John, David (1998)

John, David had its beginnings as a present intended for John Cage's eightieth birthday. It was to have been made up of eighty songs (without words), each song to have a number of sounds from one to eighty, that is, one song would have one sound, another two, another three and so forth up to eighty. The order of the songs was determined by chance, of the I Ching type, which also determined whether two songs might be superimposed. Chance also determined whether a song was to have one or two lines (so be monophonic or polyphonic), and whether these lines would monophonic, heterophonic, or hocketed, or whether there would be chords, like a chorale (this happens just once, at the beginning). Sets of songs also have certain characteristics, for instance, songs with from 1 to 9 sounds are loud, songs with from 10 to 19 sounds use short durations, songs with 30 to 39 sounds are thought of as dances, with 40 to 49 sounds include a snare drum (happens just once), with 50 to 59 sounds have repetitive figures, with 70 to 79) sounds use long durations. The song with 80 sounds is unspecified. Thirty songs were written, of which sixteen are superimposed on one another. They make up the first half of the piece, which by chance (and then, by the decision to stop there, by design) ends with the eighty sound song. By then the present had become a memorial. 

The second half of John, David is a tribute, also memorial, to David Tudor. Because he was so exceptional a performer this half has an extended part for a solo performer, the percussionist Robyn Schulkowsky (who in ways reminds me of David Tudor). It's in four parts, each drawing material from songs, though the songs are unlikely to be recognizable (they are "Westryn Wind," a late medieval English song, "Sutton," an American frontier hymn tune from the late eighteenth century and "Hallelujah, I'm a Bum," a hobo song from the early twentieth century). The material from the first song appears monophonically for the orchestra while the percussionist proceeds independently (but in a rhythmic structure proportionally related to the orchestra's). A small collection of string solos and a duet of percussion and piano follow. Then the winds and most of the cellos play four-part material out of "Sutton" while strings playing percussively and the percussionist proceed independently in different tempi. Along with this duets emerge: percussion with violas, trumpet with harp, piano with timpani, and two flutes. Next there is an extended melody hocketed throughout the orchestra, accompanied by drums. Finally material from "Sutton" comes back now in eight parts for the full orchestra. 

The association of John Cage and David Tudor is well known. Both in many ways were my teachers as they were teachers of countless others. 

As regards "concerto" which John, David is only in part: the piece began as a problem for me of the orchestra's conventional—hierarchical, quasi military and often alienated—character. It's capable of course of making wonderful sounds as nothing else can. The problems are hardly solvable overnight (society would have to change). But some steps might be possible. All players, including the usually massed strings, can be treated as individuals as well as members of a group (a collective?). There are solos, also duets and other chamber-music like alternate groupings. There are also tutti, including everyone's being silent at the same time. There is a conductor: coordination for so many people is helpful, and technical—economic—restrictions, notably in limited rehearsal time, make the efficiency of single guidance necessary. But the conductor also has moments when the score does not entirely dictate to him or to her: cues sometimes can be given in various ways, shifting structural relationships of player groups. Sometimes groups within the orchestra proceed independently, in their own tempi, conducting themselves or requiring an additional conductor. Of course such "social" arrangements have essentially to do with a certain kind of sound and music. As for a principal soloist, that too is partly, but essentially a matter of sound—of a distinctly different character (mostly non-pitched) from the orchestra's, which allows a more extended conversation (musical, playful, serious) between one and several others, or one and one other, or with many (who may also be conversing among each other). And there is possible, between solo and tutti, a wide range, and different layers of focus on a spectrum from single to multiple. My particular, personal reason for choosing to include an extended solo part was suggested earlier.