R. Murray Schafer - Partnership Planet

R. Murray Schafer
and the
Plot to Save the Planet
A Biographical Quest
Jesse G. L. Stewart
Note from Author: It is suggested for people who don't finish reading
books that they start with chapter 12, Dangerous Trail Ahead. The
last chapter, more than summarily rounding off a year of shadowing
R. Murray Schafer, is a surprise ending – particularly for the author –
something everyone should know about. It discloses some of the
most urgent questions and discoveries about the future we all face.
There are more things endangering us than meets the eye ... and it
may be later than we think.
In fact, everyone should begin with the ending of the book.
Author website: www.PartnershipPlanet.com
Acknowledgements
Many thanks for editing and sundry assistance from:
Eleanor James, Sue Lewis, Natalie Zend, Judith Parker,
Jenny Kitson, Shoshonah MacKay, Doreen Binder, Johnny
Mailloux, and my two immensely supportive and inspiring
sisters, Susan Stewart and Jane Siberry
© 2013 Jesse G. L. Stewart
Cataloguing in Publication Data
R. Murray Schafer and the Plot to Save the Planet
Sunesis Productions
First Edition 2013
ISBN-13: 978-0992007300
ISBN-10: 0992007305
BISAC: Biography & Autobiography / General
All quotes from the books of R. Murray Schafer are used with permission
of Dr. Schafer and the contents of this book have been authorized by him.
All images used with permission. The back cover photo is from the site of
the Asterion labyrinth and the drawing is from the Asterion script created
by R. Murray Schafer.
Handwritten scores are from the R. Murray Schafer composition, From the
Bow, based on the coming-of-age poem written by poet Rae Crossman.
Dedication
To all artists who have faced the
dangers of working outside (the box)
“Art should be dangerous.”
R. Murray Schafer
Page 4 Picture
R. Murray Schafer
and the
Plot to Save the Planet
One
Picking Up the Trail
Two
The Trail Leads East
Three
Noise and Peace: R. Murray Schafer as Activist
Four
Trailing the Trailblazer
Five
The Call of the Hero's Journey
Six
My Murray Schafer Weekend
or
How Not to Host a Legend
Musical Interlude with R. Murray Schafer
No Longer than Ten (10) Minutes
Seven
The Shadow of a Legend
Eight
On the Offbeat with R. Murray Schafer
Nine
Asterion: Making the Labyrinth Concrete
Ten
The Most Neglected Masterpiece in the Modern World
Eleven
The Wolf Project: The Inner Wolf Out in the Woods
Twelve
Dangerous Trail Ahead
Synopsis of Patria Cycle
More on Morgellons – see author's website
One
Picking Up the Trail
My initial encounter with Murray Schafer was in 2005. Actually, that's not
entirely true, I remember in 1992 someone suggesting I go see a show
called The Alchemical Theatre of Hermes Trismegistos . The title sounded
interesting, as did everything about it – meeting at midnight with a secret
brotherhood in Toronto's Union Station for a dramatic disclosure of
hermetic secrets.
Hermetic: obscure, dark, magical. In alternatively
commanding and beseeching tones the hierophant
promises secret knowledge (gnosis) to those who
listen carefully.
Patria pg. 136
I didn't see The Alchemical Theatre but now know it was one of R.
Murray Schafer's grandiose designs. My first encounter with him was
actually in The Enchanted Forest. It was there that I first experienced his
unique brand of magic.
The Enchanted Forest – August 2005
Visiting the village of Haliburton, about three hours north of Toronto, I
see a poster for The Enchanted Forest. The friend I'm with notices the
name R. Murray Schafer and begins raving. My friend is a musician and
recalls how Murray Schafer's work inspired him while at school. He refers
to Murray as the “mad composer” who creates “huge monsterpieces.” We
decide to attend the event.
On the day of the performance we make the pilgrimage to the Haliburton
Forest. After parking the car, we load onto a bus which shuttles us the rest
of the way. From the moment we arrive we are in The Enchanted Forest. It
is sunset and everything has a soft hue about it. The adventure begins very
lightly with dancing flower spirits and a meeting with Mother Earth at the
edge of a lake. But as we enter the veil of trees and the night gets darker –
so does the story. We are confronted with a white stag in the throes of
death. This is no place for the faint of heart. Neither is it a place for
people to stand watching on the sidelines. We are told a child has been
lost in the forest and we are needed to assist in the search.
As we wind our way through the thickening forest – the plot also thickens
with encounters with a host of other characters. Wolf is in danger of
falling asleep under a tree, which would make him vulnerable to an attack
by the evil, one-eyed Murdeth, whose intent is to tear down the forest for
7
personal gain. It's getting harder to stand around just watching. We are
unabashedly being called into action alongside animals and nature spirits.
Everyone knows that fairy tales have always been the
receptacle for moral wisdom. The Enchanted Forest
belongs to this genre and its message is ecological. It
contradicts the arrogance that humans are God's supreme
invention. It substitutes that everything is equal,
interdependent and in a constant state of transformation.
Patria pg. 224
Musicians are secretly scattered throughout the woods adding to the
natural soundscape and providing sonic signposts. Once we have finished
traversing hill and dale in search of the lost child, we come to the scenic
climax, encountering the Earth Mother again. She sings to us from the
lake, surrounded by dozens of floating candles sprinkled amongst
reflections of the stars overhead. As if on cue, the northern lights begin
glowing in the distance. The experience is both in and out of this world.
A rare, supernatural delight.
Robert Everett-Green, The Globe and Mail
The Floating World
The seasons of the year pass and the next summer another R. Murray
Schafer production arises in the Haliburton Forest – The Palace of the
Cinnabar Phoenix. We are again taken by bus to the same place as last
year's production but this time the story is set in the T'ang Dynasty of 600
A.D., which has called forth some spectacular set design. When the lights
go up on the show, which begins at sundown, a collective gasp is heard in
the audience. All the resplendence befitting ancient China radiates on the
stage floating before us on the lake. Beside it floats the orchestra on
another stage.
In the crisp twilight air, everyone is transfixed at the edge of the lake – on
the edge of our seats of an amphitheatre built for this show. A Dragon
Boat emerges from the dark and docks at the side of the palace. The
Bunraku-style puppeteers carefully lift Emperor Wei Lu out while a
stunned silence hangs over the audience. Nature herself seems in awe and
I am overcome with the wish to have everyone I know be here with me to
witness this wonder – words will never do it justice.
There is theatrical magic to be found in
The Palace of the Cinnabar Phoenix.
William Littler, Toronto Star
The evening is an unprecedented artistic adventure. Why? When it comes
to R. Murray Schafer's music-theatre it becomes apparent why there is lots
8
of music but no theatre – at least no theatre building. Nothing could
replicate this co-creation with nature. The sounds of the orchestra are
interwoven with the sounds of the wild. The music echoes off the
atmosphere, the water, the rocks, the trees. The ideas of the storyteller
conspire with the environment to carry the audience to a place where
there are no limits. It's not just the absence of theatre walls that makes this
setting so liberating. It's as if the walls of my mind dissolve.
Apart from the subtlety, if not sublimity of the setting, the storyline itself
enters into fascinating areas of ancient Chinese wisdom, exploring the
nature of Yin and Yang and other mysteries of the East. Incantations from
an oriental alchemist conjure up a mood in which magical events
manifest. T'ai Chi is danced mysteriously upon the water, a castle arises
out of the lake, Chinese rings float in the air. We are taken on a mystical
journey with Emperor Wei Lu.
The theme of Patria 8 is the secret of balance as
expressed in Confucian philosophy. It is the essence of
all the Emperor's speeches and actions. Accordingly, in
the melodic line of his singing, the number of ascending,
descending and level of oscillating phonemes is equally
distributed, and I believe one can sense this in his
various declarations.
Patria pg. 219
After the show I get a ride out of the woods with some of the technical
crew. From the back seat I listen to them discuss the technicalities of
working on the production. But I find this sort of talk jarring. It's as if
someone has put in Disk 2 of a movie, where all the techno-secrets are
revealed. I usually refrain from watching Disk 2, so I likewise ask them to
refrain from their conversation until after they drop me off. It is then that I
realize how much the performance has affected me. It has put me in an
altered state. I get into my own car, still under the spell of the show,
wondering if I should be driving. I make it home safely but the images,
music, and mood have followed me and all I want to do is replay the new
impressions in my mind. Feelings of mystery, magic, and love – for what
I'm not sure, envelop me. A chord has been struck, initiating a new
vibration and sense of awakening.
I return the next night to make sure what I experienced is as real as it was
surreal. Again, I'm swept up by the beauty and the ensuing feelings. For
days following, I don't care about anything in this world – I feel connected
to another world. I don't want to read anything. I don't want to talk to
anyone. I don't want to hear anything other than what is echoing in my
soul. I guard the ephemeral state which surely would be trampled if
trespassed upon by everyday impressions.
9
To accomplish an art that engages all forms of
perception, we need not only to strip down the walls of
our theatres and recording studios, but also the walls of
our senses. We need to breathe clean air again; we need
to touch the mysteries of the world in the little places
and the great wide places ... Here are the divinities of
our holy theatre, now so exceptional for having been
ignored so long as to be overpoweringly real. These are
the miraculous arenas of living drama inviting us to
interaction; and the experience is absolutely free. We
will not try to change things here; we will let them
change us. And if what we together produce is no longer
art, it will be no great loss; for the urge for this new
freedom did not come from the inner coil of art, but
from the necessity to find a new relationship between
ourselves and the wide cosmos.
Patria pg. 93
The Search Begins
When I do eventually turn my gaze outward again, everything looks
different. Life seems larger. The dark things of the world don't seem so
looming. Everything has a new shine to it as if renewed – as if I've been
renewed. It is then that I realize something important is going on –
something I need to understand. I decide I need to know more about this
person. Who is it that creates masterpieces in partnership with nature –
where the audience is touched and changed in their own nature?
Googling “R. Murray Schafer” produces a long list of hits, revealing a
man of multiple facets and fascinations. In addition to his status as
Canada's pre-eminent composer, he is also known as an activist, artist,
educator, mythologist, musicologist, dramatist, historian and
environmentalist – even a founding member of Amnesty International. I
see him referred to as a pioneer, provocateur, visionary, freedom fighter,
Renaissance man, genius and living legend.
Schafer: philosopher, gadfly, artist, writer and fashionable heretic.
Maclean's
It appears that R. Murray Schafer is something of a cultural giant, one
with a sizable inventory – and still inventing. He has received top honours
and awards nationally and internationally, including Junos and Geminis
over the decades. Furthermore, there are even honours he has refused –
The Order of Canada. Why? And why have I not heard of him before?
Tracking Down the Man
As interesting as everything is about Murray Schafer, it's all too removed
from the source. I want a more intimate knowledge of this culturally
10
prolific Canadian. I track down someone in Haliburton who worked on
Murray's show and tell her I would like to get in touch with Murray – I
want to explore the possibility of writing about him. She says she can
connect me with the show's producer, Joe Macerollo, who is close to
Murray, but Murray might be harder to contact – being something of a
recluse and not easily accessible. She also warns that Murray has turned
down others who wanted to write about him.
Shortly, she calls back saying she contacted Joe and that I can phone him
– which I do immediately. Joe asks me to send an email stating my
reasons to contact Murray, and says he will give it to him when he sees
him in two days. I promptly send off the email and on the weekend
receive a call from Murray. After a short conversation he agrees to meet
with me and Monday morning I'm on my way to his home.
This is where I begin to get off the beaten path and onto the off-beat path.
The closer I get to Murray's place, on the far side of Peterborough from
Toronto, the bumpier and narrower the road gets. It feels like I'm entering
the eye of the needle. As the intensity increases, I ask myself if I'm ready
for this meeting. I also ask why I'm doing this. What is my intention? I
rehearse what I wish to say.
Hello Murray, I contacted you because I've been very inspired by your
work. Your life is clearly a major highway for inspiration. Mine is more
like a pedestrian walkway. I would like to learn how you do what you do,
as I'm sure others would too. I love nature and am intrigued by how you
include nature into your creative work. I'm also interested in archetypes,
as you obviously are, and have written a book about the archetypes in The
Wizard of Oz. I say this to let you know I have already written some
things – because I would like to write about you. I see you as someone in
the big leagues who might have something to share with a person still
struggling as a little leaguer.
On a quiet country road, I finally come to the mailbox with Murray's
number on it. Before me is a threshold – a cattle guard laid across the
entrance which I carefully cross. It's not an imposing gate, just a simple
country gate onto a country lane that cuts across a field. Entering the
domain of Canada's pre-eminent composer, I suddenly become aware of
the rattling of my vehicle. While slowly edging along, a hawk sails in
front of me, past a barn, disappearing into a forest below. One of Murray's
scouts checking me out? A farmhouse comes into view – my first look at
where the living legend lives.
Murray's environmental activism comes to mind and I half expect him to
emerge from the farmhouse, angry at the vibrational intrusion,
commanding me to shut down the oil-sucking monster before I scare away
the remaining wildlife. I quickly park the jeep and turn the engine off
before its whining does any more to disrupt the serenity – and the
11
sensibilities of the artist, whom I imagine is inside, deep in creative mode.
Next I'm faced with knocking on the door – more noise in this acoustically
pristine environment. I knock. Nothing. I muse to myself – perhaps he is
deaf, like Beethoven. I knock again. More nothing. Come on Murray, I've
never met you, I'm a quarter of an hour late, don't keep me waiting in
suspense. Maybe he gets his kicks out of treating his guests the way he
treats audiences – enlisting them as players in the semi-scripted action.
Starting to feel performance anxiety, I step to the side to open the wooden
screen door. As I do, I peek through the window and catch a glimpse of a
silhouette on the other side of the house, hunched over a work table in
front of a large window. I was right – he is in creative mode. My first
glimpse of R. Murray Schafer is him poring over a score. And now I'm
supposed to knock on the door and burst his creative bubble?
Opening the screen door, I calmly tap on the main door trying to pretend
it's just another ordinary day. I hear footsteps. My self-talk kicks in, “On
your toes, Jesse, this is a threshold moment, both literally and
allegorically.” The handle turns, the door swings open and I stick out my
hand – “Murray Schafer, I presume?”
Murray invites me in. Apart from the ticking of an old-fashioned clock on
the mantle, it's even quieter inside the house. Without much in the way of
overtures, I'm soon sitting on the couch in the living-room. Murray sits
across from me. I take a good look at him to see if he has the “mad
composer” look in his eyes, as he has been described. He does. I like it.
I then look up to behold an even greater presence around Murray. The
walls and parts of the ceiling are covered with posters, memorabilia and
artifacts from shows, concerts and an obviously full life. “How
wonderful,” I remark, “you get up each morning and look at yourself in
the mirror – not in the bathroom but in the living-room.”
Murray seems amused by the comment, which I take as a good start. He
comes across as well-spoken while he describes some of the things
gracing his walls. He seems comfortable in speaking openly with me,
which I take as another good sign.
R. Murray Schafer, you are an international icon, a creator of amazing
works, a radical thinker who has changed the way people look at so many
things – art, the environment, architecture, theatre, music, education. You
have touched so many lives, adding art and soul to our connection with
nature. You are filling a gap in culture. Your work is revolutionary. It's
different from anything I've experienced. I want to understand why. I want
to know about the creative world you live in. I want to celebrate your
work. I want to celebrate you. Schools all over the world teach from your
books but there are no books about you! That's a national disgrace that
needs to be rectified. It's my patriotic duty. It'll become my global cause.
12
Just think of me as an amplifier – amplifying your words and actions. All
you have to do is keep doing what you're doing and let me write about it.
I don't actually say any of this. But neither does Murray ask me why I
want to write about him. I tell Murray some of the interesting things I
found about him on the internet and that he is obviously well known to
some, but off the radar to others. I tell him I enjoyed watching the
performance of some of his choral pieces on Youtube. He asks what
Youtube is. I don't take the time to explain but rather suggest there needs
to be a book about him and his accomplishments. He says there is one
book about him, an academic book that came out in 1983, but he believes
his most important work has been done since then. The creation of Patria.
“What is Patria?” I ask.
“Patria is what I call my body of music-theatre works.”
“Is that what I saw being performed the past two summers in the
Haliburton Forest?” I enquire.
“Yes. All my major music-theatre works are in the Patria cycle. It's a
twelve-part series.”
I wonder if I'm being tested on my interviewing skills. “I think it's
fantastic how you link environmental problems with issues of the human
ego. It seems that a lot of your work involves the natural environment in
some way, either as subject matter or as part of the production itself.”
“Not all my work focuses on the environment – but much of it does in
some way. The Enchanted Forest certainly does.”
The theme of The Enchanted Forest is nature, and its
ideal is that the human beings participating in it as
performers or audience may discover bonds with the
natural environment that they have not sensed before or
had forgotten. While the environment is a topical
problem and has even begun to concern some artists, it
seems strange that many of the expressions of concern
take forms contradictory to the cause; like photographs of
vanishing animals on glossy paper torn from their forest
homes. ... In writing the text I was not imagining an
abstract territory, but one that begins at my study window
and across which some of the animals and birds
described in the text can at times be seen or heard.
Patria pg. 221
After discussing The Enchanted Forest, I tell Murray I was also enthralled
by The Palace of the Cinnabar Phoenix and how it gave me a mystical
experience. He laughs and speaks of his love of Eastern wisdom and the
inspiration he has received from it.
13
... The Palace of the Cinnabar Phoenix, was actually the
last to be composed. Many years ago I had a dream in
which I saw a miraculous castle slowly rising out of a
lake. It was multicoloured, and seemed to be vibrating as
if it hovered above the water. That was all. Later, I
connected this dream with my desire to send Wolf (in
some form or other) to the Orient to seek enlightenment,
just as I have frequently sought it myself in Oriental art
and philosophy. I imagined a lake or a pond at night with
a castle of Chinese lanterns in the centre. Let the light
that knows no glare illuminate and transform us.
Patria pg. 213
I can see there is much we could talk about, but the ticking of the mantle
clock is reminding me I still haven't broached the idea of writing his
biography. I tell Murray I would really like to hear more about his
inspirations and that perhaps I could write a book about him while doing
so. Without responding Murray gets up and leaves the room.
Surveying the Domain of R. Murray Schafer
While he's gone I peer around, trying to see what lies beyond the doorway
into the next room. I'm curious to gather more clues as to how he lives.
I'm also curious to see if anyone else resides here. I get up to look at the
books on the bookcases lining the walls. It's a vast collection with lots of
intriguing titles. I scan a shelf dedicated to Carl Jung – The Undiscovered
Self, The Spirit in Man, Art and Literature and Memories, Dreams and
Reflections. I also see some of my favourites by Joseph Campbell – The
Hero with a Thousand Faces and The Masks of God.
At the end of the bookcases, I come to a work table – the large drafting
table where Murray was working when I first saw him through the
window. I move closer. The work area is pin-neat. There is an array of
instruments which appear laid-out in precise fashion, waiting faithfully
for the master's call to service.
There is a score sitting on the table – something being worked on. I've
always been fascinated at how small dots placed along straight lines can
translate into something so powerfully moving in the hands of musicians.
I look more closely at the score. There are additional marks, pictograms,
even squiggles to embellish it – giving the script an arcane appearance. It
is not your usual looking score. I then turn to see the view Murray has
from his work table – prime pastoral scenery of field and forest.
Murray returns to the room and I return to the couch. He's carrying some
books and I can see from their spines that they're all written by him. He
says I can have them and indicates the one about his music-theatre work
called Patria: The Complete Cycle, which he says came out in 2002. I
14
thank Murray for the books and put them on the couch next to me, telling
him they will be useful for reference but I want to get the information
from the source – from him. Taking a step closer to the question of
writing his biography, I tell him I want to write a book about R. Murray
Schafer in action. I want to write a book about what makes him tick –
while he's ticking. Murray doesn't respond – probably still determining if
I'm the sort of person he would want to spend time with for such an
undertaking. We discuss some of the intricacies of writing a book and
who would publish it. To convey more of my enthusiasm, I begin talking
about my experience at his show last summer, how it induced an altered
state that lasted for days. He responds with a smile but I have difficulty
determining what the look in his eye betrays.
“Will you be doing another show this summer?” I begin a line of
questioning to demonstrate my interviewing skills.
“I hope so. There are a few issues to sort out before we will be able to
know for sure.”
“What else will you be doing this year?”
“I'm going to Japan.”
“Japan?” I ponder for a moment, not too long, about a dotted half-note.
“What would you think of me travelling to Japan with you – to work on
the book?”
“Really?” I detect a combination of disbelief and delight in his response.
“Can you do it?”
“Can I not do it is more the question. Travel to Japan with R. Murray
Schafer? I'm sure I'd kick myself if I passed up the opportunity.”
He tells me he's going in three weeks.
“Three weeks?” This time I have to ponder a full whole note. “I can do
it,” I end the pause with no hint of hesitation, committing myself to going
somewhere I've never been before with someone I've never met before.
Murray makes the point, “But you don't have a publisher yet.”
“That's true,” I respond. “But I can still get started – then when I approach
a publisher I will have something to show – when I get back from Japan.
What better time to get started than now – in three weeks – in Japan!”
Murray has questions, “What do you do for a living? How do you earn
money? Do you have a family to support?”
To assuage the concerns evidently emerging, I state, “I'm unmarried, I live
alone and live lightly. I've never seen a hearse pulling a U-Haul!”
The look on Murray's face indicates my aphorism is unclear, so I continue,
“I've done a variety of things. I've written another book as well as some
15
music and plays. I've worked a lot as a teacher but when my father passed
away I took a sabbatical – from which I have yet to return. I'm taking time
to explore new things – so this fits perfectly.”
Without any further words and without any consideration as to what kind
of price tag a trip to Japan would have, it appears that I have both Murray
and myself convinced that going to Japan is the right thing to do. But
more importantly, a whole new road of adventure has suddenly opened
before me.
I then become aware that I probably won't have another opportunity to
meet with Murray before departing, so I start digging for the information
I'll need to plan the trip. Murray's not entirely clear about all aspects of his
itinerary, which has him booked for a variety of events over three weeks
in various parts of Japan. As he conveys details he begins to consider the
potential complications of having someone else along and what it may
entail for his hosts. He becomes hesitant and begins to get cold feet. But
I've already married myself to the idea of going to Japan.
I explain to Murray that I will simply meet him over there and follow him
around – interviewing him when he has time. I assure him it'll be fine, I've
travelled before – I'll take care of all my own arrangements. Murray hems
and haws for a while. He's not sure he has the energy to include me in his
itinerary. I remind him that I want to write about him, so I need to spend
time with him. He can't say no to that – and he doesn't. His hemming and
hawing subsides.
I ask for the email address of his host in Japan. He says he doesn't have
her email, as he doesn't have email – or a computer for that matter. He
looks at me and flatly states, “I hate technology.” He does however have
her fax number.
I ask Murray for some paper to write on and scribble down what bits of
information he can provide – making a mental note to remember to bring
a notepad to Japan. He indicates he needs to get back to work. He's in the
middle of a commission he wants to complete before going to Japan.
Bidding him goodbye, I thank him for the wonderful opportunity to meet
him – and now to travel with him.
Little more than an hour after entering his home – and his life, I'm outside
in the tranquillity of R. Murray Schafer's front yard again – now with the
scent of Japan in the air.
16
Two
The Trail Leads East
Prelude to Murray
I make my departure to Tokyo a few days ahead of Murray. I want to get
there before him and have time to sample the city. The first step is getting
from the airport to my hotel downtown. This happens to be during rushhour, so I'm given firsthand experience of the subway “packers,” people
who are paid to push and “pack” people into the already jam-packed cars.
Once checked into my hotel, I resist the gravity of jet lag and take to the
streets to see what is so great about the Greater Tokyo Area – home to
nearly 40 million people. A short walk from my hotel, I find a bustling
little restaurant with an outdoor patio where patrons are enjoying warm
end-of-October breezes. The hostess indicates they are full, which makes
this obviously popular place all the more more appealing. I decide to wait,
taking in the sights, smells and complex ambiance of a city that clearly
pulses to a different tempo than North America. It's a busy city but by no
means a disorderly one. There seems to be thought behind everything.
Soon enough, I find myself seated on the patio at a table assembled out of
fish crates.
Trying to decipher the strange new language while inspecting the menu, I
see two ladies looking for a place to sit. As suavely as I can, I signal them
to join me at my crates. They graciously accept and I am delighted to have
some company as I celebrate my first Japanese meal – made in Japan.
Friendliness overcomes language barriers, and turns into a couple of days
of being escorted by these two young ladies, whom I come to call my
"Tokyo angels." It's Japanese Heaven, or at least an excellent way to
become oriented in a city where one could easily feel lost – if not get lost
in the crowd.
My angels get me up to speed with some basic phrases like Konnichiwa
for "Good day," Arigatou gozaimasu for "Thank-you," and my favourite,
Shitsurei shimasu, "Excuse me for the impolitenesses I am about to
commit." I practice these phrases as we explore shopping, shrines and an
array of eating establishments on a tailor-made tour of Tokyo.
Then comes my first rendezvous with Murray Schafer. We had arranged
to meet at Suntory Hall where his music is to be performed. When I
arrive, hundreds of fervent-looking Japanese music goers are pouring into
the hall. I don't see Murray anywhere, so I approach an official-looking
person and tell him I'm a guest of R. Murray Schafer. Suddenly I'm passed
from one person to another until I have a complimentary ticket in hand
and find myself on the way to a seat in the balcony.
17
Settling in, I look around and admire the crisp concert hall. I read in the
program that Murray's piece, Manitou, was commissioned by the Tokyo
Metropolitan Symphony Orchestra and premièred in 1995. As the lights
dim, I again scan the crowd hoping to spot Murray but see him nowhere.
The conductor, Kazuhiro Koizumi, takes to the stage. From the audience's
reaction, it's clear that conductors enjoy celebrity status in Japan. I'm
interested to see how this conductor will handle Murray's music. And how
will I handle it? I was moved by his music in last summer's forest
production but Murray's symphonic work is new to me. I like classical
music but what if it's really avant-garde and rubs me the wrong way?
What would I say about it? What would I say to Murray about it? I
suspend my worry and remind myself of words once spoken to me by a
teacher, “Never listen to a piece of music for the first time.”
Manitou in Japan
Once the adulation for the conductor subsides he turns to the large
orchestra and with a flick of his baton launches them into Manitou. I
listen tentatively. Then I relax. Then I begin to move with it. I like what
I'm hearing. Actually, I love it – and am relieved. It's what you would
hope for in a passionately conceived and well delivered symphonic piece
– especially one which obviously aims to arouse. The music has an
extremely aggressive tempo and a pronounced percussion line. Murray's
program note states:
I wanted to create something with a distinctly Canadian
theme. Manitou is the Algonquin word denoting the
“mysterious being” who, for the woodland Indians of
North America, represents the unknown power of life
and the universe. Sometimes Manitou is associated with
the sun to suggest omnipotence, though, like the
Christian God, he is unseen. When I discussed native
spirituality with a Manitoba Indian he kept using the
word “monster” to describe Manitou and mentioned that
his people used to believe that lightning was a serpent
vomited up by him.
As my heart races along with the prolonged pounding intensity of this
“monsterpiece,” it feels like it's conjuring the spirit of Manitou – the
power of life. However, I might dispute Murray's designation of this as a
distinctly Canadian sound. If Manitou is the ancient power of the
universe, I'm sure the full-on bluster of the music, for the Japanese
audience, might conjure images of a Shinto god, such as Kamikaze, the
divine wind that saved Japan of the Mongol attacks sent by Kubla Khan.
It's hard to tell how the audience is enjoying the piece. The orchestra
certainly seems into it. The score takes us through numerous crescendoing
peaks with only an occasional respite in a darker valley. When it reaches
its thunderous climax, after about twenty-five minutes, the audience
18
erupts into applause showing enthusiastic approval. The conductor again
takes his bows. It's not until he acknowledges the composer in the
audience that I have my first R. Murray Schafer sighting – Murray bowing
in the orchestra level.
Sound Sweetened by Distance
During the intermission I descend to the foyer where Murray is being
greeted by many people. He spots me and comes over to welcome me. I
greet him with Konnichiwa and congratulate him on the performance of
his piece, telling him that I really liked the intensity of it. He says
Japanese musicians are aggressive players and that he wrote Manitou to
suit their playing temperament. He then asks where I'm sitting.
Jesse ~ Halfway back in the centre balcony.
Murray ~ That's a good place to be – actually better than where they've
put me, on the floor up close to the orchestra. Where you are, you can
hear the music without hearing the music instruments. The sound is
sweetened by distance.
I realize it's not too soon to pull out the notepad and digital recorder I
bought specifically to capture comments like this from Murray. I ask him
how he felt about the performance of his piece.
Murray ~ It was even better than the première. They got it this time.
Jesse ~ As a composer, I guess you would know more than anyone if the
conductor and orchestra got the piece. What percentage of the time do you
feel an orchestra gets what you've written?
Murray ~ Not often enough.
Jesse ~ The audience certainly showed their approval with exuberant
applause. However, I would like to ask you how you feel about this
custom of clapping at the end of a song? I find it an odd custom – people
making an ugly smacking sound with their hands right on the heels of
such beautiful sounds.
Murray ~ Yes, it somewhat disturbs the atmosphere created by the music.
I don't know if there is much one can do about it. Wagner began to write
music in a way to prevent the audience from clapping. But hand clapping
is an ancient practice. In Japan it is a traditional way of showing respect
to noblepersons.
Jesse ~ Perhaps they should just stick to the Buddhist idea of one hand
clapping! (laughter)
Murray ~ Hand-clapping is actually used in many forms of worship. Here
in Japan, it is used in a variety of ways, distinguished by the number and
manner of claps. In Shintoism it is a way to alert the temple gods. In Tibet
they are used to ward off evil spirits. Clapping rhythmically often
accompanies ecstatic dance.
Jesse ~ I know the Old Testament encourages people to clap their hands
and shout unto God.
19
Murray ~ Shouting, clapping and stamping feet was considered
appropriate back then, as it was in early forms of church procession. Now
it's just the bishop who claps and stamps during the procession. Singing in
church remains the only vestige of these early customs.
The intermission ends and I return to my seat excited by the interesting
things I'm learning from Murray. For the second half of the concert we are
treated to music by Lutoslawski and Tchaikovsky – more "sounds
sweetened by distance."
When the concert is over, I again find Murray in the foyer surrounded by
admirers, some of whom are westerners who have come to Japan to attend
the conference in Hirosaki, where Murray will be speaking.
I approach Murray and ask what he thinks of Suntory Hall. He says he
likes it – it has excellent acoustics. It has the optimal shape for a concert
hall – shoe box. This, he says, was accidentally discovered in the
construction of halls like the Gewandhaus in Leipzig, the Musikvereinsaal
in Vienna, and Konzertgebau in Amsterdam – all built around the 1880s.
Apparently, this shoebox shape works best in transmitting the sound
uniformly to the audience.
Murray then speaks of some of the blunders in concert hall construction in
Canada, specifically the experimental, round Roy Thomson Hall, in
Toronto. He says that his piece Sun was commissioned for its opening in
1983. He adds that the text for that piece is the word "sun," sung in forty
different languages, beginning in Japanese – the land of the rising sun,
then travelling across Asia, Europe, Africa to America.
“As far as Thomson Hall goes, shortly after it opened the orchestra started
complaining that they couldn't hear each other. They wanted to move back
to Massey Hall. The orchestra members felt acoustically isolated from one
another and the hall's air conditioning kept blowing scores off the music
stands. Then the audience began to complain about the sound. It turned
into a huge fiasco that eventually led to a $20 million renovation. But it
still has acoustic issues simply due to its shape.”
Murray says he has difficulties with other concert halls in Canada. Many
are replicas of European halls, built for the presentation of European style
music. But he feels they do not inspire original Canadian compositions
and aren't particularly well-suited for the works he is creating.
Picking up on his last point, and looking for a way to enter more deeply
into the mind of Murray Schafer, I state, “And is it because of these
outside the shoebox creations, that some people consider you a mad
composer? Are you a mad composer?”
Murray gives me an odd look – a smile mixed with something else I can't
determine. I feel a change in the atmosphere and my self-talk kicks in,
chastising me for asking such a question. I then realize, as someone new
to interviewing, as well as to Murray Schafer, I need to compose my
20
questions more carefully. I see others waiting to speak with Murray, so
turn off my recorder, concluding this is not an appropriate moment to
attempt an in-depth probing.
Murray's Tokyo hosts then come over to take him back to his hotel. I'm
introduced to them. As we exchange greetings, I try to see how
comfortable they are with the fact that I'll be following Murray around
Japan. It's hard to see beyond their polite smiles and bows but so far
everything looks fine. It feels like the evening has been an excellent start
to the exploration of the mysteries of R. Murray Schafer – and that he is
going to be a fount of interesting information.
As Murray's hosts whisk him off, I say Konnichiwa and tell him I will see
him in two days at the conference.
World Forum on Acoustic Ecology
Pulling out of Tokyo on my first Japanese train ride, I look forward to
seeing some of the famed landscapes of rural Japan. Riding the
Shinkansen, or "Bullet Train" as it has been suitably nicknamed, we cover
a lot of ground quickly, travelling at over 300 kilometres per hour. But as
scenery whizzes by, the romanticized picture I seek seems to be just that –
romanticized. It's nowhere in evidence. Western ways have definitely
moved in to replace Old Japan. I spend the day travelling northward, still
on Honshu, the largest of the almost 4,000 islands that make up Japan,
until I reach the city of Hirosaki.
The agenda I have for the conference says a bus will leave my hotel at
8:30 a.m. to go to the University of Hirosaki, where the conference is
being held. I'm up early, which allows me lots of time to bask in the
ambiance of the hotel restaurant, photographing the beautiful art on the
walls, as well as my exquisitely laid-out breakfast. However, my
enthusiasm for the Japanese esthetic causes me to arrive in the lobby at
8:31 to witness the bus pulling away from the curb. They say you can set
your watch by the punctuality of the Japanese train system. Apparently
with buses too. Fortunately, someone on the bus hears me running after it
and they stop for me.
Arriving at the university, I enter the conference building and get in the
registration line-up. I'm still not entirely clear what I'm lining up for, other
than a conference on sound in which Murray is the keynote speaker. After
signing in and receiving a conference package, I see Murray in
conversation with others and greet him. He introduces me to his Hirosaki
hosts. They express their excitement about hosting another conference on
acoustic ecology. I say "another conference" because this event is
apparently one more in a line of conferences that began back in the 1960s
with Murray's research, which explains why he is the keynote speaker.
People begin moving into the hall, so I follow suit. It's a large, ultramodern lecture theatre where the presentations will take place. The
21
proceedings begin with introductions by one of the organizers. There are
people from all over the world here, which is no surprise considering that
the conference banner hanging above the stage says, World Forum on
Acoustic Ecology 2006. Scanning the list in my package, I see
participants from the U.S., Scandinavia, England, several European
countries, Australia and Asia. There are also some fellow-Canadians here.
When the introductions end Murray begins his keynote address.
The Keynote
“If there is no word to describe a phenomenon does the phenomenon
actually exist? It's an interesting philosophical question. When I first
began to think seriously about the acoustic environment there was no
word to describe what I wished to study. So I had to invent one. I began to
use the word 'soundscape' which is similar to the word 'landscape.' The
word 'landscape' has not always existed. It was only around the time of
Petrarch, the Italian poet of the fourteenth century, when he climbed to the
top of a mountain, looked over the fields and forests, and named what he
saw, that people were beginning to develop a concept of their
surroundings. Naming it objectified it. People began to relate to the
landscape in a different way – to paint it and write poetry about it.
However, when I began to use the word soundscape, others didn't
necessarily understand what I meant. In fact, there was a lot of suspicion
about this new discipline being promoted by a young composer working
in the communications department of a new university.
“The 1960s was a particularly noisy decade. Jet aircraft began flying
commercially, music was being produced at higher levels of volume than
ever before, cities were expanding and construction noise could be heard
day and night. I remember being laughed at during a conference in 1963
when I spoke of noise pollution. Noise was a sign of progress in society,
people said. If there is a problem, the acoustical engineers would deal
with it. The acoustical engineers were the noise doctors of the 1960s.”
I'm finding Murray's speech engaging. I recall aspects of my childhood
and realize I must have been sonically sensitive. I remember going out of
my way to avoid noise. As Murray continues speaking I try to picture him
as a young professor back in the 60s. Was he a long-haired hippie in those
days? The top of his head is a bit sparse now, with some white, wispy hair
on the sides and back but not long. His beard is neatly trimmed. He has a
professional appearance, even without a tie. His jacket has a Swiss look.
“Then along comes a young teacher waving the word 'soundscape' and
claiming that sound is not just a mechanical issue but a subject for social
and esthetic investigation. No one had ever heard of sound esthetics
before, so at first I wasn't taken seriously. No one had ever questioned
whether different people or societies had distinct preferences for sound, or
whether they listened differently. This radical, young researcher even
dared to liken the soundscape to a musical composition which could be
22
beautiful, banal, exciting, ugly or boring. He wanted to compare
soundscapes from different places or historical times to discover the
relationship between peace and harmony, noise and brutality.”
Murray is taking his time to enunciate each word, as there is no
translation into Japanese – or any other language represented here. I
notice some participants typing words into electronic translators. Some
people are sitting in pairs so they can help each other interpret.
“So what is meant by 'soundscape'? Since I invented the word, it has been
used in various ways, and not always in the way I originally intended.
What I mean by soundscape is the 'total acoustic environment in which we
live.' The word 'ecology' was also just emerging at that time and as studies
comparing life and the environment expanded, our work began to be
better understood. The research was finally published in my book, The
Tuning of the World, which came out in 1977 and documents the findings
of the World Soundscape Project. It unites the social, scientific and
artistic aspects of sound.
“Gradually our work spread to other parts of Canada, then later to Europe.
People became interested in investigating sound in their own
environments. Eventually a number of researchers from different parts of
the world got together to form the World Forum for Acoustic Ecology.
We are now meeting for the first time in Japan, a country I have always
admired for its history of sensitivity to sound, beginning with the time of
the great Japanese poets and philosophers. And so it is with the greatest
pleasure that I come to Hirosaki. My ears are open to learn from my
Japanese colleagues, as well as the visitors from the many parts of the
world represented here. Let us see how we may advance our work in
acoustic ecology to help improve the world for the benefit of all.”
Acoustic ecology? I'm still trying to wrap my mind around what this all
means. Murray is pointing to a different domain than what is usually
considered "the environment." I'm not sure how issues around sound are
considered environmental issues, but I could speculate that they are tied to
things that contribute to climate change. I'm also starting to understand
why everyone is so keenly attentive here – Murray has celebrity status,
not as a composer, but as the father of the World Soundscape Project.
Most of these people probably don't even know Murray is a world famous
composer. They know him as a world famous environmentalist. Murray
brings his talk to a close.
“Looking to the future of the soundscape – noise will always be a part of
the problem. But of its own nature, the ear demands that distracting and
destructive sounds be stopped in order that it may hear and concentrate on
those that truly matter. Ultimately, this work is about sounds that matter.
And in order to reveal those it may be necessary to rage against those that
obstruct them. I think, as soundscape researchers, we should be aware of
our responsibility to not only preserve the beautiful sounds of the world,
23
the sounds we want to hear, but to rage against the sounds that are
destructive to society. Rage against the things that would destroy you.”
I sit fascinated as Murray comes to a rousing end of his keynote address.
The applause is followed by silence and I wonder how his incitement to
rage is sitting with this audience.
Consciousness Expanding Sound
During the break I find Murray outside in the courtyard with the smokers
packing himself a pipe. From what I hear being said, people are genuinely
appreciative of Murray's message. It's as if by naming the soundscape he
has expanded their consciousness to the realities of another level of
existence. It is also evidently bringing people together. I follow with
interest as people from various countries tell Murray their stories about
ancient soundscapes giving way to invasive new soundscapes. There are
battles being fiercely fought, often by underdogs against the onslaught of
modernity and its accompanying acoustic intrusions. I can see now how
raging may be a necessary response.
As I start to meet people, I'm asked what my interest is. The answer is
easy – I'm interested in everything R. Murray Schafer. As I begin to refer
to myself as Murray's biographer I discover it's a good designation.
Writers hold a certain status – especially in Japan. It doesn't garner me the
same demigod status Murray obviously has here, but to be the biographer
of a demigod seems to unfurl a little corner of the red carpet for me.
Following the break, the presentations begin with titles such as
Challenges When East Meets West: Integration and Co-existence, The
Forgotten Power of Sound, Measuring Unheard Sounds and Creating a
Sound Museum. There are more than sixty presentations to be delivered
over the next three days, all keying off what Murray introduced in his
keynote address today – as well as over forty years ago, when he started
this movement.
As we dig in, it is wonderful to hear people expound on the secrets of
sound, the mysteries it holds and to be reminded how intrinsic it is to our
existence and quality of life. It helps me appreciate how the soundscape is
just as much a part of our experience of the world as the landscape. It all
underscores how powerful sound is – as reality and as symbol.
My mind drifts during a presentation on the soundscapes of Finland, and I
think of Canada and the soundscapes that can be experienced there –
particularly in the vast wilderness. I think of the diversity of birds and the
variety of sounds made by them. I realize how crucial it is that we protect
the vulnerable wilderness environment which fosters such esthetically
unique soundscapes.
I listen more closely to the tones of the different speakers' voices and am
reminded how the human voice has such power to convey a variety of
tones – from pleased to angry, and many nuances in-between. There is a
24
lot of information being carried in qualties of sound, and what reaches our
ears is hugely influential. Indeed, for many people, sound is their
lifeblood – they are tapped into music all day long. Piped-in music has
become the norm and pervades many public places, testifying to how
much people feed on sound.
Sound Tours
I join Murray at lunch and he introduces me to another Canadian
composer, Hildegard Westerkamp. She is excited to hear I'm writing about
Murray. She has been involved in the World Soundscape Project since its
inception, first as an associate of Murray at Simon Fraser University,
contributing research to The Tuning of the World, then as a founding
member of the World Forum for Acoustic Ecology.
I listen as Murray and Hildegard reminisce about the early days of the
movement. Murray recalls, “There was a tangible sense of excitement.
We felt we were doing original research. We felt like we were discovering
something new. Friday afternoons were the time when everyone involved
would meet to discuss their ideas. There was a lot of levity about it.” It
comes across as a fond but distant memory.
Hildegard says that, since those days, one of her specialties has been to
take groups of people on "soundwalks." Seeing my quizzical look at this
new terminology she explains that a soundwalk is when one goes for a
walk and stops and listens, and even records, any kind of "sound object"
or "sound event." She says she has conducted these "soundtours" all over
the world and will be giving a presentation called Soundwalking as an
Ecological Practice.
Hildegard is also the one who will be taking a group of people on a two
day tour of notable soundscapes in the area after the conference. This was
an additional option for attendees of the conference but because I was a
last minute applicant, the soundtour was already fully booked. I'm okay
with this – I'm envisioning an alternate adventure for myself at that point
in Murray's itinerary.
A Peaceful Warrior
The afternoon continues with four presentations addressing issues around
health and healing involving sound – Symbol and Soma: Illness in the
Soundscape of Everyday Life, The Neuroscientific Basis of Sound, The
Sound Environment in a Palliative Care Environment and Implementing
Soundscape Intervention.
When the afternoon presentations end I'm ready to explore the town. I
head to the train station where I remember seeing a rare English sign,
"Bikes Available at Tourist Centre." It's time for a self-guided tour of
Hirosaki on Japan's preferred mode of transportation. I'm taken to a
massive underground parking lot for bicycles. There are hundreds of
bicycles and, quite interestingly, none locked up. Apparently nobody
locks their bikes in Japan, which is quite a radical concept considering
25
I've had three bicycles stolen from outside my downtown Toronto
apartment. Evidently, the crime rate in Japan is one of the lowest in
industrialized countries.
I'm given a bicycle and shown the "Up" escalator designed especially for
bikes. After winding around downtown Hirosaki, I come across a
museum. Inside, I get to feed my hunger for Old Japan. The museum is
filled with images and artifacts from bygone eras. I especially enjoy the
effigies of famed Samurai warriors, immortalized in their full regalia and
esteemed fierceness. While gazing at a giant statue of a Samurai warrior, I
begin to think about Murray and why he is referred to as a freedom
fighter. It occurs to me that he embodies the same ferocity as a Samurai,
but in a different way. He is a modern day warrior fighting for noble
causes – armed with art and words as weapons.
As Joseph Campbell might put it, Murray has followed the steps of the
hero's journey. He has gone into the underworld, he has done his research
and brought back a boon to share with society. And now he has earned the
right to incite others to stand up for themselves – and for the planet. He is
a peaceful warrior. Or would that be a warrior for peace?
... the nature of the hero has changed in our day. No
longer is he a warrior with a sword, ready to gore
everything in sight. No longer is his aptitude merely that
of the swashbuckling youth. No longer is he necessarily
masculine. There are heroes of faith, heroes of
perseverance, heroes capable of realizing the most
fragile dreams without any visible weaponry at all.
These are the heroes of a different order, I don't say
higher, but certainly in possession of talents badly
needed in the modern world.
Patria pg. 205
A Battle Breaks Out
I find an interesting little restaurant off the beaten path where I enjoy
some unusual decor over a good meal. I'm coming to appreciate the
eccentric, if not giddy sense of style some of the modern Japanese artists
exhibit. While eating, I admire potted plants where the pots are made out
of plants and the plants have blooms that look like pots.
I'm also coming to appreciate the steady diet of Japanese food I've been
consuming. Not the copious amounts of miso soup and California rolls
served in the West, but minimal wheat and dairy and, interestingly, only
small quantities of rice. I'm feeling really good on the traditional Japanese
fare, with its exotic assortment of fish and vegetables.
After dinner while walking back to my bike, I'm chased down by the
waiter who served me. In his hand he has the tip I left him. I don't
understand what the problem is. And I certainly don't understand what
26
he's telling me. Finally it dawns on me – he thinks I left the change by
mistake. He wants to give it back.
I remember reading in my travel book that tipping is not de rigueur in
Japan, but I didn't actually believe it. The restaurants in Tokyo, where I
paid by credit card, never had a problem with tipping. However, here I
used yen, and this being a smaller town makes it more of a stronghold of
tradition – as seen in this bizarre outbreak of Japanese politeness.
The waiter is very insistent, in a cordial way, that I take it back. But I feel
awkward about taking back something I've already given, especially when
I'm a guest here. As a Canadian, I too have a strong sense of politeness.
And so my version of Canadian politeness takes on his Japanese version
of politeness, as we go head-to-head over who gets to not take the money.
Cultural differences compounded by language barriers, I wave my hands
and grimace, “I don't want it back, I want you to keep it.” But he doesn't
know how to, it's not in his programming. So he just keeps holding the
money in front of me with an insistent gesture and a concerned look.
This deadlock is taking place right in the middle of the street and I'm
wondering if I should perhaps give in, as I'm getting nervous about the
bicycles whizzing by and honking cars. But he doesn't seem concerned at
all, he's quite at ease in this setting – he's on home turf. But despite my
flagging comfort, I don't want to back down.
I then attempt to get the upper hand by hitting him with some western
assertion – I tell him to take the money to the owner to buy something for
the restaurant. I pause for a moment to see if it makes any impact. It does.
His English is good enough that my idea slips past his guard and
undercuts his determination. I then follow with a quick suggestion, saying
it could be used to buy flowers for the restaurant. This really hits him in a
weak spot – his attitude softens and his resolve suddenly goes limp.
For good measure, I land one more on his heart, telling him it’s a gift from
a happy customer. His face lights up with the world-famous, sunny
Japanese smile – followed by a crisp bow. He concedes the contest, thus
signalling the end of the Battle of Politenesses. He withdraws to the
restaurant with money in hand. I finally step out of the way of traffic, a bit
bewildered by the encounter.
Murray Schafer Shot Into Space
Back in my hotel room, I reflect on all I heard today at the conference and
feel a little top heavy. Not that it's too much information but rather that I
don't have enough foundation material. All these presentations have
ultimately been inspired by Murray but I have yet to read what he has
written on the subject.
Pulling out my copy of The Tuning of the World which Murray gave me
at our first meeting in Canada, I take some time to look through it. I come
across some weighty endorsements.
27
This is an extraordinary book, fascinating to read
and far-reaching in its visionary projection.
Publisher's Weekly
The Tuning of the World is an unusual sensory
experience. The original sections will raise your
consciousness of the soundscape to a level of
sensitivity you never experienced before.
New York Times
Today it must have top priority.
Marshall McLuhan
Schafer's book is a consciousness-expanding experience.
Carl Sagan
Next morning I catch Murray before the presentations and report that I
finally started reading The Tuning of the World. I tell him I can see why it
has become a classic over the decades, both in and outside of academic
circles – as his seminal work it has started a revolution – and is a riveting
read. Murray smiles. I also tell him I saw Carl Sagan's quote and that I
remember his widely acclaimed television series in the 70s, Cosmos. I ask
Murray about his association with Dr. Sagan.
Murray ~ Sagan knew of my book and called me in the early 70s when I
was at Simon Fraser University. NASA was planning to put a space
capsule into orbit and they were interested in including some recordings.
Sagan wanted the most significant sounds on earth and asked me if I could
provide some for him. So I gave him recordings from the sound library we
had been assembling. They ended up in the capsule and shot into space.
Jesse ~ And now you can say your work is really far-reaching! (laughter)
Murray ~ The influence of The Tuning of the World has actually gone
farther than I expected. But the areas I hoped to be influential, such as
urban planning, didn't catch onto my ideas at first because urban planners
weren't much concerned about sound. But I did get attention in areas
where people were interested in my new view of the environment.
Jesse ~ For example?
Murray ~ There is an important geographer, David Lowenthal, who was
very influenced by my research. He was working for National Geographic
when I was soliciting funds for the project. He wrote back saying that the
board wasn't interested but that he personally thought it was a fascinating
study. He moved to a post at London University and invited me there to
visit. I brought a whole team of people who were with me on a soundtour
of Europe. We spent a couple of days with him. We learned a lot about
researching the soundscape from a geographer's viewpoint. My influence
28
on him is evident in the books he wrote after that. The soundscape is
never omitted in his study of the landscape.
Critics
After the morning presentations, I head over to the lunch building. I get
seated at a table and successfully catch Murray's eye, inviting him to join
me, hoping to hear some more inside stories. He is followed by a train of
others, also wanting time with him.
As we settle in with our cafeteria food, Japanese style, Murray says he
was speaking with a woman from Italy who is doing her Doctoral thesis
on the soundscape. He says she is quite up-to-date on sound research in
Europe and was telling him about how his work continues there – but also
about some of his critics. This opens up something I want to know more
about, so I hijack the lunch conversation to get Murray to talk about it.
Murray ~ There are some critics who think of soundwork as trivial stuff.
They feel there are bigger and more important issues. There's a critic in
France, Michel Chion, who has written several books and constantly
attacks me and tries to tear my work to pieces. It's silly, I just laugh.
Jesse ~ So you don't take it too seriously?
Murray ~ It's absurd. But that's how they are in France – they do the same
thing to each other. It's the way of academics, with all the skirmishing that
goes on. Somebody writes a book, then somebody has to attack it, or
claims it was their idea. Then somebody else defends it. It's just the way it
goes in this realm.
Jesse ~ What specifically does he say?
Murray ~ One thing he does is take issue with the vocabulary I've
invented. He says there are better ways to describe things now. And there
is Jean-François Augoyard at the University of Grenoble, where some
very good research has been accomplished. He wrote a whole book which
includes some terminology of ours, like "soniferous garden," without
acknowledging the source. I'm not mentioned in his book at all.
Jesse ~ So you are not without your critics?
Murray ~ No. But the real critics, from the beginning, were the acoustical
engineers. They thought our work was nonsense. They just laughed and
asked “What does this have to do with science?” They said our research
was qualitative not quantitative. Everything had to be measured in terms
of numbers because that's what they do – walk around with their sound
level meters, measuring everything. And they are the interpreters of all the
graphs. But we gave them something to think about and I've noticed a
change in their attitude over the years. There's definitely more interest in
acoustic design than when I first started talking about it.
Jesse ~ The modalities of science are changing?
29
Murray ~ Yes. I've been invited to a gathering of acoustical engineers and
architects next year in Canada, to speak about acoustic design.
This is the function of art: to open out new modes of
perception and to portray alternate lifestyles. Art is
always outside society and the artist must never expect to
win popularity easily. The mind of the designer will move
in huge unrealistic excursions too; but he may also
engage in some practical preservation and repair work.
The Tuning of the World pg. 239
Jesse ~ Do you feel pushed to the side by the new research being done?
Murray ~ No, not at all. It was a long time ago that I did my research – it
crested in the mid-seventies. This year is the thirtieth anniversary of The
Tuning of the World, so I'm just glad people are still talking about it.
Jesse ~ I guess it has been translated into French, as well?
Murray ~ Yes, the French were the first to translate it. Overall the book
has been very popular there and is still in print. Jacques Longchamp, the
music critic for Le Monde, used to call me "le père de l'ecologie sonore" –
the father of acoustic ecology. The last time I saw him he said
"maintenant vous êtes le grandpère de l'ecologie sonore!" (laughter)
Jesse ~ Now you're the grandfather of acoustic ecology. Yes, there is
obviously another generation of soundscapers coming up. How does that
make you feel?
