up between Mark and Robert during the second half. But we can't really figure out what's going on: nothing is said to us one way or another about Tony. Are they simply rehearsing for the following days? Are they playing duos on tonight's concert? Is Tony playing with us? Impossible to determine. We begin to rehearse with Cecil and, once again, Tony and Tutta simply sit in the audience, observing. We do a long, quite successful improvisation, and when we're done, I go up to Tony and say, "So Tony, just wondering - do you know what's going on? What's the story?"
And here my troubles begin. Suddenly there's an edge of hostility to everything, annoyance at my asking, picking a fight.
"There's no story - I'm just waiting until you're through, and then Cecil and I will rehearse."
"OK, but you know we also have to rehearse the first half of the concert, including tech-ing a video [for Don Byron’s piece Eugene] - it may take about an hour" "I'm not talking about the bloody first half of the concert, we're talking about the second half - I don't fucking care what you do in the first half of the concert."
I tell him that I'm not trying to make things uncomfortable, just trying to figure out a plan that works for everybody.
"There is no plan - I'm just following orders like you - I realize it's a bit unusual but you just have to go with it. If you think I like sitting down here all afternoon, waiting for you all to finish, you're out of your mind, but I've got no choice. Now leave it at that or I promise you things will get a lot worse."
Things get stranger and uglier from there, whatever I say is taken as provocation, and I eventually realize there's no point, and walk away. Cecil announces that the rehearsal is over, and I ask him if we can rehearse our first half. He says yes, and I ask him if the drums can be moved so we can do the setup. Again, he agrees, and tells Andy to 'help Tony move the drums.' Tony then asks Cecil if they should rehearse again, and Cecil say, 'no, no, let's go get something to eat.'
Now, it's important to understand a few things here: first, we do in fact need to strike the drums for the first half of the show; second, there is nothing inherently insulting or threatening about doing so. Stage set-ups are just that: people need to be where they need to be, and instruments get moved around all the time. I assume this is fairly obvious. I will admit that I was annoyed at Tony's picking a fight with me, and that I decided to go over his head to get the drums moved. But I did this simply because it needed to be done in order for us to play the first half of the concert. It also should be clearly stated that no oneever talked to anyone in the band about Tony playing with us, ever- nor was it apparently ever mentioned to Kenny in any of his numerous communications with Tony. And, of course, Tony didn't try to rehearse with us, in fact insisted that his drums notbe set up during our rehearsal the night before. If it had been mentioned, we would have had no choice but to agree, and it might not have been a bad thing. But nothing was said, we were just left in limbo, and my attempt to simply find out what the parameters of possibility were was met with Tony's implied threats.
OK, on with the show, we do the first half (pieces by Hermeto Pascoal and Don Byron), it goes great, we're very on, and in fact it's clear that the work with Cecil has freed up our improvisation in the Pascoal. We go off stage, and Cecil is in fact in his dressing room, so that's good. Tony meanwhile is on stage, resetting his drums in the center of the stage, while my microphones and music stand get moved - as agreed - to the other side of the stage. Tony's setup takes about 30 minutes, and when he leaves the stage, the crowd cheers. This is OK, as at this point Cecil is in the middle of changing his clothes, and isn't ready anyway. Mark has appointed himself emissary to Cecil, he's running in and out of his room, coming out with breathless updates - "Cecil's changing, he does want to play, and he's very excited." The promoter is freaking out over the long pause, but it seems like business as usual. Mark, alone with Cecil, asks him if he wants to play with Tony first, or bring Tony on later, or…and Cecil replies, 'no, Tony won't be playing tonight.'
This is news to Tony, who is literally chasing after Cecil on his way to the stage, saying, 'what would you like me to do? Shall I come on with you?' Cecil replies, softly, 'not yet…'
So off we go, we do it, it's OK, not the best improvising I've ever done, not the worst, and, as I had predicted to Wendy and Lisa, we get many curtain calls and something of a standing ovation. I feel pretty empty inside, let’s just leave it at that. We walk off stage, and Cecil says, "I think we've all deserved some champagne."
Backstage, Trudy reports that Cecil is thrilled, and, unlike his normal practice, wants us to join him in his dressing room. Tony meanwhile is left to take his drums apart on the stage. The band gets taken to dinner at the Konzerthaus restaurant; Mark stays behind to hang with Cecil. Halfway through the meal Mark comes into the dining room, and tells Kenny that "Tony and Trudy need to speak to you," and Kenny disappears, until Wendy goes and rescues him 10 minutes later. Tony and Trudy then join us at the table, Tony sitting next to Kenny, at which point Wendy and Trudy suggest that we change seats. Mark again is breathless, reporting on Trudy's account of Cecil's happiness, I'm tired, and I leave in a cab with Wendy and Lisa.
Robert stays and parties with Cecil, entranced. Kenny is apparently accosted by Tony at the hotel at 2:30am, at which point he tells him, "the store is closed." Interpret that as you like.
After this, we go to Graz and our own gig, with the full knowledge that more is in store in London.
Cut to several days later, arrival at the Barbican for our sound check. Once again the drums are in the center of the stage, and once again I'm set up between Mark and Robert. This time it's apparently an open rehearsal: there are photographers, press, a large stage crew, all hovering. As I walk to my instrument, Cecil, speaking more to the crowd than to us, announces the agenda: "All right, for today's rehearsal, I'd like you all to take out your music, and to study it silently. We will do this for the next 30 minutes." And there we are, trapped on stage, staring at our music silently, while the public looks on. To Cecil's credit, he takes his music, stands stock still in the hall, and stares at his music as well. Every few minutes he takes a step. We're all caught flat-footed. It is impossible to not do it: clearly, this would be insubordination and would have absolutely dire consequences. Also, there's clearly some value in this kind of thing - meditation, silence, clearing oneself out. As such, it's brilliant psychological manipulation, and good theater as well. Shock therapy, shamanism, yada yada yada. Having come this far, having put up with no rehearsals and no instruction, and random drummers and nonsense syllables, and having concluded, fairly definitively, that there's no future in this for us as a group or an organization, what's one half-hour out of my life? So I stand there, I actually take it seriously to the extent that I can, looking at the music while moving through various yoga and tai chi postures, trying to be aware of the silence and the music and myself.
