Tag: wesleyan

Sleep-deprived paper

Celeste Hutchins
Proseminar
24 September 2003
Ruth Crawford Seeger Paper

Ruth Crawford was composing music at a time when an American compositional identity was just forming. Her influences and compositional tools place her in a matrix, where ideas and skills pass from composer to composer and from teacher to student. The ideas that she used are still reverberating through American composition.
Charles Seeger taught his students, including Ruth Crawford, about neumes, a musical idea that he gained from his historical research into early music. He also taught this to Cowell, who passed it on to his students, including Lou Harrison. Harrison was so taken with the idea and made such heavy use of it, that the first item in his Music Primer is an explanation of neumes and how to use them. His methods are the same ones that Crawford used. The item ends with “Henry Cowell taught me most of this.” (Harrison p 1)
The Theosophy and mysticism that Crawford embraced still echoes though American music as well. The KPFA archives contain a collection of tapes of Dane Rudhyar speaking about various Theosophical subjects. When I was cataloging the archive, I noticed the unusual titles and subject matter and asked Charles Amirkhanian about them. He spoke very highly about Rudhyar and Theosophy in general. Extrapolating from the number of tapes of him in the KPFA archives, I assume that he must have been able to influence a large number of people.
Theosophy also appears in Robert Ashley’s Opera, Perfect Lives. Ashley opens each section with, “These are some songs written about the Corn Belt and the people living it. Or on it.” One of the main characters is a Theosophist, something mentioned early in the series. In a later episode, Ashley focuses extensively on the Theosophist character and a number of Theosophist themes are discussed in detail. He repeats the phrase, “without coincidence” several times. If it is indeed without coincidence, it seems that the presence of theosophy in the opera is recognition of the theosophical composers from the Corn Belt, including Crawford. What more naturally belongs in an opera about the Midwest than a discussion of the worldview held by so many composers from that area?
In a more controversial vein, Crawford is also emblematic of American composers through her sexual orientation. As you (Professor Slobin) said in class, “It must mean something if so many of the major American composers of the 20th Century were gay.” It is, of course, impossible to make definitive statements about deceased people’s sexual orientations, and I cannot presume to know that Crawford was bisexual or perhaps even a lesbian, given that she clearly didn’t identify as such. However, from the reading, it’s clear that Crawford went though many of the same experiences that queers typically face.
Crawford was clearly questioning her sexual orientation while she was at the MacDowell Colony, and with good reason. Being repulsed by the idea of physical intimacy with a member of the opposite sex whom one is romantically involved with is a normal experience for closeted gay people, but, I’m told, is somewhat unusual for heterosexuals. After Gene left the colony, Crawford turned to a woman, Marion Bauer, for comfort. She agonized about her lack of desire for Gene, but the claimed that she nearly slept with Bauer. Tick very tellingly writes, “Crawford called [this] the ‘Lesbian’ subject.” (p 107) The “Lesbian subject” is very clearly a weighty one and something that she must have thought deeply about. With a “healthy curiosity, [she mulled] over the words of a lesbian poet at the colony who was after her to begin an affair. ‘You have to know what you are experiencing before you can sublimate it, she wrote . . ..'” (p 98) Thus she is willing to consider the idea of sexual expression only when it occurs in a lesbian context.
Therefore, Crawford was in flux. She continued to identify as straight, perhaps unaware of the idea of bisexuality. Her Methodist upbringing and current social mores probably pressured her intensely. There are no currently known examples of “statements in Theosophical literature either condemning or accepting homosexuality as unnatural or unnatural.” (http://www.religioustolerance.org/hom_theo.htm) Theosophy would not have provided her with a gay-positive refuge. More than being in flux, she was also in crisis. “Was she sexually damaged? She despaired of knowing.” (Tick p 100)
This crisis provides a possible analysis of her worry about being able to have a family and a composing career. If one is repulsed by the idea of procreating, of course one will find reasons not to have a family. Crawford’s worries and ideas about sexuality are familiar to me, as a lesbian with a religious upbringing. She shares a large part of the gay experience. These experiences also demonstratably affected her writing as they were occurring, as her romantic crises caused writer’s block and her rejuvenation when Bauer got her creative juices flowing again. They also may help explain some of her wishy-washiness throughout her compositional period. She was someone in crisis, with an uncertain sense of identity and who was wrestling with large personal questions. Is it any wonder, then, that she felt overwhelmed by writing an orchestra piece even though she had written large pieces before?
This string quartet that she wrote instead is masterful. It has beautiful use of dissonance and a melodic character, with a unique voice. It’s certainly a smaller piece than a symphony and it makes it tempting to speculate what amazing things she might have written, had she not stopped composing and subsequently died before she could start again. It’s also tempting to speculate on why she stopped composing. Did she find compositional strength in her personal uncertainty? (Facetiously: Does a gay (or questioning) identity compel one to compose?) Speculating further, if she indeed was a lesbian, then why did she marry Seeger? Some people agonizingly question their sexual orientation only to discover that they are straight. Or, she may have been bisexual. Perhaps she merely changed. Sexual orientation can be fluid. I have a friend (who wishes to remain anonymous) who describes the (now discarded) heterosexuality of her youth by saying that, “[she] was a willing, even enthusiastic participant.” It’s worth noting that a large portion of Crawford and Seeger’s courtship took place via letters, so she could achieve the meeting of minds that she craved without the specter of a possibly alarming physical expression looming immediately over her.