Murray ~ I find it amusing, especially considering that the Canadian
publisher to whom I first offered the book turned it down.
Jesse ~ Really?
Murray ~ There are also translations in Italian, German, Portuguese,
Japanese and soon Korean. There's actually more interest in the subject
now than ever. And there is some very creative work going on.
Jesse ~ You must feel proud that you have spawned something that has
taken on a life of its own. Judging from the representation here, there
seems to be ongoing interest in Europe.
Murray ~ Acoustic ecology is what I'm best known for in Europe – more
than as a composer. However, my books on music education are popular
in Europe, too. The city of Linz just ordered 6,000 copies of A Sound
Education in the German edition. Linz wants to be a cultural capital of
Europe so they are giving a copy of the book to every music teacher in
Austria. The children are then going to present the exercises from it at the
2009 European Capital of Culture festival. There's a Spanish edition as
well, and I just learned that the Mexican Board of Education wants to
publish 18,000 copies for all the music teachers in Mexico and another
48,000 are going to be printed for Brazil. It's funny because if I sell 10 a
year in Canada, I'm surprised.
30
Jesse ~ 10 thousand?
Murray ~ No, just 10 copies.
Jesse ~ Well, it looks you're definitely still on the charts in Latin America,
anyway, Murray
Murray ~ Damn right, I'm still on the charts.
The Future of Sound Ecology
At the last morning of presentations Murray announces that the next
conference of the World Forum on Acoustic Ecology will take place in
Corfu, Greece. He says there is real concern in Greece about how to deal
with the environment around the ancient sites, like the Parthenon, and he
has been asked to address the Greek Parliament about it. He also
announces that The Tuning of the World is to be translated into Greek.
In the last round of presentations, there is an odd lecture that introduces
me to an unusual aspect of modern Japanese society. Given by a Japanese
woman, it is called Soundmasking Devices for Toilets. I don't frequent
female washrooms, so it's a revelation to me that in Japan they have been
installing soundmasking devices to save women the embarrassment of
making noises attendant with bodily functions.
As the presentations come to an end, I reflect on how the content of the
conference has been both stimulating and bewildering, opening my eyes –
and of course my ears – to new ways of experiencing the world. T he
presentations have underscored the power of sound and shown that the
soundscape is just as much a part of the world as the landscape. The
subject of the soundscape is not what initially sparked my interest in R.
Murray Schafer. However, with exposure to this aspect of his life-work,
and its ripple effect, it's showing me how I am, by no means, the only
person whose life has been touched by Murray Schafer's work. And even
though the ideas around the soundscape are not giving me an experience
in the way his theatre-work did, there is something significant that these
seemingly separate streams flow from the same mind. Do they converge at
some point?
The Power of Laughter and Rage
For the final evening we are all invited to a gathering in a hotel banquet
hall. While everyone is standing around in conversation, I overhear one of
the hosts approach Murray asking him to make some closing remarks.
Murray agrees, then waits while the host tries to get everyone's attention.
However, her soft voice is not succeeding. Murray lets out a loud laugh.
As polite Japanese society dictates, everyone in the room follows suit and
breaks into laughter – although no one is quite sure what they're laughing
at. It is a brilliant move on Murray's part to get immediate attention of
everyone. Into this pause steps Murray with his closing comments.
31
Murray expresses his pleasure with the conference. He says he feels it has
been one of the most successful conferences he has attended, particularly
because of the diversity – not only in nationalities but in the wide variety
of fields represented. There are people with backgrounds in architecture,
healing and medicine, as well as the arts, music, recording and academics.
Murray says we are entering a new era of soundscape design, and that he
may be the one who inspired this work, but it is up to others to carry it on.
He encourages everyone to continue their research and reminds us that at
times it may be necessary to rage. He repeats the admonition from his
keynote address, “Rage against that which would destroy us.”
Of its own nature then, the ear demands that insouciant
and distracting sounds would be stopped in order that it
may concentrate on those which truly matter. Ultimately,
this book is about sounds that matter. In order to reveal
them it may be necessary to rage against those that don't.
The Tuning of the World pg. 12
With that, Murray concludes his comments and is soon surrounded by
admirers thanking him. As the party continues, I catch Murray's attention
long enough to remind him I'm leaving in the morning for a separate
adventure – to parts of Japan not on his itinerary. We arrange to meet in
the south of Japan, Nagasaki, in five days. But until then I'm off in search
of remoter parts, rarer places – maybe even to discover remnants of Old
Japan. I'm heading further north.
The End of the World
I awaken early, excited to get going. I'm the first one in the hotel dining
room, eager for another fill of fish, vegetables and esthetic ambiance to
start the day right in Japan. I'm moving quickly because I'm planning on a
long day of train hopping. My intention is to get as far north as possible
on the most northern island of Japan, Hokkaido. I've seen plenty of
Japan's westernized, industrialized, technologized society. I'm looking
forward to a few days of exploring the sights – and sounds, of the
Japanese wilds.
It is not enough to remain a tourist in the soundscape, but
it is a useful stage in the training program. It enables a
person to become detached from the functioning
environment in order to perceive it as an object of
curiosity and aesthetic enjoyment. Like tourism itself,
this type of perception is a recent development in the
evolution of human civilization.
The Tuning of the World pg. 212
To help me in my travels I have a copy of Lonely Planet Travel Guide of
Japan. It holds much valuable information, including descriptions of the
different national parks on the northern island. The one that interests me
32
most has just recently been designated a World Heritage Site by
UNESCO. What attracts me even more is the name the Ainu people gave
this area, Shiretoko, "the end of the world." It sounds like it might have
what I'm looking for. The guidebook gives a little historical background
on the area. The Ainu, the indigenous people of Japan, roamed the land
before Chinese and Korean explorers started to populate it 2,000 years
ago. The Ainu were continually pushed northward, especially when Japan
was under the military rule of the Shogun. Not being able to go any
further on the peninsula, except off a cliff into the ocean, they referred to
it as the end of the world . It is only recently that the Japanese government
changed their policy, finally recognizing the culture of the approximately
24,000 surviving Ainu and granting them land rights.
To me, "the end of the world" sounds like a good place to practice
listening. Ironically, it's by listening carefully to the announcements in
Japanese, over the loudspeaker in a train station, that I catch words which
help me to trim some time off my travelling. As a result, I'm able to go as
far north as the train system goes by the end of the day.
Eleven o'clock at night might be considered late to arrive in a small town
and start looking for accommodation, especially in a ryokan – a traditional
Japanese bed and breakfast. However, the innkeeper I call from the listing
in my guidebook is happy to accommodate and even drives over to the
train station to pick me up. When we arrive at the rustic old ryokan, it
appears I'm the only guest. This suits me just fine, as I immerse myself in
silence – and an onsen – a giant Japanese hot tub, and soak away some of
my travel stiffness.
Serendipity Steps In
The following morning, the next stage in travel toward the end of the
world requires a bus ride. After buying a ticket in a little shop in this
dusty village, I get myself and my backpack on a local bus. There's no one
else on it except a few elderly locals yammering back and forth. As I
listen to them speak, I wonder what they are talking about – exchanging
gossip is frowned upon in polite Japanese society.
While I'm playing with my new camera which I bought for this trip,
someone else steps onto the bus. He looks nearer my age, with a pack on
his back and camera around his neck, not unlike myself – only Asian.
After he sits down, I turn to him and say that he looks like he's out
sightseeing too. In English he responds, “Yes.” “Where are you going?” I
enquire. He pulls out a map and begins to read some Japanese names. Not
wanting to be presumptuous about his ethnicity, I enquire, “You
understand Japanese?” “I am Japanese,” he responds.
This is unusual, since the further I've travelled north, the less people I've
found who speak English. It turns out this person is a media-arts student
from Kyoto, who has been on a co-op program at the University of
Sapporo. He wants to explore some of the northern parts before heading
33
south – again, not unlike myself. When he asks why I'm in Japan, I tell
him I'm writing a book about someone named Murray Schafer. “Murray
Schafer?” he exclaims, “R. Murray Schafer?” “Yes, yes,” I respond.
Excitedly he says, “I know Murray Schafer. I studied his work at school,”
and begins raving about him. No question about my surprise – indeed my
delight. Here I am in the outback of northern Japan to explore the sights
and sounds at the end of the world and someone the same age, with the
same intention, gets on the same bus at the same time.
I ask my new friend, Takao, where he is planning to stay. He pulls out the
same Lonely Planet guidebook as mine, except in Japanese. While he
translates from his guidebook, all I can think of is that he must be another
Japanese angel, like the ones who helped me tour Tokyo. After we agree
to share a room together, we travel as far as the bus goes, then make our
way to a ryokan recommended by both my English Lonely Planet and
Takao's Japanese version.
The Land of the Rising Sun
Watching the sunrise in the "Land of the Rising Sun" isn't something you
get to do everyday, especially if you live in the west. Japan is referred to
in this way because it is the eastern-most of the Asian countries and thus
the first to experience the sunrise. The room Takao and I share looks out
over the Pacific Ocean so we set our alarms to wake up and watch the
sunrise. Even though Murray Schafer is a long way from here, he is not
far from my mind. I've begun a ritual reading of his book each morning.
The research I'm about to describe represents a
reaffirmation of music as a search for the harmonizing
influence of sounds in the world about us. In Robert
Fludd's Utruisque Cosmi Historia there is an illustration
entitled “The Tuning of the World” in which the earth
forms the body of an instrument across which strings are
stretched and are tuned by a divine hand. We must try
once again to find the secret of that tuning.
The Tuning of the World pg. 6
After a good breakfast of fish – freshly caught in this seaport, Takao and I
hitch-hike up the coastal road of the cape of Shiretoko, in search of the
end of the world. Reflecting on it now, I don't know whatever gave me the
gumption to think I could come wandering up here on my own. No one in
these remote parts speaks English. Needless to say, I'm thankful for
having an angel who speaks both languages. And fortunately, sticking out
one's thumb at the side of a road is part of a universal language. Before
long an old man in an old car picks us up and kindly drives us to the end
of the road that leads to the end of the world. We are left with no choice
at this point but to start walking.
We make our way on foot along the rocky coastline. Astonishingly, there
are still power lines overhead and I'm wondering if the Japanese actually
34
run electricity all the way to the end of the world. Considering their love
of electrical gadgetry I wouldn't be surprised. However, I'm hoping there
will be no visible wires, as I brought my camera to capture the
anticipated, unadulterated beauty.
We eventually make it beyond the tentacles of the electrical lines which
terminate at some fishing shacks, giving me relief that the end of the
world is off the grid. We stop for a moment to look up at the breathtaking
sight of cumulus clouds emerging from behind the clifftops and drifting
across the azure sky over the ocean.
The End of the Anticipation
Unfortunately, the same awe is not inspired while looking down. Finding
the right footing is a challenge as I make my way through the obstacle
course, choosing between rocks and a large assortment of objects that
have washed up on the shore. The shoreline is littered with all sorts of
garbage – tons of it in fact, bottles, bags, car parts, clothing – the array is
unbelievable. Where it originated is anybody's guess.
Takao and I stop and stand – feeling let down in our expectations, hopes
dashed that our pilgrimage to the end of the world would be rewarded
with a special vision reserved only for the stalwart of spirit who venture
this far. Instead, we are jarringly confronted with a landscape strewn with
an assortment of garbage.
Being from Japan, Takao is less surprised by this sight and simply finds a
spot on a big rock to set up and record the soundscape. Crestfallen, I put
away my camera and wonder if UNESCO was too late in declaring this a
World Heritage Site – it's more like a World Landfill Site.
It gets me thinking about the Great Pacific Garbage Patch – an area twice
the size of Texas consisting of plastic, chemical sludge and other debris
caught in a vortex of ocean currents in the north Pacific. Discovered in the
1990s, it is estimated to contain 100 million tons of garbage floating on or
near the ocean surface. A depressing statement about modern times,
research has shown that the plastics are breaking down into particulate
that are at a higher concentration than plankton and small fish are
consuming it. Even more scary is that small fish are eaten by bigger fish,
which in turn end up on our plates. So, in fact, the garbage we're allowing
into the environment has entered the food chain and we're now the end
recipients of it – eating our own waste. How have we let this happen?
I reflect on how Murray says we need to once again find the tuning of the
world. We need to find the harmony of all things. This place is a prime
example of how out of tune we've become with our environment. And yet,
there is undeniably an incredible feeling about this space. It's just too
heartbreaking to look at. I close my eyes and weep for awhile. I weep
deeply. I allow myself to be held for a long time by the sounds around me
– gusting wind, breaking waves, birds calling – the soundscape soothing
35
my soul and reminding me of other aspects of nature's presence – despite
the tragic visuals.
The eye points outward; the ear draws inward. It soaks up
information. Wagner said: “To the eye appeals the outer
man, the inner to the ear.”
The Tuning of the World pg. 11
Listening to the soundscape takes me to a deep place – a place deeper
than the landscape. It gives me what I came seeking – a sense of
connection to something beyond the realm of civilization. The rest I can
leave. And I do.
24/7 Fish
Back at the ryokan, Takao and I wash away the weariness of the day's trek
by soaking our outsides in the hot onsen bath and our insides with hot
sâke. After the sun sets, and while feasting on fish in the dining room, I
notice some lights out on the ocean. Not just little lights but lights that
would illuminate Niagara Falls. “Fishing boats,” Takao informs me.
Apparently, they use huge lamps to trick the fish into thinking the sun is
still up, so the boats can fish all night. I suggest that would mean Japan is
no longer "the Land of the Rising Sun." Takao laughs.
Takao explains that the fishermen are more than happy to fish night and
day because fishing is big business in Japan. However, many people
question the ethics of this and its effects on the environment. The rest of
the world has been asking Japan to slow down, so fish stocks can keep up
– and our descendants may enjoy a good variety of seafood too. I tell
Takao that I heard Murray say that if fish could scream with pain no one
would be able to stand being within three miles of the ocean. Takao
laughs at this too.
Bear Bells
Next morning we head out on another Japanese safari. We venture inland
for a trek up a mountain trail toward the snowcapped peak of Rausu Dake.
Now it's Takao's turn to be thankful to have someone else along. We've
been warned that there is an abundance of brown bears where we're going,
and that they are particularly hungry this time of year – and have been
known to attack humans.
More than a little nervous, Takao insists on stopping at a store on the way
to the trailhead. He wants to buy a bell so bears can be warned of our
coming. On this point, Takao's and my intentions are moving in different
directions. In fact, it's the only time we have a major disagreement.
Takao would be all too happy to see only the backside of a bear – running
away from us. But I'm a little more game for adventure. More so, I'm not
too keen on listening to a bell ringing all day while we walk in the woods.
I'm interested in tuning into the natural soundscape and any wildlife that
might be around. However, Takao, has distinct limits on close encounters
36
with nature, so I acquiesce to his wish to have a bell, relinquishing my
hope for a photo-op of a bear. In the end, we encounter no bears while
hiking the mountain, but neither do we encounter other people, which is
almost as good. And whenever we stop to rest, the sound of the bell stops
and I am able to enjoy the pristine serenity of the mountain. It has a
profound feeling to it, as did our trek along the coast yesterday, but with a
contrasting quality.
The End of the Soundtour
Even though I didn't get to go with Murray on the soundtour after the
conference, this is exactly what this time with Takao has turned into.
Takao frequently stops and records "sound events" or "sound objects."
I've begun doing the same with my digital recorder. It not only holds
conversations with Murray about the soundscape – it is getting filled with
the soundscape itself.
At the end of the mountain trail, at the end of the day, we find a naturally
occurring onsen – a pool fed from a hot spring. We strip down and soak
ourselves in the nearly boiling water. Fatigued from the hike and a little
stiff from the past days of trekking, we luxuriously lie back and watch the
steam trail into the silent black sky.
Peasants and tribesmen the world over participate in a
vast sharing of silence.
The Tuning of the World pg. 52
On our final morning, as we get ready to go our separate ways, I thank
Takao for his helpfulness. Not only did he assist me in travelling through
this part of Japan, he took me way beyond what any guidebook could
teach me about Japanese culture. We've enjoyed conversations about
environmental issues, the education system, government corruption, the
reluctance to support Japanese artists, changing social mores, the U.S.
military occupation and of course – R. Murray Schafer. It has been an
enriching time together.
Upon saying goodbye, I turn my mind to my next objective – which is to
meet Murray in Nagasaki. I've extended my time in the north to the last
possible moment, so even a bullet train wouldn't get me to the south in
time for our next rendezvous. Therefore, I make my way to a small airport
and catch a domestic flight to the other end of Japan.
37
Three
Noise and Peace
R. Murray Schafer as Activist
Nagasaki
My guidebook describes Nagasaki as “an old port, full of entertainment
districts for the abundant flow of travellers moving through.” When I land
in Nagasaki, I immediately make my way to one of these "entertainment
districts" in search of a place to stay. I find myself on the seedier side of
town but easily locate a welcoming accommodation, and soon have
myself comfortably situated in a wonderfully creaky old ryokan.
Awakening next morning to the sound of whistle blasts from ships in the
harbour, I make my way to Murray's hotel as previously arranged. When I
arrive, another Canadian is already sitting with Murray eating breakfast.
John Cole knows Murray from when they were both at Simon Fraser
University. John is currently teaching music in Japan and has been
enlisted to help as a translator during this leg of Murray's tour.
Murray and I exchange stories about the soundtours we each had after the
World Forum on Acoustic Ecology. As Murray listens to me tell of my
adventures in the north he says it sounds better than the tour he went on
and wishes he had come with me. Apparently everybody on his tour was
running around with earphones and microphones, recording all the
soundscapes for posterity, rather than just enjoying them.
Following breakfast Yuki Umezaki, our Nagasaki host, arrives. I say "our
host" but up until this moment she was not aware that I was including
myself in the party. Murray introduces me with an explanation which John
Cole then translates. Reading facial expressions is futile in Japan so I
await the end of the exchange and Yuki's response, as translated by John.
Yuki unflinchingly accepts my presence with classic Japanese hospitality.
Before I know it I'm being chauffeured somewhere with Murray.
Black Spot in History
The first stop brings us face to face not only with others with whom we'll
spend the day, but with the place that informs the rest of the day – the
hypocentre of the Atomic Bomb. I'm not sure why we have been brought
here but I'm sure I'll never get a better opportunity to ponder this event
that helped bring World War II to a close. The spot at which the A-Bomb
made a black spot in history is now marked with a tall black pillar, quietly
making a statement as it points straight upwards. Surrounding it are
concentric circles delineated by grass and stone. They create a strong
gravitational pull to the centre, both visually and viscerally, while
simultaneously arousing feelings of attraction and repulsion.
38
There are numerous other monuments encircling the site, each describing
a different aspect of the 1945 devastation that killed 80,000 – or a third of
the people living in Nagasaki. I quietly follow Murray as he slowly walks
the grounds, taking time to read each plaque. It feels like any words would
only interrupt what is already being spoken by the space. There is actually
an irony of peacefulness present in the park-like setting, which one plaque
calls The Love and Peace Zone. Another plaque says that sit-ins
spontaneously occur here whenever there is nuclear missile-testing
somewhere in the world.
I begin to meet others who have joined us on this excursion. They are
mostly Japanese artists, musicians and people from the Nagasaki
Soundscape Association. A light rain also joins us, adding a touch of
melancholy to this sobering place.
We are all led to a nearby building, unassumingly named The Nagasaki
Atomic Bomb Museum. The actual building is a tribute to the beauty of
Japanese architectural design – the contents are quite a different story.
Inside, we tour through a tasteful yet graphic presentation of all manner of
detail concerning the bombing of Nagasaki and its grisly aftermath. Not
knowing we were going to be brought here, I feel totally unprepared for
this emotionally.
From Newfoundland to Nagasaki
After a couple of hours inside the museum it's time to come up for air.
The group is taken to a nearby café for a tea and cake stop. The mood
lightens, conversation begins to flow and I, feeling like a salmon
struggling upstream to the source, start to get a clearer idea of why
Murray was brought here in the first place.
Our host, Yuki, hands each of us a program from a performance of one of
Murray's works that took place in Hiroshima in 2005. Threnody (Lament
for the Dead) was inspired by a book he came across in a library in the
1960s. The book, put together by Doctor Takashi Nagai and entitled We
of Nagasaki, is a collection of accounts from first hand witnesses of the
events immediately following the drop of the atomic bomb. Murray
created a tapestry of text from this book and used it for his composition of
Threnody, which premièred in 1967. As I piece the puzzle together, a
picture of R. Murray Schafer the anti-war activist emerges.
I read on the cover of the program that the Hiroshima production of
Murray's music was called Threnody Peace Education Project and
involved bringing musicians and a youth choir from Newfoundland. I read
Murray's statement inside the program.
During the few days we will spend together I know we
will learn from one another. The love that unites us is
the love of music, but it is also the love of peace.
Threnody is a reminder of those terrible times in the
past when humanity sacrificed love for death and
39
destruction. But all fires eventually burn out. And out of
the ashes the flowers return.
I then read a section of text from Threnody included in the program notes.
There were lots of pretty flowers in our garden... Then
there was a terrific noise overhead, as if the sky was
being scooped out with a sharp tool... A great flash of
light shot up... I threw myself on the ground and lay
there with my head buried in my arms... A giant cloud
blotted out most of the sky... Next a weeping schoolboy
came along, his clothes in tatters, his face and hands
black and swollen... Young men and women were
stumbling along, weeping crazily, their faces, necks, and
hands were blistered... On some of them I could see
sheets of skin peeled right off and hung down flapping...
They all died.
I try to imagine what kind of music Murray would compose for this text.
Choral music sung by young children would no doubt heighten the
intensity of the scenes conjured by these images. I ask Murray for more
about this period of his work.
Jesse ~ What were your thoughts when creating this piece?
Murray ~ The Cold War was in high gear in the 1960s and stockpiles of
nuclear weapons were rapidly growing. I knew that these extremely
graphic accounts of suffering and death would affect both audience and
performers, forcing them to consider seriously the consequences of
nuclear war. The narrators in the book were young people, so I wanted the
performers to be young also, in order to be reminded how devastating war
can be and to make them think about social issues. I wanted to engage
their conscience as well as their musicianship. Threnody is undoubtedly
an uncomfortable work. To perform it properly one must take an ethical
position on the subject.
Jesse ~ It is quite a gift you have given to the people of Nagasaki.
Murray ~ The scientist Jacob Bronowski wanted Nagasaki to be preserved
exactly as it was after the bombing. He tried to persuade the UN that all
future conferences on disarmament be held there in the sea of rubble.
Threnody is meant to remind people of what happened here. But neither
the title, nor most of the text in my piece mention Nagasaki specifically,
so the work continues to apply to any demonstration of aggressive
stupidity – to any holocaust.
Jesse ~ How was the performance received in Japan?
Murray ~ There were tears during the performance. Afterwards there was
no applause, just silence. One by one the listeners got up and left. I think
it was only at that moment that the performers realized the full impact of
the work. The dropping of those bombs was an epochal event in history, a
40
moment when humanity sensed for the first time that we now hold the
power of annihilation in our own hands. I also remember an American
man coming up to me after the performance and defiantly saying, “We’d
drop it again!” It bothered me for months that a work devoted to peace
would provoke such anger.
A composer always hopes his music will circulate. I
naturally have this hope, but of all my works I hope
Threnody will travel the most, the farthest, the
deepest. I literally want it to be performed to death. I
want it to be performed until it is no longer necessary.
Then I will burn the score.
The Thinking Ear pg. 280
More to Remember
Our tea break ends. It's been just that – a break from the heaviness. But
our tour is not over. We are hustled into cars and taxis and the Murray
Schafer entourage heads to the next destination. Where it is – neither
Murray nor I know.
Our taxi driver picks up on our conversation and through John’s
translation tells us his father was around at the time of the bombing and
was one of the people responsible for taking bodies away and burning
them with gasoline. I squirm, as I've never encountered anything of the
sort in my life. My father fought in World War II but never spoke to me
about it – at least not the war part.
We drive past something that is a familiar sight on the Japanese landscape
– a Shinto torii. It looks like a bird perch, which is literally what "torii"
means. They are often found at entrances to Shinto temples to symbolize
the threshold between the profane and the sacred. The difference with this
torii is that one leg is missing which the taxi driver explains was blown
off during the explosion – but the torii stands defiantly to this day.
Behind the torii is a huge old tree. The driver says it is a Camphor tree,
the only kind that survived the blast of radiation, and whose ongoing
aromatic offering spreads the hopefulness of nature's resilience.
We are then taken to a nearby school, one of the places where bodies were
dragged to be burned. Inside, there are again remainders and reminders of
an historical moment that will forever be synonymous with Nagasaki.
Next stop, another museum – The Nagai Takashi Memorial Museum,
named after the Doctor who compiled the book which inspired Murray's
work. The curator of the museum is the grandson of Doctor Nagai, who
presents Murray with an early printing of one of Doctor Nagai's books.
The museum showcases the work Dr. Nagai did for several years, helping
atomic bomb victims – after losing his wife to the atomic explosion. He
did this work until he unfortunately succumbed to leukemia, caused
ironically by x-raying people without proper protection. The artifacts
41
show that he was a devout Christian. There is even a letter from Helen
Keller with words of encouragement. I have to keep wiping my eyes to be
able to read the interpretive guides.
I remark to Murray how well his tour has been orchestrated that we
should be here on this particular day. Murray looks at me quizzically,
“What day is it?” “It's November 11 – Remembrance Day.” As it turns
out, it is completely coincidental that we are doing this on the day when
war and war heroes are remembered in Canada.
The Politics of the Artist
We again pile into the cars to go for dinner. During the ride I ask Murray
what he has to say about art and politics. Being jostled about in traffic it's
hard to write on my note pad, so I'm relying more on my recorder to
capture Murray's comments.
Murray ~ My work isn't politically motivated – not in the usual sense. I
haven't been involved with any political party. My work is political in a
different way, serving the environment. I'm not making political
statements, I'm making humanitarian statements. You might consider my
work as guerilla or Agitprop theatre.
Jesse ~ Can you explain that?
Murray ~ Agitprop originated in Bolshevist Russia. The name is short for
"agitation and propaganda." It sounds negative and was originally used by
the Communist Party, but as Agitprop theatre developed in western
Europe it was really about the dissemination of important ideas through
simple plays – street theatre.
Art is not a mirror; it is a hammer... Art is a cry of
protest against anything that is being threatened. This
means that the task of the artist is to maximize anything
that is being minimized. Bad artists maximize what is
being maximized.
Patria pg. 169
Jesse ~ Are there any people in politics you like or admire?
Murray ~ Who likes politicians? They're hard to like. There are no leaders
who are my heroes in political terms. I admire Kofi Annan. I think the
man was neutral in trying to repair damage done to the world. I admire
those who are working in roles that are not politically motivated – they do
the real work. Rather than politicians who work at securing their own
power. There were things about Trudeau I liked. I liked him because he
was quick and put people in their place with sharp comments. He would
dismiss things he didn't think were worth discussing.
Jesse ~ He had an honourable arrogance.
Murray ~ Yes, that's a good way of putting it. I remember meeting him
once in Vancouver. It was at the party where he announced his
42
engagement to Margaret, held at the home of Arthur Erickson, the
internationally celebrated Canadian architect. I was standing next to Jack
Shadbolt, the war-time painter, who had cornered Trudeau and was
expressing his concern that the federal government wasn't doing enough
to support the arts. He was getting very intense about it. Trudeau just
silently stared back at him. It was fascinating watching Trudeau respond
to Jack's impassioned plea. He just stared back at him with his cold, blue
eyes. (laughter)
Jesse ~ Do you feel comfortable with the political course you have
navigated as an artist?
Murray ~ I've been left-wing all my life but I haven't joined under
anyone's banner. I usually side with the underdog.
Jesse ~ Do you feel an artist has a responsibility to politicize?
Murray ~ As Lawrence Durrell said, “The duty of every artist is to hate
their own country creatively.” It's the artist's responsibility to make
political waves. The French have an expression, “engagé,” as in – take up
a crusade. Some pay a penalty for it. In Germany many artists were
executed during the war for speaking out. But I think artists should have a
moral position. You can't fight every issue – you have to choose your
battles. I wrote Threnody as a reminder of the horrors of war.
Jesse ~ What has been its impact?
Murray ~ It has attracted considerable attention. It has been played many
times. In 1967 a performance of it was followed by a panel discussion
which I was on, along with the former Prime Minister, Lester B. Pearson.
He had been the foreign ambassador to the U.S. when he was called by
President Truman to meet on the Presidential yacht to inform him, “We
have a bomb.”
Jesse ~ How did Pearson respond to that?
Murray ~ He realized that Truman intended to drop it and there wasn't
anything he could do to stop it. But Pearson was a peaceful man. He won
the Nobel Peace Prize for helping settle the Suez Canal conflict.
Jesse ~ What did Pearson say after the performance of Threnody?
Murray ~ He told me he wanted to see Threnody performed during one of
the ceremonies at the United Nations and said he would discuss it with
people there. I had almost forgotten his kind offer when one day I
received a letter from a UN ambassador informing me that the possibility
had been discussed by a number of people there and that, while they
found the piece moving, they were afraid it might make some of the
delegates uncomfortable.
Jesse ~ Do you ever get personally involved in political matters?
Murray ~ Not really. I remember something I learned during my school
days. We were to bring newspaper, metal and clothing to school as part of
the war effort. It was being sent to the poor people in Russia who were
43
fighting the Germans. Then I remember being surprised after the war
when we were told that the clothing was going to the Germans and that
now the Russians were our enemies. At age twelve I couldn't get that
through my head. It was a shock. That was my introduction to realpolitik.
Jesse ~ That's an interesting term – realpolitik.
Murray ~ It refers to diplomacy that is based on practical considerations
rather than ideological ones. It's how politics changes with the tides. What
is good one day is bad the next.
Jesse ~ Do you think we're heading toward a major cataclysm on the
planet where humans get wiped out?
Murray ~ It might actually be a good thing if we were. (laughter) I'm not
too optimistic about the direction we're taking.
Jesse ~ Do you think it is possible, and probable, that we will bring about
our own destruction?
Murray ~ Anything is possible. I'm not living in fear that we might be
blown to smithereens. We have gone through a lot of nightmarish
experiences in the past and survived. If we go through a catastrophe, some
of us might survive and rebuild. Whatever God's plan is, it's certain that
the thing that's going to save us will be from a higher source. It's not going
to come from jingoism.
Jesse ~ Jingoism – there's a word.
Murray ~ Institutionalized patriotism – often aggressive and coercive.
Looking at the world through rose coloured spectacles. “My country –
right or wrong.”
Jesse ~ It's a good word. I think we need to resurrect its use ... jingoism.
Murray ~ It's the kind of patriotic philosophy that believes it is backed by
divine right.
Jesse ~ I read in my guidebook that it was only at the end of World War II
that the emperor of Japan officially recanted the Shinto belief that he was
an incarnate divinity – offspring of the sun goddess Amaterasu and ruler
over the Divine Nation. That's some jingoism. The Americans could be
said to have a similar attitude. Of course, we Canadians know Canada is
really God's country! (laughter)
Activist Composer
We arrive at a restaurant for dinner. While settling in with some sâke, I
ask Murray if he has composed any other war-related pieces.
“I was a founding member of Amnesty International, the human rights
organization started in 1961. At that time I wrote my first purely
orchestral work, Canzoni for Prisoners. The prisoners I had in mind were
prisoners of conscience – that is, non-violent objectors in any country
44
who were imprisoned merely for their beliefs. This issue had been
brought close to me during visits to several communist countries.
“That piece was very much influenced by my discovery of the fourteenthcentury composer Guillaume de Machaut. Machaut’s techniques are
rigorous and mathematical but his music is daring and at times ecstatic,
probably because of the constraints from which it seems to burst. That is
the same spirit informing Canzoni for Prisoners – a sense of bursting free
from constraint.
“I feel we need more anti-war demonstrations in music. Another of my
compositions, Shadowman, plays with the dark aftermath of being a
soldier. Five percussionists are divided up – two players portray the forces
of darkness and two the forces of light, while the fifth, dressed in a
tattered military uniform, drums his way through victory and defeat on the
battlefield. The orchestra accompanies this demonstration of courage and
folly with a number of tunes from military musical-history. In the end, the
soldier, becoming mentally deranged, plays a variety of toy instruments
and even tries to teach a teddy bear to play a toy drum. The pathetic end is
not unlike what becomes of a lot of war veterans after their return from
service. To my regret the work has not achieved the popularity I hoped.”
After dinner, while making my way back to my ryokan, I enjoy a solitary
walk in the mist drifting in from the ocean. Digesting the day's events, I'm
left with a lingering question about Murray. “Is he a composer first or a
social activist? Is he a composer who searches the world looking for ideas
to inspire his compositions? Or is he a social activist who has found
music as the medium for his message? And what is his message?”
Resounding Religion
I'm up with the rising sun, excited to see where we will be taken today. I
again meet Murray at his hotel. Others arrive, including our host and I'm
informed that today we will be taken on a soundtour.
It's a beautiful, warm day and we are driven down to the harbour. I'm
caught off-guard by the giant Madonna that meets us there. She stands
placidly, or perhaps to some – imposingly, at the entrance of Nagasaki
Harbour – not unlike the Statue of Liberty in New York.
Our timing is such that we are treated to church bells resonating off the
hillsides and across the water, adding to the Christian sense of this Sunday
morning. There is also a Shinto torii standing in the area and a small
statue of Buddha sitting nearby. I take some photos of the symbolic crosssection of religions represented in this area.
The conversation turns to different religions' use of sound. Murray points
out how Christians ring loud church bells from a high place to summon
people outwardly, whereas both Shinto and Buddhism are more
introverted and the clappers in the bells are often muted for the inner
summoning of gods.
45
Perhaps no artifact has been so widespread or has had
such long-standing associations for man as the bell.
Bells come in a vast array of sizes and have been put to
an incredible diversity of uses. Most may be said to
function in one of two distinct ways: either they act as
gathering (centripetal) or scattering (centrifugal) forces.
The Tuning of the World pg. 173
Sound Fun
Next surprise – our hosts treat us to a picnic on the beach. "Sushi by the
seashore," Murray calls it. As we sit eating, someone gathers up seashells
on a string and begins jangling them. This inspires Murray to lead us in
some sound games. I soon discover this is a speciality of his and he has
compiled a book of them – A Sound Education.
Murray gets us passing sounds around in a circle. He tells us to listen
closely and aim for accuracy when repeating the sound the previous
person has passed to us. Bit by bit, more sounds are added to the circle.
The trick is to see how many sounds we can get circulating at once
without losing any.
The game takes a lot of concentration but it also brings out the
playfulness in everyone, including Murray. It's especially delightful to see
the Japanese get silly and laugh, something they're good at – when they
feel they have permission.
Murray tells me that sound games are good for "ear cleaning" and
developing "clairaudience," or exceptionally good hearing. It makes me
realize what an unconscious listener I've been, missing out on this
dimension to which Murray has devoted his life.
Sound Travels
After the picnic we are driven to a lookout high above Nagasaki where we
can view the seaport panoramically laid out before us. Now that we've had
our attention turned to our ears by Murray – we are all tuning into the
variety of sounds around us.
There is actually quite a lot to take in. In the immediate area there are
crickets in the grass and the playful sound of crows cawing overhead.
Wafting from below is the distinct urban din of cars, accented by the
occasional roar of a motorcycle or siren. As we get back in the car I ask
Murray what he thought of the soundscape, waiting for a critique of urban
noise pollution. His response surprises me.
Murray ~ There's nothing particularly wrong with it.
Jesse ~ But isn't fighting noise one of the reasons you started the World
Soundscape Project in the 60s?
Murray ~ It is. I even wrote a book called The Book of Noise, which came
out in 1970. It introduces the problems and hazards of noise pollution in
the modern world. It's mostly for citizen groups concerned with noise in
46
their community. But actually the soundscape has become a lot quieter
since the 60s and 70s. Now all societies have noise abatement laws to
restrict the levels of sound. Technologies have reduced their noise
emissions. You cannot manufacture an automobile that makes noise above
a certain standard – every new jet is quieter than the previous model. It is
a quieter world today.
Jesse ~ Ironically, I read an article recently about laws that will enforce a
minimum noise allowance for electric and hybrid cars. People expect cars
to make noise and apparently pedestrians are having a hard time hearing
electric cars coming. So they are proposing that each manufacturer come
up with sounds for their electric vehicles that people can download like
ringtones to a cell phone.
Murray ~ A lot of the things that initiated the acoustic ecology movement
are being dealt with by society.
Jesse ~ Who then are the bad guys in the sound environment now?
Murray ~ The two worst culprits are war and music that is played too loud
or at too close a range. In the world of entertainment there has been no
reduction in noise at pop and rock concerts, which still produce sound
levels of 110 decibels and more.
Jesse ~ So the amplifier has become a weapon of mass destruction?
Murray ~ And the microphone is a weapon of dictatorship.
Sounding in the Sanctuary
The soundtour continues and we travel even higher on a winding road,
navigating increasingly steeper inclines until we reach the end of the road.
Getting out of the car I realize we have reached the top of a high peak.
Here we are given another spectacular outlook over Nagasaki, but also a
magnificent view of the Sea of Japan. At this altitude no sound from the
city reaches our ears. It's a peculiar sensation to see the city without
hearing it. Only the warm gentle breeze playing through the tropical
vegetation reaches our ears.
Behind us, quietly sitting atop this mountain is a small church. I'm told by
some of the Japanese people that it's a spot where Christians secretly
congregated during the two hundred years of persecution from the 1600s
to the 1800s. Apparently Christianity flourished in Nagasaki when it was
the main trading thoroughfare in Japan, first because of the Portuguese
presence, then later the Dutch. However, during the centuries of
persecution Japan endeavoured to ward off colonization by purging itself
of foreign intrusion. Christians now make up less than one percent of the
population of Japan, whose official religions remain the ancient
shamanistic Shintoism, and Buddhism which came later via China.
We go inside the church for a look. It's a humble little church with some
simple iconography. Naturally, someone has to test the acoustics and starts
clicking their fingers. This is followed by sounds made with the mouth.
47
Someone else picks up on this and starts doing the same thing. Thus
ensues a soundmaking session in the sanctuary. It becomes a creative time
of playing with the acoustics, making me realize how much fun it is to be
conscious of sound.
Sitting In Silence with Murray
Outside again, we are led by our host behind the church and down an
incline to an outdoor sanctuary. It's the original spot where the secret
services took place – carved out of the side of a hill. There is a simple
altar with a bamboo forest as a backdrop. Everyone takes a seat on the
wooden benches to enjoy the space.
This mountaintop setting makes for the most amazing acoustic
environment I've encountered so far in Japan. The group ends up sitting in
silence for over fifteen minutes. No one wants to be the first to burst the
bubble of sonorous serenity. The space feels pure and protected – the way
I imagine the Christians meeting here must have meant it to be.
Contemplating the bamboo cross on the altar, I begin to wonder about
Murray's views of religion.
As people begin to stir, I stand and walk with Murray in silence back to
the car. I don't want to break the spell but I would like to ask him about
his relationship to religion, to see what inspiration he draws from it for his
life and work. Murray begins to speak when we are in the car.
Murray ~ That is what we need more of. To be more proactive in
developing spaces like this in our living environment.
Jesse ~ What exactly do you mean?
Murray ~ We need to create more spaces – sonically safe spaces where
people can enjoy deep contemplation. We are at the point where we have
the power to design the acoustic environment.
Jesse ~ Why aren't we doing that?
Murray ~ The World Health Organization has sound recommendations
but they are not a body that can do much to enforce them. There are antinoise groups all over the world now but the problem is that they end up
becoming negative – fighting to eliminate something. I used to fight noise
as well, because noise bothered me. But that approach isn't satisfying –
you're always fighting and feeling angry because everywhere you go
there's noise.
The sense of hearing cannot be closed off at will. There
are no earlids. While we go to sleep, our perception of
sound is the last door to close and it is also the first to
open when we awaken. These facts have prompted
McLuhan to write: “Terror is the normal state of an oral
society for in it everything affects everything all the
time.” The ear's only protection is an elaborate
48
psychological mechanism for filtering out undesirable
sound in order to concentrate on what is desirable.
The Tuning of the World pg. 11
Jesse ~ Noise just seems to be a natural by-product of human nature.
Murray ~ Since The Book of Noise, I have written another book, Voices
of Tyranny: Temples of Silence, which came out in 1993, and deals with
sound as both a creative and destructive force. In today's world it's
increasingly important for people to listen carefully and hear with a
critical ear. So the book contains listening exercises which lead the reader
into designing public and personal soundscapes.
Jesse ~ So then, your attitude and approach have changed since you wrote
The Book of Noise?
Murray ~ I wrote that book when I first moved to Vancouver and the
noise of the city bothered me. But I began to think of ways to improve the
soundscape and not just condemn it. It then became more creative and
more interesting. We talked about preserving the soundscapes we enjoy,
because if you don't preserve them they will disappear. So then it really
became a matter of education – which I think it still is. Some of the other
books I've written, such as A Sound Education, deal with becoming more
conscious of the acoustic environment and learning to respect it.
Jesse ~ I think I now understand how your relationship to sound evolved
from fighting noise to making music.
Old Japan – Finally
We arrive at our last stop of the day and what will be our last adventure in
Nagasaki. To call it a restaurant only barely begins to describe it. Our
entourage of cars pulls up in front of an old, forbidding-looking building.
The building, now declared a heritage site, dates back to 1642 when it was
a Geisha house. Apparently many notable Japanese artists, writers and
intellectuals, as well as foreign merchants doing business in the port,
enjoyed the hospitality of Geisha culture inside the walls of this classic
Japanese building.
When we first enter, after taking off our shoes and donning slippers, we
are escorted by some Geisha girls into a room that is designed and
designated exclusively for the Japanese Tea Ceremony. What I witness, as
well as what is explained to me, is that the traditional tea ceremony is
much more than tea time. It originated with Zen Buddhism and through its
deliberate, refined movements in preparing and serving tea, is an
expression of harmony, purity and tranquillity. Apart from the liquid
refreshment the ritual itself is designed to refresh the spirit.
Among the oldest surviving rituals in the world is the
Japanese tea ceremony, which has been practised with
little variation for nearly a thousand years.
Patria pg. 94
49
I watch as the ritual unfolds and can see that this is by no means the first
time Murray has taken part in this ceremony. As a westerner, I'm humbled
by the consciousness that is put into a task we tend to take for granted,
and do with little more intention than to get the water boiled and the bag
soaking in it. I can actually feel the space warming where I sit on a
cushion and have a sense of letting down invisible roots into the earth. My
spirit feels like it is soaking in the warmth of the ritual.
Listen to the Incense
Following the ceremony we are invited to go outside and roam the
beautifully manicured gardens, complete with niches around lily ponds
where patrons of the past no doubt enjoyed private time with the Geisha. I
can't help but feel the sense of supreme refinement while surveying the
sculptured space. As I wander through the gardens I try to hear the
conversations that went on amongst the Literati who undoubtedly
frequented this place in that bygone era.
I watch Murray walking quietly around the grounds, gazing for long
periods into the ponds. When I approach, he begins to speak of his earlier
trips to Japan and his admiration of Japanese culture. He tells me of some
orchestral works he created based on Japanese ceremonies. Ko wo kiku –
Listen to the Incense, was commissioned by the Kyoto Community Bank
for the celebration of the 1000th anniversary of the founding of Kyoto,
the ancient capital of Japan.
“I was invited to spend a week in Kyoto in 1984 with the sole purpose of
finding inspiration for the composition – so my time was filled with visits
to shrines, palaces, gardens and many wonderful restaurants. It was my
first time in Japan and I found it incredibly exotic. I decided to base the
composition on the incense ceremony.
“Like the tea ceremony, the incense ceremony is both complex and
simple. Small jars of burning incense, Ko, are passed about, each bearing
a different name such as 'The river in the mist' or 'Cherry blossoms
falling.' As the title Listen to the Incense implies, the incense is listened to
by moving the jar toward the left ear before passing it to the next person. I
actually incorporate the incense ceremony into the performance of the
piece. Beginning with the conductor, incense jars are passed through the
orchestra, each player entering the music according to the inspiration they
receive from the fragrance. Another similarly inspired piece is Imagining
Incense, a choral piece commissioned in 2001. It is based on the
descriptions given by a group of sixteenth century incense connoisseurs.”
I comment on how wonderful it is as a westerner to be exposed to the
refinement of such ceremonies. North American culture can feel bereft of
sacredness and I sometimes feel culturally undernourished. I ask Murray
how much these aspects of Japanese culture are still practised by the
Japanese themselves, or has it dwindled to tourist stops like this? He says
50
it's getting harder for both the Japanese and tourists to find this sort of
oasis. I remark that this may be the closest I come to old world Japan
during my visit.
Murray speaks of another aspect of Japanese culture he has captured
through composing.
“Seventeen Haiku was composed at the request of Nobuyuki Koshiba for
the Utaoni choir. They had previously won a choral contest, singing my
work Magic Songs. I thought it would be interesting to set some Japanese
poems to music, so I asked the choir members to write some haiku. From
what they gave me I put together Seventeen Haiku, describing the span of
time from sunrise through sunset, ending with the stillness of night. One
of the most pleasant times of my life was attending the choral contest
where the Utaoni choir won the grand prize for their performance of
Seventeen Haiku. I then travelled with them to Tsu City where they gave
an entire concert of my choral works to a very enthusiastic audience.”
Geisha Beauty
We re-enter the building and are given time to explore more of the interior
of this magnificent old edifice. There are numerous Geisha displays to
admire. Murray and I stand gazing at a portrait of a famous Geisha. I ask
Murray if he has composed anything inspired by a Geisha. He responds by
asking if I find the Geisha inspiring.
This round of questioning has taken on a bit of a man-to-man quality. I
dodge it with, “You first – I'm here to find out what you think.” While
gazing at the portrait he unabashedly answers, “She's beautiful. But not
the type of beauty that inspires me.” I take my turn, “I understand that.
I've occasionally seen Geisha women walking in public in their kimonos
and white face, but I find it more shocking than attractive. I'm not
particularly drawn to it. Their look must be an acquired taste. I'm now just
learning to appreciate what lies behind the face of modern Japanese
women who aren't painted up.”
I'm about to ask Murray about the women who have inspired him, and if
he has had any muses. But he begins to speak about women's voices. He
says in Japan, where more of his choral music is performed than
anywhere else in the world, the choirs are often short of altos. It has
something to do with the fact that the men here find higher voices more
exciting. That would explain why everywhere you hear announcements
over public address systems, which seems to be everywhere in Japan, it's
always high-pitched women's voices. In contrast, in Brazil, he says it is
the other way. You can't find sopranos easily because high-pitched voices
aren't considered as sexy as low pitched voices. Murray then explains that
the opposite is said of men's voices. Japanese men cultivate their lower
register to appear attractive, whereas in Latin countries the tenor is king.
51
It feels like another area of conversation has just opened up between
Murray and myself – men and women. I want to ask him about his
relationship to women but now obviously isn't the time – our gracious
Geisha hosts have called us into the dining room.
The dinner is the crowning event of our time in Nagasaki. This place,
which some would consider a former high-class brothel, is now a highclass eating establishment. It's like eating in a museum and is by far the
most posh, if not the most expensive place I've eaten in Japan – at twohundred dollars per person. But the evening of entertainment and endless
flow of plates of unspeakably good food, accompanied by hot sâke, is a
gracious gift bestowed upon Murray and myself by his hosts. You couldn't
buy this type of tour of Japan.
Train Talk: Life as a Professor
The next morning I meet Murray at his hotel. The hosts are there to take
us to the train station, where we say goodbye and board the train that will
take us to the next place on Murray's itinerary. Trains are nice places to
have uninterrupted discussions.
Jesse ~ You're no longer involved in soundscape research, you are past
the official age of retirement, I doubt you are doing this tour for the
money – yet you are travelling tirelessly, jostled about in noisy cities,
staying in hotels, shuttled from lectures to train stations and airports, as an
icon of a movement that has grown beyond you. Furthermore, you don't
need to do speaking tours like this because your life's work already speaks
volumes. You could be enjoying the quietude of your Canadian hideaway,
composing to the sounds of nature outside your window.
Murray lets out a little laugh, as if he's not sure where I'm going with this.
Jesse ~ But what you do need is a good book about your life – which is
why I'm here. And how fortunate I feel. Barely more than a month ago
you didn't know me from a flam-paradiddle and now I get to be up-close
and personal. Many will never know you except through your work. What
a privilege it is for me to get to know you through personal contact and
then be able to pass it on through a book.
Murray lets out another little laugh followed by silence as if he's not sure
how to respond. Changing the subject I then pursue a line of questioning
about his days as a professor.
Jesse ~ How did you get started as a professor at Simon Fraser?
Murray ~ There was a shortage of institutions for higher learning in
Canada in the 1960s, so they were opening Canadian universities left,
right and centre. Simon Fraser was a new university and there weren't
enough teachers so I was able to come in the back door. They considered
anyone who was doing interesting work. I had published some things that
were getting known, so I got hired by Simon Fraser University without
52
having a degree. Within five years I was a full professor – they just
literally promoted me every year. That would never happen these days.
Jesse ~ What were you hired to teach?
Murray ~ They were starting up a new department entitled Centre for the
Study in Communications . They were very influenced by Marshall
McLuhan's ideas, so arts and technology were put together into a
communications department. It was easy to think it was a good idea and
get excited about it, but it was harder than you'd expect to make it work.
The department was made up of a communications person, a socialpsychologist, a mechanical engineer, a filmmaker and myself – the
musician. As you can imagine, discussing the various disciplines was
interesting. And discussing what we thought we were supposed to be
doing was interesting, even if it was elusive. I just remember the Dean
continually reminding me – “You're not here to teach music!”
Jesse ~ They wouldn't let you lecture on music?
Murray ~ I had studied music composition and regarded myself as a
composer. I didn't really know much about communications – although I
had been quite close to Marshall McLuhan. So I decided to teach acoustic
communication in all its forms. I became interested in the evolution of the
acoustic environment – sounds of the past, sounds of the present and
trying to predict sounds of the future. No one had ever researched that
subject before so it was brand new territory. But creating that kind of
subject was difficult because there wasn't a word to describe what I was
talking about – which is one of the reasons little attention had been paid
to it up to that point. So that is when I first coined the word “soundscape.”
That's how the World Soundscape Project began. If there's anything my
work at Simon Fraser University and the publication of The Tuning of the
World has done for the acoustic environment and soundscape worldwide,
I think it managed to give the subject a real expression. I still feel it's
important work – we're all responsible for the tuning of the world.
Jesse ~ The University liked the direction you were going in?
Murray ~ The students liked what we were doing. It was novel research,
so I had a good rating as a teacher. And the research started to bring in
outside funding, so that raised the profile of the University.
Jesse ~ You were able to get grants for soundscape research?
Murray ~ It wasn't easy at first, we were turned down many times. Our
initial attempts to get funding were sabotaged by acoustical engineers
who thought that all things related to sound was their territory. The way I
finally got the World Soundscape Project going, after being turned down
by everyone from the Canada Council to the scientific sector, was by
going to a private foundation. The Donner Foundation was a research
foundation funded by a steel company. They had a big office at the top of
one of the bank towers in Toronto. I went to the President to discuss
getting money for soundscape research. He listened to me speak
53
enthusiastically for about half an hour then told me to write a letter for
him to show to the board. I did and they ended up giving us $40,000 –
which was a lot of money in those days. I was then able to get that amount
matched with sources in the University and abroad.
Jesse ~ It sounds like you had to do a lot of work just to get to the point of
starting the research.
Murray ~ At university your survival is dependant on either bringing in
students or money. You can't hold onto your office unless you bring in
money. But if you bring in big money and start hiring graduate students
the university loves that sort of thing – they'll give you a whole corridor of
offices. (laughter) And that's exactly what happened. We had a team of six
people doing research at that time.
Jesse ~ So you enjoyed the work you were doing there?
Murray ~ I enjoyed it very much but I always thought, "someday I'll get
out of this place." I remember when I got a message from the vicepresident asking me if I wanted my contract renewed for another three
years or did I want to be considered for tenure. I wrote back, “The sphinx
shakes his head.” The dean came running into my office with the
department head, mad as hell, asking me what I meant. I didn't care. I
never really saw academia as the apex of my work. It was an interlude.
Voltaire once said of academics that they serve only
the dead and themselves.
Patria pg. 232
Jesse ~ The sphinx shakes his head?
Murray ~ It's a line from Aeschylus I think. I can't remember.
Jesse ~ They didn't appreciate your crypticness?
Murray ~ Not at all. (laughter)
Our conversation falls into a lull and I sense it has sent Murray into a land
of memories. I take some time to tune into the soundscape around me. I
listen to the shuttling sound as we zip along in the Bullet train. It's quite
impressive how quiet Japanese engineering has made the trains. There is
no squeaking of metal against metal usually associated with trains. They
don't run on steam so there is never the sound of steam whistles.
Everything is electric, so I only hear the sound of digitally replicated bells
and whistles.
Fukuoka and Acoustic Design
The train pulls into our stop – the city of Fukuoka. We are met at the
station by Professor Shin-ichiro Iwamiya, accompanied by one of his
master's students, Miwa. I met both of them at the World Forum on
Acoustic Ecology conference in Hirosaki. I remember Miwa enlightening
us with her presentation on Sound Masking Devices in Toilets.
