Feldman on his strategy(or lack thereof) in composing String Quartet.
Mel Powell used the word at his talk the other day, a term which I feel very important to me. The term is strategy…I don’t like to give things a name. This is my compositional strategy, I don’t want to give things a name. If I have repitition I don’t call it repetition. It looks like repitition, it doesn’t sound like repitition…
I would never let a student of mine put in a repeat sign. I would say, “something’s happening, what if you wanted to change your mind?”
I copy like an idiot. Until finally I put a double bar line in and I just write fifteen times, seven times, nine times. But even that became a great concession. It was really a concession to my eyes, because I want to copy my own music…
So I don’t call things a name, because I repeat things for different reasons…
For example, when asked the question, “isn’t there a certain type of material that you can repeat and can’t repeat?” “What’s repeatable material?” “You just can’t repeat…”
What I think of it now is that I’m watching some bugs on a slide, and I’m just watching how I feel…
So the String Quartet has a lot to do with that kind of watching and letting go. And the reason the piece is so long is that I got into dangerous territory. I let things go…
Many of us (composers or not) can take away a great deal from Feldman’s insights. The ability to let things go, as Feldman puts it, would and has proven to be an important compositional tool. It seems that too often composers try to fit themselves and their pieces into specific (often self imposed) roles and fight to defend their decisions. This need to fit in can be detrimental to an emerging composer’s development, or cause stagnation for professional composers.
Americans have always been comfortable with making their own way, but sometimes we all get caught up in the who is going to play this new piece? Does it fit in to the scene I’m in? How many times can I get this piece programmed? or Where is the new commission going to come from? It is understandable to want to be successful, but who measures our success? Feldman didn’t fit in to the compositional scene of his time (Darmschtadt and Europe’s complexity), so he created his own. That’s where June in Buffalo came from (see previous post). Feldman didn’t fit in and he didn’t care. He and his friends (Cage, Wolff, Brown, etc.) had their own support group within their circle and success found them because they wrote what they wanted to hear, or what they wanted to forget, and changed American music forever.
But this doesn’t mean that they didn’t force themselves into roles because composing any music or doing anything in the public eye will do this as a byproduct. It simply means that they weren’t necessarily concerned with what their peers thought about their work. Stockhausen publicly berated Feldman’s work, but at the same time embraced Cage’s philosophies. True, it probably did phase Feldman to have such a famous and incredibly ingenious man call your work garbage. It did not inform a change of style for Feldman, however. He continued to write how he chose, and I’m grateful he did. He has written some painfully beautiful music and it deserves a much higher platform in programming (which is currently happening everywhere this year!!).
Feldman speaks on repitition as well, and as I will say a few words on it as a final thought. Feldman says he copies like an idiot, which I find untrue. What I do find true is the statement dealing with the lack of repeat signs in his music. The view that although something appears to repeat, but doesn’t sound like repetition, speaks volumes on how much work went in to his writing. Students, young composers, etc. (myself included) have trouble letting things repeat and letting ideas evolve naturally. Not to say that all ideas must be explored ad nauseum, but what’s the rush? Why not take some time developing strong material, and have other material enter and exit as needed? As Feldman says, “Something’s happening,” which is true. Even in his most static of passages, there is always something happening, growing, changing slightly, but always developing. We could all take a page from Feldman’s book on the art of “repetition.”