Taking him on!

Celeste Hutchins

Proseminar

10 September 2003

Postmodernist Ives

Kramer is correct in
concluding that Ives is not a “pre-postmodernist.” Although Ives aesthetic is clearly very forward thinking,
his intentions are not and he borders on being a romantic. Kramer’s article starts
with a definition of postmodernism “as a recurrent movement within modernism.”
Despite working with a definition that frees postmodernism from time
constraints, it still supposes that a “pre-postmodernist” would embrace current
cultural values. This situation would be exception, especially since music
tends to lag 50 years or more behind the other arts in following
movements. Ives, as a
transcendentalist, is no exception. Cowell, in his biography of Ives, (really a hagiography) Charles Ives
and His Music,
identifies Ives as a follower of Emerson. Cowell writes, “By that time Emerson’s thinking had been shaping
American minds for more than sixty years . . ..” (p. 8) Ives is thus not at the
forefront of philosophical thought, but identifies with the values of a
previous generation.

His song, The Things
Our Fathers Loved
similarly esteems a bygone era. In this case, it idealizes community bands like
the one Ives’ father conducted. It
praises small town life, which, as Kramer points out, was already
disappearing. Thus it represents
“nostalgia for the unattainable,” and promotes nostalgic values. He has similar
romantic yearnings in other works. Cowell describes a short piece for vocalist and piano. Ives notes that four measures of the
piece would sound better played on a string quartet than a piano and a quartet
should be used for those measures if possible. “Four string players are not usually on hand at a song
recital to play just the four measures that sound better with strings than they
do with a piano, but of course from the composer’s point of view they should
be. Ives exclaims: ‘Why can’t a
musical thought be presented as it is born?'” (Cowell p. 10) This idea of spontaneity could have
come directly from one of the romantic poets.

Kramer’s claims as to
Ives’ misogyny are also amply documented. In the song An Election, the vocalist sings,
“some old women: male and female.” That line certainly “conforms to what classical psychoanalysis calls the
masculine protest.” (Kramer p. 183) Cowell approvingly records Ives’ (masculine) protest against Haydn, “Easy
Music for the sissies, for the lilypad ears of Rollo!” (p. 10) Rollo is
explained in a footnote on the same page, “An imaginary gentleman named Rollo
is a familiar of the Ives household – one of those white-livered weaklings who
cannot stand up and receive the full force of dissonance like a man.” Thus Ives’ dissonance stems not from a “[search]
for new presentations . . . in order to impart a stronger sense of the
unpresentable,” (Lyotard) but from “a dread of being feminized.” (Kramer p.
183) This is especially clear when
Ives complains about the New York Symphony Orchestra’s response to Washington’s
Birthday. They asked him to cut out some of the
dissonance. He wrote, “They made
an awful fuss about playing it, and before I got through, this had to be cut
out, and that had to be cut out, and in the end, the score was practically emasculated.” [emphasis mine]
(Cowell p. 68) Dissonance is thus very clearly linked in Ives’ mind to manliness
and virility.

Kramer also describes
flute as phallic. (p. 197) Although this may seem absurd, given the flute’s current association of
femininity, the flute was recently considered a manly instrument. Flutist Polly Moller told me that one
hundred years ago, the flute occupied the cultural position currently held by
the electric guitar. Middle class
white boys learned to play them and tried to master them, much like some of
them now try to sound like commercials for Guitar Center. Therefore, if Ives’ use of the flute is
designed to convey manliness, it is intended to convey the culture of the white
male middle class.

            Kramer
goes on to describe Ives as homophobic, based on his misogyny and fear of
emasculation. Ives’ disassociation with Cowell seems to confirm this, however I
disagree with the thesis that misogyny leads directly to homophobia. Sometimes
male homosexuality is presented as a hyper-manliness, for example in the
drawings of Tom of Finland or among the Brown shirts of 1930’s Germany. In any case, Cowell’s writing reveals
no tinges of discomfort as he joins Ives in condemning Rollo and the sissies. However, if “Ives’ obsessive degradation of the feminine” is any sort of
a “response to the social conditions surrounding concert music in the late nineteenth
century,” (Kramer p. 183) then Cowell’s approval could similarly stem from
social conditions surrounding male homosexuality. Perhaps both of them were avoiding the sissy label – applied
to male musicians and gay men alike.