54
Being lunch time they take us to the lower level of the train station for
something to eat. It's a food court with many restaurants to choose from.
But unlike the food courts I'm used to, where you can get Mexican
burritos, Mediterranean salad or Chop Suey, here there is a variety of
choices – but they're all Japanese. In another way it's similar to all food
courts, a cacophony of noise, as hundreds of people seek a quick lunch.
I'm sort of surprised that we – or more especially, R. Murray Schafer, is
being brought to eat in the midst of this underground din. Professor
Iwamiya is a Doctor of Acoustic Design and head of the Graduate School
of Design at Kyushu University. He is also the author of a book, Acoustic
Ecology. Even though we find a free table in a back corner, the allpervasive clattering is still a prime example of what Murray refers to as a
"sound sewer." I turn on my pocket recorder to capture the conversation
but am dreading what it will be like to transcribe it – people slurping
noodle soup to the left and right of us, which is apparently the custom.
The sound sewer is much more likely to result when
a society trades its ears for its eyes, and it is certain
to result when this is accompanied by an
impassioned devotion to machines.
If the acoustic designer favours the ear, it is only as
an antidote to the visual stress of modern times and
in anticipation of the ultimate reintegration of all
the senses.
The Tuning of the World pg. 237
Over a shared plate of tempura, I ask Professor Iwamiya about his interest
in Murray's work.
Prof. Iwamiya ~ Professor Schafer has changed my life. After I
encountered his ideas on the soundscape I changed my study target. I had
studied literature by acousticians – other researchers of acoustics. But
then I met Professor Schafer's ideas through his book The Tuning of the
World. The ideas in it were very new to me and introduced a different
understanding of sound.
Jesse ~ How has it influenced the work you are doing now?
Prof. Iwamiya ~ Before, when working in acoustics, it was a very pure
science because it was mostly based on physics. But now I'm in acoustic
design which is more interdisciplinary. It is kind of a science but also
interested in the meaning of sound.
Jesse ~ So now you're less involved with the physics of sound?
Prof. Iwamiya ~ It's what is called psychoacoustics.
Jesse ~ Can you explain that?
Prof. Iwamiya ~ It's the relationship between the physical properties of
sound and our experience of it. It includes looking at people's emotional
and behavioural responses.
55
Jesse ~ It's like it sounds – the psychology of acoustics.
Prof. Iwamiya ~ Yes, that's why it's an interdisciplinary area. A growing
number of researchers today are exploring the link between the musical
and the psychological. The focus of this work is to understand how sound
affects everything from the psychological to the neurological state of a
human being.
The true acoustic designer must thoroughly understand
the environment he is tracking; he must have training in
acoustics, psychology, sociology, music, and a great deal
more besides, as the occasion demands.
The Tuning of the World pg. 206
Jesse ~ It sounds like there is a lot going on in this field in Japan.
Prof. Iwamiya ~ Many Japanese acousticians like me have been impressed
by the content of The Tuning of the World. In fact 10,000 more copies
were recently printed in Japanese. Japan is taking a lead in this field.
Many professors are continuing this research and teaching about the
soundscape. This is the first country that is seriously talking about
Soundscape Design. There is more of a will here to do this work.
Jesse ~ Is the visual esthetic the Japanese are famous for now being
applied to sound?
Prof. Iwamiya ~ You could say that. The Japanese seem to be more
sensitive to sound than other cultures. It begins when we are children, so
it seems natural that we would be drawn to this kind of work.
A Case for Sonic Space
After lunch we are taken for a little tourist stop. It is a place where you
can visit a Shinto shrine and Buddhist temple all in the same proximity –
something increasingly popular in Japan. At the Shinto shrine, there is
lots of noise coming from banging cymbals and clanging bells. A group of
people all dressed in colourful costumes surround two sweet-looking
children, draped with religious regalia. None of us are sure what the
ceremony is. What's more, the bewildered children look like they're not
too sure either. Our best guess is that it's a coming of age ceremony.
Conversely, at the Buddhist temple, a short walk away, the four of us sit in
silence looking out at a garden. It is a tremendous sight – the autumn
colours blazing in the Japanese trees. The only blemish to the serenity is
something in the acoustic environment – the sound of jets taking off every
few minutes. The "acoustic profile" of some nearby airport is encroaching
on this sacred space.
A question from the Acoustic Ecology conference echoes back to me –
Who owns the sonic space? As we leave the temple I bring this up with
Murray who points out that managing sound space presents different
challenges from managing physical space. “There are different principles
that govern sound and they require engaging a different part of our
56
awareness. Sound can travel into areas one doesn't necessarily see and
people are often unaware the sound they are making is affecting others.”
A Night Out with Miwa
Following this we are taken to a hotel. This time I opt to stay in the same
hotel as Murray, even though it's a western style hotel with a glitzy lobby
and bar.
After we check in I want to go out. Murray wants to stay in. I have no
problem with this – he's twenty-five years my senior. But I'm in my forties
and intent on milking my mid-life. So with the assistance of the
professor's assistant, Miwa, I venture out on the town to explore the sights
– and sounds.
Fukuoka is one of Japan's most cosmopolitan cities, being on the west
coast and a portal to the rest of Asia. Miwa guides me through the streets
of Fukuoka, as well as through the intricacies of fine dining in a chic
restaurant in the trendy end of town. I must say though, even with her
helping me understand everything on the menu, when the food comes, it's
so exotic in its presentation that it's hard to distinguish the fish from the
vegetables. But with warm sâke going down before it has time to get cold,
none of that really matters.
When I go to the washroom, I have my first encounter with a
soundmasking device. It confirms the truth of what Miwa presented at the
Acoustic Ecology Conference. These devices are apparently the newest
trend being installed all over Japan. The device detects my presence when
I enter the stall and automatically turns on, creating a white noise to mask
any potentially embarrassing sounds.
I'm also confronted with an electronic toilet. I can't understand the
detailed instructions on the side, nor the Japanese graffiti on the wall for
that matter. The complexity of the toilet however, causes me to consider
how Japan is the cradle of our technological civilization. The Japanese are
good at taking a basic idea and seeing how far they can evolve it. They
especially love electronic gadgets and exporting the most popular ones to
the rest of the world. As I notice the toilet seat automatically warming
beneath me, it strikes me that this might be an easy sell in Canada where
the cold winter mornings can be a shock to the bottom.
Fukuoka Talk: Sound Struggles
The next day, Miwa fetches us in a taxi to go to the university for
Murray's afternoon lecture. When we arrive at the campus, we are met by
Professor Iwamiya and taken to a lecture room. Murray addresses an
audience of students while Professor Iwamiya translates.
“I have learned a lot from reading. When I started the World Soundscape
Project a lot of the information came from reading literature. I used to tell
the students at my university, “In every book you read, write down all the
57
sounds that are described.” We gathered together a catalogue with
thousands of descriptions of sounds from different periods in history.
“Shoes sound different in different cultures. Have you ever thought about
that? A lot depends on the material of the shoe and how it is worn. For
me, listening to Japanese feet is very exotic. It's a different way of
walking. I've conducted many soundwalks over the years. Sometimes it's
just the sound of our walking we listen to.
“Throughout history there have been different sounds made by people's
feet. Some want to make a powerful sound – like an army. Some want to
attract attention, such as the sexy sound of a woman in high heels, click,
click, click, click – to make all the men look. (the sound of giggling fills
the room). It's a good thing you hear her coming because a beautiful
woman can be as dangerous as an army. (more giggles) There are also
those who don't want to make any sound at all – like a thief.”
Murray leads an exercise where he has the students close their eyes and
point in the direction of his footsteps. He walks around the classroom,
eventually leaving the room and going down the hall until there is silence.
This is followed by the sound of feet returning to the room but at a
quicker pace. This causes more laughter.
“In every acoustic environment you have what I call soundmarks. A
soundmark is like a landmark – a place of significance you go to see, such
as a temple or a waterfall. Soundmarks are places you go to hear a
significant sound – such as a temple bell, or a waterfall, or a playground
with the sound of children playing. But where are the museums for these
sounds? Where are the 'ear witnesses' of historical sounds? These were
some of the questions we began asking when we started to do research
into the soundscape.
“If you go back in Canadian history to when the railroad was being built,
the sound of train whistles began to be heard across the land. Where I
live, we still get beautiful train whistles. It happens to be an E flat minor
triad at 311 hertz. The whistles are tuned specifically that way all across
the country. So the Canadian train whistle is an historic national sound.
“In the beginning of my soundscape research I was sending my students
out to record sounds, such as the steam whistle of a local refinery, which
was sounded at the start of the workday and again in the evening telling
the workers to go home. That was the beginning of soundscape recording.
We developed a great archive of these recordings. Since then many of the
sounds we recorded have disappeared from use.”
Sound Imperialism
“If you study the morphology of sound, its evolution, you can learn a lot
about human behaviour. One thing about every society – there are certain
sounds that stand out. If you are looking for centres of power and
influence there are usually sounds connected to them. We know that in the
Middle Ages the Church and the military were the two most powerful
58
institutions. They each had their own sounds. The violent sounds of war,
cannon fire and rifles set against the backdrop of church bells, choirs and
pipe organs. Think of how military music has been used over the years to
rouse warriors to victory – he who can control the sound environment can
dominate others. It is known as sound imperialism.
“There is a good book by Henry Corbin called Church Bells, which is a
study of the power of the church bell. The Church was a centre of power
and the bells were a way of establishing that power. It was the loudest
sound heard in any town in the Middle Ages. It was a keynote sound in
that environment. Church bells rang every hour – day and night. They
communicated many types of information to the community – not just
telling the time or 'come to church.' For instance, bells rang when
someone died. One could tell if it was a man, a woman or a child who had
died, by the particular bell that rang and the number of times it rang. The
bell could also signal if there was an emergency such as an invasion, and
could summon people to fight. In such a case, it was then war that became
the loudest sound in the soundscape.
“Along came a new era, the Industrial Revolution, and the factories
became the centre of power, making the most sound – more than the
church. The Industrial Revolution saw railway systems spreading out
across Europe, then later everywhere, adding more sound to the
soundscape. Early writers in Europe hated the sound of trains. Flaubert
hated trains, Wagner hated trains, Dickens hated trains, Zola hated trains.
They all tried to fight against the noise of the railroads. But it was
impossible to stop the momentum of the Industrial Revolution.”
So it was at the very time when the natural soundscape
was being overrun, it stimulated a whole wave of
sensitive reactions in the music of composers as
different as Debussy, Ives, or Messiaen.
The Tuning of the World pg. 111
“By the middle of the twentieth century, the time when we began doing
our soundscape research, the aviation industry had become a centre of
power. Airports became major focal points in society because they
represented the ability for anyone to travel anywhere. I started flying all
over the world in jets at that time. Of course it was wonderful. But the
noise profiles of airports grew rapidly and introduced noise pollution in a
major way.
“Construction noise also grew louder at this time – much of it taking place
in North America and Europe. It was just after the war and a lot of
reconstruction of cities was going on in Europe and here in Japan.”
Sacred Noise
James Watt once stated that to most people, noise and
power go hand in hand, though he did not like the idea.
59
Today the hard-edged throb of motors can be heard
around us continuously as the keynote of contemporary
civilization... it has been glorified as the symbol of
power and prosperity.
The Tuning of the World pg. 179
“In every society there are certain industries or organizations that are
allowed to make whatever sounds they want, as loud as they want,
whenever they want. There are no laws to stop them because these sounds
are considered sacred noise. Wherever you find that, you find a centre of
power. It may even be sounds that hurt people, such as the factory noise
during the Industrial Revolution. However, no one could complain about
that back then – it was sacred noise.”
Good Vibrations
“Think of pop music. That of course is another power centre in modern
society. In the 1960s pop music was starting to be amplified. The pop
music industry is another example of sacred noise. You can go to a rock
concert with 110 decibels of sound being blasted out, which everybody
knows can hurt your hearing. Who is going to stop the music industry?”
Thus, the “good vibes” of the sixties, which promised an
alternative lifestyle, travelled a well known road, which
finally led from Leeds to Liverpool; for what was
happening was that the new counter-culture, typified by
Beatlemania, was actually stealing the Sacred Noise
from the camp of the industrialists and setting it up in
the hearts and communes of the hippies.
The Tuning of the World pg 115
“More and more we live in a soundscape with manufactured sounds.
Potentially, they could be owned or trademarked, just as songs or
advertising jingles are. There is a famous case in the U.S. in which Harley
Davidson took Honda to court because they said Honda had stolen the
sound of its Harley Davidson motorcycle. Harley Davidson tried to
trademark its sound. It ultimately failed.”
Murray then leads the group in a soundmaking session. He has different
sections of the room create sounds of both a complementary and
contrasting nature. He then resumes his lecture.
The Quest for Silence
“Let's think about silence for a moment. Does silence exist?”
Murray stops and listens.
“We use the word silence but is it possible to find silence? The American
composer, John Cage, came to the conclusion that silence does not exist.”
When John Cage went into a room (a completely
soundproof room), however, he heard two sounds, one
high and one low. “When I described them to the
60
engineer in charge, he informed me that the high one
was my nervous system in operation, the low one my
blood in circulation.” Cage's conclusion: “There is no
such thing as silence. Something is always happening
that makes a sound.”
The Tuning of the World pg. 256
“Cage said you can't find silence. Silence, like perfection, is a concept.
One can learn a lot from reading about how different societies perceive
silence. In modern literature, most of the time when an author describes
silence, it's negative – ‘a frightening, oppressive or deafening silence.' But
older descriptions are often more positive, such as a beautiful or serene
silence. Are we more afraid of silence today? Perhaps. Perhaps the reason
people are afraid of being alone is because we've become afraid of
silence. We think of it as negative – that something is wrong. Silence is
interpreted as defeat. We like sound because it means something is
happening. We take it as a sign of progress.”
Man likes to make sounds to remind himself that he is
not alone. From this point of view total silence is the
rejection of human personality. Man fears the absence
of sound as he fears the absence of life.
The Tuning of the World pg. 256
“One winter, I was reading a book by the English novelist, George Eliot –
who we know now was actually a woman. She used a sentence that
attracted my attention. She referred to ‘the roar on the other side of
silence.’ I thought – what does she mean? And then it occurred to me she
was familiar with the latest technologies being developed at the end of the
nineteenth century – the telephone, the gramophone, the radio, the
instruments that were transmitting sound. Eliot was referring to all the
changes that were producing new and different sounds – the roar on the
other side of silence. So Eliot was thinking about all the changes that were
going to bring more and more sounds.
“Silence is now something we use to sell things. I recently saw a German
advertisement for an automobile, selling the car as a quiet car. The ad
said, 'The loudest sound you will hear is yourself thinking.'
“I always say God is the best acoustical engineer.” Murray begins rotating
his arms. “God made my arms so I can move them without making a
sound. If a mechanical engineer tried to make a body today it would make
some kind of noise.”
Unseen Sounds
“There is another part of the soundscape we often don't hear – or maybe
we just don't pay attention to it. For instance, there is a sound in here that
has been going continuously. Perhaps you haven't noticed it.”
61
Murray pauses.
“I'm talking about the electrical system hidden in the walls.” Murray puts
his ear to the wall. “Oh yes, very loud. In modern buildings architects are
doing a disservice by putting the physical plant in the walls. It means the
walls are vibrating. If you listen you can hear the walls. In older
architecture there is nothing in the walls – they are absolutely still. Not so
in modern buildings. Nobody complains because it's considered sacred
noise. It has become a keynote in today's environment.
“There are certain things you can turn off simply by not paying attention
to them – recognizing them as present but choosing to not listen to them
or be distracted by them. Like the air conditioner in the office which you
ignore so it doesn't bother you. It doesn't mean you're not affected by it.
“I conducted an interesting test years ago. While working with students
around North America and Europe I would ask them to lie on the floor in
a quiet, darkened room and hum the tone of celestial unity. I was surprised
when I noticed that in North America the tone was generally B natural, 60
cycles, while in Europe it was G sharp, 50 cycles. They were humming
the sound made by electricity in their particular part of the world – the
sound that light bulbs give off, etcetera. Somehow we carry a memory
imprint of this sound with us. We are affected by it, even if only on an
unconscious level. We're never oblivious to the environment around us,
even if we're not paying attention to it.”
These last points made by Murray strike a chord with me. I too have
become increasingly concerned about the effect of buildings on people's
well-being; the unseen things in the walls, in the ceilings, in the floors –
not to mention the sound given off by lighting systems which has become
a known scourge. There is an increasing number of things around us
sending off subtle vibrations and frequencies. There could be a television,
cordless phone, computer, wireless transmitter or microwave oven on the
other side of the wall from where you work or sleep, radiating emissions
into you. I'm curious where Murray will go next in his talk.
Bad Vibrations
“Radio frequencies are a relatively new phenomenon, requiring us to
more consciously negotiate what is being transmitted in the air waves. But
now there is exponential growth of wireless transmissions. In some ways,
wireless technology is the new enemy – the new pollution. You can't call
it noise pollution because you can't hear it. It's in a register we don't hear
consciously. However, it creates interference to the signalling ability of
insects, such as the ultrasonic high-frequencies of grasshoppers. They
need those channels clear. Bees too can be confused by these
transmissions, making it more difficult to find their way back to the hive.
“Will we do anything about these concerns? I doubt it. Turn on the news –
everything is being set up for human habitation and to hell with
everything else. It's never been as out of control as it is today. It's all part
62
of the general view that the human is the king of the world. Anything
goes, as long as it's just affecting birds and bats and not affecting us
directly. It seems that rather than becoming more environmentally
conscious, we're turning a blind eye.”
These comments bring up my concerns about the explosive growth of
EMFs – electro-magnetic frequencies, non-audible frequencies – as well
as dirty electricity and radio frequency radiation, as we continually push
the threshold of what is being pumped into the environment. Regardless
of what manufacturers may say about the devices that generate these
things, no one knows for sure the health effect on us or the planet from
this growing critical mass. But something is surely happening.
Simultaneously, we are experiencing a decline in the bee and bat
population, as well as that of other creatures relying on particular sound
frequencies for survival. Each creature has its own frequency band for
communication and if those frequencies are disrupted – communication
becomes impossible. The bee situation has become so dire that there are
companies that drive beehives around in trucks so that farmers can have
their fields pollinated. Without plant pollination our survival is at stake.
I'm reminded of something I read recently about the U.S. Navy's use of a
new submarine sonar system that is hurting whales, dolphins and other
marine animals. The navy acknowledges the injury inflicted on marine
life but argues that national security interests are more important, “We are
currently engaged in war with two countries.” They are concerned about
attacks from Afghani and Iraqi submarines? This situation echoes again
what Murray is saying about sound imperialism.
Silent Danger
Murray's sound research may have risen out of the urban din of the 1960s,
culminating in the publication of his pioneering work, The Tuning of the
World, but it seems the culprits have become more insidious since then.
Ironically, it was the noisy things like trains and planes and automobiles
that first sounded the alarm. But it may be that unheard sounds are the
current threat. All our technological toys, from cell phones to wireless
internet, are silently producing soundwave frequencies to transmit our
phone conversations, emails and text messages. The rapid proliferation of
cell phone towers is quickly adding to the already crowded world
soundscape. For the time being, what they emit is considered sacred
noise. However, it shows that the initial impulse behind Murray's cause is
no less relevant today. It may be the deaf disregard of the soundscape that
ultimately leads to a blind destruction of the landscape, rendering it
infertile and unable to sustain life – putting us directly in peril.
I'm seeing exactly what Murray stated earlier to this audience. It's all
about sound power centres. Who dominates the soundwaves? It's an
invisible battle that's heating up on earth. Fortunately, there are other
people like Murray who are becoming more vocal, wanting more answers.
63
The corporations that make money from these things need to know we're
not interested in seeing how low the bottom line can sink us.
Sacred Vibrations
Murray's lecture continues. “So the question is – are there ways to protect
our personal sonic space? Do we have the power to work with sound and
sound vibrations in a positive way? If we are going to address the unseen
aspects of our acoustic environment there are other unseen aspects that
should be brought into consideration.
“There is a Sanskrit phrase, Nada Brahma, which means, 'the world is
sound.' It states an ancient truth which science is now slowly
understanding – everything from atoms to orbiting planets are emitting
sound. The phrase points to the simple idea that the sounds we engage
eventually become part of who we are, taking up residence in our bones
and even the vibration of our atoms – altering our state of being. This
explains why sacred chanting and singing have been an important keynote
sound to all religions.”
“Head–space” is a popular expression of the young,
referring to the geography of the mind, which can be
reached by no telescope. Drugs and music are the means
of invoking entry... There is a clear resemblance here to
the functioning of Nada Yoga in which interiorized
sound (vibration) removes the individual from this
world and elevates him toward higher spheres of
existence. When the yogi recites his mantra, he feels the
sound surge through his body. His nose rattles. He
vibrates with dark, narcotic powers. He is the sphere. He
is the universe... But only when he releases the
experience by pronouncing the sacred Om or singing the
Hallelujah Chorus or even the “Star Spangled Banner”
does he take his place again with humanity.
The Tuning of the World pg 118
On-going Music
I'm finding this talk very illuminating. It's helping me to understand where
Murray's soundwork leads. It's about the balance of power. It's about the
constant vigilance needed to keep sound imperialism, imperialism of the
airwaves, or any imperialism for that matter in check. And making sure
the voice of the little person isn't drowned out by the big powers. This is
undoubtedly why Murray is considered a freedom fighter.
“Consider how science refers to the origins of life as the Big Bang. The
term implies sound. This is consistent with the ancient spiritual teaching,
such as the Vedas, which state that OM was the original sound of
creation. Either way, it all began the Big Symphony which continues
today and in which we can all play a part.
64
“Modern science increasingly understands the vibratory nature of matter
and thereby the transformational power of sound. This is important. We
have to return to sound. We have to return to the understanding the
ancients had of Nada Brahma – all is sound. With that we see our place in
the tuning of the world.
“At first, people laughed at me when I said the soundscape is one big,
continuous piece of music. I argued that every day is a sonic
improvisation and that we can all be composers in the ongoing
orchestration of sound frequencies – frequencies that we are all constantly
generating. We are the orchestra – instruments making sound. We are also
the audience, witnessing the sounds. And we can be the composers. The
composition is happening inside this room, outside the room, all over the
world, all of the time and we can be co-creators with it.
“Once we begin to think of the soundscape as an ongoing musical
composition we can then ask questions such as – Do we like it? How
might we change it? Can we make it more interesting, more beautiful or
healthier? How can we become more conscious participants with it?”
It makes sense to me now that, after Murray launched the World
Soundscape Project, he went on to dedicate himself as a composer. He
wanted to practice what he preached. If the world's soundscape is an
ongoing composition of music, and we can contribute to the tuning of the
world, Murray has done just that, focusing on making his contribution as
beautiful as possible.
Sound Rage
To my delight Murray finishes his talk with what seems to be a signature
admonition, “Rage against that which would destroy you!” He then
punctuates it with, “Thank you for listening.” The audience responds with
enthusiastic applause.
We are all then taken to another building where sushi, cocktails and
conversation fill the still hungry mouths. There seems to be an endless
stream of students who want to ask questions, get autographs and have
their picture taken with Murray.
As for myself, I'm ready to contribute something to the world's
soundscape. If silence is impossible to achieve, then I'm ready for a noisy
night out. I ask Murray if he wants to join me in exploring the city. He's
not interested. He then makes some comment about me chasing women all
over the world. But is that so bad? Besides, Miwa wants to go out again
too. So we do.
A Sound Museum?
The ear is also an erotic orifice. Listening to beautiful
sounds, for instance the sounds of music, is like the
tongue of a lover in your ear.
The Tuning of the World pg. 11
65
Miwa takes me to a bar for an earful of sounds, the likes of which I have
never heard before. It's a retro bar, Japanese style. All the music is from
the 1970s, when Japanese recording artists did their own versions of
American Top 40 hits.
It's quite ear bending, if not mind bending, listening to Stevie Wonder's
Superstition, Abba's Dancing Queen and Neil Diamond's Song Sung Blue
sung in Japanese. Having grown up with the English versions of these
songs, I don't know if I can say the translation does the original any
justice. Nonetheless, judging from the crowd, this is the hip place to be.
Any investigator of the world soundscape would benefit
from a knowledge of the history of music. It provides us
with a large repertoire of sounds – in fact, the largest
repertoire of past sounds... The study of contrasting
musical styles could help to indicate how, during
different periods or different musical cultures, people
actually listened differently.
The Tuning of the World pg. 155
While discussing today's talk, I ask Miwa if she thinks Murray would
consider this place a sound museum. She thinks about it while swaying to
the Japanese version of the Bee Gees Jive Talking and smiling at my
question. She finally scrunches up her nose doubtfully and says it's a bit
of a stretch for her academic sensibilities and probably for Murray's too.
Music is an indicator of the age, revealing, for those
who know how to read its symptomatic messages, a
means of fixing social and even political events.
The Tuning of the World pg. 7
Buddha on the Road
The next morning Murray flies to Tokyo where he has more events lined
up in a couple of days. I have another side-trip planned for these interim
days based on something I read in my guidebook.
I've spent a lot of time reading while on the road. The Lonely Planet
guidebook has provided a wealth of interesting information. I have
continued with my daily ritual-reading of Murray's Tuning of the World.
And there is something else I've been imbibing daily, The Teachings of
Buddha, which I found my first night in Tokyo in the hotel night-table,
next to a Gideon Bible. The Bible is something with which I'm already
familiar but Buddha is still a mystery, so I took the book for the road –
hoping, if it's stealing, that Buddha is forgiving. As he can see, I am
reading it – and finding it inspiring.
This book, along with my Lonely Planet guidebook, has inspired the next
leg of my journey. In the guidebook I read about a Shangri-La-like town,
set in the mountains near Nara. Koya-san has been the home of one of the
largest Buddhist communities in Japan for over 1,500 years. Apparently it
66
has many Shukubo or temple lodges that offer hostelry. Having read about
the “Pure Land” in The Teachings of Buddha, I opt for some time in the
pure land of Koya-san.
In the past there were muted sanctuaries where anyone
suffering from sound fatigue could go into retirement for
recomposure of the psyche. It might be in the woods, or
out at sea, or on a snowy mountainside in winter. One
could look up at the stars or the soundless soaring of the
birds and be at peace.
The Tuning of the World pg. 253
The last part of the train ride to Koya-san is unmatched in its beauty. I'm
actually able to get some photographs that don't include power lines or
transmission towers. I disembark at the end of the railway line, to get on
one more mode of transportation to reach my destination – a cable car
that floats up the steep incline to the top of the mountain.
Once at the top I find my way to one of the temple lodges and inquire
about accommodation for the next two nights. A monk guides me through
a maze of passageways in the monastery to my room. Not surprisingly I
find myself in a room of classic Japanese design with sliding paper Shoji
windows and a view over a well-manicured garden full of mature
Japanese trees. Tired from the day of travel I opt to rest in the serenity of
the surroundings and am soon asleep on the tatami mat.
Just as man requires time for sleep to refresh and renew
his life energies, so too he requires quiet periods to
maintain mental and spiritual composure. At one time
stillness was a precious article in an unwritten code of
human rights. Man held reservoirs of stillness in his life
to restore the spiritual metabolism.
The Tuning of the World pg. 253
Waking Up to Meditate
The monastery offers the option of partaking in early morning
ceremonies. I rise and join the monks. The chanting is easy to follow as I
mimic what the others are doing. The meditation part is not so easy, as the
tapestries, iconography and ornamentation keep my inquisitive mind
wandering about the room. At the end, the monks offer instruction on the
basics of meditation, which I listen to with interest and spend a little time
practising. Shortly after returning to my quarters, one of the monks
delivers a delicious breakfast. The austerity of the monastery is not so
extreme that they overlook the fact that they're catering to tourists as well
as pilgrims.
I'm not sure if it was more than curiosity that led me to this religious
retreat, however in this environment I'm given an opportunity to observe
67
those who serve in a resolutely religious life. It's intriguing, if not
perplexing, to watch grown men go about the practice of being silent and
alone. Why have they chosen such an inwardly solemn and outwardly
detached life? It makes me think of comments Murray made during his
lecture in Fukouka about how many people are now afraid of silence and
of being alone. I ponder where I fit with that.
Avoiding Soundscrapes
I spend the morning reading and contemplating the contents of The
Teachings of Buddha, fascinated by the deep sayings that can be savoured
for a long time. By early afternoon I've had enough tranquillity and am
ready to venture beyond the introspective walls of both the monastery and
my mind. I head out for a walk to see what I might see – and hear what I
might hear. A sightseeing soundwalk.
Using the tourist map, I head for what looks like an interesting place to
begin – the Sacred Precinct. When I arrive I'm met by architectural
upliftment. Before me are several giant pagodas standing solidly on the
earth, arms unfurling gracefully toward the sky. One cannot help but be
swept up by their simple but wondrous gesture.
What is not so wondrous is a sound arising in the distance. Somewhere,
someone is operating a leaf blower. It whines on and on, slowly growing
louder. It's moving in my direction.
I read somewhere that dead leaves are considered dirty and unsightly in
Japan – which explains why you see a lot of severe tree trimming, and not
just the Bonsai kind. And now I can hear someone with a sense of mission
– and a leaf blower, on the attack for any unsightly leaves that may be
lying on the ground.
I decide to cut my time short at the Sacred Precinct and escape in the
opposite direction. This takes me to a path into an old forest for which
Koya-san is also famous. This being the off-season there is hardly anyone
around and a quiet walk amongst the humongous old trees has my senses
quickly refreshed.
The path takes me to the edge of a cliff. It's the only place I've ever been
where I'm standing on the land and looking down on top of clouds. It's
clear how Koya-san earned a reputation as a Shangri-la.
Cornered by Karma?
Next I decide to visit a museum seen on the town map. Entering the small
building I'm delighted to find a large array of ancient artifacts, calligraphy
and minute craftsmanship from centuries past. Everything on display is so
fine it's hard not to get absorbed in the details and be taken into a
meditative state simply gazing at the objects.
There are also numerous Buddhas in the museum which bring to mind
something I read in the guide book.
68
If one stares at the face of the Buddha, one gets
the feeling that the Buddha will begin speaking at
any moment.
As I stare at the face of a particularly austere-looking Buddha, it does
seem that he might have some wisdom to share with me. I maintain a quiet
and reverent mood and begin to hear something. At first the sound is faint,
then gradually it becomes louder. I strain to make out what it is. My mind
follows the soft sound as it slowly morphs into a grating buzz. Another
leaf blower? It gets louder and louder until it eventually finds its way to
the back of the building, right on the other side of the wall from where I'm
endeavouring to tune into Buddha and cultivate sublime feelings.
My self-talk goes into gear. This can't be. How many leaf blowers are
there in what is otherwise an oasis of serenity? Or is it just the same
zealot? It's not only incessant – it's insane.
I want to run from the museum but I've paid my entry and it will be
closing soon, so this is my only chance to survey its wondrous contents.
The building is not big and there are no other wings to which I can flee. It
feels like I'm caught in an acoustic attack with nowhere to escape.
I ask myself, What would Murray Schafer do? Is this where I'm supposed
to start raging?
Then I consider that this might be happening for a reason – if one believes
there is a reason for everything, as Buddhists do. Perhaps the noise is
pursuing me to balance the books for some karmic debt? From what I've
read in The Teachings of Buddha, that's the way a Buddhist might see it.
We are here to work through karma, which is why there is no life without
suffering. And now I'm suffering in sonic hell.
I remember something Buddha said, “Suffering comes from attachment.”
Eyes closed I take a moment to breathe. Even though the buzzing is just
metres from my head, I won't let it beat me. Kicking my self-talk into a
higher gear, I muster all the detachment I can.
Wake up, Jesse – you're in one of the Buddhist capitals of the world.
Buddha knows it and Buddha has you cornered, so you need to look at
this as a spiritual experience. You've probably asked for it on a more
enlightened level of your being. This is an opportunity to transform some
of your stuff. Murray said he was bothered by noise at one time but then
he changed. You can do it too. Let go of your need for quiet. Surrender it.
Open to what life is giving you. Embrace it. Embrace the noise. Embrace
the suffering that comes with the noise. Run with it, boy – you can't run
away from it. It will keep following you wherever you go. It's just a leaf
blower, Jesse. Let it go. Just let it go.
Gradually a sense of calm comes over me. The stress starts to subside and
an inner peace begins to emerge – even as the blower blows on. I open my
eyes and look around. To my left, looking back at me is a big Buddha. A
big laughing Buddha. A big Buddha laughing at me. No, he's not laughing
69
at me – he's laughing with me. Yes, he's laughing with me – because now
I'm laughing. I won the battle over my repugnance for noise and
attachment to quiet – and there's a big laughing Buddha laughing with me
– laughing at the leaf blower, rejoicing in my victory.
A museum attendant approaches to tell me it's closing time. Unfortunately,
this inner event ate up my time for perusing more Buddhist artifacts. But
I'm okay with that too because – I am there – in the Pure Land – in my
mind. And even when I'm outside the museum – I'm still there.
I leave feeling really good – about how I mastered myself in the situation,
certain Murray would be proud of me.
An Abundance of Nothing
Back at my temple lodge things are, what else – quiet. Supper is brought
to my quarters and I enjoy another serving of fine Japanese cuisine. The
ascetic existence I'm sharing with these monks is quite epicurean. If they
ever tire of meditating they would make fine chefs in the bustling world.
There's something else I've noticed recently which I've never experienced
before. And I think it has to do with my diet. I'm feeling my blood. I can
feel the warmth of the blood in my veins and I can feel it circulating –
particularly in my arms. It's a strange sensation but it feels like the blood
in my arms is clean and glowing with good energy. The only thing I can
attribute it to is my diet which has been mostly fish and lightly cooked
vegetables – breakfast, lunch and dinner. Perhaps it is helping my move
into the Pure Land. If this is the case, I may have to make some dietary
changes when I return home.
After my meal I take a walk around the monastery to see what may be
found in unexplored nooks and crannies. The most striking observation is
the amount of empty space to be found – rooms with absolutely nothing in
them. As a matter of fact, it seems that entire rooms are dedicated to just
that – nothingness.
I can't help but think it strange that in a country as densely populated as
Japan, where space is at a premium, rooms would be reserved for nothing.
Is it to remind people to leave some spaciousness in their crowded lives?
If so, these empty rooms make a strong symbolic statement. I come to the
conclusion that the search for silence is accompanied by the
contemplation of nothingness.
In the West we may assume that silence as a condition of
life and a workable concept disappeared sometime
toward the end of the thirteenth century, with the death of
Meister Eckhart, Ruysbroeck, Angela de Foligno and the
anonymous English author of The Cloud of Unknowing.
This is the era of the last great Christian mystics and
contemplation as a habit and skill began to disappear
about that time.
70
Today, as a result of increasing sonic incursions, we are
even beginning to lose an understanding of the word
concentration... A recovery of contemplation would teach
us to regard silence as a positive and felicitous state in
itself, as the great and beautiful backdrop over which our
actions are sketched...There have been numerous
philosophies expressing this idea and we know that great
periods of human history have been conditioned by them.
Such was the message of Lao-tzu: “Give up haste and
activity. Close your mouth. Only then will you
comprehend the spirit of Tâo.”
The Tuning of the World pg. 258
Dead Silence
The next morning I awaken early to again meditate with the monks. I find
my mind more willing to focus and be in synch with the ceremonies.
When finished, I waste no time getting back to my room and consuming
the breakfast waiting there. I may be part pilgrim but I'm also part tourist
and there is one more sight I want to squeeze in before leaving for Tokyo.
The last stop is a Buddhist cemetery that apparently houses close to half a
million graves. It's not just that "any Buddhist worth their salt has had
their remains interred here," as the guidebook puts it, that makes it a must
see. As I approach the cemetery there is a lovely series of bridges that one
must cross in order to enter the grounds. There are also places to stop and
purify oneself with water – washing the hands and mouth.
Once inside the grounds I'm immediately bathed with old-forest energy. I
can see the cemetery goes on forever with paths winding up and down
hills around huge, old cypress trees to all manner of niches with enshrined
tombs. It's truly a remarkable sight, accompanied by a very special feeling
– satisfying my hunger to connect with old-world Japan.
However, I'm not inside the cemetery ten minutes when to my horror my
worst nightmare comes true. In the distance I hear the sound of a leaf
blower revving up. I'm dumbfounded. Why now? Why me? I thought
yesterday I had overcome any karma that might have invited such
suffering. Was I feeling a little too good about how I handled it? Has
Buddha upped the ante with another challenge? Is Buddha himself
manifesting to me as a leaf blower?
How then should I handle this? Should I consider it "sacred noise" – as
Murray refers to noise that has a socially accepted status? I don't think so.
This is entirely unacceptable. The sound of a leaf blower is enough to
wake the dead. They should use a rake here instead – or just leave the
leaves – let them "rot in peace" along with the dead! It's disturbing my
communion with the dead. It's time to have my say. It's time to rage!
71
I go on the offensive and track down the offender. Finding the hapless
worker, I gesture with my hands around my ears to indicate my sonic
anxiety while smiling politely. He politely smiles back and with a nod
turns off the offending machine – for about three minutes. Then I hear
him revving it up again behind some big tree as if I won't notice because I
can't see him.
I'm pressed into going for another inner workout to find my happy place –
in this case my laughing Buddha. After a few minutes of breathing and
self-talk, I'm feeling better. I'm also feeling Buddhist. The "sacred noise"
moves in the opposite direction from me and eventually disappears. I
refrain from gloating over finding my happy place again, to avoid more
trials by leaf blower. I simply enjoy the peace, both inwardly and
outwardly. Ironically, the quiet is actually so intense I can feel the
pressure of it on my inner ear.
If we have a hope of improving the acoustic design of the
world, it will be realized only after the recovery of
silence as a positive state in our lives. Still the noise in
the mind; that is the first task – then everything else will
follow in time.
The Tuning of the World pg. 259
I savour this last stop in Koya-san, as I explore one of the most viscerally
astounding places I've ever experienced. At one point I stop and sit,
practising some of the meditation I've learned at the monastery, giving
thanks for everything – including the strange soundtour – looking forward
to sharing it with Murray.
72
Four
Trailing the Trailblazer
The News
Arriving back in Tokyo I'm faced with the complex task of finding
accommodation. When calling ahead I found that Murray's hotel was fully
booked because of a convention. Not wanting to be so unadventurous as
to stay in the same place as my first time in Tokyo, I turn to the Lonely
Planet and find just what I'm looking for – a ryokan right downtown . It
has the traditional bath, a yukata dressing gown and slippers for going
back and forth to the bathroom, and a mat for sleeping on the floor –
budget accommodation, Japanese style, in downtown Tokyo.
In the evening I go to meet Murray at his hotel restaurant, as previously
arranged. When I arrive I find it's a western-style hotel and am glad I'm
not staying here, especially when I see knives and forks on the table.
Murray is leisurely reading a newspaper at a table. I notice it's The Japan
Times and ask if there's anything going on that I'm missing. He says
there's not much to report but it's still a better read than any newspaper in
Canada – much more neutral. I'm surprised to hear this because it's no
secret that the Japanese government manipulates the mainstream media.
But Murray says The Japan Times is an excellent paper with enlightened
international reportage. The paper was started in the 1800s for the English
people in Japan. He also says that when he wants news with a political
leaning his first choice is the left-wing British paper, The Guardian.
The waiter comes to take our food and beverage requests. When I order
my dinner I ask the waiter to bring some chopsticks. Murray comments on
the number of trees chopped down each year to supply Japan with
disposable chopsticks. My mind flashes on Murray's show, The
Enchanted Forest, where the evil antagonist, Murdeth, intends to destroy
the magic of the earth by cutting down all the trees. This concern about
chopsticks had not occurred to me in my earnestness to immerse myself in
everything Japanese.
The Wolf Project?
As we settle in with some Japanese beer, I tell Murray about my time in
Koya-san. Of course, I tell him how my increased attention to the acoustic
environment made for some strange and wonderful experiences – thanks
to him. He laughs at my leaf-blower episodes and seems pleased with my
sense of adventure and willingness to get off the beaten tourist track. This
seems to switch a light on for him followed by the question, “Have you
considered joining the Wolf Project?”
“The Wolf Project? No, I haven't. What is it?” I reply.
73
There's a sense of restraint on Murray's face as he searches for words – a
rare occurrence. “It's not easy to explain in a few words. It's many things
at once.”
Now I'm intrigued. I can see from his hesitation that there is something
uncommon about it. I pull out my notepad as Murray searches for words,
“It's literally unclassifiable ... which is part of its hallmark.”
I like the sound of it so far. Murray asks if I've ever done any camping?
“Camping? A bit. Why?”
He rubs his hands on his face as if concerned about me getting the facts
right. I wonder if my note-taking is a bit too casual for something he
seems to be handling so delicately. “It's a gathering of people in the woods
... for ritual-drama.”
I leave the "ritual-drama" question and ask, “Where in the woods?”
“It's a remote place in the north-east corner of the Haliburton Forest.
There are no roads up there so we canoe in and portage. We've created
four campsites a few kilometres apart – where we live in clans.”
“Clans?”
“Animal clans – for the ritual-drama,” Murray states in a tone that
suggests I should be getting the gist by now.
Animal clans? Ritual-drama? In the woods? My mind flashes to B-movies
about pagan covens in the woods and wild weekends going awry. I look
closely at Murray wondering what secret side he may have.
“So you go camping in the bush? How long does it last – a weekend?”
“A week. We're immersed in the woods for a week.”
A week? That's a long time in the woods. “What do you do for a week?
Tell me about the ritual-drama.”
There's a mysteriousness in the mood. A look crosses Murray's face that I
haven't seen before, as if I am treading on special ground, “The Wolf
Project is a forum of possibilities.”
“A forum of possibilities? That's an open-ended statement,” I respond.
Murray sees the questioning look on my face and offers, “You might think
of it as thaumaturgic.” An unusual smile breaks out on his face, as if the
sun suddenly peaked out from behind some clouds.
Is Murray intentionally being elusive or is it just his love of big words?
The description makes me a bit uneasy. If I'm not mistaken thaumaturgic
has something to do with magic.
“It's thaumaturgic ... to evoke Wolf and the Princess of the Stars.”
I let Murray know it's still not clear. “If it's about Patria, I'm not very
familiar with that part of your work yet.”
Our dinner arrives. Murray tells me we can talk about it after I've heard
more about Patria, which he will be speaking about over the next two
days. He also says there will be a meeting in the winter which I can
74
attend. With that, the conversation about the Wolf Project ends. It feels
like a curtain opened for a moment and something other-worldly shone in.
And now the moment has passed, the curtain closed, and it's time to turn
our attention to the more mundane matter of eating.
The Grateful Grateful Dead
Over dinner Murray embarks on a light-hearted story. “Mickey Hart, the
drummer for The Grateful Dead, read The Tuning of the World. He wrote
me a very enthusiastic letter praising the work and telling me he bought
copies for everyone in the band. After that, somebody told me The
Grateful Dead had set up a non-profit organization for dispensing their
excess wealth. I wrote a letter to Mickey telling him we were going to put
on a production of The Enchanted Forest. I described it a bit and asked if
The Grateful Dead would be interested in making a donation toward it. It
was just a simple, one-paged letter I sent. They responded with thirteen
thousand dollars.
“Not only that, The Grateful Dead were on tour and going through
Albany, N.Y. at the time of our production, which was near Peterborough.
Mickey Hart sent a note saying to not be surprised if they put in an
appearance at the show. I guess they figured they would drive up and see
what they had put their money into.
“The word got out that this might happen. So all these 'Dead Heads' began
coming to the shows hoping The Grateful Dead would show up. As a
result, the production was sold out every night and some nights we were
accommodating double our capacity. It was kind of funny because The
Grateful Dead never did show up.
“They also sent me a package. When it came, the girl at the post office
called me and said there was a thirty-dollar duty charge. I asked what it
was. ‘CDs,’ she responded. I said, ‘CDs? I didn't order any CDs from the
U.S.’ Then she said, ‘It's from The Grateful Dead. I'll pay for it.’ I said,
‘Okay, you can pay for it and you can keep it.’ It turned out to contain
their entire catalogue of recordings.
“I wrote a letter back saying, ‘Thank-you very much for sending me the
CDs. Unfortunately, I don't have a CD player, but when I get one I will
certainly listen to them with interest.’ A few weeks later another parcel
came in the mail. This time it was a CD player with a note saying, ‘We
thought you could use this.’ It was signed, The Grateful Dead. (laughter)
“Did you ever listen to their CDs?”
“No. I don't usually listen to CDs. And I wouldn't normally listen to that
kind of music – unless I was somewhere where it was unavoidable. I can't
stand that music and I don't really like the personalities behind it. It's
another world. I'm throwing out CDs every other day. All sorts of people
send me their CDs. I get a lot from young composers. Once in awhile I'll
75
reply but I don't have the time to listen to everybody else's music. I'm too
busy making my own.”
“Don't you have favourite composers you listen to?”
“No. I don't listen to a lot of music. It's one of the reasons I live where I
live and not in Toronto or Montreal. Otherwise everyone would be asking
me to come to their concerts all the time. This way I can avoid that.”
(laughter)
Composing on the Road
After dinner Murray suggests a little walk around the hotel to help our
digestion. I appreciate the fact that Murray is relaxed with me. I take the
opportunity to pursue a more personal line of questioning.
Jesse ~ What would you be doing if you were at home right now?
Murray ~ Eleanor and I like to read to each other in the evening.
Jesse ~ Is Eleanor your partner?
Murray ~ Yes. During the winter nights we'll get into a long classic novel
or perhaps some poetry.
Jesse ~ No T.V.?
Murray ~ I don't watch television.
Jesse ~ Why?
Murray ~ I see how it affects people. People get addicted to watching
television every night – before they've had time to digest what they
watched the previous night.
Jesse ~ What do you think of films?
Murray ~ I almost never go to the movies. I see the odd film. I saw one
last year at an art festival about Andy Goldsworthy, the environmental
artist.
Jesse ~ Did you at some point make a conscious choice to not follow the
film world, or has it never been of particular interest to you?
Murray ~ I used to go to movies as a kid. But then I grew up. (laughter) I
think of them as a bit childish. I suppose there are some good movies.
Jesse ~ You're not interested in scoring for films?
Murray ~ No. I once met John Huston at a conference in L.A. He talked to
me about scoring something for one of his films.
Jesse ~ John Huston, who directed the classic African Queen and The
Man Who Would Be King?
Murray ~ Yes. Nothing resulted from it. I wasn't really interested. I don't
like the medium. I'm interested in live productions. They're more real to
me. The film medium is mostly a money medium as far as I'm concerned.
My impatience with consumerism in the arts increases as I get older.
I have never known a movie audience to refrain from
feeding itself while watching a film. This single fact
76
exposes the weakness of the film: something is missing
here, and the film audience is evidently more aware of
this than theatre or concert audiences who, for the most
part, seem to forget their stomachs while engaged with
the presentation. Yes, I am suggesting, in spite of the
vigorous denials I hear about me, that an audio-visual
event in a plastic medium is somehow unsatisfying,
leaves a gnawing in the sensorium or a frowziness in the
mind requiring compensation; either a sweetheart or a
bag of popcorn, and that this spreading of focus,
regardless of whatever pleasures it may provide, does not
produce the concentrated aesthetic experience that the
best art can provide.
Patria pg. 168
Jesse ~ So you're prime interest is in doing live productions?
Murray ~ Live and non-repeatable. The thing about a live performance is
that it keeps changing. One night might be better than another. You get
different troupes performing the same piece and you get different results.
It's the adaptability of it I like. It's never really finished. It's the same with
audio recordings. I'm not really interested in making recordings. Once
something is recorded it's a fait accompli. Recordings of my music have
been done – I don't stop people from doing it. But I seldom listen to them.
Jesse ~ Can you speak about your creative process? I imagine that's
something people would like to know about R. Murray Schafer. How do
ideas come to you?
Murray ~ I usually get my ideas at night. I got an idea the other evening
while looking at the lily ponds outside the Geisha House.
Jesse ~ What was the idea?
Murray ~ A choral piece – using the lilies as a theme. Just simple sounds,
some in isolation, placed here and there, some grouped more closely
together or overlapping – like lilies. Just soft, attractive consonant sounds.
I'm often inspired by the sensory input of Japan.
Jesse ~ When you get ideas do you go back to your hotel room and work
on them?
Murray ~ No. I don't compose while travelling. I just make notes then
wait until I'm home to determine if anything is clear enough to do
something with. I can't work in a hotel room. Can you?
Jesse ~ I could do some first draft writing – if I have time. So far I haven't.
So to compose you need your workspace at home?
Murray ~ Yes, and it takes quite a bit of time to compose. I have to know
I'm going to be home for at least a month. Otherwise, I get into the middle
of it and it gets broken when I go away. I come home and the inspiration
is lost.
77
Jesse ~ Do you look forward to those times when you have the space to
create?
Murray ~ I would have to say that they are the most interesting periods of
my life and ultimately the most satisfactory – if I feel I've been able to
create a decent piece.
Jesse ~ Why do you compose music?
Murray ~ One makes music to get out of this world.
Jesse ~ In composing how does the creation of something come about?
Murray ~ I asked that same question many years ago while interviewing
British composers for a series of programs to be broadcast on the CBC. I
interviewed most of the celebrated ones and asked them a whole series of
questions like that. Where do you work? How do you imagine a piece?
What comes first – the melodies, the orchestration, the shapes? It was
quite interesting that they all, more or less, said they couldn't compose on
a train or in a hotel room but that they would get vague impressions of
how a work might take shape. "Shaping" is a term that was used a lot.
Jesse ~ And that's the way you work?
Murray ~ I imagine the shape of the piece first, without any notes. That's
what happens before notes appear in the mind. It's more a question of a
"sound event" taking shape and what its characteristics will be – will it be
busy or quiet, high frequencies or low frequencies, loud or soft, what
changes in colour will there be, etcetera. I think that's a fair description of
my experience.
Jesse ~ It's ethereal at first?
Murray ~ Yes. Very much so.
Jesse ~ So you don't hear any melody early on?
Murray ~ No. But I'm not writing tunes. I'm not a tunesmith. I think I have
a melodic gift that some composers don't have. I wouldn't call them catchy
tunes but there are some melodies that might stick with you after the
concert.
A savvy, sensitive composer with a keen ear, an innate
sense of form and a generous dash of pure esprit.
The Washington Post
Jesse ~ I know that a lot of composers these days write scores with
computer software and can play back the parts individually or as an entire
orchestra as they compose.
Murray ~ (staring back blankly) I hate modern technology.
78
Jesse ~ I find it amazing that old-school composers rely on what they hear
in their head, and can hold the whole orchestration there to listen to it. Do
you use a piano to compose?
Murray ~ Sometimes. I don't consider myself a pianist even though that's
what I studied. I will sometimes improvise late at night for relaxation.
Doing this just before sleep, the improvisations often have characteristics
of dreams – rapid fluctuations of mood, sudden shifts of focus. Some of
my compositions are derived from a single evening's improvisation.
I always welcome an opportunity to speak about a work
while it is being composed. It helps me to focus my
thoughts. Once it is completed I can say nothing more; I
have lost interest in it. It has left me to go out and live an
existence of its own, quite independent of my will.
Patria pg. 12
Jesse ~ Tell me more about the series of interviews you conducted with
British composers.
Murray ~ I undertook to interview all the great composers of England to
sell as a series of programs to the CBC. Later I transcribed the interviews
into a book – my first published book, British Composers in Interview,
which came out in 1963.
Jesse ~ That sounds like a fascinating project. What were some of the
most memorable moments doing that?
Murray ~ I interviewed John Ireland who had actually met Brahms and
Tchaikovsky.
To capture some of the excitement of the creative mind at
work was Murray Schafer's chief aim in preparing this
volume of interviews with British composers.
Front flap: British Composers in Interview, 1963
Hands
We eventually end up in Murray's room where he's expecting a phone call
from his Tokyo host, with information about tomorrow's events. Murray
sits on the bed and puts his feet up. I sit on the chair at the desk.
I notice Murray's briefcase on the desk and remark how it seems larger
than most briefcases. He tells me that it is a size made especially for
composers. Pursuing my fascination with the obviously well-used case, I
ask about its origin. He says it was a gift from some students in Buenos
Aires when he was on a lecture tour in Argentina in the 1990s. He adds
that he also received an Honorary Doctorate from the University of
Mendosa while there. My interest turns to doctorates. Murray says he's
received seven from various places. When I ask where he keeps them, he
says they're all mounted on his bathroom wall. When I ask which other
79
universities awarded him doctorates, he's a little fuzzy and can't recall all
their names.
The phone rings. It's Murray's Tokyo host telling him about tomorrow's
plans. While he's talking I get an idea and when he hangs up I ask him if I
can photograph his briefcase. He is fine with that. I then ask if I may
photograph his hands holding the briefcase. Again, he obliges me.
Actually, I'm a little surprised, if not privileged, considering Murray
doesn't take photographs himself and says he's never owned a camera.
There is something intimate about a person's hands. While looking
through the viewfinder I take a moment to really examine Murray's hands
– something which might be considered rude under other circumstances.