Not to say that I'm not also occasionally passing glances to those among us who are likely to be aware of the absurdity…and at 15 minutes, Wendy signals me for a time update. I'm also painfully aware of being watched - not just by Cecil but by the press, the stage crew, and - sitting in the audience - by Tony.
It ends, maybe 20 minutes rather than 30, and we're then instructed to walk silently through the aisles, thinking of the nonsense syllables on the page. Another 20 minutes, and then we're told to enunciate the words. Maybe 10 more minutes of this, after which Cecil abruptly shouts, "OK, now forget it all!! I'll see you tonight." And he leaves.
I have this odd feeling at this point - having done something healthy but under duress, and for the wrong reasons, with public humiliation thrown in, both for the act itself and for my acquiescence…what is this like…I go backstage, and, just being truthful here, I say to Lisa, "I feel like I've been raped…"
Drum saga part two. Andy tries to start resetting the stage for the first half, and then informs me that Tony has told him, 'anybody touches my drums, there'll be trouble.' I'm not interested, I'm still in let's-get-this-fucking-thing-over-with mode, so I tell Andy to forget it, just set me up way over on the side of the stage, separated from the band by the drums. He does so. We start our sound check, with Tony on stage, adjusting his drums at a VERY SLOW rate. I'm about twice the distance from the group than I've ever been, it's like there's five of them and one of me. Finally we're ready to play, I count off Pascoal’s Arapua, and Tony immediatelystarts bashing away on his drums loudly. We stop, and Mark offers, demurely, "um, Tony, we're trying to sound check."
"Well you might have bloody well asked me if I'm bloody finished!" He claims he needs 'two more minutes,' so we wait about five, then finally decide to take a break until he's off the stage.
He leaves, we begin again, and I finally decide that it'd be better to be on the otherside of the drums, that is, wedged up against Mark, blocking the audiences' view of Wendy and Lisa, but nonetheless allowing us to play music together. To do this, Tony's stool and empty drum case have to be nudged about one foot. I request that the stage crew do this, and meanwhile Mark goes back to Cecil's dressing room to 'make sure it's OK.' We're already in the twilight zone here. Mark comes back, five minutes later, shaken but still standing, waves off requests for explication, and we begin. Ten minutes later, midway through Lisa and David's cadenza in Tan Dun’s Concerto For Six, Tony roars on stage, screaming about his drums being moved. We keep playing, and he rushes toward me, at the last second veering away and pushing my music stand over, screaming about 'respect'. Mark and David rush to my defense - though he doesn't touch me - and we all start screaming at each other, Tony about his drums and about 'no fucking respect - 30 years in the business - I'm glad to see I wasn't wrong about the vibe I'm feeling;' David pointing out that we didn't move his drums, that we came in with respect for him (which is true in David's case, though not in mine, since I didn't know who he was), and Lisa finally telling him to 'piss off - you're not wanted here.'
Tony leaves the stage, goes to Cecil, and Cecil freaks - I don't witness this but apparently he starts with 'they can't disrespect the world's greatest drummer' and proceeds to a very detailed litany of every injustice suffered at the hands of our organization since the collaboration began. I wasn't there, but the list included the upright piano, the difficulty in scheduling rehearsals and - most significantly - non-silence on the part of Lisa and myself during the silent rehearsal. He will not perform with Lisa or me. He is going back to the hotel. He leaves.
Meeting and talks, the Barbican guys wanting to 'find the Tony Blair solution - a compromise.' We are adamant - and in unanimity - that we are prepared to fulfill our contract - to perform with Cecil - but that will not perform with Tony under any circumstances, and that we will only perform as a whole group. Robert is dispatched along with the presenter to try to talk to Cecil. Tutta answers the phone, there is raging in the background, she tells Robert that it's not the time to talk, but that everything will 'work itself out.'
Somehow we manage to play the first half, having gotten the big stage crew guys to promise to keep Tony off the stage at all costs. At intermission we're informed that Cecil is back, wants to play, but will only go on stage with Tony and without Lisa and me. Wendy immediately announces that she won't play, packs up, leaves. Mark is near tears…Barbican is saying that if there's no critical mass of our group, then the public doesn't get its collaboration, could want its money back, and that might have consequences. Kenny - true mensch - basically says he's not worried about that, we should do what we think is right. I can see that Mark and Robert want to play. So I tell them, look, if I were in your shoes I don't think I could play under these circumstances, but then again I'm not being given the choice - people should play or not play based on what theywant to do, what they think is right, not based on whether or not I'll approve. Mark and Robert immediately decide to play. So there’s that. David, having already said that he'd do whatever was called for, decides to play to give the presenters what they want. So there’s that too. Mark and Robert go into their dressing room, smoke a bowl, hug either other, and off they go. Lisa and I go to a pub and wait for the crowd to come out.
They play for 45 minutes, and afterwards I make a point of going backstage, not avoiding anyone. Mark asks me if I'm mad at him. Tony breaks down on stage, apparently convinced that he's been mic-ed improperly, and that he won't be heard on 'the recording.'
He later demands that Andy give him the DAT, the only recording of the concert, and Andy does so, so I guess we’ll never know…