            Ives’
desire to avoid “pretty little sugar plum sounds,” (Cowell p. 10) is clearly
evident in his masterwork Symphony No. 4. At one point, a violin plays a romantic line, while another
instrument plinks discordantly in the background, as if mocking it. This is followed by a tumult of
patriotic music, blaring furiously away, finally coming to a climax. Immediately after the climax is a break where the
audience laughs nervously in the recording that I listened to. It is a spectacular and occasionally
overwhelming work. Ives wanted “to
strengthen and give more muscle to the ear, brain, heart, limbs and feat!” [Ives’ emphasis] (Cowell p. 10) His work is strong and can and should
be enjoyed despite his troubling politics.

First responce paper

(Remember, a B is a failing grade….)
Celeste Hutchins
Proseminar
10 September 2003
Postmodernist Ives

Because Ives is too new to be played on commercial radio in San Francisco and too old to have directly influenced my own music, I’ve previously only listened to a very few pieces of his. Henry Cowell says in his biography of Ives, that Ives’ music is written about far more often than it is played. Sadly, I’ve done little reading about or listening to Ives before this week.
Kramer’s article starts with a definition of postmodernism “as a recurrent movement within modernism.” This definition surprised me. I had always understood postmodernism to be a refutation of the modernist idea that absolute truth exists and can be sought, something Lyotard calls “the nostalgia for the unattainable,” however, my understanding was that postmodernism is a current movement. The “post” of “postmodernism” always seemed to indicate that it came after modernism. My dictionary places postmodernism in the late 20th century. If last week, someone had asked me if Ives was a postmodernist, I would have replied, “Of course not. His work predates postmodernism by several decades.” Therefore, it comes as something as a relief that Kramer concludes that Ives is not a postmodernist.
Despite working with a definition that frees postmodernism from time constraints, it still supposes that a “pre-postmodernist” would embrace current cultural values and aesthetics. Presumably, Lyotard has some examples of very early postmodernists, but the vast majority of people with current values exist currently. Also, music tends to lag 50 years or more behind the other arts in following movements. Cowell identifies Ives as a follower of Emerson, 60 years after Emerson was widely read. Ives was certainly a maverick, but he was also completely a product of his time, both as Cowell describes him during his life and as Kramer more recently rediscovers.
Cowell’s descriptions of Ives “manliness” also mesh with Kramer’s thesis. Cowell describes a fictional man called “Rollo,” (a character impersonated in one of his string quartets) who was frequently mocked in the Ives household for being a sissy. Cowell’s writing reveals no tinges of discomfort as he writes about this in an approving tone. Kramer describes Ives as homophobic, which Kramer argues on the basis of Ives’ misogyny. Ives’ disassociation with Cowell seems to confirm this, however I disagree with the thesis that misogyny leads directly to homophobia. Sometimes male homosexuality is presented as a hyper-manliness, for example in the drawings of Tom of Finland or among the Brown shirts of 1930’s Germany.
Kramer also describes flute as phallic. Although this may seem absurd, given the flute’s current association of femininity, the flute was recently considered a manly instrument. Flutist Polly Moller told me that one hundred years ago, the flute occupied the cultural position currently held by the electric guitar. Middle class white boys learned to play them and tried to master them, much like some of them now try to sound like commercials for Guitar Center. Therefore, if Ives use of the flute is designed to convey manliness, it is intended to convey the culture of the white male middle class.
After reading Kramer’s article, I listened to Symphony No. 4. The first prelude has a Messiaen-like sound, where the strings create a texture much like the sound of the Ondes Martenot, over which the chorus sings a hymn, which the program notes identify as one of Ives’ favorites. (http://www.americanmavericks.com/prog_notes/june_09.html) The second prelude starts similarly, but with a more sinister and intermittently chaotic sound. The orchestra plays many differing motifs, which seem to have come from other songs, layered upon each other. They seem to vie for dominance over a marching band, martial drum line, in a conflict that ebbs and flows. The music is tumultuous and exciting – wonderful to listen to. The social values that Kramer reads into Ives’ work certainly seem to be present. At one point, a violin plays a romantic line, while another instrument plinks discordantly in the background, as if mocking it. This is followed by a tumult of patriotic music, blaring furiously away, finally coming to a climax. The audience laughs nervously at the break, in the recording I listened to. A short and lush movement follows, and then the final movement begins with a low quiet sound. The orchestra is again at odds with itself, and is reminiscent of the first movement and the preludes. There is a section with a detuned instrument. The rich texture breaks into a unified motif, which Kramer identifies as the hymn, “Bethany.” The motif is strong and moving, but the piece falls back into dissonance. The motif is thoughtfully restated over an uncertain background. Finally, the chorus returns, restating and transforming the hymn motif, without words.
I also listened to Three Quarter-tone Pieces for Two Pianos, a short piece for two pianos tuned a quartertone apart. The sound is highly unusual and a bit disconcerting. The piece seems to agree with Kramer’s thesis because of its inherently dissonant nature, which was considered manly at the time. (A review of Ruth Crawford Seeger’s work said that she could sling dissonances like a man.)
While I am disappointed but not altogether surprised to learn that Ives didn’t share my politics, I am quite pleased to have been introduced to his work.