Surprisingly, his hands don't strike me as composer's hands. I'm not sure
what I was expecting – perhaps more genteel looking hands, with finer
looking fingers that delight in dancing across a page, laying dots along
lines. But Murray's hands aren't refined-looking. It's understandable that
someone in their seventies has seventy-year old-looking hands. But they
also look quite rough, as if used working outside. One might even think he
was a farmer, if one just looked at his hands and didn't know he was a
prolific composer. I'm not even sure his hands look like musician's hands.
I've never heard Murray play an instrument and try to imagine what they
would look like dancing on piano keys.
As I click away in the photo shoot of Murray's hands and briefcase, he
then tells me about the plans for tomorrow. He will be having lunch with
his Tokyo host, Keiko Torigoe, before going to speak at her university. He
invites me to join them for lunch.
Murray then says he wants to do some reading, so it's time to call it a
night – which is easy for him, as he sits back on his bed and puts his feet
up again. I leave to once more navigate the neural network of the Tokyo
subway system.
The Sound of Conundrums
The next morning I'm up early. Not because I want to be but because of
the 7a.m. on-the-dot demolition crew about 20 metres from my head. And
it isn't just them. Tokyo seems a lot noisier than I remember. Or is it just
me? I try to stay true to my lessons in Koya-san – bringing my laughing
Buddha to mind whenever I encounter sonic anxiety and staying detached
from the need for constant serenity.
I return to Murray's hotel where we are picked up by Keiko. Keiko is very
excited I'm writing Murray's biography and is happy to have me along.
We stop at a restaurant on the way to the university. As we settle in for
lunch, Keiko starts to tell me the story of how she came to be involved
with Murray and soundscape work. She initially came to Canada to do her
masters thesis at York University on environmentalism. After she met
Murray she decided to do her doctoral thesis on the soundscape.
80
Ironically, when Keiko first arrived in Canada she could barely speak five
words of English. Yet, she went on to be the first person to write an
English language dissertation on the soundscape. Over the years she has
maintained a friendship – and evident fanship, with Murray and has been
a key player in the soundscape work of Japan.
Keiko then begins to describe a trip she made to Canada to visit Murray.
While I'm listening to this with one ear, recorded music is hitting my other
ear and it's difficult to hear Keiko. I think to myself, Here sit three
acoustic ecology warriors – something has to be done about this. Who
says we have to consider this sacred noise? I ask the waiter to turn down
the music. He does, but not much. It's still difficult to hear Keiko, who has
a gentle Japanese voice.
Having to deal with this is affecting the flow of the story, so my rage
meter rises a little. It also makes me appreciate even more how Murray
has coined numerous terms to identify new perspectives on the acoustic
environment, like "sonological competence," which seems particularly
well suited to this situation. I pop out the term "acoustic dissolution," to
describe what I'm experiencing at the moment. Murray likes it.
It's not that the recorded music is so bad, it's not "moozak" as Murray
calls the "audioanalgesia" that gets pumped into public places. It's a
female vocalist singing very passionately, accompanied by a Japanese
three-stringed shamisen. I'm conflicted because her voice is actually quite
beautiful, and part of me wants to enjoy it. I spin out more phrases like
"acoustic dilemma" and "sonic conundrum." Murray likes these ones too.
I tell him he can use them. Nonetheless, I'm still being torn between one
woman's story about Murray Schafer and another woman's song about ...
I'm not sure what – it's in Japanese. I again ask the waiter to turn down the
music, which he does. But again – not much. My rage hits a "sound wall,"
and I run out of adjectives to describe the situation.
But there are things you could call “sound romances” and
“sound phobias,” sounds that people like or dislike, and
they can vary from country to country and person to
person. One person's noise is another person's delight.
The Tuning of the World pg. 146
Tokyo Talk: The Composer Speaks
After lunch we go to Keiko's all-women's university where Murray gives
the first of two Tokyo talks. As Murray speaks, Keiko translates.
“I'm known as the one who first coined the word soundscape. The word
has been used in a variety of ways but not always the way I originally
intended. What I meant is the 'total acoustic environment' in which we
live. The research I did is now well known and being continued around
the world. But I am also a composer. After ten years at a university I
wanted to stop teaching and work more as a composer.
81
“I sent a letter to all the famous composers I could think of – Messiaen,
Britten, Stockhausen, Stravinsky, asking the question, “What is music?”
The only one who responded was the American composer, John Cage,
who said, “Music is sounds, whether in the concert hall or outside the
concert hall.” Then he added, “Read Thoreau.”
“Thoreau is the American writer who wrote Walden, an important book
about his experiences at Walden Pond, near Boston in the United States.
Thoreau went and lived beside a pond for a year and recorded the things
he observed – the things he heard and saw. There is a chapter in his book
called Sounds, which is very beautiful because he began to hear the
soundscape for the first time.
“For Thoreau, sound was continuous – hearing was intermittent. A
transcendental view grew from this for Thoreau in which music was the
sound of circulation in nature’s veins. That I found exciting – to consider
that music is more than sounds we make with musical instruments. It
made me interested in working cooperatively with music and sounds in
the natural environment.”
Music for Wilderness Lake
“This inspired a shift for me – literally. I left my job at the university and
moved to the wilderness of Canada. I began going for walks in nature,
listening to it differently and beginning to think differently. My ideas as a
composer began to change. I asked, 'How am I going to write music that is
inclusive of these sounds? How can I incorporate the elements of nature
into my composing?'
“Sound travels far in a quiet outdoor environment and I wondered what
music would sound like if heard from far away. I remember going out in a
canoe one morning. As I sang out over the water, I found the echoes
delightful. I remember thinking – the music is already in the environment
– it's already an orchestra of sounds which changes from day to day,
season to season. I became very interested in that and wanted to find out
how I could work with it.
“Then in 1980 came the piece , Music for Wilderness Lake. Twelve
trombones around the perimeter of a lake. It was a crazy idea that had
never been done before – probably because it's not something trombonists
would normally think to do – stand around a lake and play to each other.
With the brass instruments placed in the right positions on the shore and
directed across the water, the sound is very pure by the time it travels
across the water and reaches the audience.
“The opening part is played at dusk. Then there is an intermission – all
night. The second part is then played at dawn. There are different
acoustics at dusk and dawn. I prefer the sound at dawn but for years didn't
know why. Sound waves travel slower through cold air than warm air.
With colder air, air that is cooled by the water, the sound waves bend
82
more toward the surface of the lake. In acoustics it's called 'refraction' and
you get more of it at dawn. At dusk the water has been warmed all day by
the sun so there is less refraction and the sound moves more quickly.”
Space affects sound not only by modifying its perceived
structure through reflection, absorption, refraction and
diffraction, but it also affects the characteristics of sound
production. The natural acoustics of different
geographical areas of the earth may have a substantial
effect on the lives of people...
Outdoor sounds are different from indoor sounds. Even
the same sound is modified as it changes spaces. The
human voice is always raised outdoors... We have had
occasion to note that people who live out of doors in hot
climates tend to speak more loudly than those who live
indoors. It is also significant that northern peoples seem
more disturbed by noise than southern.
The Tuning of the World pg. 217
“The idea was interesting enough that Rhombus Media made a film of
Music for Wilderness Lake in 1980. However, I didn't want a piece that
people could stay in the city and watch. I wrote it so people would come
to the lake. I wanted people to make a pilgrimage into the wilderness and
experience it firsthand. With eighty percent of people living in large urban
centres we are losing our awareness of our place in nature. To attend a
performance is to re-awaken one's connection to the whole of creation.”
The forest is always an acoustic environment because it
discriminates against vision, and forest dwellers
cultivated clairaudience to an extent no longer known
today. The medieval Schoolmen inherited something of
this aural awareness when they defined God as 'an
intelligible sphere whose centre is everywhere and whose
circumference is nowhere,' for this is equally a definition
of an acoustic universe, as McLuhan realized when he
used the quotation to invoke the aural world that
preceded the world of print and, he believed, would
replace it again.
Patria pg. 228
The Soul of Music: Breathing with Nature
“The music of every country has it's own soul. It's the expression of the
people and where they live. This is very evident with the musical history
of Japan. I think Canada is not taken seriously, musically, because we
haven't developed the soul of our music.
“The one thing we have in Canada is large, natural spaces. It's part of who
we are – the soul of Canada. That's why I've moved a lot of my music out
83
to those environments, back to where it was done by the natives of our
land. There, it not only mixes with other creatures but the rest of creation
can respond to it.”
Canada is probably one of the few countries left in the
world where human music can carry over imperceptibly
into the breathing of nature...
Patria pg. 229
“I found, for instance, that when you play a flute it will attract certain
kinds of birds. When you play a clarinet it will attract other birds. When
you play a trumpet it attracts other birds – and they respond. We can
dialogue with the environment. This is what I learned as I began to
produce music outdoors. I then wanted to use these discoveries in the
creation of theatre, which is why I began to conceive the Patria cycle.”
Enter the Mythological World of Murray Schafer
“Patria means homeland in Latin. I decided to use that name, partly
because I felt the work was to be centred on my homeland of Canada. The
cycle consists of twelve parts. I didn't know that when I began. The
creation of it has taken a long time.
“Each part of the cycle has a common theme – the search of two lovers
for one another through the labyrinth of life on Earth. All of the works are
related and some of the same characters reappear throughout. Themes that
begin in one part get developed in other parts – something like Wagner's
Ring cycle.”
I wanted to create a series of fabulous worlds where
everything resonates with the miraculous. We have come
out on the other side of ourselves and can understand the
languages of birds and animals, fairies and magicians.
Like children, we take them seriously.
Patria pg. 213
“Many of the parts are written for performance in outdoor settings and
relate to the wilderness environment in which they are produced. It allows
the artistry to collude with what is happening in nature. Those are the
magical moments. Often I've been asked, “Did you plan to have the full
moon appear at the beginning of that scene?” My answer is, “Yes,” for the
simple reason that it's part of our task to work closely with nature.”
Patria Productions
For 40 years Murray Schafer has been writing a huge
cycle of 12 music-theatre works, collectively titled Patria.
Larger than Wagner's Ring cycle or Karlheinz
Stockhausen's Licht, this cycle challenges the boundaries
of both music and theater.
Colin Eatock, New York Times, August 27, 2005
84
“Two summers ago we did The Enchanted Forest in Canada. It is many
things at once, including a soundwalk – as the audience walks through the
forest from scene to scene.”
...sooner or later it is bound to be asked, “Are you
videotaping or filming The Enchanted Forest? People
who ask such questions – and they do daily, hourly – can't
see the contradiction. Even those who can appreciate it
still hope the work will be preserved for future viewing.
It seems that works only achieve veracity when cast into
such a medium.
Patria pg. 231
“This summer we hope to do The Princess of the Stars. For this the
audience must arrive at four o'clock in the morning. The singers and
musicians are positioned around the lake in the dark. The first sound the
audience hears is the Princess singing from the other side of the lake –
about a kilometre away. Then the action starts to take place on the lake in
canoes. This is timed about half-an-hour before dawn when the birds
wake up. The clarinets, flutes and singers begin to imitate the sounds of
the birds – and we listen for the birds to respond.
“So you see it's not like going to a movie. It's about going into the
wilderness, far from the city lights. To be there for four o'clock in the
morning you must travel by night, arrive in the dark, walk to the lake then
sit and wait to see what emerges from the mist. It's entirely different from
anything in a theatre.
“We have done a few productions of this show. The first performance was
in Banff, Canada, set against the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains. It
made for an incredible sonic experience but was also visually stunning, as
the show ends with the dawning of the Sun. It's about incorporating the
environment into the show. It's about going back to the way native people
dialogued with nature. It's about relearning things we've forgotten.”
Keiko finishes the interpretation of Murray's talk, then reminds everyone
that Murray will be speaking tomorrow evening and that the lecture will
be open to the public. She passes out a pamphlet for students to give to
people who may be interested. She hands one to me which I decline to
take at first – it's in Japanese. And besides, who would I give it to? I then
realize my refusal might appear rude in Japan. I get one from Keiko to
take with me to be gracious.
John Cage
Turning my mind to the evening ahead, I have before me a swath of time
in which to explore the buzzing metropolis of Tokyo. I'm feeling drawn to
a place I read about in my guidebook – Roppongi Hills.
I invite Murray to join me for an evening out on the town, to perhaps relax
with some live jazz over sushi and sâke. It's at this point I find out that
85
Murray has an especial distaste for most pop music. He says he'd rather go
back to his hotel and relax with a book.
While sharing a taxi to get to our respective destinations, I pick up on the
mention made today of John Cage. I ask Murray if he's aware of the John
Cage piece being performed in Germany right now – emphasizing the
“right now.” He isn't, so I fill him in.
“It's an organ recital in a medieval church that will last 639 years. It's
supposedly the world's longest concert, expected to finish in 2640,
interpreting literally Cage's eight page composition called As Slow As
Possible. It started in the year 2000, beginning with a year-and-a-half of
total silence before the first chord was struck on the organ. Just recently
they made the switch to the sixth chord, moving the weights which hold
down the keys and pedals.”
Murray tells me of another irreverent Cage creation, 4'33", a piece which
consists of 4 minutes and 33 seconds of silence. He then shares an
anecdote about time he spent with John Cage.
“I invited John Cage to Simon Fraser University to give a lecture. He gave
a lecture about 'nothing.' He literally talked for forty minutes in nonsequiturs which made no sense. This made people angry. At the end he
asked for questions. It was a new university and there was a lot of
curiosity among the professors and teachers. The hands went up and he
was asked, 'What did you mean when you said such and such?' Cage took
out a pack of cards and shuffled them. He pulled out one and read it as his
response. He then asked for the next question. He kept doing this. Of
course the answers bore no relationship to the questions. It was really all
about 'nothing.'
“Once everyone saw what he was doing they got very angry. They got
angry at me for inviting him and wasting university money on someone
who just wanted to outrage. John and I walked away from the lecture hall
having a good laugh.”
I ask Murray if he has any sense of what John Cage was like as a person
in a social context.
“While he was at Simon Fraser we had a couple of his pieces performed
and I had a little party for him at my place with some students. I will
always remember him walking into the room and immediately seeing a
graphic score of mine on the far wall. He went right over to it and said,
'Did you do that? That is fascinating.' I was amazed because normally a
great luminary wouldn't say that sort of thing to someone who was
practically still a student composer. I was just in my mid-twenties at the
time. I found him to be a very interesting person and always cordial. He
said some very kind things in the press about my work in music education.
He referred to it as 'absolutely original,' which helped me in gaining some
public recognition.”
86
Into the Night
Murray falls silent but my self-talk takes over, revelling over whom I'm
sharing a taxi with. What an incredible journey I am on – sparked by an
experience in the Haliburton Forest. Now I'm in Japan – Murray and me.
For Murray it's another day of travelling, lecturing, inspiring. For me, it is
like the grace of the gods has been bestowed, that I would be
accompanying this cultural giant. There are few thinkers whose
intelligence traverses so many mediums, changing the thinking of others –
informing the way we experience sound, music, space, art, nature –
opening up new portals of perception.
Wanting more conversation with Murray, I break through his silence and
ask him once more if he would join me for the evening. Once more he
declines. As we creep along in the Tokyo rush-hour traffic, each looking
out our respective backseat windows, I imagine we are each seeing
different things. In light of the talk he just gave, I imagine Murray is in
Patria-land with the sound of Canadian wind interwoven with oboe gently
playing in his mind – like an audible Group of Seven painting. As for me,
my introduction to Patria is just beginning but the Tokyo lights outside
my window have my urban appetite craving some city culture. I'm
anticipating trendy Tokyo lounges with hip jazz as the soundtrack of my
life for the next few hours.
Getting out of the taxi I say “oyasumi,” bidding Murray goodnight. I then
look up at the gigantic architectural splendour before me – wondering
what goes on in all the space. From what I read in the tourist brochure,
Roppongi Hills is considered a city within the city where people have
everything and can do anything without going anywhere else. It
apparently took seventeen years to complete, and as I begin to wander,
examining its complexity, I can see why. The west side has a western feel
with shops and cafés, while the east side is more Zen-like with waterfalls
and Japanese gardens. It's a rabbits' warren with interesting niches
everywhere you turn.
I venture down every walkway to sample the variety of sensory
experiences and soundscapes. I can't imagine what I look like on the
security cameras but I bet the security people are scratching their heads.
After covering the ground level I move up to the next level where there is
a contemporary art gallery and bookstore. I then continue up the fifty-two
floors to the top of the tower for the icing on the cake – the jazz lounge
with the 360 degree view of Tokyo. It's time for a little relaxation with
some cool jazz and hot sâke.
A Magical Meeting
A waiter greets me at the entrance of the lounge and begins escorting me
to a seat. However, I'm in no rush to take just any seat. I see a medley of
esthetic styles spread throughout the nightclub, including some goldglitter barber chairs serving as bar stools. There is even a bed one can lie
87
on while enjoying a view of the city skyline – which might suit my mood
at this moment. I'm told that the bed is reserved for the evening and am
led to a spot next to the window. It's a cushion in front of a short-legged
table. It's not as luxurious as the bed and night-table but it does have a
good view of both the band and the skyline.
When the waiter asks what I want to drink, I'm disappointed to discover
they don't stock sâke. He suggests another drink and brings me a
Kamikaze, made of rice vodka and grapefruit juice. I settle in with the
Kamikaze and start enjoying the jazz. As I relax, I notice a young
Japanese woman alone at the cushion next to me. She's busy with
something on her table. I deduce she is either waiting for her boyfriend or
she's with the band. I take a closer look at what is occupying her attention
and see it's a deck of cards.
Pausing for a moment, I rehearse an opening line, then embark on a
dialogue, “Oh, lady of the cards – are you a card reader?” Without saying
a word she turns and fans her deck toward me, gesturing for me to pull a
card. So much for the small talk. Or perhaps she doesn't speak English. I
reach out, take a card, and look at it. The seven of hearts. She fans her
deck again for me to return the card. Before anyone can say abracadabra,
she magically produces an over-sized seven of hearts and hands it to me
as if to say, “Yours to keep.”
I don't care what corny comments can be made about this – there's
definitely magic in the air. I move my cushion over to her table and we
begin to converse. She does in fact speak English, and more importantly,
she isn't waiting for anyone. She tells me she felt drawn to come here
tonight by herself. “Me too,” I respond. She tells me she's a magician.
“Me too,” I respond, “when I was a boy.” She says she's single. “Me too!”
I respond with amazement. It's almost as if she's mirroring me – in the
opposite sex. The sense of closeness that emerges between us is splendid,
and the exploration of common interests becomes intoxicating, helped
along by the Kamikazes the waiter keeps flying at me.
Ikuko, as I come to know her name, leaves to go to the washroom. While
she's gone, I exercise my prerogative as a fellow magician to examine her
deck of cards for secret devices. Just as I suspect, it's the old tapered-cards
trick. But of even greater interest to me – is there love in the cards?
Watching Ikuko walk back to our table, I ask myself, Is she what I'm
looking for? Am I what she's looking for?
As we sit together, now sharing one cushion, the sonorous sound of
someone noodling on a saxophone, massaging the soundscape of the
room, I turn my gaze to the cityscape framed by the window behind us. I
point out to Ikuko that we are fifty-two floors in the air – one floor for
every card in her magic deck. She marvels at my observation. We look out
at the red lights blinking on every rooftop in every direction of the Tokyo
skyline. I feel like I'm high above the tree tops of some technological
88
forest ... I feel like I'm in old Edo, the famed floating world of ancient
Japan ... I feel like playing connect-the-dots in the heavens with my finger
... I'm feeling really good!
While Ikuko takes in the panorama, I take in her fine features reflected in
the window – exotically tantalizing against the Tokyo night sky. I pull out
the stops on my inner poet and play the ace of hearts, “Do you know what
those pulsing lights are, Ikuko?” She turns her quizzical, almond eyes
toward me. “They are showing us the heartbeat of Tokyo.” A moment
passes while she takes in what I've said. Then – bulls-eye – her face lights
up, her eyes open wide, she loves my sense of poetry. We move closer and
begin caressing cheeks. Ikuko giggles as I whisper her name in her ear.
At this point, I'm glad Murray didn't join me for the evening. Not only
would he not have liked the music – he probably wouldn't have enjoyed
the entertainment. Meanwhile, I've been noticing sounds in the
background. The kind that say, “It's closing time, we're putting up chairs
and soon we're going to need to put up that cushion you're sitting on, so
we can clean the floor and go home.”
Deeper into the Night
Back down on the ground, Ikuko, even at this late hour, wants me to show
her some of the sights I was telling her about at Roppongi Hills. I take her
to the thirty-metre rose, artistically installed in one of the gardens. Even
though it's made of metal, it's especially alluring in the moonlight, with
wispy clouds moving languidly in the background. While she sensuously
wraps her arms around its stalk, I can't resist unpouching my camera to
immortalize the moment.
Then more magic. Out of thin air, Ikuko produces a butterfly that alights
coyly on her hand. I forgo my prerogative as fellow magician to scrutinize
for secret devices and simply follow nature, trying to catch the butterfly as
it flits about the moonlit gardens. As I dance around the fountains,
matching the coyness of the butterfly, I can't help but wonder what the
people watching the security cameras are thinking now. When I finally
out-dance the butterfly, and net it in my hands, I discover it is attached to
a woman, whom I find myself embracing delicately. The next moment I
discover that kissing in Japan is as good as kissing in Canada.
Kissing is such an amazing use of the mouth. Eating is also an amazing
use of the mouth and Ikuko suggests we go for something to eat. We start
walking in search of a restaurant. Not too far away, we find a luxurious,
late-night eatery. As Ikuko and I cozy up in a booth, I let her order the
food and tell her to keep the surprises coming. After consuming an
amazing parade of culinary craftsmanship, washed down with hot sâke, I
feel I couldn't possibly be more relaxed – until Iku starts giving me a hand
massage. This and the sound of koto music teasing in the background
makes for a very transcendent mood, so I begin whispering stories about
the wilds of Canada into the intriguing orifice of her ear.
89
Marriage Made in Japan
The thought of marriage suddenly pops into my mind. I look at Iku,
wondering if it's on her mind as well. The idea of marriage has always
held a certain appeal for me. I had a marriage once – a starter-marriage as
they call it. Even though I'd never had anyone dislike me until I was
married, it wasn't all bad. I learned a lot about myself. Now, I'm waiting to
try out the renovations in a new matrimonial domain. Like most people, I
don't want to grow old alone. I prefer the image of having someone to
give to, to travel with, go on cruises with – wearing matching sweatsuits
so we can spot each other amongst the gray hair in the tourist ports –
perhaps even share a touch of dementia. I don't see why it can't happen. I
just haven't found the right person yet. Or have I?
As Iku finishes kneading my last finger, I again hear sounds that say, “It's
closing time.” We pull ourselves together and move out to the street. Now
what? Iku looks at me and says she wants to take me to Kyoto. That
sounds fun. She says she will take care of me while I'm in Japan – and
then I will take care of her. That sounds interesting. Then, quite
unabashedly, she announces she wants to come to Canada. That sounds
rather serious.
My self-talk starts up, albeit with a slight slur. Is Iku saying she is
interested in a serious relationship? Her English is fairly good but not
perfect, so I might be missing something in the translation. Or is this the
way things work in Japan – people meet then jump right into marriage? If
so, is this my future in front of me, looking up into my face, eyes like
searchlights, pressing in against me with her breasts?
Standing there dumbfounded, my hands in my pockets, I suddenly feel
something. It's the pamphlet for Murray Schafer's talk tomorrow night.
Now I'm glad I brought it with me. I give the pamphlet to Iku. She looks at
it quickly then says she'll be there. She really is serious about going
further with me. It's three o'clock in the morning and I know Iku has to
work today, so I try not to spend time thinking about what our children
would look like. I decide the most gentlemanly thing to do is to say
goodnight and send her home to get a good night’s sleep.
Getting home then becomes the next issue. Remarkably, in Tokyo, the
self-proclaimed city of the future , all subways stop at midnight. Perhaps
this is in conformity with the geriatrically top-heavy population they're
heading toward. I hail Iku a taxi and send her off. Then I hail one for
myself and get back to my ryokan, ready for some rest. Just one thing –
the front door is locked. I can't get in. I try knocking. Nothing. More
knocking. More nothing. I ring the doorbell. Again nothing.
I consider for a moment going to one of those Tokyo motels where you
can pay by the hour to sleep in a tube. Not too keen on that, I remember
that I opened my window this morning to watch the demolition crew
across the street. The question is – did I lock the window after closing it?
90
I go to the side of the building and look up at my second floor window.
There's a power transformer in front of me, so I climb up on it. I can reach
the bottom of the balcony, so I pull myself up and climb over the rail in
front of the window. Hoping there are no security cameras around, I recall
reading that there's not much burglary in Japan, so if anyone is watching
they probably wouldn't suspect that's what I'm doing. They'll rightly
assume I'm just trying to get into my room.
Next question – does the window open? It does. Is it my room? It is – and
it looks like I have about three hours to sleep before the demolition crew
starts up across the street.
Inner and Outer Noise
As expected, I wake with the first whack of the wrecking ball. It adds a
nice touch to what feels like a modest hangover. I travel by subway over
to Murray's hotel where he has another lunch meeting with Keiko, to
which I'm invited. I arrive early, so while waiting in the lobby I begin to
think about last night – wondering what it all means. In some ways it was
truly magical but I need to know where the magic wants to go. Is Iku
serious about what she said? Should I be serious about her? Is it possible
that in a country of 125 million people I have found the one for me?
Part of me balks. I can't be thinking seriously about this woman I just met
– I'm leaving for Canada in a few days. Another part retorts, I should be
thinking seriously about this woman I just met – I'm leaving for Canada in
a few days.
I turn off this inner noise to locate the source of an annoying outer noise.
The front desk clerk is pulling lengths of packing tape to wrap someone's
parcel – right there at the front desk. I never realized how obnoxiously
loud that stuff can be. When he finally finishes, he begins writing on the
box with a felt marker. The squeaks of the marker are giving me an
excruciating headache. Or did I drink too much last night?
A Mythological Lunch
Murray and Keiko arrive and we decide to eat in the hotel restaurant – the
place with the knives and forks. I again ask for chopsticks with my meal
and wait to see if Murray comments on all the deforestation it takes to
make them. When the chopsticks arrive Murray suggests that I hold onto
the set and keep reusing them. Reusing chopsticks? Somehow that simple
idea, holding far-reaching implications, had eluded me thus far. I thank
Murray for his suggestion.
Murray asks me how my evening went. I share a bit about my exploration
of Roppongi Hills. He's interested in hearing about the intentional
soundscapes there. I then speak of my time in the jazz bar and meeting
Ikuko. Keiko is curious and asks me more about her. There's not much I
can say, as I don't know much about her, but tell Keiko that Ikuko will be
attending the lecture tonight. She is pleased to hear this. Then I tell the
part about being locked out of my ryokan and scaling the wall to climb in
91
through my window. They both look at me incredulously. I then realize
I'm talking too much about myself, which is considered impolite in
Japanese society.
Keiko says she has been to Roppongi Hills and comments on what a maze
it is. I agree, which leads into a discussion about Murray's use of the
labyrinth in his work. As Keiko speaks, it becomes apparent she knows a
lot about Murray's Patria work. She brings up the subject of the Minotaur
and hands me her electronic Japanese-to-English dictionary-encyclopedia,
asking me to type in that word. I know this word but I have to stop and
think of how to spell it. After a few hazy guesses that are rejected by the
device, I sheepishly give it to Murray who looks less than thrilled to have
this electronic gizmo in his hands. But more than the spelling, I'm now
curious about the Minotaur myself.
Murray types in the word then hands the device back to me. However,
before I have an opportunity to read it, he embarks on his own
encyclopedic explanation. He explains how the Minotaur is part of the
Greek myth set in the time when King Minos and his wife Pasiphae ruled
the Cretan court. The sea god, Poseidon, sent a white bull to the court for
ritual slaughter but Minos declined to kill the animal. In revenge,
Poseidon made Pasiphae conceive a lust for the bull. The result of their
union was the Minotaur – a creature, half man, half bull. Minos had his
architect, Daedalus, construct a labyrinth to house the Minotaur. One day
a young Athenian prince named Theseus arrived. He was destined to be
sent into the labyrinth as food for the Minotaur.
I'm still holding the electronic device when Murray gets to the part about
Theseus. Keiko now asks me to type that name in. I feel like I'm being hit
in a weak spot. I day-dreamed through mythology class. It's another oddlyspelled word and again I fumble with the gizmo. My embarrassment
deepens as Keiko takes the device from my hands and asks Murray to
spell it for her.
I may not know how to spell these words but I know I did drink too much
last night. Moreover, my heart is still intoxicated from the elixir of the
evening's encounter. I wish I could talk more about it, so I could sort
through it, but don't feel it's proper to get into my personal affairs – not
over lunch – not in Japan. Furthermore, I'm here to hear about Murray's
life, not the other way around. I stammer, trying to feed Murray a question
to keep an intelligible conversation going, “Then what happened?”
Murray elaborates on how the King's daughter, Ariadne, assures Theseus
she can help him find his way out of the maze by providing him with a
particular item. There's just one catch. He has to marry her when he gets
out. He promises. And so as Theseus enters the labyrinth he unravels the
ball of thread given him by Ariadne, which he uses to retrace his steps
after killing the Minotaur. He then flees with Ariadne.
92
The mythological imagery Murray is sharing is indeed rich in symbolism.
Unfortunately, at the moment, it is only making my hangover worse and
my head is starting to feel like a big bowl of soup – not unlike the one in
front of me, out of which I've been trying to politely pull noodles with my
chopsticks. Soon enough, lunch reaches both its culinary and dramatic
climax. Keiko leaves for the university, Murray goes back to his room to
prepare for tonight, and I go for a walk to help digest the intake of the past
hour – as well as the past twenty-four hours.
There's More to a Myth
After a nice long walk through the streets of Tokyo, stopping to
photograph a variety of interesting sights in the quirky Japanese esthetic, I
make my way to the university campus for the evening talk. I enter the
beautiful multi-media theatre which is filling up fast. This is a public
presentation so there is a mix of people, including some of the students I
met yesterday, some I recognize from the Acoustic Ecology conference
two weeks ago, and many evidently new to Murray's work.
I look around for Iku with a mix of excitement and trepidation, as I
position myself in the front row – poised in recording mode. Iku arrives
just as Keiko begins making introductory remarks. As Iku settles in next
to me I can't help but notice how much shorter her skirt is than last night.
The lower part of her legs are covered by the high-heeled boots I heard
clicking down the aisle. Thoughts start erupting in my head, but Murray is
beginning to speak, so I endeavour to suppress them.
To start things off, Murray makes reference to his Soundscape work.
However, I'm sensing he does this somewhat out of duty as its figurehead.
He becomes more animated when he begins speaking about Patria.
“Each part of Patria is designed to explore different theatrical settings –
many of them outdoors. But all of the parts follow the central character,
Wolf, in his search for his spirit in the form of the Princess. As the
labyrinthine nature of his journey intensifies, the Princess of the Stars
becomes personified to him in the figure of Ariadne, the heroine who
helped Theseus escape the Cretan labyrinth in the well-known Minoan
myth. The thread provided by Ariadne is the thread of music in the Patria
cycle. Ariadne's gift is her haunting voice – this is what sustains Theseus
during his wanderings.”
As Murray unfolds the rich tapestry of his work, straddling its theatrical
and philosophical aspects, his fervour is restrained only by the need to
periodically pause while Keiko translates. I'm glad it's being translated so
Iku can understand the words, although I'm not sure how much she's
understanding their meaning. The audience becomes very still as Murray
goes deeper into the symbolic nature of the characters.
“They are paired as Wolf and the Princess of the Stars in the prologue of
the Patria cycle. They are then the Displaced Person and the little girl in
Patria 1: Wolfman. They are the hero and heroine in Patria 3: The
93
Greatest Show. They are the sun and moon, sol and luna of the alchemical
wedding in Patria 4: The Black Theatre of Hermes Trismegistos. They are
Theseus and Ariadne in Patria 5: The Crown of Ariadne. They are Yin
and Yang in Patria 8: The Palace of the Cinnabar Phoenix. ”
Murray's reference to The Palace of the Cinnabar Phoenix reminds me of
my experience last summer and the effect the show had on me. I'm
realizing now that it was not only the beautiful Eastern imagery that
excited me and put me in an altered state, it was also the archetypes that
touched something deep within me. This is what led me to contact
Murray, and now, fittingly, led me to the East.
I feel it unfortunate that for most people in the audience this is the closest
they will come to a Patria production. They would have to come to
Canada to see one. But whether anyone here will make it to his next show
in Canada is not likely on Murray's mind at this moment. He's clearly
enjoying the opportunity to share with the audience the ideas that inspire
these stories and tell them with word pictures how the productions look.
“The two of them return again and again in various incarnations. But it's
always Theseus looking for the thread of hope provided by Ariadne to
help him in his confrontation with the Minotaur. They are then finally
paired again as Wolf and the Princess of the Stars in the epilogue of the
Patria cycle, And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon . It is only after they have
passed through the many labyrinthine trials that they are able to come
together in marriage.”
The word “marriage” is a trigger and I allow myself a glance over at Iku,
who beams back a smile. Normally, I would be warmed by such a smile
but another part of me is wondering what the smile means? Now I'm the
one who needs some translation. Does Iku truly feel something for me? Or
was it just my postcard descriptions of Canada that excited her? It has me
thinking of how she is the third woman in three years I've considered for
marriage. Actually, that's not entirely true – I've committed marriage in
my mind more times than that. However, I'm still single and now
wondering where things will go with this woman. While Murray
continues, I rivet my attention on him – realizing his words may have
more importance for me personally than I thought.
“In Patria, the main idea is that the two principal characters, the
archetypal man and woman, engage in a search for each other. They
represent the split halves of the same being, constantly seeking each other
to be reunited in a sacred marriage. But unity is elusive in each encounter,
so the world continues to be out of balance, until the epilogue, when they
finally make it to Patria – the homeland.
“All this can be understood at whatever level one wishes. One could say
Patria is not a place but a state of mind. It is also a quest for identity. The
cross-references of characters between the parts of the Patria cycle are
94
complex, yet absolutely necessary to animate movement toward this
ultimate achievement.”
Complex is the right word. One could also say synchronistic. I feel a
discomfiting connection between Murray's words and the situation at hand
– on my left hand to be exact. I look over at Iku and wonder how she is
handling this heady stuff. She crosses her legs, leans toward me and wraps
her arm around mine. Normally, I would think nothing of this except how
nice it feels. But now the enlightened concepts Murray has just inserted
into my mind are asserting themselves.
In an endeavour to interpret what psychological play may be unfolding
here, I do a quick identity check. Am I Theseus? If so, then who is Iku? Is
she my Ariadne to help me in the labyrinth of my life? Am I her Theseus,
who promises to marry her in return for her help? Is Iku holding my arm
as a symbolic gesture of her giving herself to me? Or is it a gesture that
will ultimately take me from myself?
Cognitive dissonance sets in and the magnetic flow of last night is being
dammed – the express lane to connubial bliss is suddenly being obstructed
by mental blocks. Even though I don’t really want to over-analyze the
situation, I do anyway, and my self-talk sneaks in some more
conjecturing. Maybe Iku is Wolf and I'm the Princess of the Stars. That
would be a strange archetype for me to assume – I would have to identify
as a female. If that were the case, I could also say Iku is Theseus and I'm
her Ariadne. But I prefer the idea of me being Theseus because I'm the
male and she's the female. But that would mean she is the one rescuing
me. However, I feel I'm the one rescuing her.
Questions for Murray
I let go of my internal deliberations as Murray brings his talk to a close
and starts taking questions.
Question ~ What do you enjoy most about working outdoors?
Murray ~ What I enjoy most is the spaciousness of nature. Nature changes
its colouration every day. At different times of the day things looks
different. At different times of the day and night things sound different.
The patterns of nature are so elegant and offer a backdrop to a production
no theatre space could replicate.
Question ~ Have you ever written a piece that, when you took it out into
nature, wasn't what you thought it would be, or didn't work?
Murray ~ Often. There are often miscalculations. So I go back to the
drawing board and work on it some more. Sometimes it's easy to work in
harmony with nature. At other times it's not. Those are the productions
that end up costing us – and sometimes dearly. But that's life. Life is
dangerous. Doing art is dangerous. My motto is, ‘Art should be
dangerous.’ But these are the kinds of challenges you face when doing
theatre in the wilderness. It can be quite humbling.
95
Question ~ What is your best advice for staying true to yourself?
Murray ~ Am I true to myself? I sometimes think I'm a bit of a chameleon,
changing too much, jumping from one thing to another. Its hard to be true
to yourself without something that stabilizes you in your life. Some
people have religion, some people have their families. Those things are
not as emphatic for me. I think being creative is my way of staying true to
myself. When I'm distracted from that I'm not happy. I feel most true to
myself when I'm composing.
Question ~ How do you handle being called a genius?
Murray ~ To be called a genius – I don't quite understand. It's much easier
to feel genius in another artist's work than in anything you experience of
your own. We may feel it when looking at a painting or reading a poem –
a sensation from a great work of art that changes your life. There may be
that experience when listening to a piece by Bach. You think, “That's
incredible. I wish I could do something like Bach. I'll never be able to
achieve that in my own work.” We attribute the feeling we have to the
person who created the art. But they may not have felt that was a
particularly significant moment in their career. Maybe Bach didn't feel
inspired when he wrote that piece. Maybe he had a hangover that day. The
platonic meaning of genius is “inner daimon,” the driving force within
you. It's certainly there in any creative person. Their genius is the force
that just can't be stopped. Some people may put it aside for a while. But
the thing about artistic genius is it has to keep going. That's the nature of a
genius – a person whose creativity is going all the time, every day, doing
exactly what they're compelled to do. The result may or may not be
recognized as artistic genius. I'm just a humble carpenter banging some
things together, hoping they will stand up for a few years.
A Soundscape Challenge
Then comes a suggestion from someone in the audience. He points out
that there are many soundscapers in the room and that we should create a
soundscape together – right here, right now. Murray rises to the challenge,
inviting the challenger and another volunteer to the stage. He assigns each
of them a part of the audience to lead – himself taking a section. Each
leader begins conducting their section in making sounds with mouths and
hands. A soundscape slowly starts to fill the room. Creativity begins
oozing, as the groups play off each other to weave a tapestry of sound.
Murray signals for everyone to get on their feet and start moving about
the hall. At this point I get a better look at how Iku is dressed and see how
much she really likes Western culture when I read the word "Hustler"
sequined on her T-shirt. That's a little different. As a matter of fact, she
looks a lot different tonight than last night – and frankly not much like the
primarily academic audience here. She has gone from looking like a
sharply dressed Jackie Onassis to Britney Spears having a bad day.
96
The activity in the room continues to escalate and evolve into a grand
sound making session. Iku and I are in Murray's group, and Murray, not to
be outdone by the others, leads us up the aisle, out of the hall, through the
foyer and back down the other aisle to the stage – making sounds as we
go. The heightened artistic tension finally reaches a crescendo, then
cracks, dissolving into a room filled with laughter. It is a high finish for R.
Murray Schafer as he ends his last official duty on his tour of Japan.
While autograph seekers surround Murray, Keiko announces that anyone
who wants can join them in going to a restaurant. She then looks at me,
Iku at my side with “Hustler” beaming off her breast, and says, “Of
course, you two might rather go somewhere else.” I'm not sure how to
take Keiko's comment – my reading of Japanese innuendo is about as
good as my reading of Japanese signs. Keiko is a modern woman but still
very dignified in a classic Japanese sense, and I'm hoping I haven't
offended her with my choice of guest.
The Rest of Her Story
At this point it feels like I have a lot on my hands, if not on my mind. As
we begin walking to the restaurant, I ask Iku how work was today. She
actually looks sullen and I start to get parts of her story that were left out
last night. I learn that she is actually a Geisha – or was a Geisha. She
wants out. She sees my shock, so she begins to fill me in on a few things
about Geisha culture.
Iku tells me that Geisha girls are often considered high class prostitutes
but in the greater historical context that isn't necessarily true. Their
services are not primarily sexual but rather social. The word Geisha
literally means “person of the arts,” and the Geishas are often highly
trained, not only in the social arts but also in the performing arts. In the
purest sense, to be a Geisha is to be “a living work of art.” And that's what
Iku longs for – to live artfully, which explains the good conversation,
magic tricks and expert hand massage last night.
But apparently Geishas have fallen on hard times – their pure form has
been diluted. In the recent past their numbers have declined due to the rise
of alternatives in the hybrid Japanese culture. There are fewer and fewer
Geisha houses and this part of Japanese culture is endangered, close to
joining the Samurai as emblems of old Japan and becoming museum
fixtures. Meanwhile, a counterfeit Geisha culture has moved in, offering
all sorts of sordid offshoots. But Iku isn't interested in that and is looking
for a way out – a way to North America to be exact. And a way to be free
to do what she loves to do – magic. I'm left asking myself the question, Is
this where I come in?
When we arrive at the restaurant Iku and I join the party that is already in
progress – food and drinks filling the tables. I pick a place not too close to
Keiko, hoping to avoid any issues about my choice of guest. I find myself
97
sitting in a corner with Murray on one shoulder and Iku on the other. I
introduce the two of them and they greet politely. When it appears that a
conversation between them is not going to emerge, I'm torn as to whom I
should spend time talking to first. On one hand, Murray is the meat and
potato reason I'm in Japan. On the other hand, a young Japanese woman is
an exotic and rare delicacy for me. On the other hand, this is the last
occasion I will see Murray before he leaves for Canada, so I should attend
to some closure. On the other hand, this may be the budding of what could
be an important relationship with Iku, so I need some time to explore it.
My heart and head play ping-pong, while I simultaneously try to decide
what to eat with the chopsticks I kept from lunch – which I wave around
so Murray can see them. Then someone approaches the table and
addresses Murray. The distinguished-looking gentleman introduces
himself as Junichi Miyazawa and sits down in front of Murray. This
comes as a reprieve to my social dilemma.
Glenn Gould
Junichi's English is impeccable and from his accent it's obvious he has
been abroad – undoubtedly for education. We soon learn he has a Ph.D.
and is an internationally recognized authority on Glenn Gould. He
informs Murray that he authored a biography, Glenn Gould: A
Perspective, for which he won awards.
Junichi inquires of Murray about his interaction with Glenn Gould.
Murray tells Junichi that he and Glenn had the same piano teacher,
Alberto Guerrero, at the Royal Conservatory of Music in Toronto. Glenn
had worked with Guerrero since childhood – since he was recognized as a
child genius. Murray remarks that Glenn is known for how he sat low at
the piano, but adds that this is the way Guerrero taught all his students.
Murray says he was once interviewed by Glenn to work as a roadie for a
tour, however he found Glenn to be "fanatical" about everything, so
declined the position. Murray recalls Glenn as eccentric and not easily
likeable – but unquestionably a highly talented pianist. I think to myself,
Murray Schafer calling Glenn Gould eccentric – that's the kettle calling
the pot black!
This sparks Junichi who begins to speak effusively about the gifts Gould
bestowed upon the world – the legendary recitals, followed by recordings
that drew from critics superlatives and proclamations like “a pianist of
divine guidance.” Junichi's tone darkens as he somewhat gleefully
recounts that, even though Gould's fingers were counted amongst the
wonders of the world, there ensued a descent as his eccentricity emerged
in his playing. He began to ignore or even completely reverse the
markings of the composer. While recording he would hum, driving the
engineers crazy trying to eliminate it from the recording. His intellectual
iconoclasm led him to record the complete sonatas of Mozart with the
avowed intent of proving that Mozart didn't die too early but too late.
98
I contribute to the conversation by telling Junichi that Murray received
the first Glenn Gould Prize in 1987, in recognition for his contributions to
music – later joined by other luminaries such as Yehudi Menuhin, Oscar
Peterson and Yo-Yo Ma. I add that there is a huge photo of Murray
mounted in the foyer of the Glenn Gould Studio in Toronto and that this is
the venue where they did a six hour concert of Murray's string quartets.
His is a strong, benevolent, and highly original
imagination and intellect, a dynamic power whose
manifold personal expressions and aspirations are in
total accord with the urgent needs and dreams of
humanity today.
Yehudi Menuhin speaking of R. Murray Schafer when
presenting him with the Glenn Gould Prize, 1987.
While trying to be helpful with what I know about the connection between
these two geniuses, I notice how Junichi is finding it all very interesting –
perhaps a little too interesting. I suddenly realize he may be sizing up
Murray as his next research project – and that I may be unwittingly
engaged in a biographer turf war. I didn't follow Murray Schafer to the
other side of the world to have him stolen from me by a Glenn Gould
biographer. I find the opportunity to let Mr. Miyazawa know that my
primary role in his country is as Mr. Schafer's biographer.
Goodbye Murray Schafer
While dealing with this, I suddenly find myself under attack from another
angle – from a different direction in the room. From a group of Japanese
people having a conversation in Japanese I overhear the English words,
“middle-aged man.” It strikes me as odd, as I'm sure there must be a
Japanese equivalent for this phrase. It then strikes me that it might be
intentional – and that it was meant for me to hear.
I cautiously turn in the direction of the conversation to see another of the
hosts looking at Iku and me. He's definitely not sporting a world-famous,
sunny Japanese smile. Rather, he has a scowl on his face, combined with
the flushed look some Japanese people get when consuming alcohol. It
makes him look as I imagine a slighted Samurai warrior might appear.
Evidently, my choice of guest has become the fodder for conversation. Is
it because there's an age issue? If so, I don't see why there should be. I've
liked women in their twenties ever since I was in my twenties. Just
because I've blinked and am in my forties, it doesn't mean I'm gasping for
my last few breaths of youth by being with a younger woman. Or am I?
I turn to Iku and see her beautiful make-up and smile hiding a deeper
sadness. I turn to Murray who seems quite content, which only serves to
contrast my eroding sense of ease. I think to myself – if life is a labyrinth,
as Murray suggests, it feels like I'm caught in a dark corner. I'm not sure
which way to turn. What I need now is a view of the whole map.
99
With all this going on inside, it actually comes as a relief when Murray
says he needs to leave. He's going on an out-of-town visit tomorrow
before catching his plane home the next day. Murray makes his rounds,
saying goodbye to everyone. I say goodnight and goodbye, telling him I
look forward to our next rendezvous – there's a lot more I need to find out
about him. And suddenly I have a lot more questions about myself.
100
Five
The Call of the Hero's Journey
Digesting Japan
Back on Canadian soil, Japan becomes a dream. And dream of it I do,
fuelled by a continued study of it. After I return to Toronto, I discover a
rich repository of all things Japanese at The Japan Foundation – a lending
library right downtown. I take it in like an after-dinner digestive. It gives
me lots to read during the three weeks of jet lag I suffer, allowing me to
float in old-world Japan, instead of lying awake wondering what to do
during the wee hours.
It's not that I don't have anything to do. There are grant applications to
work on, the search for a publisher – not to mention getting down to
writing the book. However, something in me enjoys this threshold state,
ignoring phone calls and emails, and savouring my memories of Murray
Schafer and Japan.
Then there are the memories of Ikuko. I still remember the night of
Murray's last lecture in Japan. When Murray left the restaurant the energy
of the evening ebbed and the rest of the gathering dissolved. Ikuko told
me she had an early morning and needed to get going, before the subway
shut down. I walked with her outside, trying to sense what wanted to live
between us. The night before I had been in touch with her joy. Suddenly, I
was in touch with her sorrow. As she looked up at me longingly, I could
see how she had traded the white face paint of a Geisha for a westernized
look. But behind the mask of make-up, high-heeled boots and t-shirt
proclaiming “Hustler,” I could see a person who desperately wanted to
find a place where she was accepted, loved and could express her creative
nature. I could see from the stars in her eyes it was magic that she longed
for. After exchanging contact information, we kissed and I quietly
wondered what our next contact would be. The question of going to
Kyoto still hung in the air – as did the notion of marriage.
As I rode the subway back to my ryokan, I played reruns of the past
twenty-four hours in my mind. It was as if the part of me that was looking
for someone had met the part of her that was looking for someone. It
seemed so perfect – so synchronistic. It was as if we had been brought
together for a reason. But I was no longer sure what that reason might be.
The things Murray had said about the Minoan maze and the Minotaur also
started playing in my head. If Murray's picture of life is right, then
somewhere these archetypes exist in my life. The image of going to Kyoto
with Ikuko began to loom like a turn in the maze that could take me up a
leg of no return. I might never come back to Canada. Or I might come
101
back to Canada with Ikuko. Or I might die from an overdose of sumptuous
cuisine, sâke and massages at the hands of a Geisha.
I allowed my doubt and fear to decide for me and called Ikuko the next
day, thanking her for the good times but respectfully declining her
invitation to Kyoto. However, backing away from an exotic scenario that
includes a beautiful woman, isn't as easy emotionally as it is physically. I
still feel some regret and can't help but fantasize about what might have
been – especially when I look at the oversized seven of hearts she gave to
me at our first encounter, which I keep on my desk along with other
souvenirs of Japan, like my reusable chopsticks. In the final analysis, all
this encounter seems to have done is to highlight the part of me that longs
for someone – or somewhere – where I am accepted, loved and able to
express my creative nature. A mirror of her.
During one of my late-night, jet laginduced reading sessions, I come
across something about Samurai warriors that helps gird me emotionally.
As foreign as it may seem to our western romantic notions, a Samurai
warrior's love for adventure exceeds his love for a woman. Furthermore,
he esteems the scent of his tatami mat over that of a lover. I don't own a
tatami mat but my imagination is good enough to make the idea work for
me. My heart turns to new adventures.
The Trail Goes Cold
Tacking a new calender to the wall, announcing January 2007, I make it
my new year's resolution to start working on the book. As I begin, I decide
to include quotes from Murray's books and begin looking through Patria:
The Complete Cycle, another of the books he gave me at our first
meeting. As I thumb through it, I can't help but be struck by the artistry –
sketches, illustrated scores, diagrams of ideas, and photos of sets and
costumes from productions. It shows why Murray is esteemed as an artist
as well as a maverick in music and theatre. However, as I look more
closely at Murray's words, I'm struck by something else – something that
catches me off guard. There's a particular tone that weaves in and out of
his commentaries. I try to ignore it at first but at times it's so in your face I
find it disturbing. I finally have to ask myself, “Is Murray a curmudgeon?”
As I dig deeper into Murray's writings there is no question – there is a
note of cynicism, even bitterness at times. I then recall how I detected a
hint of this while travelling with him – but now I'm seeing it in print.
Sarcasm peppers program notes for compositions, and he even goes so far
as to openly make unflattering remarks about others. In one place, he goes
through a shopping list of things wrong with the arts in Canada. In other
places, he attacks what is wrong with Canada in general. I'm not used to
Canadians being so critical or blunt. I come to the conclusion that I'm
following a curmudgeon.
Murray was so polite in Japan. Seeing this other side begins to bother me.
No, it actually throws me for a loop and even shocks my self-talk. I'm not
102
a curmudgeon and I'm not sure I want to immerse myself in the mind of
one. I know I told Murray I want to amplify the things he says but if I'm
amplifying his curmudgeonry it might make me a curmudgeon. Life is too
long to live as a curmudgeon. I try to rationalize it by giving it a romantic
spin: Murray isn't a curmudgeon, he is just a bit off-the-wall – another
mad composer.
My reality check continues with a survey of the work ahead. I like writing
and I like the creative state it puts me in but do I like it enough to spend
the hours required to create an entire book about one man? It seemed like
a good idea when I had the mystical experience at Murray's show.
However, now it seems like a lot of work. There are hours of recorded
interviews to transcribe, some difficult to hear because of background
noise. And even when I can hear Murray I don't always understand what
he is saying. I should just drop the whole thing and be thankful for what
I've received so far – like the trip to Japan in the shadow of a V.I.P.
My hemming and hawing lasts weeks as I try to determine whether I
should forge ahead or turn back. I feel frozen, like the ice forming on the
window that frames my view of a dreary Toronto winter. My cold feet
take me to an emotional low. I'm glad Murray told me silence doesn't
exist, so I know not to look for it. I just wish I knew what to do with the
ceaseless soundscape of inner chatter – it makes me want to rage, the way
Murray says we should in the face of destructive noise. However,
nowhere in my polite Presbyterian upbringing do I recall being taught
how to do that.
Composing Out of Chaos
Rather than looking for a way to coax some rage past my clenched jaw, I
recall how Murray said we can all take responsibility for the soundscape
of our lives. He quoted John Cage in stating that all sounds in our
environment are a part of the tuning of the world, whether inside the
concert hall or out. I assume that includes the soundscape in my head.
As I lie on the couch, looking up at the ceiling fan going round and round,
I feel a lot of things – things that are hard to put in words. I recall, as a
boy, when in a similar sullen state, I would lie on my bed and create music
in my head. It acted as an emotional salve. I consider what the soundtrack
for my current state would be. I stare at the spinning fan – a devil whirring
above my head. It's the only audible sound in the room – an ostinato with
a relentless vexatious quality to it. I imagine the accompanying libretto.
You miserable soul, you faithless sod.
shame shall be your end.
The time signature of the fan seems to be 6/8, and quite fittingly affannato
– an anguished pace, taunting me over and over. I feel the tempo for a few
bars then hear the entrance of a cello. Yes, a cello would be the
103
instrument of choice with its natural melancolico to convey my present
serioso state. It speaks for me.
Yes, a woeful soul – bedraggled and confused.
Sorrow is my name.
I give this fugue-like soundscape about sixteen bars. Then come more
strings – violins, decidedly lamentoso – starting low on the scale and
pianissimo. But then, poco a poco, the sounds slowly increase both in tone
and intensity to articulate the complexity of my pathos. All the strings of
the very large orchestra eventually swell together to evoke a strong
simpatico – along with more libretto to flesh out the details.
I don't know what I'm doing. I've fallen and can't get up.
Please, someone, understand my plight and reach forth
with the compassionate hand of God.
The poignancy of my sorry state drones on with rich pathos, waiting for
something to answer. After a diminuendo and little pausa there comes a
piccolo entering in the highest register possible, altissimo – a religioso
response from the heights – my cry has been heard. Then from the voice
of a soloist a deep aria arises, sonore. Yes, a real human voice is needed,
not just instruments imitating voices. After all, this is about real human
struggle – it's about my struggle. I think the voice of a castrato would be
suitable to reflect my struggling middle-aged masculinity. Perhaps even a
whole section of castrati.
The Hero's Opera
Even though my music theory is rudimentary, if not a little rusty, I begin
to relax on the couch as I find pleasure in composing my inner opera. I
especially love being lavish with the Italian notation. One can see why
Italian is the mother-tongue of opera. The terminology adds a rich layer of
romantic sensibility and in some ways give the musician more to work
with than the notes.
Then a thought strikes me – why not actually write an opera? I did it in
my head as a boy, lying on my bed, sorting through my emotions, tears
filling my ears. It should be entirely plausible to put it on paper while it
pours through my soul. I've written a number of musicals – it would be the
next step. Perhaps if I embarked on an opera, that could be my
justification for dropping the book. If I told Murray I've been called to
another pressing project it would seem less cowardly than just leaving a
voice mail telling him I'm quitting. He would surely understand how a
mad passion, such as writing an opera, has possessed me and I can do no
other until it has been expunged from my soul.
Satisfied that I'm onto something, and with all sorts of juicy ideas coming
through, I consider what else is needed to make it a tenable artistic work.
If I'm going to write an opera it needs a structure to hang on. Lots of
operas use fairy tales, mythical themes or heroic journeys. Perhaps even
104
The Hero's Journey itself could be turned into an opera! Murray could
relate to that. He has a whole shelf of Joseph Campbell books about it in
his house. I could tell him I'm writing an opera based on the hero's journey
and that both he and Joseph Campbell will be credited as the inspiration.
He'll be thrilled and will understand that something of this magnitude –
putting the “monomyth,” as Campbell calls it, to music, takes precedence
over writing his life story. In a way it includes his life's story – it's the
archetypal journey – the myth that encompasses all myths. I'm sure he'll
feel flattered rather than jilted upon hearing this.
The Call to Adventure
Back to my inner soundscape, now an opera based on the hero's journey,
my heart begins to beat more freely, with a buoyant, legato, tamping on
the timpani. The meter has picked up, the time signature now 4/4 and
definitely energico. The audience needs to know they're in the
foreshadowing overture of an epic operatic extravaganza, the call to
adventure, the first stage of the hero's journey. The ceiling fan is now
more like the spinning wheel of a celestial chariot scattering bits of
inspiration about my earthly domain.
For a director's note I would state that the story could just as easily begin
with a call to a heroine – being a politically correct opera. What's key is to
portray the central character as unaware of his or her potential as a hero,
while existing as a zero. It's the music's job to convey that something
magnifico awaits in the wings. Breaking out of the overture, the libretto
begins to flow from the ceiling fan.
You are called. Hear the call.
Harken, hero, hear the call.
The call to adventure...
But what is the unaware one called to do? The horns echo this ominous
statement, signalling the outset of a long oratorio, “The call to
adventure...,” repeated over and over, back and forth between the various
choral sections. I would make the effort to score this part in the style of
the pre-renaissance, polyphonic period to conjure the feel of the dark
ages. To this I then need to add the right dressing to personalize my
version of the monomyth. Perhaps I could add some of the elements from
my current dilemma. My inner turmoil around the book has not been
unlike a small-scale dark ages. The libretto progresses.
Murray Schafer – R. Murray Schafer.
Hear his name ringing in the heights –
exalted in the heavens.
Bring it down to the depths.
Deliver it to a world in darkness.
Shining his light is your deed.
For his name's sake answer the call.
105
First Refusal
Initially refusing the call is often part of the hero's journey.
Please, please, find someone else.
I'm not suited for this mission.
Too much for me, mere mortal that I am.
This refusal lasts about sixteen bars, the entire ensemble resounding my
heartfelt hesitation. In the monomyth there can be repeated refusals.
However, I would just restate the same refusal a few different ways, for
another thirty-two bars, while a pleading oratio itemizes the reasons for
my resistance. I try to imagine how this would sound if sung operatically.
My soul is plagued with doooubts –
like locusts eating my liiimbs.
Why Murray? Why me?
As important as Murray may beee –
is it so important for meee –
to tell it to the wooorld?
I've got enough on my haaands
trying to understaaand
my own liiiife.
I respectfully decline the caaall.
The orchestra attempts more persuasion, this time led by a bossy bassoon
with its reedy voice. But the hero's stato d'anima, blocked state of mind,
remains unswayed and he may even try to weasel out of the call by taking
the blame himself. This could be added as a small codetta.
Mea culpa, mea culpa,
Murray Schafer, Murray Schafer.
My mistake, my mistake
Mea culpa, me.
Then, just when you think this insistent bassoon is going to take another
forte run at the wall of resistance, a soft flute takes the coda, backed by a
hushed libretto.
Follow your bliss, follow your bliss, follow your bliss...
This measured misterioso response, quoting Joseph Campbell's oftrepeated mantra, isn't what was expected. I had hoped to be immediately
let off the hook – my lack of resolve evidence enough to show my
incompetence to write Murray's biography. However, the hero's antipathy
is weakened by the sense of compassion he feels in the phrasing, “ Follow
your bliss.” Letting his guard half down, he responds with a partial
answer, partial question, “But ignorance is bliss...?” The chorus could
then become antiphonal, squaring off with opposing views of bliss.
106
Follow your bliss.
But ignorance is bliss!
Follow your bliss.
But ignorance is bliss!
The Vision
Then onto a new section of music and the next stage of the hero's journey.
At this point, something is needed to goad the stubbornness of the lower,
instinctual nature over this threshold. Time for the hero to have a
revelation. It's all very well when things are going fine and it's fun, but
when faced with real work and challenges of mythic proportions, you
need a vision that is compelling enough to sustain you through the ups
and downs, peaks and valleys of the road of trials. This can come during a
period of withdrawal, a temporary separation from the activities of life, to
get some clarity.
Moses, instead of initially defending his people against the injustices in
Egypt, went off, got married and raised sheep and children for forty years
in some remote pasture. But he couldn't hide from his calling forever. It
was while he was out looking for a lost lamb that he met the burning bush
and got fired up about delivering his people from bondage. In my version,
the hero could at least indicate some willingness to do some soulsearching. Still caught in his quandary, and with the chorus continuing to
haunt him with, Follow your bliss – But ignorance is bliss..., the naysaying neophyte retreats to a place of solitude for a vision quest.
I can hear some delicato koto accompanying the hero as he travels to a
foreign land – like Japan. It's meant to be a transcendental experience, so
the koto should be played ad libitum, free from the tyranny of time,
suggesting a hermetic vacuum that needs to be filled. My trip to Koya-san
and my stay at the Buddhist monastery could work as the template for this
scene. I had a mystical encounter there. Even if I didn't get into a full-on
conversation with Buddha while staring at his statue, it was as if he gave
me a life-changing experience. He manifested to me, not as a burning
bush, but in the form of a blaring leaf-blower. I could portray this
musically – including a leaf-blower in the opera. Murray composed a
piece which calls for a snowmobile in the percussion section, as a protest
against over-development of the north. Why couldn't I be equally radical
with a leaf-blower? As painful sounding as it might be, a leaf-blower
cadenza could come across as cathartic. It's symbolic of cleaning up the
dead debris which clutters the mind and clouds the vision.
This idea would work well if contrasted with the tranquillo of a single
triangle to symbolize the awakening of consciousness. I find the sound of
a triangle so precious – like the innocent wisdom spoken by a child at
twilight. But as with any apparition, it is fleeting, so the triangle solo can't
107
sustain too long. It lasts long enough to suggest a brief state of heightened
awareness before decaying into memory. But it's enough to shift
something in the hero and give him a glimpse of the importance of R.
Murray Schafer's work to the world, moving him to the next step – if not
to follow his bliss, at least teasing out some increased curiosity.
A Guide
Enter the grounded voice of a clarinet. It has the quality of a counsellor
and carries on a conversation with a Japanese shakuhachi flute – also a
counsellor. Two counsellors are needed to help pave the way at the outset
of this heroic journey. They could both be like Yoda from the Star Wars
mythology, for which, quite fittingly, Joseph Campbell acted as an
adviser. One counsellor could appear as a Japanese Pokémon – that would
look outstanding on an operatic stage. The other could be dressed in
western attire, suggesting an East-West dialogue. They both show
compassion for the weight of the call the neophyte is buckling under,
while asserting the need for him to answer it.
We hear you child, we hear your cry,
but you need to do this –
now understand why.
It's a big job ahead for the hero, so he needs the advice of both counsellors
from their divergent cultural perspectives, as they underscore the
universality of the task. They can help him see the imperative of personal
sacrifice, even risking death in order to discover one’s powers and calling
in life.
Find and fulfil your destiny,
stay true to the path.
Do it for atonement,
we will watch your back.
The chorus could be softly cooing the refrain for which Murray is famous.
Art should be dangerous...
This would be the logical place for a supernatural aid to be introduced. In
many stories an amulet, a symbol, or a magic power such as special sight
is endowed upon the protagonist for future use and to remind him he is
not alone on his journey. Something could be given by the counsellors
while accompanied by background music, mostly atmospheric –
Schaferistic. I think the hero should be given a pair of magic chopsticks to
carry with him, the way Murray suggested I do in Japan as a way to help
stop the assault on the world's forests.
The Temptress
Now that the hero has a vision, now that he knows what he's chosen to do,
now that he knows why he has chosen to do it and has some special gift to
assist him – it's time to cross more thresholds toward the objective.
108
Following the scene with the counsellors, the story heads toward the next
dramatic peak, and the first intermission, via a new section of music. If
you're going to compose an opera about yourself you don't want the opera
to be too short. It has to be long enough to have at least one intermission.
Coming up to the intermission there could be a horrific encounter with a
beastly character. Or perhaps a temptation. There needs to be a temptation
on the road of trials. In this case, I would like the temptation to come in
the form of a beautiful woman. It may seem cliché but an encounter with a
temptress would introduce another character, an antagonist to play off of
and give the hero a vehicle to exercise his emerging powers. I could draw
with authenticity from my experience in Japan with my Geisha girl.
Ikuko's entrance would be accompanied by the clicking of high heeled
boots – as dangerous a sound as an army, as Murray pointed out. I'm not
sure what instrument it is, one is never quite sure what is being struck
amongst the morass of hardware in the percussion section. However I'm
sure I've heard something that can simulate an evil attacca clicking sound.
The temptress will look stunning entering the stage wearing the traditional
dress of a Geisha. However, her kimono will have a slit up the side to
allow flashes of leg, and will be hemmed a bit on the short side so the
audience can see the high-heeled boots lurking beneath, ready to strut
onto whatever male flesh she can find to advance her personal ambitions.
At this intense juncture I would position the first intermission.
The Abyss
In the hero's journey there is the obbligato descent into the underworld, so
in the period following the intermission I enter the abyss of illusions with
the temptress. Coyly fanning herself with over-sized cards from a deck,
the temptress opens her mouth to pour forth vile poison in an attempt to
seduce the hero. She could sing the very words Ikuko used on me.
Come with me to Kyoto –
come and see.
I will take care of you –
then you will take care of me.
The words seem innocent enough, nothing inherently alarming about
them. But I think that was the whole point of my lesson with Ikuko, to
demonstrate how seemingly innocuous encounters can hold the biggest
traps. After a few magico attempts at seduction, using assorted pocket
tricks and fancy fan work – endeavouring to impress the pants off the
hero, the koto arises again doloroso, painting another coat of solemnity,
reminding the audience that I may be in Japan with a beautiful woman,
but I'm metaphorically in the midst of hell. If I had stepped off the
predetermined path at that point it could have taken ages, maybe even
lifetimes, to get back on track. On the other hand, the artful
109
circumnavigation of such cleverly disguised gambits can endow the hero
with higher levels of personal power.
A feature of allegory is the elasticity of interpretation it allows. One can
look at it from various angles. For instance, turned around, this encounter
could also be considered a meeting with the Goddess. She is manifesting
to the hero in this form, to test his supernatural prowess. Not his sexual
prowess – where he would give her pleasure, but rather his supernatural
prowess where he denies himself pleasure – for the greater good. Like
Heracles slaying the Hydra, the multi-headed beast of the underworld, or
Samson rebuffing the advances of Delilah, I made it through the
temptations of Ikuko, seeing past the painted face hiding the pit of sorrow
she wanted to drag me into. Instead, like the hero taking the ‘magic flight,’
I stuck to my destiny, and with only modest wavering, boarded the plane I
had booked in the beginning. No veering off my itinerary with side trips
to exotic cities, held spellbound by a practitioner of the magical arts. That
could have killed the idea of writing a book about R. Murray Schafer right
then and there.
This is the part in the opera where the supernatural aid is called into
service. The staging could be done with me holding up the over-sized,
magic chopsticks in the form of a cross – symbolic of supernatural
protection – and also indicative of the East-West flavour that informs the
production. The leitmotif of the counsellors could be played as a descant,
while the Geisha flits about like a mad Madame Butterfly, trying every
trick in her magic book to trump the defences of the hero.
The Boon
This is no place for a lull in the story. There needs to be a ratcheting up of
tone, timbre and tempo as we enter a new section, decidedly allegro due
to the ongoing urgency. Having successfully sidestepped the guile of a
Geisha gone wild, apparitions of the counsellors could appear on stage
singing in unison their congratulations, while backed by the chorus in a
recitativo encouraging him to press on . They also remind the hero that the
overarching aim of the journey is atonement with the divine, or some
sovereign figure, by bringing back a boon to society.
Find and fulfil your destiny,
do what only you can do.
Bring back a boon
and bring it back soon.
In my tale, the deed of atonement could be the writing of a book – a book
about R. Murray Schafer. It makes for a nice ironic twist – the very thing
the hero was resisting turns out to be where his bliss leads him. But now
it's framed as a boon that will not only vanquish his ignorance but will
serve all humanity.
110
The Return Threshold
Then comes the return threshold. The return home is not a facile passage
or a cakewalk up a ramp into the light of day with a finished book in
hand. The astral worlds hold an infinite variety of delicacies and
delusions to keep the base nature eternally intrigued and unable to return
to this reality. However, if the hero fails here everything up to this point
would come to nought. Notwithstanding, the resolve of the hero has to be
tested even after he's secured the boon. So the story doesn't end here, nor
do the trials. There are wailing sirens to the left, glissandoing nymphs to
the right, and an intimidating demon chattering overhead in insistent
eighth notes. Standing in front of the hero is his doppelganger, echoing
enfatico the opposite of everything he thinks. To round things out there
could be a two-headed Hydra hissing in two-part harmony behind him.
This, of course, is all supported by the ensemble vigorously singing to the
ceiling spiritoso.
Despite the fact that the hero is waving over-sized chopsticks in the air to
fend off this climactic onslaught, there is so much noise he can hardly
hear himself think. Ironically, the orchestra that was at one time
generously producing robust symphonic sounds to encourage him seems
to have turned into instruments of torture. He's in danger of dropping the
book, forgetting everything, and failing in his mission.
This is where the content of the vision quest holds more value than gold.
Harkening back to an earlier motif heard while visiting the monastery, the
leaf-blower could be turned on low and played softly in the background,
or played with a mute borrowed from the trumpet section. Each counsellor
in an opposite wing of the stage is heard coaxing the hero to return from
the underworld, singing back and forth risoluto refrains, reminiscent of
the vision-quest, reminding him of the need for personal sacrifice at times
– like right now!
You found your destiny – now fulfil your destiny.
Resurrection and ascension are all that is required now.
Now where to go? The score has succeeded in becoming strepitoso,
emulating a noisy soundscape. But what to do with what has become an
eight-way counterpoint? How am I going to introduce a fitting fermata, so
this spaghetti of an opera comes out al dente?
There are more thresholds that could be crossed and other components of
the monomyth that could be introduced, such as a symbolic marriage and
even an immaculate conception. However, the main danger I see at this
point is an unwieldy plot. The central narrative is at risk of becoming
suffocated by the crescendoing chaos, possibly necessitating a fourth act
to explain to the audience what is happening. One option is to leave the
hero in hell, if one wants a tragic ending, which I don't. It hardly justifies
the reams of paper used in the score, nor seems a satisfactory closure for
111
someone who was following his bliss. There just needs to be a quick tieup with some grand music to signal a worthwhile pay-off for the hero who
has overcome his ignorance and misguided fears, and made it to the finish
line of the perilous path.
Bagpipes! Yes, a piper to herald the hero's ascension from the depths and
announce his apotheosis. There needs to be a substantial musical
outpouring to arouse a hoopla from the masses on the hero's return. After
all, he is now master of two worlds , as Campbell puts it. Both human and
divine – a god man. Or even more drammatico – three pipers, each
playing in a different ottava and tempo di marcia, as our hero marches
across the final threshold. Just the thought of bagpipes invigorates the
Scottish blood flowing through my veins and cuts through the bog around
my heart. What wannabe hero wouldn't be raised from the couch into
battle-position, wielding a pen with renewed incentive to write a book
about an epic adventure?
Murray Schafer Everywhere
I come to terms with the fact that to compose an in-depth portrait of
someone such as Murray Schafer will entail dealing with the complexities
of human nature – even encountering the darker aspects. I begin to relax
with the project and start telling people about it. Over the next weeks I
have a series of interesting encounters. It seems the more I mention
Murray's name the more I find people with a Schafer story. Someone who
studied his books at school says she found them “immensely fascinating.”
Someone who sings his music in a choir finds it “stunning.” Someone
who recently heard his music performed at a concert calls the
orchestration “brilliant.”
And then there are those who are not so enthusiastic. I meet someone in
the Canadian Opera Company who says he's not a fan of any music that
needs a big explanation to understand it – much less to sing it. Someone
else complains that a lot of Murray's music is too atonal. Other criticisms
I hear suggest that Murray seems to unabashedly mix archetypes from
different traditions, which they find perplexing. Others find Murray's
work a rich repository of multicultural threads.
While at a party, I drop Murray's name and discover that the woman I'm
speaking with is the daughter of a professor of musicology at Carleton
University, and wrote the entry about R. Murray Schafer for the
Encyclopedia of Music in Canada. I get her father's phone number and
give Mr. Alan Gillmor a call. Alan refers to Murray as “a unique and
remarkable character who has made a huge difference in the world of
music.” He also says that, “Murray is probably the only Canadian
composer with an international reputation.” I particularly like it when he
refers to Murray as both “a rebel and a Renaissance Man.”
112
A friend finds out I'm writing a book about Murray Schafer and tells me
his girlfriend works at the Canadian Music Centre, and that I should talk
to her. It turns out she is the person responsible for cataloguing all the
articles and reviews of Murray's work for the centre. After a brief
conversation, she looks at me and says, “I can see why you're interested in
him.” She doesn't elaborate but smiles and leaves me with a mystery.
I meet someone who remembers an unusual Schafer sighting during the
performance of his music at the National Arts Centre, in the early 1970s.
Apparently there were two people in the audience who insisted on
carrying on a conversation during the performance. Murray got up from
where he was sitting, went to an empty seat behind one of the guilty
persons and wrapped his hands around the person's neck. This
strangulation-like gesture evidently achieved the desired result, and
Murray returned to his seat, without a word, to enjoy the remainder of the
performance uninterrupted.
I contact Jane Carnwath, who has known Murray for many years and is
familiar with the multi-dimensions of his character. She confirms that he
is indeed known as a “difficult personality,” if not a curmudgeon. Jane
adds adjectives like “contentious,” “cantankerous” and sometimes
“impatient and hot-tempered.” Murray is not one to “suffer fools gladly.”
It makes me feel better to know I'm not the only one who sees this side.
Jane says Murray has softened substantially in recent years and suggests
that meeting him at this stage is like catching the tail-end of a storm. She
also points out that it's not uncommon for artists to flare up at things that
grate against their often highly-honed sensitivities, and that there are
things worse than writing about a curmudgeon. There have been other
historical figures, famous for their curmudgeonry – Schopenhauer,
Nietzsche, George Bernard Shaw, Malcolm Muggeridge, Frank Lloyd
Wright, George Carlin, W. C. Fields. Contextualizing Murray's place in
cultural history as a social critic helps me to see my book as a patriotic
duty – honouring one of Canada's curmudgeon sons.
Arts Education: A Rhinoceros in the Classroom
While out socializing, I strike up a conversation with a woman who asks
the inevitable question, “So, what do you do?” I tell her I'm working on a
book about R. Murray Schafer. She gets excited and tells me her
boyfriend is a big fan of Murray Schafer and uses his ideas in the
classroom. Arts education is an area of Murray's work I have yet to
explore, so I track down Doug Friesen who tells me of his experiences as
a music teacher using Murray's ideas. Doug says he agreed immediately
with Murray's assertion that music students are often given little
opportunity to simply explore sound. As soon as he started using Murray's
“earcleaning” exercises from A Sound Education (1992) and HearSing
(2005), Doug says he saw the same success Murray speaks of in his
113
books. Murray's ideas provided a path that students were eager to follow
and his exercises were effective in unlocking creativity.
Teach on the verge of peril.
The Thinking Ear pg. 237
Doug says that Murray challenges the assumed role of the teacher in the
classroom, which helped him to get off the pedestal and give up control,
while still holding a creative space. This apparently worked well for
Doug, converting his classroom into a place to take risks, and turning
class-time into “an hour of a thousand discoveries,” as Murray refers to it.
Doug says he wouldn't want to teach any other way now.
In education, failures are more important than successes.
The Thinking Ear pg. 237
Doug says Murray's early article, The Rhinoceros in the Classroom
(1975), was especially full of helpful ideas on fostering creativity, and
tells me I should read all Murray's articles on arts education compiled in
The Thinking Ear (1986). He says that Murray's concept of invoking a
rhinoceros means inviting the power of chaos into the classroom – to
catalyse the creative process. It means that everyone is faced with
questions and has to listen to themselves for answers. This approach leads
to other interesting questions, such as social issues, which can also engage
the students.
If one is going to invent a kit for the modern classroom,
the first thing it ought to be is a cunning mess. The
human being is fundamentally anti-entropic, that is, a
random-to-orderly arranger. Thus if we wish the idea of
order to occur in the mind of the child, we should start
with a little chaos. This is how our ancestors proceeded
to produce Gothic cathedrals, pyramids, and Japanese
gardens out of the random environment in which they
found themselves. Confronted with information that is
already packaged, the child cannot invent; it can only
memorize or, in extreme cases, reject and destroy.
The Thinking Ear pg. 268
Doug says he has been given opportunities to speak at conferences about
Murray's ideas on education and has not always found receptive ears.
Many of his ideas are considered controversial and radical and therefore
not universally accepted. He's noticed how some people nod their heads in
agreement, while others roll their eyes.
The old approach: Teacher has information; student has
empty head. Teacher's objective: to push information
114
into student's empty head. Observations: at outset
teacher is a fathead; at conclusion student is a fathead.
The Thinking Ear pg. 237
Doug says the tepid reception of his ideas is disappointing to Murray, as
he would like to be recognized in his own country as someone who has
innovated ideas in arts education, a field which has been extremely
important to him. However, he is a champion to some, while a rabblerouser to others. It may take a teacher with a particular temperament to
conduct a class in the spirit Murray prescribes. Doug is one who can make
Murray's approach work and he regards Murray’s ideas as the best way to
turn students into music producers, rather than just music consumers. In
the final analysis, educators seem to have a love-hate relationship with R.
Murray Schafer, which only serves to heighten my interest.
If you want a creative response from others, learn to
keep quiet yourself. The role of the teacher in creative
education : to set the assignment so that there are as
many solutions as there are intelligences in the room.
The Thinking Ear pg. 239
As we are about to say good-bye, Doug hands me a bag and asks me if I
would give it to Murray the next time I see him. I enquire what it is.
Doug says that Murray worked with Jim Henson on a series of Muppet
shows and that these are the videos. Murray and the Muppets? Somehow
Murray has omitted informing me of this particular claim to fame.
Ra
My next “chance” encounter is with a person who tells me of an office
lobby with artifacts from one of Murray's productions. I follow up the
lead and arrive at the office of Neal Wright, property developer. When I
explain to Neal what I'm doing, he is happy to show me around.
Neal has a poster from the show Ra mounted on the wall, where people
can admire it while waiting in his lobby. Next to the poster, in a glass
case, sits a mask that was used in the show. These mementos were given
to Neal because his company was a sponsor of the production. He says
that Ra was performed at the Ontario Science Centre in 1983, and then
again at the Holland Festival in 1985. He attended the Canadian show,
and describes it to me while I take photographs.
It began outdoors at dusk, then moved indoors as the sunlight disappeared
and continued all night, taking the audience through two dozen
performance sites. As Neal watches my eyes grow wide, he explains that
it amounts to an all-night liturgy in honour of the Egyptian sun god. With
the morning sun, the audience moves outdoors again to celebrate the
resurrection of Ra.
115
For me the appeal of the Ra myth is its circularity, its
recognition that everything changes into its opposite,
that one moment after midday midnight begins, all of
which accords very well with Jung's law of
enantiodromia where, in psychological terms, an excess
of light (intelligence) bends back towards the
mysterious, just as conversely the forces of darkness
must be travelled through to reach the light.
Patria pg. 176
In response to my astonishment, Neal assures me there was a place set up
for the audience to have a little nap and nourishment along the way. As
someone who has been involved in mounting some large theatrical
productions, I'm humbled when I learn that Ra involves a cast of twentyfive singers, actors and dancers, plus a live orchestra. What's more, that's
a third of the size of the audience, which is limited to seventy-five people,
partly because of the movement involved, but also as befitting the
seventy-five names of Ra. One name is given to each audience member to
repeat through the night as a seal of divine protection.
One of the mortuary texts speaks of the gods (or priests
impersonating them) answering Ra ‘in a voice which is
like that of male cats when they mew.' Far from being
affectations, these are thaumaturgical techniques, but if
they are to be effective the performer must believe in
them totally. Magic, says The Book of the Dead, is 'more
rapid than the hounds, quicker than shadows...'
That magic belonged to a higher realm than reason for
the ancient Egyptians is evident in their explanation of
the Udjat Eye or the Eye of Horus. It is this eye that Ra
presents to the King before their ascent. Each part of the
eye symbolized a fraction. Added together they produce
63/64ths of the whole. What makes the eye magical is
the invisible 64th part. Can one believe this? Without it
Ra will be a farce.
Patria pg.189
Neal describes the ending of Ra. Anubis, the jackal-headed god addresses
each member of the audience individually, commending them for
successfully passing through the trial of darkness to the rebirth of the
light. People were apparently moved to tears – partly because they were
exhausted, but mainly because it was such a powerful experience. Neal
states that he feels Murray's use of ritual in the show brings a muchneeded revitalizing force to contemporary theatre.
116
More Ra Fans
My back has been bothering me, so I book an appointment to see a
chiropractor. Before the consultation, I'm asked to fill out a personal
information sheet. For occupation, I put writer. When I get to see the
chiropractor he asks me what I write. I tell him I'm writing a book about
Murray Schafer. He responds, “R. Murray Schafer?” Catching his
enthusiasm, I respond, “The one and only,” feeling a little swell of pride.
He then tells me that just last night he came across the poster he got when
he went to Ra. “You saw Ra!” I exclaim jealously. “No, you don't see
Ra,” he states, then proceeds to take the next ten minutes of my
appointment to describe the process the audience is put through in this en
mass initiation.
But audience is the wrong word here, for those in
attendance are more like initiates being conducted
through a mystery ritual, and must consider themselves
as such if Ra is to have meaning for them.
Patria pg. 173
He speaks of the training at the beginning to assist the participants in their
descent into the underworld. They learn breathing exercises. They learn to
distinguish the gods by their appearance, and the sounds and perfumes
associated with each. They learn ancient Egyptian chants. At the
conclusion of their training they are garbed as Egyptian priests.
He says the journey through the night was full of many visual spectacles
but also experiential in other ways, playing to senses that function
especially well in darkness – hearing, touch and smell. He then makes the
bold statement, “I felt I learned so much from the show I didn't need to go
to Egypt. But when I did, I felt much more prepared. I wasn't just standing
there gawking at the pyramids.”
... I also read a good deal about the function and
formation of initiation rituals in Greek, Middle-Eastern
and other cultures. In doing so I became more fully
aware of the magnitude of the problem I had set myself:
I no longer wished to entertain theatre customers but to
induce a radical change in their existential status.
Patria pg. 180
While working on my back he again provokes my envy by telling me he
also saw Murray Schafer's Black Theatre of Hermes Trismegistos at
Union Station in 1992, which started at midnight. He then leaves the room
to check on another client. When he comes back, he says he shared our
conversation with the client in the next room, who told him he worked on
Murray's Black Theatre of Hermes Trismegistos. Small world. The
conversation gets me worked up and it's hard for me to relax for the rest
117
of my treatment. The Schafer synchronicities are piling up and I want to
get back to writing before the expanding R. Murray Schafer universe
explodes in my head.
Meditation to Prepare the Mind
At this point the only thing left to deal with before settling down to work
is my mind. Indeed, perhaps the only thing that has held me back from the
task at hand has been nothing other than its incessant chatter – not unlike
someone following me around with a leaf-blower. My quest now is to
quell the torrent of tumultuous and distracting thoughts that threaten to
derail my creative process.
The contemplation of absolute silence has become
negative and terrifying for Western Man. Thus when the
infinity of space was first suggested by Galileo's
telescope, the philosopher Pascal was deeply afraid of
the prospect of eternal silence.
The Tuning of the World pg. 256
Remembering the meditation technique I learned at the Buddhist
monastery in Japan, I take up the Zen practice of “entering the void.” It
gives me hope that, even if absolute outer silence is not possible, perhaps
I can secure a little more inner quietude. What can one say about entering
the void? Not much. By definition, it's a place of nothingness, beyond the
mental constructs of rational thinking, beyond the discourse of the
discursive mind, so there isn't anything to think about it. Which is good
because one is supposed to think “nothing” – a Zen paradox.
With time and practice, I slowly learn to keep everything out, except
perhaps counting backwards for awhile to change my brain state, or
focusing my mind on somewhere in space, such as below my navel.
Sometimes I begin by visualizing an empty room, like the ones at the
Buddhist monastery. Visualizing myself entering there alone puts me in a
place of peace of which I have hitherto been unaware.
Many exercises can be devised to help cleanse the ears,
but the most important at first are those which teach the
listener to respect silence. This is especially important
in a busy, nervous society.
The Tuning of the World pg. 208
Paradoxically, something arises out of nothing. It feels like a reversal of
flow. A positive energy is drawn in as a result of meditation, making
everything feel fresh and new. I surmise that this is what Zen refers to as
“beginner's mind.” As I continue the practice of pursuing silence, I find
myself filled with new inspiration.
118
Can silence be heard? Yes, if we could extend our
consciousness outward to the universe and to eternity,
we could hear silence. Through the practice of
contemplation, little by little, the muscles and the mind
relax and the whole body opens out to become an ear.
When the Indian yogi attains a state of liberation from
the senses, he hears the anahata, the “unstruck” sound.
Then perfection is achieved. The secret hieroglyph of
the Universe is revealed. Number becomes audible and
flows down filling the receiver with tones and light.
The Tuning of the World pg. 262
A Memorial Meeting
Mid-February and whom should I run into? Murray Schafer has come to
town for a tribute to another great in Canadian music, John Wyre, the
devoted percussionist of Nexus. I'm here with my mother for the memorial
because John was a friend of our family. I hadn't realized that John's wife,
Jean, has done a lot of typing and editing for Murray over the years. My
mother is delighted to meet Murray, having heard so much about him
from me. Murray introduces us to his partner, Eleanor James.
During the memorial we are treated to a full musical program with a
variety of contributions from over fifty percussionists. At the intermission
I track down Murray for some conversation. I learn that over the course of
the weekend he has already been to Toronto once, on Friday evening to
speak at a memorial for Canadian composer and Officer of the Order of
Canada, John Weinzweig. John was Murray's composition teacher while
he was at the University of Toronto. He is now back in town for John
Wyre’s memorial.
I ask Murray if he and Eleanor would like to join my mother and me for
dinner afterward. He hems and haws, while looking at someone standing
behind me. Murray is actually hoping to meet with Lawrence Cherney, the
artistic director of Soundstreams Canada, to discuss doing a a project
together. Murray won't say what the project is because the idea is still
ethereal. But he likes the idea – it's a big idea – very big.
I'm a little disappointed we can't have dinner together, and express it with,
“You're engaging in new projects and making more work for me. How am
I going to document it all? When are we going to get together so I can get
collect more information from you?”
The Wolf Project?
Murray reminds me that there is a Wolf Project meeting coming up. Our
mysterious conversation over dinner in Japan flashes through my mind.
He says it's the first of three meetings during the year and suggests I come
to see if I want to join. I ask Murray what will happen at the meeting.
119
“It's a time for members to connect and prepare for Wolf Week. There
will be past participants as well as new potentials.”
“How does the Wolf Project find new potentials?” I enquire.
“Mostly by word of mouth,” Murray responds.
I think to myself, “This sounds like a recruitment meeting he is inviting
me to and I would be one of the new potentials.”
I tell him, “I need some more information. When does the Wolf Project
take place?”
“The second week of August.”
“How many people are involved?”
“64 is the maximum.”
I feel some resistance, and think I know why. Do I want to spend a week
in the woods with 63 people I don't know well? It's a long time to endure
if things aren't going well. And why the strange number – 64?
I ask Murray what sort of people are involved in the Wolf Project?
“All types. It works best when there's an assortment of people.”
I pause and wonder what Murray's perception of me might be when he
says “an assortment of people.” Where does he think I would fit in? Then
I consider Murray himself. Where does he fit? Do I trust following a
composer into the woods?
Driving Thoughts
Two weeks later, I'm on my way to Murray Schafer country, near Indian
River. Questions and concerns emerge from shadowy corners of my mind
and engage me in some self-talk. What's this week-long Wolf Project
really about? Is Murray some sort of charismatic leader to these people?
Is it a cult thing Murray has going? Is the “Wolf Project” an alias for an
eco-terrorist operation?
I pull through Murray's gate and park amongst the other cars. The mood
over the property is different from my first visit. It's a dark wintry
afternoon with a blue hue over the land. As I walk to the house my
curiosity is piquing – What will the people on the other side of the door
be like? Are they a bunch of neo-pagans who like to talk to the “little
people?” Or is this more like an avant garde rave in the woods? Are they
are a bunch of tree huggers who like to get naked and howl at the moon?
Homitaqui Asin
The door opens and I'm met by a woman. I'm not sure if I feel a little
disappointment when I see she's dressed in normal clothing. She greets me
with “Homitaqui Asin.” I ask if she is speaking a foreign language. She
giggles and says it's far from foreign – it's native Indian. When I ask her
what the greeting means, she says that “Homitaqui Asin” is a Lakota
phrase meaning “all my relations” used to acknowledge all things above,
below and around – a reminder that everything is connected. I nod in
120
appreciation for the explanation – not sure how connected to everything I
want to feel yet.
As I take off my coat and boots, I observe the people mingling, some of
them obviously very familiar with each other. I find Murray in the kitchen
and greet him. Eventually, there are about twenty of us and we are called
to gather in the living room.
We start by going around the circle. As each person introduces
themselves, I see there are people who have travelled from Ottawa,
Montreal, Sudbury, Burlington and Toronto. There are apparently other
members, not present, from other provinces as well as from the U.S.,
Europe and South America. In the go-round, people say what animal clan
they belong to. A Crow from Brazil calls to send her greetings to
everyone. From the introductions, I can see I'm not the only “new
potential” present.
Murray then addresses us. “The Wolf Project isn't easy to explain to
people because it has many explanations. The Wolf Project is in
continuous evolution. Many people have contributed to it over the years,
some of whom are still with us, some have departed. I call it a “forum of
possibilities” because it can change in many ways, while retaining a
unique and unvarying structure. But it's absolutely essential that the
creativity continue.”
These words preface an agenda that covers a range of things from artistic
issues to the logistics of managing 64 people camping in the woods for a
week. It becomes clear there is a lot of work involved in pulling off
something of this magnitude. I can see where having “an assortment of
people” would be necessary.
Even though Murray is obviously the one responsible for initiating all of
this, it is clear he is by no means the one responsible for running it. He's
not a charismatic leader. He's not the leader at all. At one point he refers
to it as “our work” rather than “my work.” And even though there are
appointed elders in the group who oversee various aspects, the circle is
symbolic of how everyone has a say. It is a new form of tribalism facing
modern issues – and fascinating to watch.
Several times throughout the meeting the discussions are paused as
someone calls us to our feet for some singing. I don't recognize any of the
songs and some of them involve strange hand gestures and movement.
Murray is opposite me in the circle. I watch him closely, trying to follow
along. He really puts his heart and soul into the chants, like a rainmaker
intensely stomping out incantations. The climate in the room completely
changes each time we do this, as if the singing invokes a fresh breath of
spirit into the space, and subsequently into the deliberations.
121
A Social Experiment
I start to piece together the puzzle. This is a collaborative project and the
idea is to get everyone doing what they can – or perhaps more importantly
– doing what they wouldn't do normally. Artists get to canoe, canoeists get
to dance, dancers get to sing, singers get to make a fire, actors get to cook,
naturalists get to be creative. Everyone gets to try their hand at everything.
Idyllic if it works, it's a social experiment right out of the 60s, which
makes sense, Murray is a child of the 60s. He was a West Coast professor
during that era; he was surely influenced by other social experiments –
the quest for a Utopian society.
Personally, I find social theories interesting – as theories. I don't know if I
want to put myself out in the woods for a week with 63 assorted people.
It's during these encounter groups that the lunacy of life can flare up.
Our attention next turns to food. It's time for the potluck supper. I brought
a little rice offering for what looks like a relatively health-conscious
crowd. After filling my plate, I sidle up to one of the more seasonedlooking members to see what additional information I can garner about
the Wolf Project. “Why is there a limit of 64 people – is there some
numerological significance to it? And in looking for new people how do
they decide who is allowed to join?”
I'm told that the Wolf Project is made up of eight clans of eight people,
totalling 64. When members can't manage the rigours any longer and stop
coming, new people are invited to join. The only criterion is that they
have two sponsors and that they seem like they would be a good fit.
In return, I'm asked why I want to be involved in the Wolf Project. I'm
careful with what I say. I haven't told anyone here that I'm writing a book
about Murray – I don't want them to think I'm just interested in reporting
on their activities. I'm also a little leery about the word, “involved,” a buzz
word of our age. Everybody seems to be getting “involved” in something.
But getting involved can translate into “getting burned.” Some groups I've
been involved in have not always been pleasant. Things can turn nasty, so
I've added an addendum to the Ten Commandments, “Thou shalt not take
part in bad scenes.” Not that the Wolf Project is that. However, everyone
has their own personal drama and often conscript others into it.
Something that starts out as an idyllic dream turns into a nightmare. That's
what happened to a lot of the communes of the 60s – that are all gone
now. Do I want to get “involved?”
As the meeting winds down and people start to leave, I tell Murray I will
call him to set up a time to get together, then quietly slip out before
betraying any ambivalence.
More Driving Thoughts
Driving back to Toronto, I relax with a little self-talk and discuss the
difference between my urban existence and where the Wolf Project would
take me. I don't know what it's like to live amongst the rocks and trees,
122
near lakes and rivers in close proximity with animals, the way everyone
has existed on earth until just recently. But it's a lifestyle in decline – do I
really want to return to it? On the other hand, it's a lifestyle that may need
to be resurrected in short order. Perhaps I should prepare.
With the flood of city lights looming in the distance, I admit to myself
that I have been entertaining the idea of getting out of the city and doing
some camping. My mind flashes back to my experiences as a gangly
Scout. I enjoyed it – for the most part. Being taught to pitch a tent, paddle
a canoe, tie knots and light a fire. But I also remember when other Scouts
put toothpaste in my underwear which I naively wore until the stinging
got so bad I had to go back to my cabin and investigate the problem. I'm
not sure if it left an emotional scar or informs my hesitancy to join a
group of strangers in the wilderness for a “forum of possibilities.” But I
question whether I have the social skills to survive.
On the other hand it's alluring to think of leaving my razor at home,
inhaling campfire smoke instead of urban exhaust and swimming with
fish in a chlorine-free lake – no amenities, no electricity, no email. It
would be an opportunity to fill in some of the gaps in my instincts, and
span the widening gulf between country living and urban existence.
Murray and the Muppets
A week later I call Murray to set up a meeting. His phone-line picks up
with a creaky old answering machine from the techno dark-ages, with a
message in a woman's voice, “You can leave a message here for Murray
Schafer or Arcana Editions. Thank you ... beep.” It's his business line that
he's given me. A few days later Murray calls back and we arrange a time
for me to visit him at his place.
I arrive in the afternoon of a beautiful, sunny March day. Stepping out of
the car, I'm struck by how the quiet of this sound sanctuary is as stunning,
if not startling, as the first time I visited. In fact, I find the stillness makes
my city side a little uneasy. Murray greets me at the door and we take
seats in his living room, same places as the first time we met. I suspect it
is his favourite chair he again sits in by the fireplace, with a rack of pipes
next to it. I show him the bag I brought from Doug Friesen.
Jesse ~ You never told me you wrote music for The Muppets.
Murray ~ I don't think of it as significant.
Jesse ~ Well, I want to hear about it anyway.
Murray ~ It was a way to make money at the time. It started when an
associate of Jim Henson saw the production of Ra in 1983 and was quite
impressed. She thought it would be good for Jim to meet me – I was
regarded as Mr. Music in Canada, and Jim was thinking of doing a new
series with The Muppets themed around music education. Jim came to
Toronto to meet me. He then wanted me to come to New York and meet
123
with some other composers and musicians. I remember his office called
me and asked what my fee would be for the meeting. I had never been
asked my fee for a meeting before, so I said, “Just have a tin of Barking
Dog pipe tobacco on the table.” They thought it was kind of crazy but that
ended up being the wording in the contract they sent me. So I went to a
series of brain-storming sessions in New York. It was actually quite
interesting. I had dinner with Jim a few times. He was a very nice person
and quite interested in my work. He wanted me to be a creative consultant
and compose some music for the show. I didn't really want to do that kind
of music, so I shied away from it at first. But he coaxed me into doing a
soundtrack for something or other. Jim then moved to London to produce
the show which he called The Ghost of Faffner Hall. The story took place
in a music school. They had a lot of famous musicians doing cameo
appearances, performing with the Muppet characters. It was quite
effective but never really caught on. The series of shows was completed
but then Jim passed away shortly after.
Jesse ~ I watched some of the videos. In one of the shows there is a
Muppet working on a score that looks very much like a Murray Schafer
graphic score. Did you inspire that?
Murray ~ I might have drawn it for them. I can't remember. That all took
place back in the 80s. What I do remember is the amazing amount of
money I got for working on it – far more than what I was used to getting
from other sources.
First Reading
While Murray packs a pipe of tobacco, I tell him I have some of my book
with me and ask nervously if he would like to hear a sampling. He
responds affirmatively and sits back to listen.
I want to give Murray the most up-to-the-moment version, so I hesitantly
pull out my laptop – waiting for a reaction to the presence of modern
technology in his living room. I start at the beginning of chapter 1,
listening to Murray light his pipe. I try to relax by thinking about what I'm
reading and not to whom I'm reading. Part way through page 2, I'm
suddenly startled by the chiming clock on the mantle piece, announcing
the hour. I pause and look up at Murray, asking if I should continue.
“Yes,” a puff of smoke emerges with his response. I gingerly move onto
page 3, wondering what he thinks of the text. I get to the part where I
arrive at his home the first time. I hear something. I glance up to see
Murray smiling. Encouraged, I continue onto page 4, wondering what he
thinks of the style.
Next, I hear him chuckling. Murray is chuckling. Do I stop on this high
note, or keep going? I continue and read right through to the climactic
decision to follow him to Japan, on the final page of chapter 1. Having
made it through the trial of the first reading, I look up. Murray seems
124
pleased and confirms this with positive comments. He then asks how
much more I've written. Not wanting to convey a sense that the process
has been tainted by doubt and angst, I speak enthusiastically of how I've
written enough to apply for an arts council grant.
Enter Eleanor
Just then the front door swings open and Eleanor James enters. We greet.
She says she's returning from a rehearsal of what she calls “a light little
comedy.” When I ask what it is, Murray answers with wrinkled brow –
“Mozart's Impresario.” When I inquire what Eleanor's role is, I discover
she is both directing and performing in it.
She says she's directing it because she's the artistic director of The Lyric
Stage opera company in Peterborough. Murray says she's singing in it
because she is one of Canada's acclaimed opera singers. It is then that I
realize she played Earth Mother in The Enchanted Forest, my first Murray
Schafer show in 2005. I tell her I found her performance very convincing,
as she sang to us from out on the lake, beneath the stars.
While Eleanor takes off her coat, Murray tells her, with a clear sense of
enthusiasm, about the passage of the book I just read to him. Eleanor is
excited to hear this and suggests she join us over some tea. Being close to
four o'clock, it comes as both a timely and hospitable suggestion.
Early Influences
While Eleanor is in the kitchen, I decide it's time to start putting some of
the most basic biographical questions to Murray, and ask him about his
early influences.
“Earliest influences?” he echoes, followed by a long in breath.
Authority has always seemed to me to be the opposite of
invention. It represents an unwillingness to learn. And
so one seeks out mentors in other places, in books if
necessary. My mentors shine transparently through my
work: Ezra Pound, Paul Klee, Wassily Kandinsky, and
Sergei Eisenstein – great teachers because they were
great learners.
The Thinking Ear pg. 289
“One of my earliest influences was Paul Klee, the Swiss artist. I was
influenced not only by his paintings but by his writing and analysis of his
own work. He was a very intelligent artist. He wrote a book called The
Thinking Eye, which inspired the naming of my book, The Thinking Ear.
It's a pedagogical book and penetrates deeply into what it means to paint.
“Paul Klee was the inspiration behind Concerto for Harpsichord and
Eight Wind Instruments, written in Vienna during the winter of 1955. I
had developed an enthusiasm at the time for the early work of Klee where
125
depth was not so much a concern as surface etching. And so my aim was
to compose a two-dimensional study.
“Klee is also in Three Contemporaries. The subjects of these songs were
Benjamin Britten, Paul Klee and Ezra Pound. The text for the Klee song
comes from his diaries which I was endeavouring to read in German. The
style is expressionistic, reminiscent of a young Schoenberg – but less
dense. I explore what Klee says of his own work, how he discovers
various things about art – not so much things like colour, but more about
the satire and other elements one can bring to painting.
“The Britten song is a short biography of the British composer – with a
deadpan, neo-classical accompaniment. I sent a copy to him requesting a
meeting. He responded and we met, so I was able to interview him for my
book British Composers in Interview.
“The Ezra Pound text is my own – a satire about his incarceration after his
famous trial for treason. It's a whimsical little song I wrote when I was 23
about his being taken back to the United States after World War II. It
suggests he was given a scholarship by the government, that took care of
him for the next twelve years, so he didn't have to worry about a job while
working away in the sanatorium.” (laughter)
Ezra Pound's Influence
Jesse ~ You have written a book Ezra Pound and Music. What led to that?
Murray ~ Ezra Pound was an early enthusiasm of mine and a major
influence on my writing. I edited all his writings on music. He had been a
music reviewer in London, covering all the concerts there. Some of his
reviews are very humorous. Then he went to Paris where he met
Stravinsky, Diagalev, Cocteau. Cocteau was connected with Les Six, a
group of six French composers – significant avant garde composers of the
day. Pound met all these people through Cocteau and was part of what
was going on there and wrote about it. Then he went to Italy where he
started a series of concerts, inviting people like Bartok to come and play.
He was very interested in contemporary music and wrote a lot about it –
not from a trained musician's point of view but from the point of view of
an amateur who was very excited by contemporary sounds.
Jesse ~ Did you ever meet him?
Murray ~ I did. I wrote to him after he was released from the sanatorium.
I proposed that I come to discuss putting his poetry to music. He wrote
back, “Your proposal sounds unvenomed and innocuous. Don't come.”
(laughs hard) I went anyway. I went to his castle near the little village of
Tirolo, up in the Italian Alps. He was living there with his wife and
daughter and son-in-law – Prince Boris de Rachewiltz. When I knocked
on the door, a window in the turret opened and there was Ezra Pound
standing in his undershirt. He called down, “So you came anyway!”
126
Jesse ~ That took a lot of gumption to just show up on Ezra Pound's
doorstep! What year was that?
Murray ~ It was 1960. He took me upstairs to his room and said, “I'll take
to the horizontal.” He was tired, so he lay down. I stayed for a couple of
days. Everyday he would read poems to me. He would call to his
daughter, “Get me the books!” He had about eight volumes of his poetry
with markers in them. He knew what he wanted to read and had obviously
done some preparation. He read poems he thought could be set to music –
then asked me what I thought. I felt very honoured that he went to the
trouble. I remember sitting there drinking tea with him and his wife and
daughter when he said, “Schafer came here to discuss poetry and the
whole thing has degenerated into a God damn tea party.” Immediately
everybody got up and left. (laughter)
Jesse ~ He viewed you as a composer?
Murray ~ Yes. I wanted to arrange his opera La Testament. I already had
a producer at the BBC who wanted to do it. The text is from a poem by
François Villon, called Le Testament. Pound adapted the poem and set it
to music. When I said I wanted to get a hold of it, he sat down at his
typewriter and with two fingers typed a letter to the Library of Congress,
“Give Schafer manuscript of Villon. Ezra Pound.” Of course, they didn't
give me the manuscript. They gave me a copy of it.
Jesse ~ He sounds a bit eccentric. Was it justified that he was incarcerated
in a sanatorium?
Murray ~ He was a bit extreme in his opinions and quite vocal in
proclaiming them. He was picked up at the end of the second world war
by American soldiers because he stayed in Italy during the war and
broadcast for Mussolini, and did a few other ridiculous things. So they
were going to put him on trial for treason – the penalty being death.
Fortunately, a lot of American intellectuals got together and persuaded the
U.S. government to declare him insane and put him in St. Elizabeth's
hospital instead.
T. S. Eliot
Murray ~ When I was leaving he said, “Here's something to read on the
train,” and handed me a large envelope. He told me to give it to Tom
when I got to London – as if I was supposed to know who Tom was. He
was referring to T. S. Eliot. He didn't give me the address or anything, he
just said, “Give it to Tom,” and expected me to figure it out. I opened the
envelope on the train. It turned out to be the end of The Cantos which he
had begun writing while incarcerated. He sent me with the last ten cantos
to be published. Eliot was at that time an editor at Faber and Faber. I took
it there and went in and said, “I bring something from Mr. Pound for Mr.
Eliot.” The clerk said, “Just leave it with me sir, I'll make sure Mr. Eliot
127
receives it.” So I never met T. S. Eliot. But the story got more complicated
because soon after that Dorothy, Ezra Pound's wife, sent a message to
them requesting they return The Cantos – saying it wasn't finished. So, for
almost a decade they weren't released, and I was the only one who had
seen them. People kept calling and asking me what it said. But I only
remembered a few lines here and there. I had expected it to be published
in a short while.
Jesse ~ Why did it get sent back?
Murray ~ Dorothy was Pound's legal guardian, because he was declared
insane. She thought it still needed more work. (laughter)
Jung Influences
Eleanor enters with tea and cookies and settles in with us.
Jesse ~ I would like to move the conversation from what influenced your
music writing to what influenced your music-theatre writing. When did
you first get interested in creating music-theatre?
Murray ~ They have occupied a lot of my life, starting with the first ones
in 1966, Patria 1: Wolfman and Patria 2: Requiems for a Party Girl.
Jesse ~ They're obviously all fictitious but there seems to be a lot of
intentional symbolism in them. They take people through vivid
psychological landscapes. Let's talk about the influence of Carl Jung on
your work.
Murray gestures to the bookcases lining his walls with hundreds of books,
and indicates that somewhere in there is the complete set of Jung's
writings, which he has read. I see this stirs some excitement in Eleanor,
who adds that she has read lots of Jung as well.
Jesse ~ What would you say is the main motif embodied in Patria – the
search for the self?
Murray ~ Yes, but it's the search for the different parts of the self. It's
about seeking the parts that will complete us. The Patria cycle is a study
of the anima and animus, the feminine and masculine qualifier that exist
in us all, in a Jungian sense.
Eleanor ~ According to Jung, the human psyche is comprised of
opposites. The word Jung used to define the female part of the male
psyche is the Greek word for soul – “anima.” This is the feminine form of
the word. He used the masculine version of the same word, “animus,” to
describe the male part in the female psyche. For Jung, a male has an inner
feminine and the female has an inner masculine.
Jesse ~ And the anima in a man gets projected onto women? Or gets
animated whenever he encounters a female who excites him?
128
Eleanor ~ Yes, and it's about becoming conscious of how we project those
parts of ourselves onto others, and explore what that means, so those parts
can be integrated in our process of individuation.
Jesse ~ That reminds me of something in my life. I'm single, so the closest
females in my life are my eighty-year old mother and my sixteen-year old
daughter. I remember, while in Japan, whenever I took a picture, I would
think – my mother will like this one – my daughter will get a kick out of
this one – this is a good one for mom, etcetera. It was like the images I
was seeing – that were animating me – were being referenced in terms of
what the females in my life would like, acting as muses in a way. I noticed
it at the time and kept wondering why I was doing this. Perhaps the
essence of my mother and my daughter combine to make up my anima?
Perhaps the dialogue in my head was really between me and my anima?
Murray ~ I can think of a few women over in Japan who animated you.
What about the woman you brought to the lecture in Tokyo? What
became of her?
The events of that night flash freshly through my mind – the image of me
sitting in the restaurant between Murray and Ikuko – or perhaps better
said, being psychologically squeezed between Murray and Ikuko. I can
see Ikuko's exotic Japanese beauty and lustrous raven hair in my mind's
eye like it was yesterday.
Jesse ~ Yes, Ikuko was quite attractive to me. You want to know what
happened? The last time I saw her was the last time you saw her. It all
became very complicated – at least in my mind. At first, it seemed like we
had been brought together for a reason. But then I wasn't sure for what. I
actually ended up evaluating it from the perspective of Patria to explore a
deeper meaning to our meeting – other than boy meets girl. Is that a valid
thing to do?
Jungian Analysis
Murray ~ Yes. Patria is more than myth. It is a way to look at life.
Jesse ~ So – you might say we can look at our lives in the mirror of
Murray's mythos – and get a bit of free Jungian analysis? (laughter) It's a
bit synchronistic that I'm currently reading about Patria and about Wolf
and the Princess. Last year someone referred to me as a “lone wolf” –
which I can sort of see. I'm single, male, looking – looking for love –
looking for answers. I'm looking for ideas to help me identify where I'm
going on the map of life.
In his book Psychological Types, Jung speaks of certain
types of “symbols, which can arise autochthonously in
every corner of the earth and are none the less identical,
just because they are fashioned out of the world-wide
human unconscious, whose contents are infinitely less
129
variable than are races and individuals.” To these “first
form” symbols, Jung gave the name “archetypes.” These
are the inherited, primordial patterns of experience,
reaching back to the beginning of time. They have no
sensible extension themselves, but may be given
expression in dreams, works of art and fantasy.
The Tuning of the World pg. 169
Murray ~ That's something mythology offers. It can help pinpoint where
we are in terms of our relationship to others and the world. That's
something I have done in my own life. My reading of mythology and
working on Patria has familiarized me with the archetypal characters and
patterns. When we first encounter Wolf, he is a lone wolf, running
through the world, eating up everything in his way, making a mess.
Jesse ~ Sounds familiar.
Eleanor ~ A wolf, as an animal, represents the wildest, most untamed part
of ourselves. Wolves aren't evil by nature but in stories the image of the
wolf often represents our shadow side, which can be more dangerous than
an actual wolf. When people become submerged in these baser impulses
they do horrific things like rape and murder.
Murray ~ There is something of a wolf in us all. Many of the fairy tales
involve a big, bad wolf. The issue isn't how to get rid of the wolf but how
to transform its nature. In Patria, this happens to Wolf as he goes through
his initiation. He experiences thaumaturgic transformation.
Jesse ~ Thaumaturgic – there's that word again. So Patria is about
embracing all parts of ourselves, including the difficult parts, and bring
them into a magical reunification. So you created the Patria cycle in hopes
of helping people transform their inner nature?
Murray ~ This involves getting people back in touch with the nature out
there. But it's not for me to say exactly where it all leads.
Jesse ~ Then people like me can come along and ponder the archetypes to
see how they mirror our own lives. If I'm doing the math correctly, you're
saying that the two people searching for each other throughout the Patria
cycle are two parts of the same person, seeking integration and wholeness,
which, in your version of the monomyth is the homeland Patria? There is
a similarity between your ideas and those of Joseph Campbell. Is the
Patria cycle a dramatization of what Campbell calls the Hero's Journey?
Murray ~ In some ways.
Wolf Tracks
Murray ~ (getting up and leaving the room) Did I give you a copy of Wolf
Tracks?
Jesse ~ No.
130
Eleanor ~ You would probably like that. It's a novel that reads in both
directions. You can start at the front or the back of the book.
Jesse ~ Is this another of Murray's inventions?
Eleanor ~ Yes. (calling to Murray) How many years ago did you write it?
Murray ~ Oh, I don't know – ten years ago?
Jesse ~ (to Eleanor) This has been a great conversation. How do you feel
about having your comments included in the book?
Eleanor ~ I'm fine with that.
Jesse ~ You seem to have deep insight into Murray's work and understand
the Jungian aspect of it.
Eleanor ~ When I met Murray, one of the first words we exchanged is a
word Jung uses a lot, “enantiodromia.” Murray said to me, “You know
that word?” I said, “Yes.” I think that's the moment we fell in love.
(laughter)
Murray ~ (entering the room) Now I've forgotten what it means. (more
shared laughter)
Jesse ~ It doesn't sound very romantic.
Murray ~ (handing me a book with a blue cover and a wolf's face drawn
on the front) Wolf Tracks. You can start reading at either end.
Eleanor ~ And you skip a page when...
Murray ~ ...he'll figure it out. We shouldn't have to explain it to him.
I ask Murray to inscribe the book. Inside the front cover he writes, “To
Jesse, my end is my beginning. Murray Schafer.” Inside the back cover he
writes, “To Jesse, and my beginning is my end. Murray Schafer.”
Murray says the story begins with a man wandering into a second-hand
bookshop where a blue covered book falls from the shelf into his hands.
The reader begins to read, discovering that the book describes a man
wandering into a second-hand bookshop where a blue-covered book falls
from the shelf into his hands. From there the book takes hold of the
reader, totally changing his life.
Murray tells me that when Wolf Tracks was first published he secretly
had copies planted in second-hand bookshops around North America. He
laughs, “They may still be there waiting to change someone's life.”
The Pitch
The ticking of the mantle clock catches my attention and reminds me of
another issue I wish to discuss. I ask Murray about his plans to do The
Princess of the Stars in the Haliburton Forest this summer. He says so far
they are going ahead with it. I then pitch my proposal, “Murray, what
131
would you think of me participating in the production? Then I could write
about it in the book?”
I quickly remind him of my theatre experience, starting as a boy magician,
through to producing plays in recent years. I also tell him that I've worn
most hats when it comes to putting on a production. Murray is open to the
idea, so I ask where he thinks I might fit in. He cites all the jobs that need
to be filled, from the front-of-house to the backstage.
He then starts talking about roles. A role in a Murray Schafer production?
I hadn't thought of that. I've done some acting but it never dawned on me
that I might be able to perform a role in this show. That would be the
ultimate – to be cast in the show, then write about it in the book. I give
Murray a sampling of my stage voice and projection, which I assume
would be a major consideration for a show that takes place outdoors. He
says there are mostly singing parts in this show. Singing? I rule out a
singing part. I can sing but I'm not a trained singer; I would not consider
doing something from an R. Murray Schafer score.
Then he says there is one spoken-word role. Spoken word? I've done
spoken word. Murray disappears for a few moments, then returns with a
very large book. It's the score for The Princess of the Stars.
The Presenter
Murray and Eleanor introduce me to the character, “The Presenter.”
Murray ~ He's like a sage.
Eleanor ~ But he's not really human. He's more like an earth spirit. A bit
plant-like in his look. He's a border figure who actually inhabits the other
world but creeps over into this world from time to time.
Murray ~ And he can speak our language. He's the only one who does,
which is why he is there to act as an interpreter.
It feels like a perfect fit. It's what I'm already doing as a biographer –
interpreting Murray's ideas for others. I tell Murray I want to audition. I
want to do it. I want to write about it. Murray says I can take the score and
if I want to audition I should prepare the Presenter's opening scene.
Looking Ahead
It feels like I've accomplished a lot this afternoon. I've read to Murray
from my book. I've learned about his early influences. I've had an in-depth
discussion with him and Eleanor about Patria. And now I'm signed up to
audition for a role in his next play. As I begin to pack up, I ask Murray
when the auditions are. He says they will be held in Toronto in mid-April,
three weeks from now. As I mark my calendar, I mention that it's the same
weekend as the next Wolf Project meeting, which will also be in Toronto.
Then comes the question I've been waiting for, “Do you want to join the
Wolf Project?”
132
Still feeling if-ish about it, I put the ball back in Murray's court and
respond to his question with a question, “Why would a person join the
Wolf Project?”
“You join the Wolf Project to become a wolf,” Murray responds without
batting an eye.
I wasn't expecting that as an answer but I like the Buddhist koan-like
quality to it. Straightforward but enigmatic.
Murray is still looking at me – still not batting an eye. During the growing
pregnancy of the pause, I think to myself, I can't very well go to the
audition and not go to the Wolf Project meeting. Breaking the silence, I
respond, “I'm not sure – I'm still thinking about it. But I will come to the
next meeting.” Then a light suddenly goes on – sweeping away the
awkwardness of the moment. I ask Murray if he wants to stay at my place
that weekend, since he will be in Toronto for two days. That way it will
save him from driving back and forth.
Murray says it sounds like a good idea and that it would be especially
convenient Sunday night, as he will be going to the airport Monday
morning. I tell him I'm in the west end of downtown and not far from the
highway to the airport.
It's settled – Murray will come and stay with me that weekend and I will
write about it in my book, calling it something like My Murray Schafer
Weekend. And what a weekend it's shaping up to be. The audition, the
Wolf Project meeting – and now hosting international icon, R. Murray
Schafer in my home.
133
Six
My Murray Schafer Weekend
or
How Not to Host a Legend
Defining Enantiodromia
When I get back home from my meeting with Murray and Eleanor, I look
up the word “enantiodromia.” Truth be told, one reason I want to know its
meaning is because Murray and Eleanor said they fell in love when they
heard each other use it. Will something similar happen to me if I start
using it?
I discover that Carl Jung made modern use of what was first expressed by
the Greek philosopher, Heraclitus. He said that everything eventually
turns into its opposite; “enantio” means counter and “dromos” means
running. It refers to something turning back on itself and suggests that
when something starts moving in one direction, a counter movement will
eventually supersede it. One definition states, “A phenomenon where, if
one resists something long and hard enough, one turns into that thing.” In
other words, things can only go so far in one direction until they reverse.
Jung adopted the word to describe how the unconscious mind behaves in
ways that run counter to the conscious mind. He said that this occurs
when a one-sided tendency dominates conscious life; eventually an
equally powerful psychic-energy builds up that will inhibit action, and
subsequently break through the mind's control. He considered this a
positive mechanism that works to maintain balanced development.
It seems a simple theory to understand but it would be good to have some
examples. Perhaps this is what happened after I got back from Japan when
my motivation to write about Murray Schafer reversed and I considered
dropping the book. I was so enthusiastic at first but then it turned and
went in the opposite direction. In fact, the trail turned toward me. But then
enantiodromia struck again and my interest in Murray returned anew – not
unlike a pendulum.
A Swing in Perspective
One evening, while staring at a blank page on my laptop, I struggle to find
something to unmuzzle my muse – an insight, a knock on the head,
anything to get the penny to drop and the wheels of invention turning. My
self-talk is suspiciously reticent – perhaps the closest one can come to
silence without meditating. Then slowly, a new thought arises, like an
ashen phoenix, as if bearing a message of import. “Write about you.”
134
“Write about you?” Wait a moment my muse, you're moving too fast.
What do you mean – write about me?
The collar on my self-talk is suddenly loosened – Instead of writing The
R. Murray Schafer Story, write about my experience of R. Murray
Schafer. Write Murray's biography from my perspective and how he is
influencing you with his work and ideas. Hmm, that might work. That
might be more interesting to read. In fact, it might even be more
interesting to write.
This idea of a change in literary approach comes as an interesting
concept. I can speak about myself as well as Murray. Considering the
amount of work it will take to write the book it would allow me to think
about my own life, while writing about Murray's. I could include my
subjective thoughts, feelings and experiences – while investigating the
object of my book. All of a sudden the blank screen of my laptop becomes
a hungry void, a white hole waiting to be filled with exciting insights.
At the same time, I coach myself on the tone of the tome. It can't be too
polite. And it can't be too academic-sounding, which shouldn't be hard.
I'm not an academic writer. Rather, I fancy myself as a seeker, an
adventurer like Sir Walter Raleigh or Henry Hudson – or even Murray
Schafer himself. I'm an adventurer who wants to write about his
adventures. This means it can't be an ordinary book, which shouldn't be
too difficult because Murray is anything but ordinary – he is
extraordinary. And I'm having an extraordinary adventure learning about
his extraordinariness. And now it will be even more extraordinary
because I'm going to write about myself, as well.
I thank my muse for the inspiration which has me, more than ever,
committed to the project. At the same time I come up with a title for the
book – On the Trail of R. Murray Schafer: A Biographical Adventure .
Whose biographical adventure is it? It's my biographical adventure
writing about the biographical adventures of Murray's life – biographer
and biographee sharing the same pages. It makes perfect sense in light of
something I read by L. Frank Baum, author of The Wizard of Oz, “I think
the world is a great mirror and reflects our lives as we look upon it.”
Being on the trail of R. Murray Schafer is like following the yellow brick
road. My experiences will inevitably be a reflection of myself.
Discovering Asterion
Now that I have this new approach I need more experiences. I could write
about my experience as the Presenter in The Princess of the Stars, so I
hope they take that into consideration when they cast the role . And if I
join the Wolf Project I could write about my experiences there. I look up
the Patria.org website to see what else is going on. Scanning the home
page I see an icon of a labyrinth with the words, Asterion: A Journey
Through the Labyrinth. I feel a tremor of excitement as I click to see
135
where in the worldwide web it takes me. A new page opens, “Asterion is a
complex series of events in the form of a labyrinth.” I feel more tremors
of excitement.
First and foremost it will be an experience, a journey
of individual self-discovery that transcends the
restrictions of traditional forms of art and the
expectations of the traveller. It is a story told not only
in words but through images, sounds, tastes, touches
and textures. It is being created as a multidisciplinary
artistic endeavour, featuring gardeners and landscape
architects, builders and sculptors, designers of all
kinds. It is part museum, part fairground, part gallery
and part concert. It is part fun-house and part game,
part quest and part spiritual adventure.
The words used to describe Asterion bring more excitement – “funhouse ... game ... quest ... adventure.” What all this translates into, I have
no idea. But apparently they're looking for people to participate in a
workshop. It sounds like it might be what I'm looking for: more Murray
Schafer, more experiences, more theatre; at least, I think it's theatre,
although there seems to be some ambiguity about it.
Asterion is being created in a pastoral rural setting
which is being transformed by a community of artists,
students, builders and experimenters. The shape is
being determined by the process of its creation which is
itself a voyage through labyrinthine passageways.
It doesn't state the specific location but says it's taking place this July and
that participants will be told the location once they're accepted. It also
says meals are provided and that all I need is my own tent. No problem.
Without hesitation I click on the contact button and compose an email,
introducing myself to someone named Jerrard Smith and asking to
participate in Asterion: A Journey Through the Labyrinth.
Graphic Scores
Preparing to audition for The Princess of the Stars is an experience in
itself. It's very evident how Murray has not resorted to using a computer
in creating the score, as most composers do these days. As I turn the
pages, I see illustrations everywhere, transmitting the mood of the music
to the performers. On one page, Murray uses a curved staff instead of
straight ones. In some places he even dispenses with musical notation
altogether and uses detailed drawings to indicate how the singer is to sing.
The music looks difficult enough as it is, but apparently Murray expects
them to interpret his inventive symbols and improvise accordingly. It
makes me glad I'm not rehearsing a singing part.
136
I can also see that Murray is an accomplished calligraphist. It's
understandable why Library and Archives Canada toured an exhibition of
some of his scores, and collectors buy them. They are fascinating and
unique, so much so I need to keep reminding myself to rehearse rather
than just look at the artwork. I begin working on the character of the
Presenter based on what Murray and Eleanor indicated, and try it out on
his opening libretto, which the Presenter does while being paddled across
the lake toward the audience.
KÁNIOTÁI NÍOTA
KÁNIOTÁI NÍOTA
To simulate the sound of chanting outside, I go into the bathroom where
there is a reasonable echo. Next, I tackle the Presenter's opening
monologue. Murray has a drawing of the Presenter sitting rather regally in
a foliage covered canoe. The directions state, “It should be spoken
deliberately and proudly – in the manner of an Indian Chief.”
I saw you come from the forest
and saw you came in peace.
You are welcome to our lake. Sátewa Híhato.
This is the story of the Princess of the Stars,
daughter of the Sun-God and herself a Goddess.
Last night she heard a mournful cry
rising from the forest;
it was Wolf, howling at the Moon.
She leaned over to see who was singing.
Suddenly she appeared before Wolf
in a great flash of light.
But Wolf, frightened to see the Stars so close,
lashed out at the Princess, wounding her.
She fled to a lake – this lake –
but here on this shore Three-horned enemy
caught hold of her
and dragged her to the depths.
There he holds her captive,
and the mist on the water is the sign of her struggling.
I run through these lines every day until satisfied I have honed a good
tone and persona for the Presenter.
The Audition
The Saturday of the audition rolls around and I show up at Gallery 345, in
the west end of Toronto, where the auditions are being held. When I enter
the building, I'm directed to a waiting area where I sit and listen to those
auditioning ahead of me. The gallery has a great echo, simulating an
outdoor effect, undoubtedly chosen for this purpose. Considering the
word “audition” primarily pertains to hearing, and we are doing this in
front of R. Murray Schafer, sound would be of prime concern.
137
My turn arrives. I shake hands with Murray and am introduced to Jerrard
Smith, the co-director and same person who is running the Asterion
workshop in July. The music director, David Buley, is also present. After
a bit of discussion, I'm asked to move my chair back about twenty feet and
deliver my lines sitting down, as the Presenter would be, in a canoe.
I work my way through the opening chant and monologue, as I rehearsed
it. After about a minute, Murray interrupts to give me some direction. He
tells me to be more lively, like a storyteller. Jerrard says he understands
what I'm shooting for, but my delivery would sound monotonous after
awhile – my inflection is too stiff.
David says my tempo is good for the opening chant because it takes the
Presenter a full fifteen minutes to cross the lake to where the audience is
seated, and this sets the tempo for the entire show. He also suggests that I
turn my head slowly in different directions, as this would modulate the
sound and work with the echo of the outdoor environment.
I endeavour to do my best to integrate these suggestions into the
Presenter's second monologue.
Now, as the great light breaks above us
the Gods and animals will work for the Princess' release.
The figures you see here are not human,
therefore, in order that you might witness
without disturbing these actions,
I shall turn you into trees.
Witji... Skegi... Towogan...
Watch now and listen carefully faithful trees,
but of the things you witness here remain silent,
for they are ancient and they are sacred.
I'm then asked to move my chair in close again. Jerrard tells me I look the
part of the Presenter. I'm glad to hear this, as I haven't shaved or cut my
hair since I did the role of a hippie in last summer's Fringe Festival, and
prior to the audition I mussed my hair, hoping to look like someone who
just wandered out of the bush. After a bit of discussion about availability
for rehearsals, the audition ends.
At our last encounter, when I was at Murray's, I told him I hoped to have
more of the book for him to read the next time I saw him. After I get my
hat and coat on, I quietly stand next to Murray while he's auditioning
another person. As unobtrusively as possible, I slip him an envelope
containing chapter 2, hoping he will have time to read it before we meet.
When Are You Not Yourself?
After the audition I go home and get ready for a friend's birthday party at
a local bar. With all I've learned about soundscapes from Murray Schafer,
I don't know why I expose myself to these auditory assaults. The noise in
this acoustically trashy bar is intolerable, or as Murray calls it, a “sound
138
sewer.” And I have to witness human nonsense, like my friend dancing on
the bar while everyone slurs Happy Birthday. Nonetheless, one hopes to
meet someone interesting amidst all the boozing and schmoozing.
I strike up a conversation with someone who asks the inevitable question,
“So, what do you do?” The most interesting response I can give is, of
course, “I'm writing a book called On the Trail of R. Murray Schafer: A
Biographical Adventure.” Responding to his blank expression I offer the
addendum, “It's about seeing a reflection of yourself in the world and in
others. Finding yourself.”
His expression doesn't betray any increased interest. In fact, his face
doesn't change at all, except to accommodate another pull from his beer
bottle. He responds, “That sounds like psycho-babble.” He then asks,
somewhat challengingly, “When are you not yourself? And how would
you know if you're not yourself?” His attitude makes it apparent that these
are not the sorts of questions that keep him awake ruminating. However,
the encounter catches me off guard and disturbs my already shifting sands
as a biographer. As much as I hate to admit it, this walking beer keg has
some good questions. I wish I had some good answers on tap. Shortly
thereafter, I leave the party. However, I can't leave the questions. In fact,
they stick like second-hand smoke.
Plagued By Questions
Drifting along the sidewalk in the gusty April breezes, I watch the waxing
and waning of my shadow as I pass under each street light. In addition to
the questions already plaguing me, I come up with a few of my own.
When am I being myself? How would I know if I'm not being myself?
What is me and what isn't me? And axiomatic to that – how can I
continue to believe in what I thought were my thoughts when I'm not sure
they're mine?
My walk through the streets of Toronto turns into a dark night of the soul.
One nice thing about the city is that you can have a crisis without anyone
bothering you about it. Halfway home I arrive at an uncomfortable place.
It's a place where I no longer have confidence in the basic urges of my
own existence. I begin to question the authorship and authenticity of my
own ideas. I question my own mind – doubt it, even fear it – no longer
knowing what to believe. Everything is suspect – including my self-talk.
To make matters worse, I begin to again question what led me to working
on a book about Murray Schafer. How do I know who decided to do it?
Where did the idea come from? And who is even asking these questions? I
fall into a pot-hole of doubt, with perfect timing, on the eve of Murray's
visit with me.
The Wolf Project?
The next day I rally myself for the Wolf Project meeting. It's at a home in
north Toronto. When I arrive, I see some faces I recognize from the first
139
meeting, as well as some new ones. More “potentials” like myself? I wave
to Murray across the room as I enter.
I then see someone I know but not from this context. It is Neal Evans, the
husband of Peg Evans, whom I know through the Waldorf School where I
taught at one time. After he greets me with the customary Homitaqui
Asin, Neal tells me his whole family has been involved in the Wolf
Project for years, his two boys growing up in it. It makes sense that his
family is interested in R. Murray Schafer – his wife Peg performs with the
Canadian Opera Company.
I'm glad to see Neal. As someone I know outside the Wolf Project,
perhaps I can trust what he says about what happens on the inside. I ask,
“What is your involvement?” He says he plays in the orchestra.
“Orchestra? For the Wolf Project?” Apparently so. This is something that
was started by Murray Schafer so quite naturally there is a score and thus
an orchestra.
I ask Neal what instrument he plays? “Double bass.” “ A Double bass? In
the woods?” And how does he get it in there if there are no roads? “By
canoe,” he replies matter of factly.
I know musicians have a reputation for being “out there” but this is “out
there in the bush,” and Neal is telling me he takes his double bass out
there by canoe. Furthermore, he tells me his son is also in the orchestra.
What instrument does he play? “Cello.” Also taken into the bush by
canoe. Like father, like son – madness runs in the family. Either that or
everyone in the Wolf Project has been infected with Murray Schafer's
brand of insanity.
Neal has an almost fanatical look on his face as he paints a picture of an
orchestra performing outside in the middle of nowhere. French horns,
oboes, clarinets, trombones, trumpets and flutes I can see. Those
instruments wouldn't be much to pack into the woods. Throw in a few
things for a percussion section – perhaps a triangle and tambourine.
Maybe squeeze in a cello, which, if sitting upright, would take about as
much space as a human in a canoe. But carting a double bass into the
bush? I feel inspired to go just to get a photo.
I ask Neal who comes to see the performance in the bush. “No one.”
Wow, he takes his double bass into the woods and there isn't even an
audience. Neal questions my involvement in the Wolf Project and asks if I
would like him to be a sponsor. I tell him my sense of curiosity is aroused
by conversations like this one, but I'm not sure about my sense of
commitment. I tell him this is just my second meeting, so I'm still a
potential and not ready to be a full-blown participant.
As with the first meeting, I refrain from talking about the book. I don't
want people to think I'm interested only because I'm writing about Murray.
I want the Wolf Project people to act perfectly naturally, unencumbered
140
by any concern that they may end up in my reportage. I want to be able to
observe their usual behaviour in this Schafer inspired environment.
Circling In
We are called to convene in a circle. Once everyone introduces
themselves and says what animal clan they're in, Murray opens the
meeting with some introductory remarks.
“The Wolf Project is an ambitious creation by a team of people. It has
released in each of us creative powers that we probably never knew we
had – creating amazing achievements that none of us could have done
alone. Over the years we have created a whole mythology of stories and
characters that none of us will ever forget. I have often said that the Wolf
Project is the most important achievement of all the Patria works, not only
because it is a collective creation but because it challenges everything we
have been taught about great art.”
So the Wolf Project is part of Patria? The light goes on! This introduces a
whole new perspective. This co-creative, social experiment is actually
part of the Patria cycle.
“Is it about camping? Is it about theatre in the woods? Is it about mythritualism? Or is it a way of life? Each day we prepare different aspects of
the great work which we put together on the final day. We are
simultaneously the creators, the performers and the audience of a work
that will always remain in a state of evolution. It is always changing,
adapting, embellishing, improving. Of all the parts of the Patria cycle, I
say this is the most radical. It destroys the whole concept of who created
the piece, who's performing and who pays to see it.”
I notice the person beside me is holding a handbook. On the cover it says,
Patria: The Epilogue – And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon . This is also
news to me – there's a script for the Wolf Project – it's the epilogue of the
Patria cycle, and the official title is And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon.
Another piece of the puzzle drops into place.
“We have done And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon every year for almost
twenty years without fail. It's the most ambitious piece because it really
asks a lot of questions about human nature. It's both frustrating and
exhilarating because you learn a lot about people when you're with them,
totally immersed in the wilderness. It's going back to the way humans
lived in earlier societies. The only difference is that they lived 365 days of
the year like this. We do it for one week. Even at that, it is illuminating
how people react when they're totally cut off from civilization. We learn
to work things through in new ways. These are the things we are rediscovering in the Wolf Project. That's why I think it's the most loving
work of all.”
I keep picking up more clues like bread crumbs along the trail. Murray is
using a lot of superlatives and is obviously quite proud of the Wolf
141
Project. He considers its unique qualities to be far beyond any of the other
Patria works. What I find especially noteworthy is that, even though it's
the epilogue of Patria, it has run longer and more often than any other part
of his cycle.
“We are seeking members who believe this project can help them grow as
human beings. We are not looking for people who see the project as a
way to further their careers. If you join the Wolf Project we assume you
are making a commitment to remain and grow with us. If the Wheel of
Life and the rituals we perform every day have any meaning, it is to
become more sensitive to each other and see our interconnectedness.
Those who have been members for many years know how it has affected
their lives. It has expanded their horizons and shown them the true
potentiality of art in their lives.”
The Plot to Save the Planet
After Murray finishes speaking, the group proceeds to move through an
agenda of items. I gesture to the person next to me that I would like to
look at his book, and thumb through it as I listen to the group deal with
the business at hand. It's actually not a script, it's more like a manual.
I scan the Table of Contents and see all sorts of information about the
project, from the artistic to the logistic. There are sections called Elders,
Equality and Conventions. Also, Equipment, Commitment and Finances.
An eye-catching title is Ecology and Spiritualism. And there is a script as
well, with directorial notes and the backstory of characters. It looks full of
interesting things.
I also notice a one-line description inside the front cover – “A week long
ritual-drama, performed annually in the forest by a group of people
camping there, designed to reunite Wolf and the Princess of the Stars, and
thus save the world from destruction.” Now I see why Murray refers to
this as the most ambitious part of the Patria cycle. I'll have to ask him
sometime how the “save the world from destruction” part works. I suspect
it will also become clearer as I get to know the other parts of the Patria
cycle. The Wolf Project is the ending, but I'm still not sure about the
beginning and middle parts.
During the meeting, breaks are taken for singing chants and movement. I
must say, for a meeting, it feels like the vibe is kept high by these
outbreaks of creativity interlaced with humour. It strikes me that if
companies could get their employees taking this sort of break during dull
office meetings, it would probably help people to stay alive inside – and
help save some souls from destruction.
The Council of Elders
At the end of the meeting, new potentials are taken one by one into a back
room to be interviewed by the Council of Elders. They say it's partly to
142
determine in which clan we would be best suited. I'm asked a few
questions before they reiterate that, to be in the Wolf Project, one has to
become a committed member – numbers are limited. And if I miss a year I
have to reapply.
Murray explains that the Wolf Project is as pure as his work gets. No
audience, no reviewers, no in-betweeners. He has kept the media out and
so, if I want to attend, it has to be more than as a writer. In other words, I
shouldn't be coming just as a biographer – I need to be a participant. I'm
also told I need to get two people to sponsor me before I can join. And I
need to submit a letter with a brief description of myself. I will be notified
if I'm accepted and informed at the June meeting which clan I'm in.
I'm feeling at a loss for words. Not a good sign for someone who wants to
write about this. I feel like saying, “You would think if the Wolf Project is
the epilogue to Murray's lifework – his Patria masterpiece, his magnum
opus, and he considers it so vital that it gets done every year without fail –
he would want someone to come and write about it. Furthermore, if the
purpose is to “save the world from destruction,” he might even want to
put out a press release.”
I keep my non-committal attitude to myself and thank the elders for the
information. At this point, I'm not sure if I'm motivated enough to write a
letter of intent, get myself sponsored, and join the gathering of animal
clans. Nonetheless, it is apparent that the Wolf Project is a key component
of Murray's lifework – so sooner or later I'm going to have to decide if I
want to spend a week in the woods with a bunch of “wolves.”
The gathering ends with a pot-luck supper and social time. A lot of the
people are in no hurry to leave. Murray is enjoying conversation with
many of them and I notice he is about to open another beer. An alarm goes
off as I realize I need to maximize my time with him, and that I should
steal him away before he gets too relaxed. I remind him he's coming to
stay with me for the night and that I have beer and wine at my place – and
that perhaps we should get going – so I can interview him. He acquiesces
and says his goodbyes, as I hustle him off.
How Not to Host a Legend
Murray follows me in his car, as I lead the way to the loft downtown
where I live. As with all my guests, I proudly present it as a real loft, as
opposed to the many new condo developments calling themselves lofts
simply because they leave out the ceiling tiles. He's not much impressed
either way – he's not thrilled about being anywhere in the city.
When we get inside, true to my promise, I offer Murray something to
drink. I have organic beer and bio-dynamic wine. He opts for a beer. I join
him. When he is comfortably seated, I ask him if he had a chance to read
the chapter I gave him yesterday. He says he did. I also find out that he
almost spent the night in his car.
143
As his story unfolds, it becomes apparent that somewhere along the line
we got our signals crossed regarding his staying with me. He came to
Toronto prepared to stay the weekend at my place – both Saturday and
Sunday night. But because I didn't bring him home after the audition
yesterday, he had to devise an alternate plan and drove to his brother's
home, in Markham, with hope of finding a bed there. However, when he
arrived, his brother – who wasn't expecting him – wasn't there. Murray
didn't know where his brother was, or even if he would be coming home,
but he decided to take a chance and wait.
To make a long story short, Murray tells me he did get an opportunity to
read my manuscript, while sitting in his car outside his brother's house –
in the suburbs – in the cold. It turns out his brother did eventually show
up and Murray was spared having to spend the night in his car – much to
my relief.
My mind does a quick scan of the events and my self-talk turns into selfflagellation. How could I have let this happen? I could have had another
evening of interviewing Murray. Instead, I go out to a dismal party, get all
wrapped up in myself – and literally leave one of Canada's national
treasures out in the cold. I knew something didn't feel right, I had to ask
the waitress three times for a drink. It was like I wasn't meant to be there.
I was meant to be here.
I express my embarrassment to Murray and apologize for my faux pas. I
assure him there will be no question of his sleeping in his car tonight and
that I have a warm, quiet room where he can have a good night's sleep.
Murray is gracious and doesn't make a big deal of it.
Naturally, I'm still curious as to what Murray thought of chapter 2, but
decide now is not the time to ask him for his comments. Instead, with the
man sitting before me on my couch, I turn to the business at hand, switch
on my recorder and settle into interview mode.
The Education of R. Murray Schafer
Jesse ~ You are known for your ideas on education. I would like to hear
about your own education and how it has shaped you.
Murray ~ My music education began as a choir boy. At age eleven I
joined the Grace Church choir. It was one of the better Anglican churches
in Toronto – at least it had a better musical program. The church was
recruiting from around the city to build a strong boys' choir. My mother
sent me to audition and I got accepted. I started as a soprano, then alto,
then tenor, and eventually baritone. I had a good voice and good
musicianship, as did all the boys in the choir. That choir taught me a lot.
Jesse ~ It was a positive educational experience?
Murray ~ It was. They had a wonderful repertoire and it was a good place
for learning good technique. I think there's nothing like singing when
you're a child. Singing is really helpful because it's all about breathing –
144
how to breathe a phrase, how to shape music with your breath. I think it
was the best experience I had as a young boy because I met people there
who were intelligent and artistic, and interested in talking about
philosophy and things of that nature. When famous composers came
through Toronto, such as Benjamin Britten and Ralph Vaughan Williams,
they actually conducted our choir while we sang their music.
Jesse ~ It sounds as if it was an influential part of your childhood.
Murray ~ We had to go to the church four times a week – twice for
practices, twice for services. We got paid for being in the choir, not a lot,
about a dollar a week. And if we were late, or misbehaved, we were
docked ten cents. I remember my brother getting docked. It was an
Anglican church with the choir on both sides of the chancel. During a
service, he threw a comic book across to a boy on the other side.
However, it landed right in the centre. That cost him. (laughter)
Jesse ~ Did singing choral music relish your desire to write in that genre?
Murray ~ I think so. I developed a love for the human voice. I came to
understand the human voice through singing. My mother and grandmother
were quite musical as well. They were both in choirs at their churches.
Jesse ~ When did you begin to write music?
Murray ~ It was when I was about fifteen. I wrote a little homage to
Mozart. Before that I played the piano but it never occurred to me to
compose. It wasn't until I was in my early twenties that I started seriously
writing music, when I was in Vienna.
Jesse ~ Did you have a passion for music from the very beginning?
Murray ~ I don't think it was immediate. I was actually forced to study
piano – like a lot of children. My mother had visions that some day I
might become a great pianist. But Glenn Gould and I had the same teacher
– so that extinguished that idea. (laughter)
Jesse ~ Yes, I guess hearing Glenn blazing away in the practice room next
to you might be a little discouraging. (laughter) Come to think of it, I've
never heard you play an instrument.
Murray ~ I don't play piano very well. I did back then – that's when my
mother was encouraging me to become a professional pianist, but I didn't
see it as a career. I did a lot of drawing when I was young and at first
wanted to be a painter. I started to draw comic books when I was in public
school. I would take them to school and rent them to the other students for
a couple of cents per day. I was looking at some the other day – a lot of
them were quite well drawn.
To Be a Great Painter
Jesse ~ So initially you envisioned a future as an artist?
Murray ~ You know what my guidance counsellor said when I told him I
wanted to be a painter? He said, “There's a lot of good money in
145
commercial art.” I said, “I'm not interested in being a commercial artist.”
Then he asked, “What do you want to be – a house painter?” I said, “No, I
want to paint like Picasso.” He said, “Young man, you're going to grow
up, you're going to get married, you're going to have a family, and you're
going to have responsibilities. You'll never be able to paint like Picasso.
You better think about this.”
Jesse ~ How did you take that?
Murray ~ I still wanted to go to art school. When I applied to the Ontario
College of Art I was told that with only one eye it wouldn't be a good idea
for me to study art. I thought that was strange because there have been
many great artists with visual challenges. Cezanne and Renoir were
myopic, Van Gogh had xanthopsia, Cassatt and Degas had retinopathy, El
Greco – astigmatism. I think they were wrong in suggesting I couldn't
become a painter.
Jesse ~ From what I've seen in the Princess of the Stars score and your
books you've proven them wrong. It's amazing what work you've done
with just one eye.
Help or Handicap?
It feels like the conversation is gathering some momentum. Murray has
finished his beer so I ask him if he would like another. He enquires about
the red wine. Indeed, I have some fine wine I've been keeping for a special
occasion such as this. Once we each have a libation in hand, I decide it is
time to ask Murray about his eye – a feature that adds to his eccentricity.
Jesse ~ You mentioned other great artists who functioned well despite
visual handicaps. What happened to your eye and how has it effected your
development as an artist?
Murray ~ I was born cross-eyed and blind in one eye. The right eye was
eventually removed.
Jesse ~ Why was that?
Murray ~ They said it was glaucoma. At age eight, while doing a second
operation, they decided to remove it.
Jesse ~ How did you deal with that?
Murray ~ For an eight year old child to lose his eye and then be sent back
to school two weeks later with a glass eye – it was not easy.
Jesse ~ Did the other children react?
Murray ~ Very much so. I can remember bullies shouting in the
schoolyard, “Murray’s got a glass eye! Murray’s got a glass eye!” Then
they'd come up to me saying, “You think you're smart 'cause you have a
glass eye,” and punch and kick me until I fell down. A child who has any
kind of handicap is perceived as different, so I got beat up a lot.
Jesse ~ Ironic – you had an eye removed and it changed the way others
looked at you. How did that affect you?
146
Murray ~ It made me want to stay away from other children.
Jesse ~ Has it made you different than if you had both eyes? Would you
say it impacted your destiny?
Murray ~ Oh definitely. Having a disfigurement at age eight makes things
very difficult. I had to develop in ways which people with both eyes
wouldn't. What it does is gives you an incredible will to survive. It
toughened me up and made me stronger. I think it made me more resilient
and resourceful. I didn't realize that until I was about twenty.
Jesse ~ What about your high school years?
Murray ~ I was bullied even more because of my eye. That, compounded
with my own neurotic tendencies, made for the worst years of my life.
They were very difficult.
Jesse ~ What would you say about your high school education?
Murray ~ I remember an English essay I wrote. I had just begun studying
books on philosophy, and the essay was about a philosopher I had met and
had an interesting discussion with – about existentialism and other things.
At the bottom of the paper my teacher wrote the comment, “Don't lie.”
That about sums it up.
Jesse ~ What high school did you go to?
Murray ~ Vaughan Road Collegiate. My brother went to a reunion there a
few years ago. Apparently, around the room they had placed silhouettes of
famous people who had gone to the school. There was a silhouette of me
and underneath it said, “Murray Schafer – Famous Composer of
Background Music for Television.” (laughter)
Jesse ~ Did you finish high school?
Murray ~ I didn't make it to Grade 13. I got as far as Grade 12. I think
High School was more difficult in those days. It's easier now. Going to
Grade 13 would have given me what they called a Senior Matriculation. I
went to Grade 12 and got a Junior Matriculation which meant I could go
to a vocational school. I went to the University of Toronto, where they
had a vocational program in the Faculty of Music. It was for people who
weren't interested in getting a degree but rather, as a musician or
performer, just wanted an Artist's Diploma. I didn't get either. I lasted a
year and a half and then was dismissed for being an uncooperative
student. (laughter)
Jesse ~ I want to hear that story.
The Roots of Rebellion
Murray ~ I don't think I really wanted to be at school in the first place. My
mother wanted me there. After a year and a half my Jean-Christophe side
started to come out.
Jesse ~ Jean-Christophe?
Murray ~ He's a character in the novel by Romain Rolland I was reading.
It's about a young German composer and his hardships and struggles to
147
balance his pride in his own talents with the necessity of earning a living.
It's really a modern re-telling of the life of Beethoven.
Jesse ~ You were fertilizing your roots of rebellion by reading that?
Murray ~ It was hard not to be a rebel. In choir class, for instance, some
of the things they made us do were ridiculous. I remember the choir
director. He had a huge red face – we called him “furnace face.” He
would get very hot conducting and would stand up on a chair, while
making us sing silly songs. I had sung in a choir conducted by Benjamin
Britten, considered the single most important British composer of the
twentieth century, a musical giant – mostly for his vocal works – so this
felt ridiculous. But I had to go because it was compulsory, so I would just
sit at the back and look at art books.
Jesse ~ So you didn't feel particularly engaged in that environment?
Murray ~ I had problems with the methods of teaching and the methods of
evaluation. There was one incident during an exam – one of the multiple
choice questions was, “How would you use rice to clean a violin?” I
thought – this isn't what I came here for – who cares. I went through all
the questions, quickly ticking them off, so I could get it over with. But
when I got up to leave, the invigilator stopped me – I had to wait until
everyone was finished. So I sat back down and wrote a note to the
professor, “Dear Professor, it would please me greatly if you would fail
me on this exam. Then, like Jean-Jacques Rousseau, I would have the
dignity – if not for being better than my fellow human beings, at least for
being different.” It was something arrogant like that.
Jesse ~ You were intentionally being arrogant?
Murray ~ I was actually quoting from Émile, a semi-fictitious work on
education by French philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau.
Jesse ~ What came of that incident?
Murray ~ It was reported to the dean, so I had to go see him.
Jesse ~ How did that go?
Murray ~ The dean was a brooding Spenglerian who said to me, “I too
have read Jean-Jacques Rousseau.” So, I thought, “Fine, let's discuss
Rousseau's philosophy of education, instead of how to use rice to clean a
violin.” But he was really angry and kept clenching his fists, “You are
insulting my professors. I want you to write a letter of apology. You bring
the letter tomorrow, then we'll discuss your future at this school.” When I
went home, I thought, “Why should I write a letter? I don't want to write a
letter. I don't care if I stay in school.” When I went back the next day the
dean asked, “Do you have the letter?” It was a beautiful day and there was
a big window behind his head. He had ears that stuck out, the way the
French call les étoiles, the stars, and I noticed how the sun was shining
through his ears, and I remarked, “Look, the sun is shining through your
148
ears!” That was it. That was the end. He shouted, “Get out! Get out!”
I enjoyed it immensely.
The Light of Destiny
That was the end of my formal education, and for many
years I kept as far away as possible from all
institutions, which I was certain were conspiracies
against change ruled by pusillanimous Prussians who
enjoyed squeezing themselves.
The Thinking Ear pg. 289
Murray has a good laugh over his expulsion from the University of
Toronto. It seems fresh in his mind despite being fifty years ago. I
imagine the story marks a significant turning point in his life and has been
repeated as an amusing anecdote many times.
While Murray is enjoying the hilarity, I'm intrigued by the irony. At this
moment Murray's life changed course and took a direction in which, as
someone who started the acoustic ecology movement and became a
composer, ears have been the cardinal organ. Furthermore, his story is a
good example of how, on the other side of seemingly disruptive situations,
destiny awaits – and the wisdom that directs us often manifests in the
form of foolishness. Was it divine light Murray saw shining through the
ears of the dean? Is that what he perceived in that pivotal moment,
illuminating the opening of his true path which he had to have the
courage, if not the audacity, to invoke with the words “the sun is shining
through your ears.” Whatever it was, the legend stands – the call to
adventure and the hero's journey, in Murray's case, was accompanied by
such symbolism.
I began to develop my ideas in musical creativity for
young people, later published in a series of pamphlets
and eventually collected in The Thinking Ear. I believed
that music education without creativity is sterile. My
dismissal from the music education program at the
University of Toronto had proven that. But it took me
ten years to develop a counter program.
The Thinking Ear pg. 290
Orchestras and Exploitation
Filling Murray's wine glass again and reminding him he doesn't have to
drive anywhere tonight, I ask him to elaborate more about his ideas on
music education.
Murray ~ You go into any music room in North America these days and
the walls are lined with violins and trombones. There's only one thing to
do in that room –
Jesse ~ – play the violins and trombones.
149
Murray ~ Exactly. And the teacher has all sorts of printed music, so you
play the printed music on the instruments. Today's concept of the music
room doesn't permit you to do anything else. If you go into a classroom in
Brazil or Argentina or Ecuador or Chile – all are countries I have visited –
the so-called music room is empty. What can you do there? A lot of
things. And that's the program I have developed. I have the students do
things such as bring sounds to school. And the students bring in the most
amazing sounds. Then I say: okay, you are the instruments and these
sounds are the elements of our compositions – let's make music. It
becomes so much more creative.
Jesse ~ You, as the instrument, serve creativity rather than creativity
serving the musical instrument.
Murray ~ Yes. My ideas for music education were not influenced by the
so-called highly civilized, rich cultures but by countries in other parts of
the world such as Latin America where they don't have a lot of money.
But there's resistance to my ideas because we live in a money society and
unless something looks rich it's considered just a poor man's thing. With a
symphony orchestra the stage is piled with gold and silver, ebony and
ivory. People are made to feel rich because the music looks rich. But
essentially a symphony orchestra is a colonial institution.
Jesse ~ What do you mean by that?
Murray ~ Ironically, three-quarters of the things on that stage don't come
from our country. They come from the poorer parts of the world which
were at one time colonies. For instance, the use of pernambuco wood for
violin bows started with the conquest of Brazil. All the bows in the world
are made from pernambuco from Brazil. It was originally plundered. The
same is true of a lot of the materials in an orchestra of today. The gold and
silver have the same history, things engineered out of plundered resources.
Jesse ~ So they represent colonial exploitation?
Murray ~ Yes. It's also ironic that the children going to the schools that
have money to buy the instruments made out of things that were
plundered from poor countries, often have less creativity and imagination
than the people in those poor countries. But what impresses the parents is
something that looks rich and cultured, which is why the schools want to
stick with that kind of music program. They aren't so interested in having
the children do really creative things, like improvising or composing their
own music. What they want to see is the big final concert...
Jesse ~ ...or the big, high school musical...
Murray ~ ...in the big auditorium where all of these children have band
instruments in their hands. And everyone is thrilled because they see the
children with all this silver and gold on the stage and think that's the
ultimate in music education. It looks rich but it's not necessarily creative.
Now everyone is worried about the music programs in North America.
But all they're worried about is the money for the music programs –
150
because they’re expensive programs. However, when you actually analyze
what happens to children who go through these sorts of programs, most of
them have no interest in playing band instruments after they get out of
school. Their interest in playing music has not been developed because
they have not learned to be creative. The children are never asked to
create something themselves, so they end up seeing themselves as
consumers rather than creators. That is really what makes it so dreadful.
It's anathema.
I do not know whether my work is taken seriously or
not. I have done a lot of guest lecturing in universities or
schools and have been aware that I have been brought in
as a diversion from the tedium of routine. Schafer makes
whoopee for a few days, after which the class gets back
to the serious business of blowing the clarinet.
The Thinking Ear pg. 290
Honoured
The wine and Murray are flowing, so I decide this is a good moment to
ask him about his honorary degrees – a subject which came up in Japan
but was never finished. The thing I remember most is that the degrees are
mounted on his bathroom wall.
Murray says the most recent one he received was just last year, June 2006.
The University of Toronto contacted him and asked him to come to
Convocation – they wanted to present him with an honorary doctorate,
Doctor of Music, from the Faculty of Music.
Murray ~ In considering my acceptance speech I could think of nothing
more fitting than to tell them the story I just told you about being
dismissed. When I walked into Convocation Hall it was absolutely packed
– there were people not only from the Music Department but from all the
faculties. I wasn't sure everyone would find it funny – me getting kicked
out of the university then receiving a doctorate from the same institution.
After all, they had just finished doing a lot of hard work to get their
degrees. Anyway, I told the story because I had fifteen minutes to fill
before they would give me the scroll. (laughter) From all reports, the
students were rolling in the aisles, so I guess all was forgiven.
Jesse ~ Where is the degree now?
Murray ~ With the others – hanging in the bathroom.
A Commissioning
Murray ~ I've been commissioned to write a piece for the opening of the
new Royal Conservatory Hall at the University of Toronto.
Jesse ~ What kind of piece will it be?
Murray ~ I've decided to include bits of compositions from composers
who taught at the Royal Conservatory in the past: Healey Willan, Sir
Ernest MacMillan, Sam Dolin. I found some compositions that are quite
151
old, The Wreck of the Hesperus by Arthur Fisher, which was used for the
original opening of Massey Hall in 1894. Also Ernest Seitz, who wrote
The World is Waiting for its Sunrise, probably the only song ever created
at the Conservatory that made the hit parade. (laughter)
Jesse ~ Do you have a name for this piece?
Murray ~ Spirits of the House. The fragments from these older
compositions are used to produce a ghost-like atmosphere. There will be
the orchestra on the stage playing the main part but also small groups of
musicians at the back of the house, weaving in these vague reminiscent
bits from the past. They sort of simmer in the background and feel like
they are about to come out, but then the ghosts get pushed back and the
piece moves into something else.
Jesse ~ I can't wait to hear it.
Refusing the Order of Canada
Canada is the only country I know of in which new
works of critical and public success are buried never to
be revived. It is a country totally lacking curiosity about
its own creations. It deserts them as a mother deserts an
unwanted child in a lavatory. The birth pains over, it
kills its progeny and runs off to play prostitute with
whatever foreigner is passing through.
Patria pg. 65
Jesse ~ Is it true you were asked to become a member of the Order of
Canada but you declined the invitation?
Murray ~ Yes.
Jesse ~ I know of others who have done likewise. Glenn Gould refused it
in 1970. Mordecai Richler declined it twice before finally accepting it.
Why did you refuse it?
Murray ~ It was a long time ago and I was quite young at the time. I can't
remember exactly what I said in the letter but it was something to the
effect of, “Thanks, but no thanks. While I'm alive I would rather choose
my own companions. After I'm dead you can endow me up with as many
honours as you wish.” (laughter) I didn't want it because, in a sense, I
thought it would be an impediment, simply becoming another
anachronism. I have never craved official recognition. I've been a bit of a
renegade and for a renegade it could mean the end of his career. If they
had given Alfred Jarry the Medal of Merit for French Literature while he
was alive that would've been the end of Ubu Roi and the subversive pokes
at the bourgeois he was penning. It wouldn't have done him any good.
Jesse ~ I can see the problem with being a public provocateur and being
awarded The Order of Canada at the same time. It might have put limits
on how much of a critic and agitator you could be.
152
Murray ~ You have to protect yourself as an artist from getting the wrong
kinds of recognition. It may not be wrong recognition but it may be wrong
for you, in terms of the kind of reputation you are developing and the
kinds of relationships you're working on.
Jesse ~ What kind of recognition do you appreciate?
Murray ~ I have accepted honorary doctorates from foreign universities
because I feel it's a true recognition on their part. But getting honorary
doctorates is not something I need or desire.
Jesse ~ You don't need more to cover spots on your bathroom wall?
(laughter)
Murray ~ I guess in some professions it's important for your career – the
fact that you have something on the wall – like a dentist, but that's not
what helps me in what I do. That's why all those things are hanging in my
washroom. I don't need them like a dentist. (laughter) It's nice that people
offer you things but you have to choose carefully.
Jesse ~ I think in your early days you were an angry young man. And now
... I think you're still an angry young man. (laughter)
Accepting the Governor General's Award
Murray ~ I was recently offered the Governor General's Performing Arts
Award for my 75th year. I turned it down once before at age 65.
Jesse ~ Why?
Murray ~ They asked me to compose a five minute piece for the
ceremony. I thought – “They are awarding me for a lifetime of artistic
achievement and they want me to compose a five minute piece!” I told
them, “Forget it, I'm not a pop-song writer.”
Jesse ~ But you accepted the offer this time?
Murray ~ Yes. Eleanor talked me into it. Perhaps this time around it will
be better.
Jesse ~ Is there money attached to the award?
Murray ~ Yes, twenty-five thousand.
Jesse ~ That's a sizable amount.
Murray ~ I work hard to make twenty-five thousand dollars.
Looking Around the Loft
We've been sitting and talking since we've arrived – I suggest this is a
good place to take a break. I give Murray a little tour of the loft: the
bathroom and the bedroom. There isn't much to show in the bathroom – I
left university before I graduated so don't have any degrees hanging on the
wall to show.
The bedroom is a small, windowless room some might consider a storage
space, but I think of it as my cave. Murray remarks on the painting of a
window hanging on the wall – in lieu of a real window. I tell him it's by
one of my sisters, Susan Stewart, a professional artist. Murray asks me
153
about other siblings. I tell him my other sister is singer-songwriter Jane
Siberry. He's never heard of her. I tell him that's okay, Jane hadn't heard of
him either until I started talking about him.
I take Murray back into the main part of the loft and turn on more lights
so he can have a look at the wall I've covered with photographs from
Japan, many including him. He finds it amusing when I refer to it as the
Great Wall of Japan, and comments on the enthusiasm I have for the trip,
enthusiasm he says he also had when he first went there. As we move
along the wall, we both reminisce fondly over some of the interesting
experiences we shared.
I point out the two water fountains bubbling amongst my plants. I've set
these up since returning from Japan to give my place a Zen-like
soundscape. Murray chuckles at my sonic zeal. When we move back to
our sitting positions, I notice Murray's glass is again empty. I tell him
there is still wine in the bottle and refill both our glasses.
The Travels Begin
Jesse ~ Back to your education. Where did the angry young man go after
he was expelled from the University of Toronto?
Murray ~ I got a job on an oil tanker through my father, who was with
Imperial Oil, and worked as a deck hand for a year. That earned me
enough money to go to Europe.
Jesse ~ Where did you go in Europe?
Murray ~ Vienna.
Jesse ~ Why Vienna?
Murray ~ Vienna has long been a centre for music. Austria produced
Mozart and Haydn and Beethoven – names that made Vienna the music
capital. So I thought I could learn a lot by going there. But the Austrians
had become very sentimental about their heritage, so much so that all I got
there was the music of Mozart and Haydn and Beethoven. My distaste for
Mozart began at that time. 1956 was the bicentenary of Mozart's birth and
he was revived to death in all forms imaginable.
Jesse ~ Even the ghosts of the greats had departed by then?
Murray ~ Nonetheless the city was employing every strategy available to
recover its glory as the omphalos of the world. It was a pleasant place as
long as you weren't expecting excitement from some new cultural
offerings. They hadn't even come to terms with the fact that Arnold
Schöenberg was an Austrian and had produced his music there.
Jesse ~ His music wasn't being performed there?
Murray ~ Not at all, which was a strange surprise to me. In my naïveté, I
imagined Schöenberg still walked the streets of Vienna and hoped to meet
him there. I found out he died in Hollywood, California in 1951. (laugh)
Jesse ~ So you were a young man with stars in your eyes and dreams in
your heart, in the fabled music capital – hoping it would be everything
154
you heard it once was. Instead, you had a rude awakening. How old were
you at the time?
Murray ~ Twenty-two.
Jesse ~ A formative time – away from family, alone in a new country, not
knowing the language. Did you find any community over there?
Murray ~ No. I didn't have much contact with people. I made very little
attempt to go out and associate with people. I went to concerts but I didn't
make any friends my own age.
Jesse ~ There was no youth culture or avant-garde movement at that time?
Murray ~ There wasn't anything at that time. It was a very conventional
city. I actually arrived just a few weeks after the Russians left. Vienna had
been a divided city like Berlin. So they had been hemmed in by the
communist regime.
Jesse ~ How did you spend your time?
Murray ~ I found an old woman who was willing to tutor me in medieval
German. I did it in exchange for helping her improve her English
pronunciation, which had somehow got snagged around the time of
Chaucer. So I started reading German literature. I would go to a park and
read or just stay in my room.
Jesse ~ Where were you staying?
Murray ~ I rented a small room on the third floor of a house. I still
remember the address – Beckgasse 38.
Jesse ~ What are some of the things you remember about the room?
Murray ~ I remember how each tenant had a cubicle in the cellar, where a
bucket of coal could be taken each morning to put in the stove to heat
their room. There was a shortage of coal in Vienna that winter. One
bucket of coal was given to heat a room for an entire day, but by evening
the tiles of the kachelofen had lost their warmth. So on colder nights, after
eating my dinner alone in my room, I would sit on the bed, pull a blanket
around me and spend the evening reading and watching the smoke rings
from my pipe twirl around the bedposts.
Jesse ~ Describe the room.
Murray ~ No one else ever came into my room so I was able to organize it
the way I wanted. I covered the walls with cut-outs of medieval paintings
and pictures of Pico della Mirandola and Immanuel Kant. The desk was
covered with bits of poetry on scraps of paper. I had my Latin and German
dictionaries. Even the placement of my clothing was vital to maintaining
the enchantment of it all. There was a piano in a dark corner which
entombed me when I practised there.
Jesse ~ It sounds a bit austere.
Murray ~ I bought myself a shortwave radio. I could tune in to programs
from various countries. Every night I listened to concerts. I couldn't
155
always understand the language but I could hear the wonderful music.
That, in a sense, was my music educator more than the professors at the
University of Toronto. (laughter)
Jesse ~ It sounds like you were simply following your bliss.
Murray ~ I felt my path as an artist had to be different from the
conventional one. What I needed for my quest was not available in
Canada at that time. I wanted to hear the music of Prokofiev and
Shostakovich. Well, you couldn't hear the music of Prokofiev and
Shostakovich in Canada at that time. I thought if I got closer to Russia I
would be able to hear it.
Aloneness
Murray ~ In addition to becoming an artist and a composer, I also
intended to become a great writer. I started a novel about a young
composer living in Vienna just after the occupation. It had political
intrigue in it and of course a beautiful woman – actually more than one. I
imagined that the novel, when completed, would astonish the world.
(laughter)
Jesse ~ What German writers were you reading?
Murray ~ Goethe, Hölderlin, Hoffman, Novalis, Kafka – who all became
major influences.
Jesse ~ So you spent a lot of time alone, reading?
Murray ~ Yes. I think one of the most significant aspects of that time was
the terrible loneliness I experienced. It was one of the loneliest periods of
my life. I've had some lonely times since then but I was particularly lonely
in Vienna. People would invite me to things but I didn't want to go out.
Jesse ~ So was it intentional to be aloof – to experience that loneliness?
Were you seeking it on some level?
Murray ~ Yes, on some level I think I was. I wanted to experience the
same depth as expressed by the romantic writers I was reading. It's very
much a romantic notion to isolate oneself in order to do great work. To
have great ideas, one needs to become isolated, otherwise there is a risk of
one's creativity being smothered.
Jesse ~ So, as much as you were hurting, you felt in your heart that was
the way it needed to be?
Murray ~ Yes – looking back now, I think so.
Jesse ~ Had it been your intention to study German literature before you
went there?
Murray ~ One of the reasons I went to Vienna was because I wanted to
learn the languages of the world. I thought I would start with German. I
have some German background on my father's side.
Jesse ~ Was there a roots quest going on as well?
156
Murray ~ It was partly that. I was searching for some sort of roots. I
looked up some relatives in Germany. They took me to the cemetery and
showed me the graves of all the Schafers. That was a bit of a shock.
Jesse ~ Why?
Murray ~ Every one of the grave stones said “Bauer.”
Jesse ~ What does that mean?
Murray ~ Bauer means “peasant.” They were all peasants.
Jesse ~ That came as a surprise?
Murray ~ It would have been nicer if the inscription read “Cousin of
Charlemagne.” (laughter)
Jesse ~ So you are descended from peasants on your father's side. Maybe
that's why you like to fight for the underdog. What does the name
“Schafer” mean?
Murray ~ Shepherd.
Jesse ~ That fits. You are keeping up the family name – shepherding
common folk back to the homeland – Patria.
Murray ~ That is one of the reasons I chose the name “Patria” for my
work. In every country in Europe they refer to the homeland as the
motherland, but in Germany they refer to it as the fatherland – Patria.
Questing
Jesse ~ There seems to have been a lot of aspects to your questing.
Murray ~ I think I was actually questing in two directions. I was questing
into the past as well as into the future. I was aware of it at the time. It
helped in the discovery of who I am. Every young person ought to make a
trip into the past to find out where they came from, in order to bridge into
the future – to who they can be.
Jesse ~ And yet, in a way you were ignoring the present. You were
disconnecting from community, family, country, institutions.
Murray ~ Yes. And that's what I wanted. It was a very influential time. It
was much more influential than going to university. My mother might
have been happy if I had got a degree from the University of Toronto but
that's not what I wanted.
Jesse ~ I suppose every mother wants to see her son get a degree.
Ironically, now you have a whole bathroom full of them, including one
from U. of T.
Murray ~ Poor woman. She never got to see any of them.
Jesse ~ But therein lies a danger – we can get caught in other people's
agendas of what success is for us. Yet, as a young man you went beyond
the conventional wisdom to see for yourself what was out there, what
potential the future held for you.
157
A Look Behind the Iron Curtain
Jesse ~ Were there many other North Americans at that time travelling in
Europe like you?
Murray ~ No. There were very few North Americans over there. It was
not a popular place to go at that time. You have to remember that those
countries were the “Axis powers,” as they were called during the Second
World War. They were our enemies. No one wanted to go to Germany or
Austria. Europe was a mess. Vienna was spared but most German cities
had been bombed. It was very tragic to see cities like Cologne and
Frankfurt totally levelled. It was only ten years after the Second World
War and they had just started rebuilding.
Jesse ~ And the spirit of the people?
Murray ~ The people hadn't recovered from the war either. They were still
living in its wake, so it was a bit radical to go over there at that time. It
became popular to tramp around Europe in the 60s and 70s, but in the 50s
it was quite daring. It was a very different time. There were no youth
hostels. All that came later.
Jesse ~ You were on the cutting edge of what eventually became a flood
of North Americans bumming around Europe. How was the hitch-hiking
at that time?
Murray ~ I hitch-hiked a lot through Austria, Germany, Switzerland – the
German-speaking countries. I remember on several occasions people
stopping to give me a Deutschmark, or take me home because they
thought I was a refugee from some east European country. They weren't
used to seeing someone like me. Once Europe got reconstructed, then the
tourist industry started. But at that time there wasn't any tourism.
Jesse ~ You were literally on the road less travelled.
Murray ~ You could say the same thing about going to Russia. Nobody
did that in those days. Places like Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria and
Yugoslavia were totally lost countries as far as the west was concerned.
There was an Iron Curtain and Russia controlled it. Some people may
have been interested in visiting Moscow, but there was no interest in
visiting these small colonies that Russia had gobbled up. For me, it was a
good way to test my political loyalties. At one point I was close to
becoming a communist.
Jesse ~ Really? You were considering becoming a communist and you
actually travelled behind the Iron Curtain to test your political views?
Murray ~ There were things about Marxism that I believed in. But I
wanted to visit these communist countries to see how it actually worked.
Jesse ~ That speaks so deeply of the times – the 1950s. The west had a
strong opposition toward communism but at the same time a curiosity.
What were your experiences?
158
Murray ~ I went to a conference on folk music in Romania and was one of
the only westerners there. All the rest were socialists and communists.
What it proved to me is that I wasn't a communist.
Jesse ~ Why?
Murray ~ I saw what these poor people had to live with. Romania was a
police state and the people were literally terrified by the state. Everything
was controlled. They thought they had no crime because no crime was
ever reported in the newspapers – just that socialism was succeeding and
everybody was happy. All positive journalism. If somebody got murdered
it was never reported in the newspaper because there was supposedly no
crime in communist countries. They would say – there is crime in
America because capitalism breeds crime.
Jesse ~ So if that helped hone your political views, what would you call
yourself now?
Murray ~ I would say I am a socialist.
Love Songs
Jesse ~ Were you writing any music at that time?
Murray ~ The old woman tutoring me helped me with some medieval
German texts which I set to music. They're called Minnelieder. The
medieval German word for "love" is “minne,” so “Minnelieder” means
love songs. They were written by the Minnesänger poets – the medieval
German troubadours who sang mostly of unfulfilled love.
Murray gives me a little sampling of the songs.
Dû bist min, ich bin dîn:
des solt dû gewis sîn.
Dû bist beslozzen
in mînem herzen:
verlorn ist daz slüzzelîn:
dû muost immer drinne sîn.
Murray is enjoying himself – the music obviously still lives within him. I
can see he is also enjoying the wine, as I get up to pour him some more –
and notice how both his blue eyes, each in its own way, look a bit glassy. I
encourage him to continue with more music. He gives me the English
version of the song.
Thou art mine, I am thine,
you surely know that.
You are locked within my heart,
I have lost the little key,
You must forever stay there.
Murray ~ Beautiful, isn't it?
Jesse ~ Hmmm... sounds a bit morose – being locked in someone's heart
forever. But then again, it's an old German romantic notion. (laughter)
159
Murray ~ It was during that time that I met a Belgian girl on a train. She
was a beautiful woman with long hair. Nicole was her name. I would visit
her in Belgium.
Jesse ~ Did that bring you out of your loneliness?
Murray ~ It didn't actually help with my loneliness as much as it offered
me a muse when we weren't together. It was at that time I wrote a total of
thirteen love songs using texts from the Minnesänger.
Murray continues reciting.
Under the linden in the meadow,
that was our bed.
There you could find us both
amidst crushed flowers and grass.
Near the woods in the valley,
Tra la la la ...
Refusing the Muse
Jesse ~ Would you consider that your first major work?
Murray ~ Yes.
Jesse ~ Inspired by your first love – that's so beautiful, so archetypal. It's a
classic image – the distant muse inspiring the budding young composer.
Were your longings ever sated with her?
Murray ~ I never had sexual relations with her.
Jesse ~ Really? You just had sexual tension with her!
(laughter)
Murray ~ The muse is unattainable. It needs to be that way. The muse is a
projection of a man's anima. As long as he is allowed to freely project, she
will evoke in him his deepest feelings, which are often expressed
creatively through poetry, music or drawing. I remember one time being
out in the forest with Nicole, lying on top of her. That would have been
the time to do it. She said, “We must, we must.” And I said, “No, no.” I
guess I was too filled with the romantic ideal of pure, undefiled love.
Jesse ~ That is quite a picture of you, Murray. You as a young man in
Vienna, alone – lonely, dwelling in the shadow of gloomy, sexually
frustrated German thinkers, feeding your mind with the writings of the
romantics. From a distant city, a muse fires your imagination, if not your
passionate urges. But as the yearnings grow, so does your resistance, as
the idealistic voices of your literary heroes rise within you, inspiring you
to ever higher aspirations. That sounds like Goethe's recipe for a lifetime
of creating great art.
(laughter)
160
Studying Composition
Jesse ~ So I see where the roots of the 19th-century romantic spirit got
laid. Or perhaps, didn't get laid is a better way of putting it. (laughter)
This is somehow later synthesized with twentieth-century avant-garde.
How did your musical development unfold at this point?
Murray ~ I had come to Vienna hoping to find a composer to study with.
But I couldn't find one. So I started making trips to London to study
composition there. I even got a Canada Council grant. The Canada
Council had just begun operations in 1958, so I applied that year and got a
student grant. It was quite easy to get money back then because people
weren't familiar with all the kinds of grants available. I studied with Peter
Racine Fricker, who was a well-known English composer, although he
seems to have become obscured with time. Part of the grant requirement
was that I had to have letters from a composer-supervisor telling the
council how the work was progressing. We would have our lessons in a
pub, which suited me fine. If Fricker needed to hear something, we'd go
back to his studio where I'd hammer it out.
Audio Journalism
Jesse ~ Did you work while over there?
Murray ~ I made money as a journalist by recording interviews and music
and environmental sounds, then selling them to the CBC. I would mix the
programs at the BBC in London then send them to the CBC for broadcast.
I bought a portable tape recorder in London, although it wasn't very
portable. It weighed over 40 lbs. and I had to lug it around with me. It was
nothing like the little one you have there. It was so noisy that when I was
recording I had to keep it at a distance from the microphone, otherwise it
would record the sound of itself. At one point, while in Sofia, Bulgaria,
recording in a Cathedral, the tape recorder broke. And no one there could
fix it. So I had to lug it all the way back to England where it was made.
Jesse ~ You went to Bulgaria?
Murray ~ Yes. That was one of the places I visited. While in London, I
approached the consulate of Bulgaria, which of course was behind the
Iron Curtain at the time. When they asked who I was representing, I told
them, “the CBC,” which was in a way true because the CBC was buying
the recordings. When they asked who else, I said, “The University of
Toronto,” which was sort of true – I had gone there for a while. The only
other thing I could think of to impress them was the Y.M.C.A.
(laughter)
Jesse ~ And?
Murray ~ They responded, “Comrade, you will be a guest of the Peoples'
Republic of Bulgaria.” I went to the Romanian Consulate and did the
same thing. (laughter)
Jesse ~ What was it like when you got there?
161
Murray ~ They wouldn't let me walk around alone. They assigned
someone to follow me. They said it was to protect me. It was actually
quite frightening. I was on a train once and they came and searched
everything, including the seat and window ledge where documents could
have been hidden. They took away my passport and didn't bring it back
for hours. I kept imagining the headlines back home: “Young Canadian
Travelling in Eastern Bloc Disappears.” (laughter)
Jesse ~ So at that time you were already recording the soundscape?
Murray ~ Yes, absolutely. The soundscape was and still is the unifying
force of most of my musical and dramatic work, as well as my educational
and cultural theories.
Buckminster Fuller
Making a quick check of my recorder sitting on the coffee table, I
discover the red light has gone out. I pick it up and find it has stopped –
the batteries have gone dead. I ask Murray to wait while I dig out some
fresh batteries.
While I do, he recounts the time he was interviewing Buckminster Fuller,
the American philosopher and futurist. Part way through the interview the
tape on the recorder ran out. Buckminster stopped in mid-sentence and
remained silent, as if all he cared about was that his every word be
immortalized – and nothing about the person who was immortalizing
them. In addition, for most of the interview he had his eyes closed and
talked non-stop, while Murray was to just listen to “the great man.”
This gives me cause to reflect on what it's like to interview Murray. He
enjoys talking about himself. Yet I don't detect any arrogance and there's
certainly no pretension. He is polite but not overly so. He is quite relaxed
and interactive.
As I put the batteries into the recorder, I have to smile in light of Murray's
story about lugging a 40 lb. recorder around Europe. He obviously doesn't
keep up with the latest technology and on several occasions has asked me,
with a certain amount of incredulity, if my little digital recorder actually
works. When the batteries don't run down it works very well. Almost too
well. This tiny recorder which fits in the palm of my hand and weighs
ounces has been very handy for recording everything Schaferian, from
here to Japan. It can hold sixty-five hours of recordings which would be a
mountain of work to transcribe, so I'm trying to not overuse it.
This technical difficulty taken care of, I notice another technical
difficulty. Our wine glasses are empty again – and so is the bottle. I tell
Murray I'll open another bottle if he'll join me. He accepts.
The Aim of Education
Jesse ~ I find one of the interesting things about you is that you've done so
many diverse things. You decide what you want to do and then you do it.
You decided the way you want to be. You're a self-made man.
162
Murray ~ You could say that. I think of myself as an autodidact – selfeducated. I failed at university – or got out, depending on how you look at
it – then decided what I wanted to do with my life. For the most part I've
done exactly that.
Jesse ~ An educational path of your own design. But that road isn't
necessarily easy either, so I have a few questions around that. Where do
you see the failure of institutionalized education? What's the advantage of
self-education? What should be the aim of education?
Education is about finding oneself.
The Thinking Ear pg 239
Murray ~ Today you go through university and come out ready for one of
the eighty-seven employment opportunities awaiting you. But you've
possibly lost yourself – or never found it. The way most universities are
now, a student is supposed to already know what they are going there for.
But many students don't know, and get lost in the interstices of the system.
That's the reason I had to leave. In the case where a student comes in
knowing what they want to be, such as a dentist, fine, there's the path –
you will end up as a dentist. Those students fit in well. But the students
who are still finding themselves, who need the universities of the past,
those universities don't exist any more.
It is easier to remain Mr. Smith than to
become Beethoven.
The Thinking Ear pg 239
Murray ~ The university of the past was a well-rounded universe. When
you went to Oxford or Göttingen or the University of Paris, you were
introduced to the universe of ideas. They weren't teaching you a trade. But
you would come out with some idea as to how you might like to move
forward with your life, what you might like to offer society. Universities
have become trade colleges, sponsored by the companies who want the
students to work for them when they graduate.
Jesse ~ Today's path of education has become so streamlined. Forget
about your humanity; forget about your dreams; forget about your self.
Just get up to speed with society.
Murray ~ That's an interesting thing about the Wolf Project. A lot of the
Wolves are university drop-outs – people who didn't fit into the system.
Rae Crossman, for instance, struggled for a while with what to do,
because part of him wanted to be a poet. But there are no jobs for poets.
Jesse ~ The early universities would have satisfied the poet in him.
Murray ~ Yes. It used to be a different culture in universities. Poetry
would have been a requisite part of everyone's education. It was part of a
well-rounded training to develop well-rounded people. But the
universities have forgotten this initial aim.
163
Jesse ~ The original universities were started by religious denominations
and had more of a spiritual feel to them. There was an element of spiritual
development woven into the education. You didn't have the creative spirit
educated out of you.
Beethoven did not, as is commonly supposed, lose his
hearing – he lost his vision.
The Thinking Ear pg. 248
Murray ~ I wouldn't say those universities were entirely free either – the
Church controlled them. That came after the universities in France and
Britain fought for their independence. Then the universities were
uncontrolled by any source. But the universities today are beholden to the
companies that provide the funding. And some of the programs are in
danger of being squelched because there's no support for them. The
classics are evaporating from our universities. They don't teach the
classics in dentistry. It might do the world some good if they did teach
that in dentistry.
Jesse ~ Or, as Irving Layton said, “Go to university but don't let it get in
the way of your education.” If you trace education back to the Mystery
schools and esoteric centres, of which the Freemasons today are an echo
with their thirty-three degrees, the student had to literally and successfully
prove his courage and cunning in order to advance to the next degree. The
degrees that universities hand out these days don't reflect the same
rounded advancement of the individual as in the esoteric trainings.
Murray ~ That's why I keep my degrees next to the toilet. They don't hold
the same recognition as in the past.
Jesse ~ From what I observed while in the “hallowed halls” of university,
the educational environment of today develops people's intellect but
essentially creates logjams of information, and blocks their intuitive side.
Rather than supporting it, higher education often strips them of their
spiritual identity. Richard Dawkins, Oxford biologist and author of The
God Delusion, states that none of the top scientists in the world today
would admit they believe in a God. He says that scientists of the past
confessed such a belief only out of pressure and fear of being ostracized
from family and community. But Dawkins conveniently overlooks the fact
that it is the exact same mechanism that keeps scientists today from
admitting they believe in a divine being or superior intelligence: a fear of
being ostracized from the scientific community, which Dawkins claims is
wholly atheistic.
Murray ~ I wonder how he can back that statement? What he is really
demonstrating is that academia attempts to approach the world purely
through the intellect. They've taken the spiritual out of education.
Jesse ~ I'm glad I left that environment but as I said earlier, stepping out
alone on the road to self-education isn't necessarily easy either.
164
Education as Initiation
I was expelled from the University of Toronto for
being uncooperative. But getting kicked out was
actually the best thing that could have happened to me.
Then I could think about what was wrong with it. Then
I could write about what was wrong with my
university experience. It set in me a desire to develop a
whole different approach to education in general, and
music education in particular.
The Thinking Ear pg 290
Jesse ~ Our conversation is coming full circle. You were expelled from U.
of T. when you wrote that letter quoting Jean-Jacques Rousseau, asking to
be failed. But in actuality you were, already at that stage of your journey,
becoming a critic, making observations about the state of education.
Murray ~ Rousseau says a lot of interesting things about teaching children
in his book Émile. He says, “I would put them in a darkened room and ask
them to find the centre.” Then he explains the way you find the centre is
by clapping your hands and listening to the echoes off the walls. When
you are in the centre you will get a sound that has a refraction that is
uniform from all the walls. You can do experiments like that with children
and make it exciting.
Jesse ~ Interesting. Employing the power of sound as a means of orienting
oneself to their environment.
Murray ~ Or asking them – “If you're in a forest and lost, how do you get
home?” Émile figures it out by the sun.
Jesse ~ It's about working with phenomena.
Murray ~ Exactly. And that's what's needed in education. Then as your
knowledge grows – you grow. The schools today have become more like
cafeterias, where people line up to get stuff piled on their plates.
Jesse ~ I trained as a teacher with the Waldorf School movement. Its
founder, Rudolf Steiner, was immersed in Goethe's ideas and drew from
them to develop Waldorf education. The artist and the scientist meet in
the classroom – as they did in Goethe – which means the subjectivity of
the student is included in the learning process. The Waldorf motto is
“education from the inside out.” It's self-education in the classroom. One
could say the entire Waldorf curriculum is a modern form of initiation. It's
designed to support a student's self-discovery across the numerous
thresholds through childhood and adolescence. It allows them to explore
themselves while exploring the world, because the two are interwoven.
Murray ~ Exactly, the central focus of education should be initiation and
not preparation for placement in the work force. Training for a career can
come later. But the developmental years are a prime opportunity to help
young people become fully alive and activated.
165
Liberating Powers
Jesse ~ This brings us back to The Princess of the Stars. I think the
storyline says the same thing we have been talking about, but in different
words. Modern education is like the Three-Horned Enemy holding the
Princess of the Stars captive at the bottom of the lake. People's mental,
emotional and spiritual development are being subverted in the name of
results and productivity. The real wisdom – the living, cosmological
wisdom, represented by the fallen Princess of the Stars, is suppressed
beneath the surface. It's requiring something to turn it around.
(Murray likes the parallel)
Jesse ~ You can see I've been brushing up on Jung and Joseph Campbell
as I dig into your work. And I see now how Wolf has to go through an
initiation, an education of sorts, to transform his wolfness into something
else – to set himself free.
Murray ~ And then become a liberator.
Jesse ~ That's what's so exciting about the show – it mirrors reality. It
mirrors metaphorically how our psyche works. In a way, you've written
another commentary on education.
Murray ~ Yes.
Jesse ~ And Wolf's education comes through roaming the world, the way
you did – going through trials, activating your creative powers, then
ultimately becoming a liberator.
Murray ~ You should write some of this up for the program.
Jesse ~ For the Princess of the Stars program?
Murray ~ It would give the audience a way to look at themselves through
the story after the show is over.
Jesse ~ I'd love to write something for the program. Can I do the part of
the Presenter, too?
Murray ~ We'll see. Jerrard, David and I haven't made any decisions yet.
Murray then suggests it's time for bed. He's probably right – it's after
midnight and two bottles of wine later. Murray has a big day tomorrow
and I hope to have time with him in the morning. Murray retires to the
bedroom, while I settle myself onto the pull-out couch.
Screams in the Night
Lying in bed, I reflect on the weekend's events so far. Apart from my faux
pas that almost had Murray sleeping in his car last night, I feel I've
managed to make a lot of in-roads into the mysteries of Murray Schafer.
Images of Murray emerge in the dreamtime as I drift off to sleep.
R. Murray Schafer ... idealistic young man ... a restless and rebellious
spirit inspiring a journey to expand himself in ways not offered in
educational institutions ... happily dismissed for insubordination ...
following his bliss ... leaving the motherland ... seeking inspiration in the
166
fatherland ... on distant shores he follows the footsteps of earlier
pioneers ... sharing their experience of loneliness and existential struggles
... giving birth to his own poetic heart … a lone wolf ... he finds only
partial salve in human love ... and the power of the muse ... unrelenting on
his path of self-initiation ... he presses on for higher love ... communing
with the Divine through a passion for music ... a transmutation of his
suffering into art ... gaining steadier confidence in his own ideals ...
blazing new trails for fellow humans … finding his voice he puts pen to
paper to encourage others who also seek a better way ... which may be
ancient ways but have to be wrested anew from the universe of ideas …
his aim is the liberation of the human spirit … this sets his inner compass
for the road ahead ... his work as educator ... composer … as creator of
the epic Patria cycle ... a handsome image ... quintessentially romantic.
A scream awakens me in the middle of the night. The sound of someone
calling out, coming from my bedroom. It's the sound of Murray, as if
under attack. Wondering if I should leap up and see what's the matter. I
wait. It subsides. Did Murray just have a nightmare – in my home? I lie
awake trying to fathom what it was. I lie awake a long time.
Unable to fall asleep from the screams, and my mind still spinning from
the evening's conversation, I begin to reflect on my own experiences of
education and initiation as a younger man. After finishing high school I
wanted to go to India, perhaps because I craved something spiritual in my
pursuit of higher education. My parents wouldn't hear of it, so I settled
instead for the pursuit of a B. A. at the University of Western Ontario.
However, after a frustrating year and a half I realized, “What I'm here to
learn, I won't learn here.”
I began to fantasize about an independent educational path and, not unlike
Murray, knew I needed to explore beyond the cultural confines of Canada.
So, unbeknownst to my parents, who were footing the educational bill, I
went to the university registrar and asked for a refund of the balance of
tuition. With it I bought a plane ticket to Jamaica. Jamaica? It sounds like
someone following their bliss but is it really a place for higher education?
Yes and no.
I did spend a few blissful days on the coast, snorkeling and enjoying the
beaches. But I had higher intentions. For one thing, I was on a quest to
find a doctor. Our family had been to Jamaica during Christmas holidays
and I had met a doctor whom I considered a wise, old soul. I wanted to
spend time with him and observe him, as a means to educate myself – not
unlike what I'm doing with Murray Schafer now. My parents were of
course shocked when they received my postcard from Jamaica telling
them what I had done. But simultaneously they were supportive.
I found a driver who was willing to drive me up the winding roads, high
into the mountains. I didn't find the doctor I was seeking. Instead, the
driver ended up taking me to a family he knew in a small village
167
somewhere outside Accompong Town, which had been a rebel slave
haven during colonial days. There, I was welcomed and given the master
bedroom to stay in, while the family hospitably crammed into the bed in
the other room.
It was a real eye-opener for a white, twenty year-old from the suburbs of
Toronto. It was something of a roots quest – to shed my modern skin
through exposure to an entirely different way of living. No electricity, no
phones, only rainwater to drink and wash with, and cooking food over a
fire. I watched goats being slaughtered, and witnessed the Pocomania, the
little madness of dancing and wailing around the fire by night.
And there were Rastafarians around as well, who kept the fires of a
different kind burning, praising Jah while smoking ganja. But that wasn't
of interest to me. I had left the ganja habit with my suburban lifestyle. I
was looking to get high naturally. I was feeding the fire of my spiritual
hunger with three books I had brought with me – Jonathon Livingston
Seagull by Richard Bach, How to Know the Higher Worlds by Rudolf
Steiner, and the Bible.
Awakening
Again, I am awakened out of a deep sleep by screams and startled
moaning coming from my room. My God, is Murray is having another
nightmare? What is going on? This is embarrassing. How am I to I deal
with a guest having a nightmare in my home, and not just one but two.
Someone once told me that dreams are site-specific. I hope that doesn't
mean I'm giving Murray nightmares. All I can think of is how I have
someone who is destined to stand in the annals of history and he's having
nightmares in my home – in my bed. How is this going to make me look
in the annals of history?
Flattened on the pull-out couch – even my self-talk frozen – I try
meditating but am unable to enter the void of nothingness. Silence is
definitely an impossibility right now, and I dare not fall asleep again, lest I
be startled awake a third time. My sense of hearing on red alert, I listen
intently to the soundscape. There is the sound of the ceiling fan whirring
above my head ... the screeching of metal on metal of each passing
streetcar ... the refrigerator going through its cycles. My thoughts turn
again to the mountains of Jamaica ... and my Jamaican initiation.
As I began to explore the area around the mountain village, I discovered it
sat right on the edge of what the villagers called “cockpit country.”
Cockpit country is dense jungle with an underlying landscape of deep,
gaping craters that go on for miles. None of the Jamaicans dare go in there
because of the treacherous terrain. This made it a good haven for escaped
slaves. For this same reason, it also seemed like a good place to stage a
do-it-yourself initiation – to emancipate myself from mental slavery.
I decided I would cross the cockpit country on foot when I was ready to
return to the coast. When I announced this to the family with whom I was
168
staying, they reacted with great alarm. The father warned me not to leave
that way – they did not want my blood on their conscience, for surely I
would die in the attempt. His attitude only served to make my plan look
all the more perfect as a home-made test of courage and initiation rite.
The greatest danger I had faced so far in life was schoolyard bullies. My
youthful soul was yearning for a test of strength and bravery – an epic
trial to lever me into adulthood.
One afternoon, I took a walk along a cow path that bordered the cockpit
country, to get a clearer sense of what I was going to put myself through.
However, I got more than I was prepared for. I lost the path, I lost my
bearings and before I knew it, I was lost in cockpit country.
As this was only intended to be a preliminary peek, I had nothing with me
– no food, no water, no compass – nothing. This ignited a mad climbing
up and down the steep rocky walls of the cockpits, seeking the way out.
But the more I scrambled in fear, the more I seemed to slip into the abyss
and become enmeshed in the dense foliage of the jungle maze.
I soon became seriously dehydrated and attempted something shown to
me by a villager as a way to get water – sticking my face down into the
base of plants where rainwater gets trapped. Using suction and my tongue
I was able to get enough moisture to at least keep my mouth from drying
out, the way it does when gasping with horror.
After several hours of anguish and desperate clambering, I began
considering the possibilities – starving to death and/or becoming the
fodder of wild animals. I was shocked into an awakening where suddenly
something unexpected happened. I began spouting praises to Jah and
every other name of God I could think of. It came pouring out like an
undammed river. For the first time in my life, I was literally on my knees
asking for help. I was calling out to supernatural aid to save me from my
own folly.
It was only after I surrendered myself in this way that an inner calm was
able to emerge, my clambering subsided and I began to pay attention.
Through listening I was able to make out faint sounds in the distance.
This, combined with a closer observation of the sun's position, enabled me
to determine a direction to stick with. After climbing up and down a few
more cockpits, I was eventually able to see the fires of the village off in
the distance. The onset of twilight meant that I had to slowly grope my
way along the last bit of the journey through the jungle – hoping to avoid
any spiders and snakes nesting in the shadows. Just as the darkness of
night snuffed out the last bit of light, I stumbled into the village battered
and bleeding, both in body and ego. But at the same time, I felt joyous and
exalted that I had literally seen the light and been saved from the hellish
pits. Much to the relief of the family I was staying with, I told them they
could be assured I would not leave their village via the cockpit country.
169
Attitude and Altitude
It was then that I realized I had received what I came for. I had been
broken, while simultaneously exalted in spirit. The intensity of the
experience had imprinted on me an attitude I now see as the cardinal
precursor to all other learning: humility. That was the missing ingredient
in the institutionalized environment I had left. University had failed to
evoke a true humility. If anything, it was doing the opposite. Rather than
supporting and expanding what I was experiencing in my spirit, I felt
diminished, and cynicism was beginning to creep in.
Ironically, this was countered by excising myself from university and the
one-sidedness of learning, in exchange for a sojourn into the uncharted
wilds. In my case, I needed a descent into the terrors of a literal abyss,
found in the cockpit country of Jamaica. It activated forces in my soul that
were otherwise uncultivated by modern education.
I was deeply different after that day. I found myself in a better frame of
mind to receive knowledge, to receive it from both directions –
intellectually and intuitively. There's nothing like facing death to change
the way you live. Losing one's fear of death frees one to have the courage
to continually test oneself, to constantly put the knowledge one receives
to the test and circumvent the pitfalls of error and illusion.
I suppose that episode could be considered the beginning of the hero's
journey for me, or perhaps – in Patria terms – Wolf's pursuit for the
Princess of the Stars. In Jamaica, I had to find my way by guile and by
God. Through a combination of will, ingenuity and an acknowledgement
of higher intelligence, I managed to escape the maze of cockpits that
otherwise could have become my silent grave.
Murray in the Morning
I'm getting breakfast ready when Murray emerges from the bedroom. He
appears a little woozy this morning. Then again, I've never seen him at
this hour – perhaps this is the way he always looks before breakfast. I
invite him to sit at the kitchen table while I serve him tea and cereal.
I ask Murray how he slept. Without hesitation he tells me he had two
nightmares. I act surprised. I don't want to embarrass him by telling him
his nightmares startled me awake. He turns his attention to my selection
of cereals as if there is nothing further to say about the nightmares. But
part of me wants to know more. What were they about? What caused
them? Was it my bedroom? Was it the wine? Was it me? Was I in them?
Is there something bothering him?
I ask, “Do you take an interest in your dreams – and nightmares?”
“For quite a few years, when I was reading a lot of Jung, I wrote down my
dreams. I kept a notebook by my bed and would wake myself up to write
them down. I've had some very vivid dreams from which I've received
inspiration for my work.” Murray seems more interested in his bowl of
170
cereal than my prodding of his psyche, so I let it go and look for another
topic. I start talking about the Wolf Project meeting yesterday and ask if it
makes him happy to see so many people enthusiastic about it. This seems
to hit a nerve. Murray looks up from his cereal and with a certain measure
of force says, “We don't have to let you in, you know.”
This sends a shock wave through me. Where in the world did that come
from? Has Murray picked up on my waffling about the Wolf Project?
Was that floating around in the dream world last night, leading to this
rather gruff outburst? Or perhaps his true feelings are coming out about
being left out in the cold, in his car, the night before?
Interrupting my self-talk to make conversation with Murray, I reiterate the
reason Murray gave for joining the Wolf Project: “So you join to become
like Wolf...”
“I am Wolf,” states Murray as he swallows back another spoon of cereal
with an evident tone of ferocity. Murray then reminds me that I need two
sponsors to be able to join the Wolf Project. I was thinking, if I join,
Murray would be one of my sponsors. Now I'm not sure.
Acting as if Murray is just being funny – in an odd way – I laugh it off
nervously and, looking for another topic, turn Murray's attention to the
centrepiece on the kitchen table.
“What is it?” asks Murray.
“It's my tribute to farmers. It's dry now but when I got it, it was fresh, hotoff-the-pasture, biodynamic cow manure.”
Focusing mostly on his cereal, “Is that right?”
“Biodynamic agriculture is something Rudolf Steiner started. It's even
better than organic farming. You plant according to the phases of the
planets and you add special preparations to your compost. I went to a talk
by a biodynamic farmer a few months ago and he brought this in to show
how his cows' manure comes out less watery than commercial manure. I
asked him if I could keep it.”
I slide it a little closer to Murray so he can see it more closely and admire
how well it has held its form.
“Is it really something you want right in front of you while you eat?” he
asks sceptically.
“It reminds me that the quality of food I eat depends on the quality of the
manure.” I'm a little disappointed at how underwhelmed Murray seems
with my monument to farms.
“Whatever you say,” responds Murray, as he picks up his tea and moves
over to the couch, reminding me we don't have a lot of time before he
leaves for the airport. I join him and get to work.
171
Consulting
Jesse ~ Where are you flying today?
Murray ~ Indianapolis. A university has invited me to come and discuss a
project they are planning for next year.
Jesse ~ What is it?
Murray ~ They are looking for someone to direct an environmental
presentation in the gardens and forests around the university. All the
programs are involved – theatre, music, visual arts, dance.
Jesse ~ How did they hear about you?
Murray ~ I guess they know me as an environmental composer and that
I've put together other environmental productions.
Jesse ~ They heard you have an inside connection with Mother Nature?
Murray ~ Well, I guess I have more experience than a lot of people in
doing these sorts of things. They said I was at the top of their list. So I'm
going down for a couple of days to have a look.
Jesse ~ That's so amazing. You create pieces outdoors in the middle of
nowhere, that hardly anyone sees, yet you're widely known as an expert at
doing them.
Murray ~ When you think of it, most of the music in the past was played
outdoors. Things like this should happen naturally.
Environmental Extravaganzas
I ask Murray about other outdoor events he has directed.
Murray ~ While I was teaching at the University of Strasbourg, I did an
event with the students in the medieval town of Sélestat. We had singers
and musicians on the roof of one building being led by a conductor on the
roof of another. Then we had all the tenants of the four apartment
buildings facing into the square, making sounds out their windows using
everyday things like banging pots, playing the radio, running vacuum
cleaners, while being conducted by four conductors down in the square.
We had over one hundred people creating counterpoints of sound from
their windows.
Jesse ~ That would certainly earn you some sort of reputation.
Murray ~ The mayor saw it and liked it. Two years later he wrote and
asked me to come and do a similar event for their bi-centenary. We came
up with the idea of “Two-thousand Sounds for the Year 2000.” So I went
back and spent several months directing what became a processional piece
that involved not only musicians but also people such as street sweepers
and stone masons who swept and chipped away in rhythm to the music.
Jesse ~ That sounds incredible. How was it received?
172
Murray ~ It was a highly successful event. The mayor loved it. So did the
town. It may have something to do with my getting an Honorary
Doctorate from the University of Strasbourg. A year later, they gave me a
Doctorate in Humanities. That Doctorate I do value – it's the same
university where Goethe got his Doctorate. I enjoyed reading Goethe
while I was there, in particular his descriptions of himself as a young man,
studying at the university, climbing to the top of Strasbourg Cathedral, the
beauty he experienced, while wrestling with his vertigo; in the very
surroundings I was in.
Jesse ~ Are there other environmental extravaganzas you've directed?
Murray ~ A year later, just as I was turning seventy, I did an even larger
one. In 2002, Coimbra, Portugal was designated a Capital of Culture in
Europe. I enlisted over 1,200 performers to create music and sounds in the
streets of this town. We had seven brass bands, numerous choirs, all sorts
of soloists and small groups. There were people playing music on the
rooftops and popping out of garbage cans while the audience walked
along the route. In the evening, we had all the groups converge in the
central square, along with an audience of several thousand people. There
were three stages of performers set up for a spectacular ending. And just
when people thought it was over, the lights went out in the square,
creating total darkness. To everyone's surprise, when they looked up they
could see singers in all the windows in the square, about a hundred and
fifty, each with a candle. The conductor led them all in a final song. It was
incredibly beautiful.
Murray confesses he would rather not be doing these sorts of things
anymore. But he will, however, during this trip to Indianapolis. He
continues partly for financial reasons. He says most of the awards he's
received give him something to put on his wall but not in his wallet. It's
not that he's a hand-to-mouth artist but he does rely on teaching and
consulting work, as well as sales of his books and music. This is all so he
can pursue his passion – Patria. But as he approaches seventy-five, he
admits he has to slow down.
Jesse ~ I imagine slowing down isn't easy. You have such a history of
doing big things.
Murray ~ I like to do big things. Most parts of Patria are big. The trouble
is that these kinds of shows are not only expensive but are often
performed in places that aren't easily accessible for audiences.
The most wildly imaginative and physically ambitious series of
music theatre works in the history of the Canadian stage.
William Littler, Toronto Star
Jesse ~ It doesn't seem like you would be satisfied sitting back and resting
on your laurels, just reflecting on what you've done. Can you determine
what it is that keeps R. Murray Schafer going with the Patria productions?
173
Murray ~ Is it sheer egotism? Some might see it that way. I believe in the
work. If it's the only way it's going to get done, then we'll just have to
keep doing it ourselves. It would be nice to see some of them done by
others. I don't know why they aren't more often.
Jesse ~ Perhaps because they're so big.
I can honestly say that each of the Patria pieces has been
shaped by its inner exigency, frequently without regard
to how it might be produced.
Patria pg. 7
Jesse ~ You've written some large choral works too.
Murray ~ Yes. Apocalypsis is the biggest. It's based on The Revelations
of St. John the Divine – the end of the world and the New Jerusalem. It
uses 12 choirs, made up of five-hundred voices, requiring seven
conductors. It's a huge production. There are seven instruments that have
to be specifically constructed, plus a 25 foot xylophone. The rehearsal
time is about six months. It doesn't get performed very often.
Jesse ~ I wonder why? It doesn't sound overly extravagant. If you're going
to do something based on the Biblical end of the world, of course you're
going to want as many people singing as possible. (laughter)
Apocalypsis is a grand medieval pageant. The first part,
John's Vision, lasts for an hour and a quarter, and uses
hundreds of performers whose sounds and actions are
coordinated by an army of conductors. The Toronto
Star's William Littler described the 1980 première as
one of the most spectacular events in the history of
Canadian music. Not only St. John the Divine but Cecil
B. DeMille would have been impressed. The second part
of Apocalypsis, The Credo, culminates in a forty-eight
part tutti – one of the most complex pieces ever
composed. Here, Schafer makes an exhaustive
exploration of the nature of Heaven.
Canadian Composers Portraits Series
Complementary Spirits
A quick look at the clock tells me I've got a small chunk of time to wind
things up. I want to get a sense of how Murray is feeling about his
weekend in Toronto, including the unscheduled visit to his brother's in
Markham Saturday night. I ask him about his brother.
Murray says Paul is his only sibling. Paul studied economics before
becoming a professor at the University of Toronto and York University,
teaching arts administration. He also started The World Culture Project,
was Assistant Director at the Ontario Arts Council, has undertaken a
174
number of advisory missions for UNESCO, and has written several books
on culture and economics.
It strikes me that there is a theme running through the family. Paul sounds
like a cultural mover and shaker as well. Hoping not to offend Murray, I
go to the computer sitting next to him and look up his brother. Once I
wade through the links to a different Paul Schafer on the David Letterman
show, I uncover more about D. Paul Schafer. I find a description of his
book, Revolution or Renaissance: Making the Transition from an
Economic Age to a Cultural Age, which was recently published in China.
D. Paul Schafer subjects two of the most powerful
forces in the world – economics and culture – to a
detailed and historically sensitive analysis. He argues
that the economic age has produced a great deal of
wealth and unleashed tremendous productive power;
however, it is not capable of coming to grips with the
problems threatening human and non-human life on this
planet. After tracing the evolution of the economic age
from the publication of Adam Smith’s The Wealth of
Nations in 1776 to the present, he turns his attention to
culture, examining it both as a concept and as a reality.
What emerges is a portrait of the world system of the
future where culture is the central focus of development.
According to Schafer, making the transition from an
economic age to a cultural age is imperative if global
harmony, environmental sustainability, economic
viability, and human well-being are to be achieved.
The last sentence of the description is riveting, so I continue digging and
find titles of two other books he has written – Culture: Beacon of the
Future and Canada's International Cultural Relations: Key to Canada's
Role in the World. I also find the website for The World Culture Project
with a photograph of Paul. Apart from Paul having more hair, the two
brothers look quite a lot alike. But the similarities are obviously more than
skin deep.
I ask Murray about Paul's personal involvement in the arts. He says Paul
has never thought of himself as an artist but rather someone interested in
the economics of the arts and why artists are often underfunded. More
than kindred spirits, Paul and Murray seem more like complementary
spirits. The next obvious question is whether the two have ever
collaborated. Murray says Paul was at one time President of Comus, a
Toronto based music-theatre company, with Maureen Forrester as one of
the founders. They were the ones who produced Ra at the Ontario Science
Centre in 1987, with Maureen Forrester performing in it.
175
It was a Dora Mavor Moore Award winner, but unfortunately, when the
show closed, so did Comus, citing that Ra broke it due to the
expensiveness of the production. But Murray isn't sure it wasn't due to
other financial choices they made along the way with other productions,
and Ra was unfortunately the straw that broke the camel's back.
I ask Murray what the “D” of D. Paul Schafer stands for? “David.” I then
realize I should ask what the “R” of R. Murray Schafer stands for.
“Raymond.” When I ask why he goes by R. Murray Schafer instead of
Murray Schafer, he responds, “Someone else was using that name.”
The Streets of Toronto
Murray gets up and begins gathering his things. He pulls chapter 2 of my
manuscript from his bag and hands it to me. He doesn't seem as thrilled
with it as when I read chapter 1 to him. He talks about the corrections it
needs and that I should be sure to get a good editor – and to double check
dates, as I can't rely on his memory for accuracy.
“And what about the things I say about you, Murray?” I ask, “Can I
include warts and all?” Murray gives a chuckle the way he sometimes
does to evade answering. Then, after what feels like some real
consideration, he responds, “The book shouldn't be hero worship. It
should be fair and honest reportage.”
In my mind I know it won't be “hero worship throughout,” because, for
one thing, I'm going to be including myself in it as well. But I decide it's
not the right time to reveal this new approach – I will let Murray discover
this on his own while reading it. I tell Murray I applied to Asterion: A
Journey Through the Labyrinth and look forward to more experiences
there to write about. I also express my hope to have more chapters for him
the next time I see him.
I carry Murray's bag as we exit the loft, and tell him I will show him how
to get onto the highway for the airport. As we're walking out to the street,
Murray pulls out of his pocket his reading material for the trip – A
Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper Cylinder. He says it's considered
the first Canadian novel, written by James De Mille in 1888. Not through
any intention of Murray's, I continually feel dwarfed by the magnitude of
his literary scope and am embarrassed at the number of times I've just
shrugged when he's asked, “Have you read that?” or “Do you know that
author?” However, I must add, the way knowledge lives in Murray, it has
a quality that is high-minded without being high-brow.
As Murray gets into his car, I ask him if he would like to have a street in
Toronto named after him, the way his contemporaries Glenn Gould and
Yo-Yo Ma do down at Harbourfront. Murray laughs at the question as he
closes the car door. I laugh too at the irony of the idea – considering how
much Murray hates driving in Toronto. I wave as I watch him pull away.
176
Walking back to the building I wince as I suddenly realize I just added a
crowning faux pas to my list for this weekend. I forgot to tell Murray how
to get out of here and onto the highway for the airport.
I bypass self-talk and go straight to self-beration, as I picture Murray
driving up and down the streets – trapped in a maze of one-way madness.
So much for me calling this chapter My Murray Schafer Weekend. It
should be called How Not to Host a Legend.
177
Musical Interlude with R. Murray Schafer
No Longer than Ten (10) Minutes
The Toronto Symphony Orchestra commissioned me to compose a piece
in 1970. The wording of the contract was: “It is agreed that the work shall
have a minimum duration of approximately seven (7) minutes and no
longer than ten (10) minutes.” So I wrote it to be exactly ten minutes and
used their legalese in naming it, “No Longer Than Ten (10) Minutes.”
That made them madder than hell.
The TSO management also informed me that the new work would have
the distinction of being first on the program “when the audience was
fresh.” But it was the Toronto Symphony's practice to put new music at
the beginning of the concert, so subscribers could take their ease in being
fashionably late for a concert. We composers call these sorts of
commissions a pièce de garage, intended for performance while the
patrons are parking their cars.
I determined to make this problematic for the TSO management by
composing a piece that agglutinated itself to the next piece on the
program, so there would be no opportunity to open the doors between
numbers, and late-comers would have to wait until the intermission.
Because the second number on the program was to be Brahms B flat
minor Piano Concerto, I composed my piece to be a vast introductory
modulation to it that at the same time would leave the tardy patrons
standing in the foyer.
I have often wondered why a work of art must be finished and framed.
Why, on the contrary, may it not proceed out of chaos, gradually emerge
into clarity, then return again to chaos? I composed No Longer than Ten
(10) Minutes to be this way. It emerges out of the orchestra tune-up. The
conductor then enters and begins beating time. Only gradually does the
work gain definition. The climax is reached after a long crescendo at
precisely ten minutes. The conductor is then to leave the stage, and the
orchestra to gradually fade but keep the last chord going until the
conductor returns and gives the down beat for the next piece, in this case
the Brahms concerto. But additional instructions were that, if the audience
begins to applaud, the musicians should repeat the da capo and start
building the crescendo again. In other words, the more the audience
applauds the longer the piece goes on.
Smelling trouble, the Toronto Symphony management altered the
program, moving the Brahms concerto to after the intermission and
substituting Kodaly’s Peacock Variations as the opening piece.
178
PG 5 Picture
179
Regardless, the musicians were totally on board with my plan, although
the conductor, Victor Feldbrill, had reservations. He said, “It’s a
marvellous idea, Murray. But there’s just one thing: when do I get to take
my bow?” “You don’t,” I replied. I think his interest was extinguished at
that moment.
To make sure things went according to plan, I invited some students from
York University and instructed them to keep the applause going. I also
went around beforehand and explained the situation to all the ushers.
Then it began. The orchestra tuned up, the conductor entered and the
orchestra started playing the piece, which incidentally was based on the
graphic notation of traffic noise recorded in Vancouver, from my
soundscape research.
Gradually the piece gained coherence. Victor managed to get it building
effectively. As ten minutes approached, a huge crescendo of sound grew.
When it came to the end, the orchestra performed the piece exactly as
written. Victor turned and left, the audience applauded and the players
went back to the repeat, building the wall of sound again.
It was hilarious. From my seat I could see Victor in the wing, fuming
because he couldn't take his bow. I could also see the hand of the
orchestra manager gesturing desperately to get the orchestra to stop.
The audience soon understood the situation and began to join in the fun. I
stood up and bowed which brought more applause, which brought another
repeat from the orchestra. This kept happening over and over, which made
the performance run about twenty-five minutes. Needless to say there was
a lot of commotion.
Victor Feldbrill finally waltzed in trying to look as if everything was
normal and took his bow, but that made the audience applaud again,
which triggered another repeat. He did finally manage to reach the
podium and plunge the orchestra into the next piece.
While some refer to No Longer than Ten (10) Minutes as my “naughty
piece,” the critics were quite unkind. They attacked me and one critic
even suggested I was finished as a composer. I'm still going but there's
never been a repeat performance of the work.
End of Ten (25) Minute Musical Interlude
180
Seven
The Shadow of a Legend
Assessing the Situation
With memories of my last R. Murray Schafer experience still haunting me
– him almost sleeping in his car, nightmares when he does sleep at my
place, then the image of him driving away without directions – writer's
block returns. Furthermore, it's the beginning of May and the last thing I
feel like doing is sitting in front of a computer to write. I'd rather be
outside biking or some such activity. However, I've already invested a lot
into this project – and now it looks like there's a whole lot more to come.
I've heard from Jerrard Smith and I'm accepted into Asterion: A Journey
Through the Labyrinth for 10 days in July. I may get cast in The Princess
of the Stars, which would be a week of rehearsals and a week of
performances in August. And it's looking increasingly inevitable that I'll
end up joining the Wolf Project, to complete the cycle – and help “save
the world from destruction.” In anticipation of this, I've mailed my letter
of intent to the elders of the Wolf Project.
Nothing is Possible
I run into a friend who talks to me about her meditation practice. I tell her
of my attempts at meditation since returning from Japan but report that
my progress is slow, even though I'm working hard at it. She says my
problem is probably that I'm trying too hard. She says that if I'm working
at it, I'm not in it. She suggests that rather than learning to meditate, I
should learn to let myself be meditated. Another Zen paradox. I take her
advice and find this new approach helpful – just letting the space of
nothingness be, and let it meditate me. This brings me to the joyful
realization that “nothing” is possible, as I continue a daily regime of
entering the void.
This habit of “voiding myself” – or “a-voiding myself,” as I like to think
of it – ironically gives me a stronger sense of self. This is probably
because the self gives itself a break by entering a place beyond itself. It
may sound confusing but that's what you can expect from Zen. It not only
defies the rational mind, it scrambles it. All I know is that I never knew
how wonderful a head full of nothing could feel. All my life the objective
has been to fill my head through every orifice in it. But now, by
periodically making it a stimulus-free zone, it makes it a stress-free zone.
It creates a space that is free of endless egocentric churning that usually
doesn't cease until covered by the blanket of sleep. Silence becomes a
powerful tool to interrupt my mind's perennial fascination with
everything, before turning my attention to the task of writing.
181
The final power then is – silence, just as the power of
the gods is in their invisibility. This is the secret of the
mystics and the monks; it will form the final meditation
of any proper study of sound.
The Tuning of the World pg. 202
Accordion Joe
To get the ball on my ballpoint pen rolling, I decide to call Joe Macerollo
– the person who originally put me in contact with Murray last October,
and who produced the show I saw last summer in the Haliburton Forest.
Joe lives in the Toronto area and says he would be happy to come over
and speak with me.
Barely in the door, Joe starts telling me tales about his life and times with
R. Murray Schafer. Joe is a concert accordion pioneer and after hearing
the accordion piece La Testa d'Adriane, which Murray composed for The
Greatest Show, Murray offered to write an accordion concerto for him.
Joe then asked what he could do as a thank-you. “Join the Patria board,”
was Murray's response. Joe did. This led to Joe's involvement on the
board as a member, then as treasurer, then president, then ultimately as
producer of a number of Patria productions. Joe looks a little bemused as
his mind floods with memories and states there have been numerous
“challenging situations” while working with Murray.
“I've told Murray I will never allow him to meet with another
philanthropist. Around 2002, we were looking to fund Patria 3 – The
Greatest Show. We met with the CEO of Quaker Oats in Peterborough,
who could have put a million dollars on the table. He was excited at the
prospect of Murray's show and expressed a desire to get national exposure
for it by turning it into a travelling show – taking it across the country by
train. During the conversation Murray realized there may be strings
attached to the money and told the CEO that he wouldn't have others
dictating the production. That immediately cooled the CEO, who then
declined the offer to back the show. I was stunned at Murray's directness.
But what was even more mind-blowing was that Murray then asked,
'Would you like to join the Patria board?' The CEO looked at Murray and
flatly replied, 'Absolutely not.'
“You never know what's going to happen with Murray. However, he's
always true to himself and speaks his mind. But he just doesn't always
know how to accommodate the other side. Around the same time we
wanted some publicity for Patria. I got a call from the woman who was
assisting Murray, who told me that Murray was refusing an interview with
the Toronto Star and also with CBC Radio. Murray can be reluctant about
responding to media requests. I called Murray and said, 'Our friendship is
predicated on you doing these interviews. We need them! If you do these
182
interviews I won't ask you to do any other ones.' He finally agreed.
Sometimes I had to read Murray's mind to understand where he was
coming from.
“Murray has a love-hate relationship with everything from media, to
orchestras, to the government and educational institutions. In 1994 he
protested the lack of Canadian programming for the Toronto Symphony
Orchestra and as a result they did not allow his flute concerto to be
performed that year. He didn't get any TSO commissions for a long time.
Murray is often at the opposite pole to others. He can be an odd duck.”
Joe shakes his head, “I was actually on the committee which nominated
Murray for the Governor General's Performing Arts Award when he was
turning 65. I thought it would be good recognition for the body of work he
has created. The nomination is confidential to make it a surprise.
However, I was the one surprised when Murray turned it down. I couldn't
believe it. I suppose the upshot is that the one he is receiving at 75 comes
with twenty-five thousand dollars, whereas the one offered at 65 was only
twenty-thousand. So he's pocketing an extra five-thousand.” (laughter)
Joe then goes on to relate how hard his son, Paul, worked to arrange for
The Greatest Show to be produced at the Docks in downtown Toronto, in
2002. Murray suddenly decided he would rather focus on doing shows in
the forest. Peter Schleifenbaum, owner of the Haliburton Forest and Wild
Life Reserve, promised him a lake in the forest to do shows. “The whole
thing got dumped at the 11th hour.” Joe shakes his head again.
As Joe continues to pour out his memories – especially those related to
the shows he produced in the Haliburton Forest the past two summers and
the emotions connected with them – it's almost taking on the quality of a
therapy session. It's as if the poor fellow is still traumatized and needs a
catharsis. He has probably never been asked before how he feels, and is
taking the interview as an opportunity to get out some backed-up bile. It
becomes evident that when he enthusiastically agreed to help Murray, he
had no idea about the intensity of the work – perhaps mostly in dealing
with Murray and his high expectations – on top of the complexities of
working in the woods with a mixture of professionals and amateurs. “You
give Murray an inch and he'll try to take a mile to make things bigger and
better. At least some of Murray's works are being produced while he is
still alive, so he gets to help shape them. He could be like Glenn Gould –
gone too soon.”
It's obvious that Joe believes Murray is an important cultural icon whose
work needs to be staged and appreciated. However, it is equally evident
that his involvement with Murray grew increasingly consuming of his
time and even finances, crescendoing with last summer's show. He has
pulled back since then, leaving the Patria board, and won't be involved in
this summer's production of The Princess of the Stars . He feels he has
183
sufficiently repaid Murray for the accordion concerto. “It's been a journey
– for the love of accordion,” Joe concludes with a partial laugh.
Letters From Mignon
Inspired by listening to a CD of Murray's music – his string quartets by
Quatuor Molinari – I decide to call him to see where things are at. As per
usual I get his answering machine and wonder if I'll ever get his hotline
home number. I wait as the old machine does it clicking and clacking
business. While recording my message it cuts me off after a few seconds.
Calling a second time to leave the other half of the message, the word
“luddite” slips past my lips – something I've heard Murray call himself.
Murray surprises me with a return call within the hour. He sounds quiet.
He says he's busy working on a big project. Before I get a chance to ask if
it's the "big project" he has been talking to Lawrence Cherney of
Soundstream Canada about, he informs me of a concert coming up at the
St. Lawrence Centre in Toronto. It's the CD release of his Letters From
Mignon, featuring a performance by Eleanor. I tell Murray I'll be there.
Again, I try to ask what he is working on but he tells me he needs to get
back to it and says he'll see me at the concert.
The concert is on Mother's Day so it seems like an opportune outing for
my mother. She lives in what she refers to as a “wrinkle ranch” and
doesn't drive anymore, so she enjoys any opportunity to get out. When we
arrive at the St. Lawrence Centre we enter the theatre to find a packed
house. My mother takes her seat and becomes engrossed in the program
notes. On the other side of me is an elderly lady who, without any
prompting, says to me, “You know, I knew Murray Schafer when he was
just a young student.”
“Really?” I respond, as I turn with interest, “Tell me more.” And she
does. To be fair to her, I tell her I'm writing a book about Murray, as I pull
out my notepad and recorder and hold them hungrily in front of her.
Unfazed, she is happy to assist but isn't sure how much she can remember
– it was a long time ago. It turns out that she worked as an accompanist at
the Royal Conservatory of Music in the 1950s. She remembers Murray as
“very intense,” an “awkward young man” with “a lot going on inside.”
She says he was “difficult to get to know” because he was “quiet and
introverted” and when he did speak it was usually “straight to the point.”
I scribble as fast as I can to get this gold on paper, wondering what angel
arranged the seating tonight. I learn that her name is Carol Birtch and that
her late husband was Rowland Pack, a cellist involved with the Ten
Centuries Concerts, an esteemed Toronto music series. Apparently,
Murray played a large part in starting this initiative and collaborated with
Rowland. Taking her mind back to the early 1960s, she recalls Murray
and his wife at the time, Phyllis, coming over to spend time at her house.
Our conversation is curtailed as the lights dim and conductor Alex Pauk
184
starts up the Esprit Orchestra with guest cellist Shauna Rolston, treating
us to a playful demonstration of how to play a cello with two bows.
Then comes the Schafer part of the program. I read in the program notes
that this music was commissioned by Eleanor herself and premièred in
Calgary in 1987. I also read a bit about Eleanor. She was a founding
member of the Canadian Opera Company Ensemble. Her career took off
when she accepted the position of leading mezzo-soprano at the City
Opera of St. Gallen, Switzerland, and later was a soloist with the Munich
Opera for many years. Apparently, Murray has written numerous pieces
for her over the course of twenty years. And now, as Eleanor takes to the
stage, we are about to hear two pieces from their Juno nominated Letters
from Mignon.
Love From Mignon
Eleanor begins by speaking to the audience about the history of the
project. She also elucidates some of the trickier aspects of performing the
work. Then she gives thanks to the many people who participated in
making the recording a reality. With that, Alex Pauk takes up the baton
and Eleanor begins to sing.
Dearest Love...are you really there? O touch me, kiss me,
hold me, crush me! Sometimes I'm distressed to confess
how deeply I love you. Our love is like a diamond buried
deep in the earth, hidden but transparent and shining. I
see a radiant world in your eyes and hope through me you
see beauty and colour and joy and light.
Mignon.
Eleanor's voice is amazingly strong while maintaining subtlety. It makes
me think of Venusian beauty married to Martian power.
Eleanor James is that remarkable combination, in equal
parts a beauty, a real singer, an impeccable
musician and a passionate artist.
Ken Winters, The Globe and Mail
At the end of her performance Eleanor calls Murray to the stage. When he
arrives, before even acknowledging the audience, and in the spirit of the
music itself, he surprises Eleanor with a passionate kiss followed by an
embrace. Once Eleanor catches her breath she begins to speak again.
“Ladies and gentlemen, by now we all know who Mignon is. And we are
here tonight because Letters from Mignon is completed, è finito,
accômpli, vollbracht. Murray and I are thrilled to see our little ship of
song – you might even say our love boat – launched.”
185
Eleanor turns to Murray, who has his arm around her now. “Murray, I
have known and loved you for over twenty-four years. My admiration and
astonishment continue to grow ever greater. An unending ocean of music
flows through you. I hear it every day as you stagger over the tossing deck
of your studio from piano to writing table. You poured your life's blood
into this recording. I know it is because you believe in me. But not only
have you believed in me – you have beloved me – my spirit, my soul, my
voice. You have written music for me worthy of a goddess. And
sometimes I think only a goddess could do justice to your music. But mere
mortal that I am, I remain eternally grateful that you entrusted your gift of
song to me.”
It appears that Murray wasn't expecting to be addressed this way, so he
has to shuffle his stance a little for the next round of adulation from
Eleanor. “During this project, I have felt like the comely female carved
into the prow of an ocean schooner, with you as my Admiral. And when I
felt waves, wild and dangerous, and imagined myself on the verge of a
watery death, I remembered the trust you have in me and felt proud to be
chosen to lead your ship. What a journey we have made together. We
have reached tonight's happy shore, but knowing you, you are already
imagining the next voyage. I see the twinkle in your eye and the far-off
look. All I can say is – take me with you. I love you.”
Letters from Mignon is captivating, emotionally
fulfilling music by Canadian composer R. Murray
Schafer interpreted by his love, mezzo-soprano Eleanor
James, and the Esprit Orchestra led by Alex Pauk.
Schafer's orchestration is colourful yet limpid, the aural
equivalent of looking at multi-hued stones through a
clear brook. James's large, flexible voice is intoxicating,
as are Schafer's 1987 settings of her love letters.
John Terauds – The Toronto Star, 2007
More from Eleanor
The intermission arrives and I turn to Carol Birtch who is obviously
thrilled by it all. I want to ply her with more questions but she is getting
ready to leave. Her granddaughter, who is sitting on her other side, has
school in the morning and they came only for the Murray Schafer part. I
thank her for her memories of Murray.
I take my mother out to the lobby to get a copy of the new CD and spot
Murray and Eleanor. Eleanor does not strike me as a high-maintenance
diva but I know it's good decorum to acknowledge her performance. My
mother and I congratulate her on her work, as well as the wonderful
sentiments she shared with the audience. I always like to ask artists what
they think of their own work – and do likewise with Eleanor. She says her
throat was quite dry, which made for a couple of weak notes in the lower
186
range. My mother and I comment on how we hadn't noticed any weak
notes. Murray states that the gods are jealous and that nothing we do
should be considered perfect anyway. He says that in folk wisdom, while
making a quilt, for example, you must make sure there is some
imperfection in it or it annoys the gods. Murray begins speaking with
other people, so I pursue further questions with Eleanor – my recorder at
the ready.
Jesse ~ Can you talk a bit about your background? How did you get
started in music?
Eleanor ~ I started studying voice at the University of Toronto at age
thirteen on a scholarship from my church in Burlington. At that age it was
too early to work intensively on technique, however it gave me a taste of
the city and what the world of music was like. It helped me to know I
wanted to study music, so I jumped into the Faculty of Music when I
finished high school. I graduated at twenty-two with an honours degree in
Vocal Performance but then got married and had a child right away, so the
professional work almost ceased at that time. After my marriage fell apart
I got back into music. Since then it has been a steady, although not
necessarily typical, career.
Jesse ~ You're obviously not a typical opera singer – you're with Murray.
But you've also been a member of the Canadian Opera Company which is
interesting because Murray doesn't necessarily get along with that
institution, does he? He comes across as a curmudgeon in most places
where he writes about it.
Eleanor ~ Yes. At first he wanted to break the mould, as he does with his
own productions. In his theatre books you can see why he wants to move
opera beyond the proscenium arch. Most opera is written for that
environment and no matter how interesting the staging, it's still on a stage.
A final question arises. In view of the dependence of my
works on music why have I refused to speak of them as
operas? Why have I taken so much trouble to defend
them from this epithet by elaborating a new genre, the
Theatre of Confluence, into which I wish to see them
placed? ... Beyond this I could say that I do not wish to
reform the bad habits opera has developed, which now
seem incorrigible.
Patria pg. 40
Jesse ~ His attempt to change the status quo has made him something of
an enfant terrible in the opera world.
Eleanor ~ The experiences he's had, when he's tried to do something
different, have been mostly negative. He hasn't always clicked with the
people. He's a living composer and it seems they just don't want you
187
involved if they're doing something written by you. As a result, he's
become quite critical, partly because he's felt spurned.
No one was interested in anyone else's part in the
production. No one was interested in the whole. There
were no meetings at which the artistic team shared ideas
or sought to unify their concept of the work. Everyone
went his own way, appeared when required and
disappeared when not required. No one wanted to learn
from anyone else.
Patria pg. 63
My mother and I thank Eleanor for speaking with us. I catch Murray and
schedule when I can come to his place for more interview time. With that
secured I return with my mother to the concert hall for more music.
Clouds
Even though it's a crystalline clear day, I get lost on the pilgrimage to
Murray's place and arrive over an hour late. When he opens the door he
has a look of concern on his face, but not necessarily for me. He tells me
he just got back from Calgary where a new piece of music was premièred.
But before I get a chance to ask how it went he lets out a groan and says,
“I go away for a few days, I come back, I have no secretary, nobody
organizing and doing things for me while I'm away. I have piles of stuff
waiting, telephone messages to reply to, things coming over the fax for
Arcana Editions, mix ups...”
There is a momentary lull in what is starting to sound like a rant. I peer
about to see if Eleanor is around. We're still in his front hallway and I can
feel Murray has more to say. I ground myself and switch into empathy
mode so Murray can continue with what feels like an emotional catharsis.
“It seems like half the world is in a state of emergency. Everybody wants
something, they want my response, they want to order scores or books or
whatever, immediately, express post ....”
Reaching gingerly for the recorder in my pocket, trying not to pop
Murray's intensity, I ask if I can record what he is saying – for the book.
Murray then remembers I'm here to interview him. I tell him I can come
back another day if he doesn't have the time. He says I can come with him
while he runs some errands. Run errands with Murray Schafer? My
speculating lasts no longer than a dotted half-note, as I watch Murray don
the navy blue sea-captain cap he customarily wears outdoors.
Rain
When we get outside, I tell Murray we can use my car. He insists we go in
his car. I climb into the passenger seat of his Honda Accord, writing pad
188
and recorder at the ready. As we head out his driveway, Murray picks up
where he left off and we get deeper into what's upsetting him.
“And then all the headaches of trying to produce The Princess of the Stars
ourselves. It's a mess. The main problem is that there is no money.
Actually, it's not a mess – it's Canada! You draw up a budget for $350,000
to do a production and you get $20,000 from the Canada Council. That's
what we're getting. It's impossible.”
I maintain my empathy – silently nodding as Murray speaks.
“I don't actually like going to the government because of all the strings
attached. However, we could use their help. The other problem is that we
don't even get the money now. But we need $29,000 now to build the set.
People do these things in advance and need money for materials, and
naturally want to get paid themselves. The board hasn't been able to come
up with much money so far, I'm under pressure to come up with the rest.”
As upsetting as this is to Murray, I'm secretly glad he's opening up like
this so I can see another side of him. I quietly hold the space while he
continues to unload emotionally.
“We've hired a general manager, we're into casting, we have so much of
the infrastructure already in place. But we still haven't come up with the
money – and it's May! It's not the sort of thing the artistic director should
have on his mind at this time. But that's the reality of things in Canada. If
you want to do something artistic you pay for it yourself. Part of the
problem is that only 40 percent of a donation can be a tax write-off in
Canada, whereas in the United States it's 100 percent. That's how opera
companies survive down there.”
I resist the desire to scribble down Murray's words, appearing as if I only
care about the facts rather than his feelings. I continue to let my recorder
do the work while I nod to let him know I'm listening sympathetically.
“I end up putting in personal money to get the productions up. Then I put
in more after they close to cover any debt. Last year I put $30,000 of my
own money into the production and didn't draw anything out of it. Not for
any expense – not for my services, phone bills, travel, nothing. I didn't
even get paid for the use of my music. I can't keep doing that year after
year.” Murray glances over at me, disclosing a forlorn looking face. “I'm
pretty down, as you can tell. I just spent the morning on the phone to
everyone on the board to see what the situation is. It isn't good.”
I feel I've done well so far at remaining empathic and neutral. However, at
this moment part of me would love to just say, “It's your own damn fault,
R. Murray Schafer. If you weren't such a shit-disturbing radical, pushing
people's buttons, pissing off opera companies, then expecting others to
patronize your grandiose ideas, you wouldn't have to work your ass off at
this age and might be a lot better off – like Anne Murray.”
189
I resist the temptation for an attempt at humour and let Murray continue.
“The Princess of the Stars starts just before sunrise, so everyone has to
arrive by four in the morning, which means a real effort by those who
want to attend. There's a concern about this and as to whether the
production is financially viable. But we have to try, even if it's the last
show Patria Productions does. Of course that's what we say every time we
do a production.”
Murray lets out a little chuckle followed by a long sigh. I ask why the
Canada Council won't contribute more funding to the production.
“The problem is that the government sees us as 'Schafer Incorporated'
because we always do my work. If we did something that had a French
composer, an English composer, and six composers of other nationalities,
then we would get more support. (laughter) Otherwise, they're afraid of
being accused of always giving money to me. I agree partly. There are
younger composers who deserve funding too.”
I ask if his reputation has helped or hurt him to get funding or have his
work produced by other opera companies.
“Both. I've had run-ins with producers. Mostly because of my strong
opinions on how my own work should be executed, as they call it. That's
why we formed the Patria team – so we could maintain artistic control.
The productions we've done in the Haliburton Forest have all been good
productions, probably the best. The problem is that it isn't easy to raise
$200,000 by ourselves for a production.”
The Good News and the Bad News
The clouds in Murray's mind seem to be breaking up a bit as we move
along the scenic country road under a clear sky. I try to add an upbeat note
by telling Murray I heard from Jerrard Smith and that I have been
accepted to participate in Asterion: A Journey Through the Labyrinth this
summer. He is happy to hear this but then adds his own condition. He
states that if I'm going to write about it, I must not reveal its location.
Murray explains that when Asterion officially opens, no one will know
where it is. If someone wants to participate they will be met at a special
meeting place where they will be blindfolded, then driven to the location.
After they've gone through the course they will again be blindfolded and
returned to the meeting place.
It all sounds like good material for the book, and tell him I will comply
with his request to maintain secrecy about its location.
The beauty of the landscape surrounding us seems to be seeping into the
car and lightening the mood, at least until the next turn in the
conversation. I ask Murray if I've been cast as the Presenter in The
Princess of the Stars.
190
“We've given the part to someone else,” comes the answer after a long inbreath. I freeze in disbelief. I don't know what to say other than, “Who?”
“He’s a local actor from Haliburton, which is good for our relationship
with the community. We won't have to pay for his accommodation
because he'll stay at his home in town.” My heart sinks and we fall into a
rough patch of silence as we rattle along the dirt road. I know why I didn't
get the role. Murray didn't think I was a good host when he stayed with
me, so he believes I couldn't handle the role of the Presenter.
I pick up my flattened ego and respond, “Are you sure there isn't some
way I could do the role? I'll do it for free. It would be perfect for your
biographer to be the Presenter in the show, and then write about it.”
Murray agrees with my point but says the decision was made by three of
them. But I'm not buying it – it's his show. The real problem is that I just
haven't convinced him yet.
At the risk of sounding like a whiny actor, I take another run at it. “That's
very, very disappointing, Murray. It would have been such a great idea to
have your biographer also as the Presenter. The Presenter is the interpreter
in the play, so for me to be the off-stage interpreter and the on-stage
interpreter would work fantastically. I can do it. I know I can.”
Now it's Murray's turn to empathize. He does a good job but his position
remains unaltered by my rant. “I know you're disappointed. It was a good
idea and we considered it. Unfortunately, we decided to go with someone
else. If you still want to be involved you can volunteer to be a canoeist.
We need lots of them.”
A canoeist? Murray tells me canoeists are needed to transport performers
around the lake during the show. The thought of being a chauffeur for
performers doesn't improve my mood. I don't even know if I've got what it
takes to be a canoeist. Regardless, it doesn't sound very creatively
fulfilling. I get a bit huffy at the suggestion and punctuate my displeasure
with a toneless, “I'm not a canoeist.”
Murray then changes the subject and tells me the Wolf Project elders got
my letter of intent, and that he is willing to be one of my sponsors. I thank
him for his gesture but remain aloof. I'm still not sure if I'm going to the
Wolf Project, even if they do want me.
The car is starting to feel claustrophobic so I blow it off with a dramatic,
“Such is life... such is theatre... such is life in the theatre.”
The Errands of R. Murray Schafer
We enter the quaint little village of Douro and pull up in front of an old
brick building. I look up to see the sign above the storefront: P. G. Towns
and Sons General Store 1892. As we get out of the car Murray says it's
time for him to put on his hat as the director of Arcana Editions. He
191
reaches into the backseat and pulls out a pile of packages. What he really
means is, it is time to be the mailboy.
When we enter the store Murray gets a warm greeting from the people
working there who obviously know him as a local, if not also as an
international icon. Murray seems more like a local in this setting as he
banters back and forth with them.
The girl who runs the post office is not back from lunch break, so I have
time to look around while Murray waits for her to arrive. The inside of
this country store is just as rustic as the outside. They have food,
hardware, clothing – everything, including old-time ambiance. It beats
Walmart by a country mile.
Familial Territory
As we continue our journey down more country roads, Murray points to a
cemetery and says he has family buried there. I'm surprised because I
didn't know Murray had roots in this area. He says even though his
parents lived in Sarnia and Toronto – where they died – they were both
buried in this cemetery.
Murray ~ My father and mother met out west. My father worked for
Imperial Oil and relocated in Toronto when the head office moved there.
Jesse ~ Any references that I've seen to your birthplace say Sarnia. Do
you consider Sarnia your hometown?
Murray ~ No. We moved to Toronto when I was one year old. I went back
to Sarnia once with my mother to see the house I was born in.
Jesse ~ Tell me more about your mother.
Murray ~ My mother's family immigrated here from Northern Ireland in
the 1820s. She was born in Manitoba in 1900. She said she was born in a
sod hut. That was before they got the farmhouse built. Her family was
homesteading there. That was just after the Louis Riel rebellion when the
west was opening up and you could get a big tract of land from the
government for practically nothing, if you were willing to go there and
farm. Her family moved there from Warsaw, Ontario, a village near here.
Jesse ~ Is that why you returned to this area?
Murray ~ I always wanted eventually to settle in rural Ontario. I love the
geography and scenery. I love the old brick houses. In no other part of
Canada do I respond as much to the architecture. There isn't the same
quality elsewhere. I also have many childhood memories from this area. I
remember my summers as a child here when we'd come for picnics with
cousins or stay on a relative's farm.
Jesse ~ Tell me about the farmhouse you live in now.
Murray ~ It was built in 1860. After I moved in I discovered it was
actually the home where a great aunt was born and grew up in the 1870s. I
192
remember her as an old, old woman. A cousin came over with some old
photos a while ago and, quite by accident, I noticed that the house in one
of the photos is mine. I counted the bricks around the windows and other
things that confirmed it. It had a different veranda and parts of the roof
were different back then but it's the same house. I love houses with ghosts
in them. It gives a sense of continuity. The ghost of my great aunt is in the
house – and probably a lot of other relatives too.
The Spirit Garden
We pull off the road into a garden centre. Murray wants to pick up some
things for his garden. We walk the aisles together, Murray taking his time
inspecting the plants. I ask him about his gardening.
“I have planted a vegetable garden every year for over thirty-five years. I
grow most of my vegetables for the year, keeping them in a freezer to eat
through the winter. It's very different than buying them at a store. It's like
eating your own landscape. I cannot exaggerate how strongly I feel about
the spirituality of agriculture and what a tragedy it is that most of the
population in well-off countries have been deprived of this sensation. It is
totally different from eating a meal of fruit or vegetables that you have
grown yourself and have freshly picked an hour or two before
consumption. I remember how, when I was a child in Toronto, my parents
used to look down on immigrants who ploughed up perfectly good lawns
to plant vegetable gardens. And yet my mother and father both came from
farms where vegetable gardens produced most of the food that kept them
alive through long winters. To them the garden had become a sign of
poverty in just one generation. They drove to the supermarket and
shopped there for the week. People who cultivate vegetable gardens are
rarely overweight.”
This brings up a discussion about another part of Patria – The Spirit
Garden, the music for which I've heard on a CD, from a performance
recorded in Winnipeg.
...The Spirit Garden is propaganda for nature...
Patria pg. 235
“The original idea for The Spirit Garden came to me in a dream in 1985. I
wrote it in my diary, but it wasn't until ten years later that the inspiration
was developed – while I was working on my own garden. It's about
getting people to actually plant a garden and interact with the landscape as
part of the performance.”
The Spirit Garden is a celebration of local culture in
both food and art. The few hundred people who
ceremoniously planted and tended the garden during
the first production of The Spirit Garden in Ottawa
gained, or should have gained, a greater self-respect by
193
doing so. Perhaps some of them even sensed a
sacredness in celebration.
Patria pg. 244
I tell Murray, “I myself don't garden. However, since I learned that the
word 'humility' originates from the Latin, 'humus,' I've had a greater
respect for gardening. I see now that working with the earth is not only
about getting down on hands and knees physically but also in spirit.”
As we stand and chat amongst the flats of vegetable seedlings, Murray
continues, “The Spirit Garden is done in two acts. In Act I the audience
arrives and is divided into seed groups. One group is the corn, another the
potatoes, another the zucchini and so on. Each group has to learn a song
and a ceremonial dance and something about the culture of their
vegetable. When everyone is ready, we go into an actual garden. But we
don't just go in and throw seeds around. We first prepare the garden. We
dig it. We thank the Sun for shining on it. And we invoke the god of rain
to rain on it. We invoke all the elements so the garden will grow in
balance and be abundant. After that, everyone is given seeds to plant. It
becomes a ritualized planting ceremony, complete with singing.”
Old books on garden lore are full of such tips and
traditions as are anthropological studies of vegetation
rituals from around the world. The point is not to
encourage thoughtless planting, but to stimulate a
recognition of the magical and spiritual powers of
seeds and plants...
Patria pg. 240
“Then there's an intermission – for 4 months. The audience comes back in
the autumn for Act II – the harvesting of the crop – another musical ritual.
Then we have a great banquet with the food we've grown, accompanied
by joyful music and lively entertainment. At the end we burn the garden
and hand it over to winter and the four winds. It's a wonderful ceremony.
It's another example of going beyond the safe conventions of theatre into
myth-ritualism – where anything can happen.”
The convergence of art and nature is
a characteristic unique to the major
works of R. Murray Schafer.
John Becker, Opera Canada Magazine
A Garden Plot
“You can work wonders with a garden. You don't just cast seeds on the
ground and expect to get products. You cast spells, you offer prayers for
the plants, you talk to them, you create magic in growing a garden. That's
what The Spirit Garden is about.”
194
The Spirit Garden celebrates the cycle of planting and
harvesting – birth, maturing, death and rebirth. The
cycle is recurrent but not progressive. No point in this
cycle is beginning or middle or end in an absolute sense.
Everything is in motion towards another state. As with
water, never dying but progressing through endless
transformations, the garden sustains the notion of
reincarnation and to every gardener this is both evident
and inspiring, perhaps especially now since humanity
has traded or is trading its identification with nature's
biorhythms for faith in a mechanical world, where life
pulses with a different rhythm energy, a relentless
future-mad acceleration in search of money and
productivity. It is largely an urban attitude, for it is in
cities that the triumphs of human engineering are most
conspicuous. In the centre of the city almost everything
you look at is man-made. The lines are straight and the
angles perpendicular, unlike anything in nature, and the
only things growing there are the profits or the debts.
But what happens if we lose our appetite for this kind of
progress? Can nature's biorhythms be rediscovered? It
goes without saying that if sufficient numbers of people
could be persuaded to rediscover them and celebrate
them, the quality and taste of the food we eat would be
vastly improved. Nature is not a series of agronometric
calculations or agrobusiness strategies; it is the result of
forces we will never completely understand that can
work for or against us. Plants live or die as a result of
these forces and not by so many kilos of potash flung at
them by the passing tractor, or by trucks carting them to
customers half a continent away.
Patria pg. 235
There's not much I can say in response to all this except, “It sounds like a
garden plot to save the planet.”
To redeem the garden as a philosophy of life it is not
enough merely to go about attacking the weeds with a
hoe. We have to believe in the garden with the faith of
ancient myths...
Patria pg. 235
While Murray is examining the different plants – reaching out, touching
them, looking at them from different angles – I notice his hands again. I
can see how his hands have acquired a certain ruggedness from working
with the earth, probably not unlike his peasant ancestors. It evokes in me a
195
vision of Murray planting something, patting it over with earth, then
going inside, giving his hands a quick rinse before excitedly sitting at his
worktable and composing from the inspiration given him by the garden.
Murray explains the purpose of this stop at the garden centre. “I planted a
batch of vegetables already but they were hit by frost. So I re-planted
them. But then a groundhog got at them. So now I have to re-plant them
again.” I ask him what kind of magic he will employ to stop the
groundhogs from eating this batch. He tells me one way to stop
groundhogs is by urinating down their holes. This is supposed to
encourage them to move out of the neighbourhood.
Running errands with Murray shows me how much he has on his plate.
Apart from trying to raise a $100,000 so he can produce The Princess of
the Stars, he has to put in his annual garden, and walk his property
urinating down groundhog holes to protect the crop that is to sustain him
for the coming year. With no time to waste, Murray puts the seedlings in
the trunk of his car and we continue down the trail to the next errand.
Small Town – Big Score
While admiring the beautiful countryside, I ask Murray more about his
move back to Ontario.
“I came back from B.C. in 1975. I had saved up as much money as I could
and bought an abandoned 100 acre farm near Maynooth, south-east of
Algonquin Park. I lived there for the next ten years with my wife Jean. I
had never lived in the country before, so I came with high expectations. It
was like starting on a new frontier. We actually renovated much of the
house ourselves.
“I learned a whole new rhythm of life – one much closer to the cycles of
nature. I came to see how I was sharing my land with countless animals
and birds. I could hear wolves howling and see bear and deer roaming
about. The soundscape was rarely disturbed by human sounds. The
change of the seasons became a source of fascination for me.
“However, after a couple of years without much human contact we got a
bit of what they call 'bushed.' To meet some local people we started going
to the church in Maynooth. People found out I was a musician and asked
if I would play the organ. There was already a woman playing the organ,
and I didn't want to dethrone her, so I suggested I put together a choir. I
had sung in a choir but never conducted one.
“So a choir practice was called and about six people showed up. The
youngest was a girl of six and the oldest a woman of sixty. I asked how
many of them could read music. Only one woman put up her hand. I later
realized she was lying – she couldn't read music either. And there was a
man who couldn't read at all – or at least not much.
196
“I taught them some carols for a Christmas concert. A lot of them spoke
German because it was a Lutheran church, so we learned Stille Nacht,
Heilige Nacht and a couple of other carols. Some people in the Catholic
church heard we were forming a choir, so they came to our concert. After
the concert the Catholic girls asked if they could join our choir. I laughed
because the Catholics and the Lutherans have traditionally been enemies.
I told them I would ask the priest.
“I went to see the Father and he said, 'Oh, I don't know.' So I said, 'The
way to go about it is to get them all singing Gregorian chants.' He
responded, 'Oh, I love those – I remember them from seminary.' After he
sang one for me he agreed to my proposal. I suggested that we spend half
the time singing Lutheran music and half the time Catholic music.
“You should have seen the miserable looks on the Lutherans’ faces when
the Catholic girls arrived for the first rehearsal. But as soon as we started
singing everything was fine. I worked with that choir for several years and
wrote some music for them. One piece has turned out to be one of the
most popular pieces I've ever written – Gamelan. It sells all over the
world. The reason it's so popular is because of the interest in World
Music. Gamelan is a Balinese tonal system. There are World Music
choral concerts all over and they'll program a piece from Africa, and a
piece from North American Indians, a piece from Bulgaria, and so forth.
Then they'll have Gamelan as an example of Indonesian music. Of course,
it's not from Indonesia at all. It's from Maynooth, Ontario.” (laughter)
Jonah
“Jonah was written at that time as well. I wanted to do a musical theatre
production to be presented in the church, so I conceived of doing
something around a Biblical theme. I picked the well-known story of
Jonah, about God calling him to be a prophet and feeling betrayed by God
but then ultimately reborn. More of the hero's journey.”
To be saved from the clutches of corruption and chaos,
as Jonah was, is always interpreted as a rebirth; for the
miracle of water is that it is at once both the eternal
destroyer and the grand deliverer. Jung remarks: Water
is the commonest symbol for the unconscious...
Psychologically, therefore, water means spirit that has
become unconscious...The descent into the depths
always seems to precede the ascent.
The Tuning of the World pg. 170
“Jonah became a community undertaking involving about forty people.
Considering that the total population of Maynooth is only about two
hundred, the per-capita participation probably exceeded the national
197
average. (laughter) Once it was developed and rehearsed we performed it
to packed houses – everyone from miles around came to see it.”
Commodity art flows from centre to margin. At the
centre are the stars, managers, dealers, promoters,
producers, administrators, manufacturers, and the
copyright lawyers. This is a one-way street.
Consequences: erosion of the local, the homemade,
the unique community, in favour of bought
merchandise that (I repeat) is not ideologically neutral.
Patria pg. 169
“It was an insightful experience into how communities can create unique
repertoire by doing these sorts of things. All across the country small
towns are losing their hearts and souls because they are no longer centres
but merely peripheral to big cities. Working together on projects like this
need not be expensive and need not be imitative. The participants can be
amateurs or professionals, young or old, rich or poor. What it needs to be
is original. When originality is inspired in small communities it will
restore pride everywhere and offset the trend of sprawling megalopolis.”
I will not dwell on the desirability of works like this in
improving the cultural life of smaller communities.
They have suffered the drain of talent to the big cities
for over a century now and desperately need to be
reinvested with cultural enterprises that help reverse
this trend. We live in a centre-margin society, where
culture products are manufactured in the centres and
the rest of the country is expected to suck them up like
a ditch sucks water.
Patria pg. 226
Peterborough
We're no longer driving on a country road – we're nearing Peterborough. I
ask Murray where we are going. He says he has a couple of stops
including the Canada Customs and Revenue Agency. That doesn't sound
very exciting, so I broach the subject of his relationship to women. I've
got pieces of the puzzle but I'm unclear on the total picture. Murray offers
to help me with the chronology.
Murray ~ I met my first wife, Phyllis Mailing, when we were both in the
Grace Church Choir in Toronto. She was the alto soloist. When I went to
Europe she followed me there. We were together in Vienna for a short
while then moved to London. We found a flat we wanted to live in but the
owner wouldn't let us unless we were married. We said, “Okay, we'll get
married.” So we did.
198
Jesse ~ Back then living with a girlfriend was frowned upon. People
sometimes forget how much things have changed. Phyllis had a musical
career herself, didn't she?
Murray ~ Yes, that's how she supported herself. When we were in
England she performed as a soloist doing lieder and art songs. Then when
we came back to Canada we lived in Toronto, where it was easy for her to
get work because she had a reputation. She also worked in a professional
choir, the Festival Singers.
Jesse ~ You obviously didn't stay in Toronto. Where did you go next?
Murray ~ We went to Newfoundland for two years where I was artist-inresidence at Memorial University. She started a choir there and did quite a
bit of soloist work. She also won a big singing competition in New York.
That led to a recital tour. But she didn't really want to be going back and
forth between Newfoundland and New York. She debated for a while
whether to move to New York. I wasn't too keen on that, so the idea
eventually got dropped. Then my contract at Memorial ended. Simon
Fraser University was just opening up and that was when I was invited to
work there.
Jesse ~ And Phyllis went with you?
Murray ~ Yes. She was keen on going to Vancouver. Phyllis was with me
during my ten years at Simon Fraser – or at least most of that time.
Jesse ~ Did something happen?
Murray ~ We divorced a year before I left.
Jesse ~ What happened?
Murray ~ That's when I met Jean.
Murray is speaking quite slowly and deliberately at this point. Is it
because he's having to pay closer attention to the driving, or to what he's
saying? Not sure if this is a sensitive subject, I refrain from coming
straight out and asking him if he met Jean before or after he divorced
Phyllis. I wait to see if he volunteers that information.
Murray ~ Jean was a secretary at the university.
Jesse ~ And that affected your relationship with Phyllis?
Murray ~ Yes.
Jesse ~ Why?
Murray ~ I was having an affair with Jean.
Jesse ~ How did she react to that?
Murray ~ We divorced. After that I decided to leave the university.
199
Jesse ~ Did your decision to leave Simon Fraser University have anything
to do with the relationship situation?
Murray ~ That had something to do with it but I also just wanted to leave
the university. I had been there for ten years. I needed more time for
composing than was possible with a full-time job. I had always intended
to leave the university at some point. I felt I had done what I could do
there. The Tuning of the World had been published as well as other
soundscape books. I felt if I stayed any longer I would be repeating
myself. I wanted to do something new, which was to move back east and
live in the country.
Jesse ~ Did you and Jean get married when you were in Vancouver?
Murray ~ No, we got married after we moved to Maynooth. It’s a small
community where people ask questions. Again, it would have been
frowned upon if we weren't married.
Jesse ~ Would you say your split with Phyllis was amicable?
Murray ~ Divorces are rarely pleasant. It was a shock to people when we
first divorced. The parents certainly weren't happy. In those days people
didn't divorce as much as they do these days. And I think for women it
was harder.
Jesse ~ Are there any musical pieces you wrote for Phyllis?
Murray ~ I wrote several pieces for her – a lot of my early songs. When
we did the first version of the radio drama Requiems for the Party Girl she
played the party girl. That was a major work commissioned by the CBC.
Phyllis also performed Requiems on the stage at the Stratford Festival.
Jesse ~ Did you maintain contact with Phyllis after you divorced?
Murray ~ No. On one occasion I saw her in Vancouver when my string
quartets were being performed there. Eleanor was with me when we
encountered Phyllis, who was then with Tom Mallinson, my former
colleague at Simon Fraser University. It was strange introducing the two
singers for whom I had written many works. I was to see Phyllis only once
more when she was battling cancer. I don’t think I ever got over my guilt
of abandoning her. Her voice is still present in the pieces I wrote for her
no matter who sings them.
Royalty Rage
I'm glad Murray is doing the driving. It's allowing me to focus on the
unfolding details. I also note that even with only one eye, he is a relaxed
and capable driver. I discreetly place a hand over one of my eyes to see
what driving would be like from Murray's perspective.
Murray pulls up in front of the Canada Customs and Revenue Agency. It's
probably the least attractive building in what is otherwise the picturesque
200
town centre of Peterborough. While riding the elevator up, Murray
explains that he has to submit some forms so he can receive royalties for
The Tuning of the World sold in Europe. I wait and watch while Murray
converses with the clerk at the counter. His gestures indicate he is not
happy with what he is hearing. I watch Murray get mad. I then watch
Murray get madder. I have no idea what it is about but I can't help but
think to myself – Rage on, Murray, rage! Show us how it's done!
Face reddened, Murray turns and starts heading for the exit. When I catch
up he explains, in an enraged tone, that they've changed the system and
they are about to change it again – so everything will take forever. He says
it's a big waste of time for something that doesn't amount to much money
anyway. But it has obviously pushed the button on the money concerns he
spoke about this morning. While waiting for the elevator he expresses in
no uncertain terms how much time he spends – no, wastes – with all the
paperwork, filling out all the forms, answering all the questions, then
waiting forever on the government so he can get a pittance of royalties.
Others get to hear some of Murray's mini-tirade as a crowd gathers
waiting for the elevator. Murray’s anger is further fuelled by the fact that
even the elevator is slow. Murray rages on, face flushed. I try to hold a
space of empathy, however, on another level I'm quietly pleased that I'm
getting to see some of the infamous fiery temper.
Composing in Canada
Next stop is a print shop. Murray says he needs to make copies of the
score that recently premièred in Calgary. As I help carry in the envelopes,
I read on the cover, “Six Songs from Rilke's Book of Hours for voice and
four instruments: violin, viola, cello and piano.”
While we wait at the counter I comment on his incredible output of music
and ask if he is better known for his choral or his orchestral music? He
says he is best known for choral music and that more of his choral music
is performed in Japan than anywhere else – including Canada.
“The Japanese have a lot of good choirs. They like to sing. The Japanese
language is a good language for singing because it is vowel, consonant,
vowel, consonant, like Italian. You can sing on the vowels. It's the
languages that have consonant clusters, like Russian and German, that are
more difficult to sing.”
I ask Murray if most of his music has to do with nature. “Nature and
mythology,” he responds. He says about seventy-five percent of his choral
works have to do with the environment in some way. He names a few:
Vox Natura – the voice of nature, Minniwanka – moments of water,
North/White, Once on a Windy Night, Rain Chant, Sun, Snowforms,
Okeanos, Winter Solstice, Epitaph for Moonlight.
201
Murray gives me an interesting tid-bit about Okeanos and its
commissioning by the CBC. Okeanos is a study of the sounds and
symbolism of the sea, created in the Sonic Research Studio at Simon
Fraser University. It uses natural and electronic sounds with voices
reciting texts from various authors who have written about the sea –
Homer, Hesiod, Melville, Pound. It was the first and perhaps only time
that a quadraphonic work was presented on the CBC, using the systems of
both CBC networks. At the outset the announcer asked listeners to
arrange two stereo receivers on either side of them, suggesting they lie
down on the floor between them while the underwater sounds swirl
around them, gradually bringing them to the surface where voices narrate
legends of the sea from various cultures. Murray had originally wanted
the program to last 24 hours to represent the vastness of the ocean. The
CBC gave it a 90-minute spot.
Murray also recounts his scoring of the composition North White. He did
it while travelling by ship in a violent storm from Vancouver to Australia.
He made thousands of musical notes while the ship rose and plunged
through the waves. As a result the score is irregular and therefore
interesting to look at, as well as musically intriguing. I make a comment
about how he literally draws inspiration from nature.
Murray cites some of the inspirations behind this type of avant-garde
creativity. “Pierre Schaeffer, a twentieth century french composer and
chief developer of an early form of electronic music known as musique
concrète, influenced me a great deal. He was the first person to record
sounds and manipulate them into compositions. His books on electronic
and experimental music were a big influence on me.”
Commissions and Royalties
I ask Murray how the process goes when he gets a commission.
“The commission comes from someone else but the ideas for the music
usually come from me. I don't like to take commissions unless they are
open enough for me to play with them. I'm not interested if someone
comes and tells me they want me to write a piece for harp and three flutes.
It doesn't really appeal to me.”
I ask about the new piece that premièred in Calgary.
“It's based on Rilke's Book of Hours and was commissioned by a soprano
in Calgary. I chose the text. She actually wanted some Rumi but the
problem with Rumi is the translation – you have to split the royalties with
the translator. It becomes problematic. And if anything of Rumi's gets
recorded I have to get permission to do that too. The agents are always
after you – 'Where's the money? It's due now!' I don't want to be bothered
with all that. So I talked her into Rilke because he's out of copyright. I
wrote the songs quite quickly, about one a day, much the way I imagined
Rilke would have written the poems.”
202
The perfect wedding of poetry and music is not easy to
attain. In fact, the evidence for a balanced relationship
between sense and song is actually quite exceptional.
Patria pg. 21
I ask Murray about royalties he receives for the performance of his music.
“I'm supposed to be paid for the performance of my songs. It's the role of
SOCAN to enforce the rights of the composer. But there is little money
for classical music these days. It's better in Europe where classical
composers are much better represented. A lot of the famous composers of
classical music and operas are even still in copyright. Puccini, Strauss,
Stravinsky, all those composers. For every performance, someone is
paying money for performing rights – 50 percent goes to the publisher and
50 percent to the composer – or a foundation. That's why I publish my
own music.
“In Europe the publishers are very big and sit on the boards of performing
arts societies and make sure the rate for a symphony is much higher than
that of a pop song. A European composer of my stature would probably
make three times more than what I make in royalties.”
I ask if the arts councils are able to help with this.
“Agencies like the Ontario Arts Council and the Canada Council for the
Arts were originally intended to help artists who weren't making enough
through royalties or commissions. In the early days of the arts councils, all
they were funding were the symphony orchestras, opera companies and
composers. But over the past few years the funding has to cover a much
wider area. Now they fund Folk music, Native music, World music, Jazz –
everything and anything. Anyone can apply. The pie is being cut into a lot
more slices but the pie hasn't grown proportionately. I don't believe the
current government cares about culture – they don't know the meaning of
the word. The money that is being awarded is being given more to keep
peace between the various groups. It's not so much about funding culture
as it is keeping people from rioting.” (laughter) It's not easy for any
Canadian composer because we're not taken seriously. As far as the
outside world is concerned, Canada is a country that has never produced
any composers of worth.”
I tell Murray about something I recently saw on the wall of a theatre. It
was a huge poster showing the lineage of composers through time – flow
chart fashion. My eyes scanned the chart looking for Murray's name.
There were other North American composers like John Cage, George
Gershwin and Philip Glass. They even included Frank Zappa. But no R.
Murray Schafer. No Canadian composers at all. I take a stab at optimism,
“Hey Murray, when you join the Dead Composer's Society your
popularity will really take off. Nothing increases notoriety like death.”
203
Murray responds, “Perhaps. I have my doubts. I don't think it will happen
in Canada – if it happens at all. Canada is a very volatile country in terms
of cultural policy. The CBC music scene is undergoing radical change.
The CBC Orchestra was disbanded. They made a significant contribution
to the cultural life of Canada but got axed. Classical music is out and so
are composers who work in that genre. All composers are going to take a
tumble in royalties because we're no longer going to get the airtime. On
top of that, there will be no more commissions. The CBC used to
commission pieces. They've commissioned several pieces from me over
the years and that was a great help. I think it's an unfortunate situation for
young composers.
“Canadian conductors aren't much help either. Most of them avoid
conducting works by Canadian composers. They're waiting for Europe to
call, to be invited over to conduct great symphonies of the past. So they
feel it's a waste of time learning the symphony of a Canadian composer
that they may conduct only once. Recently, I sent a letter to all the top
conductors in Canada, offering to provide them with copies of my scores
and recordings of my work. I got two replies.”
R is for Romantic
Finished at the printer and pulling out of Peterborough, I get Murray back
to the subject of relationships.
Jesse ~ So the Letters from Mignon CD is based on letters Eleanor wrote
while she was in Europe?
Murray ~ Yes, she wrote me a lot of love letters while there. They were
very sweet and often humorous. Some she wrote with coloured pencils,
and sometimes in different languages.
Jesse ~ And why are they called Letters from Mignon?
Murray ~ Mignon is a young girl devoted to the main character in
Goethe's novel, Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship. Wilhelm bought her
freedom from a travelling circus and befriended her. She is based on a real
person in Goethe's life who worked for him and to whom he was quite
attached. In the novel she is like a breath of fresh air in the otherwise
serious domain of Wilhelm Meister. But when she mysteriously
disappears Wilhelm is deeply affected by her absence. So, after Eleanor
left for Europe, I started using Mignon as her nickname. And she started
signing her letters with that.
Jesse ~ Then you used her letters to compose Letters from Mignon?
Murray ~ Yes. I kept her letters and when I saw what a collection I had, I
decided to put them to music as a celebration of our love.
Jesse ~ Which began back in the 80s?
204
Murray ~ Yes. The music came fairly close to the beginning of our
relationship. When the piece was premièred in Calgary in 1985, the
relationship was still undercover and I couldn't speak about where the
lyrics originated. So I invented a story for the press, telling them the text
came from little known letters from Goethe's Mignon to Wilhelm Meister,
which was fiction, but they believed it. (laughter)
Jesse ~ And how was the work critically received?
Murray ~ It was well received.
Schafer's mastery in writing for the voice was noted as
long as 30 years ago and has rarely failed him since. His
Letters plays on James's strengths as on a prized
instrument, drawing heavily on her rich middle register,
creating poised Ravel-like ariosi to make use of her
ravishingly warm, solid tone and showcasing her ease in
a lavishly decorated Italianate line.
Eric Dawson, Calgary Herald, 1987
Jesse ~ How did your relationship with Eleanor begin?
Murray ~ It began while she was performing in the production of Ra in
1983 at the Ontario Science Centre. That's when I first met her. She was
cast to play the part of Hasroet, the goddess of the necropolis.
Jesse ~ Where did this lead?
Murray ~ Jean and I divorced. Then there was the question of where I was
going to live, as we sold the farm in Maynooth. Eleanor was in Toronto so
I moved to Toronto to be with her.
Jesse ~ You moved in with Eleanor?
Murray ~ For a brief time but the relationship was a bit uncertain. Then
she went to Switzerland where she got a contract and stayed for a long
time, and even lived with another man for awhile. But there were still
strong feelings between us. You might want to ask her about it.
Jesse ~ Didn't you divorce Jean with the intention of being with Eleanor?
Murray ~ The relationship with Eleanor was more passionate than
domestic. We didn't necessarily see a future together. It was a love affair.
Jesse ~ So what did you do?
Murray ~ When Eleanor moved to Switzerland I moved to a farm in
Indian River and lived there alone. I saw Jean occasionally. She was
working in Toronto at the time. But then she lost her job, so I said, “Why
don't you come and live with me on the farm?” Which she did. So she
lived with me for about another ten years.
Jesse ~ Wait a minute. You divorced Jean and sold the farm in Maynooth
due to your relationship with Eleanor. But then you didn't stay with
205
Eleanor. And when she moved to Europe you asked Jean to move in with
you again?
Murray ~ Yes.
Jesse ~ So then what about Eleanor? You are with her now. Did you see
her during the time she was in Switzerland?
Murray ~ We would see each other from time to time. I had a lot of
invitations in those days to go to Europe. I was going there five or six
times a year. There were invitations to lecture on the soundscape at
universities. There were concerts of my music. I was in Europe a lot and
would see Eleanor for a few days each time.
Jesse ~ Some people might say you've had quite a multifarious history
with women, Murray. You've read a lot of Jung – have you ever
undergone any analysis regarding this?
Murray ~ No. I never saw myself as an interesting enough subject to
warrant that sort of scrutiny.
Jesse ~ You're joking, right?
Murray ~ I'm just a simple man who likes to write music.
Jesse ~ For multiple women.
Murray ~ (irritated) I'm not the only man who has had three women in his
life. I'm sure there are many men these days with a lot more than that. It's
fairly common now, isn't it?
Jesse ~ True enough.
Murray ~ Writing about it in my dairies was my way of reflecting on it.
Jesse ~ Would I be able to look at those diaries?
Murray ~ They've been given to the Library and Archives Canada. They're
sealed until after my death.
Jesse ~ I hope to have my book out before then. (laughter) Do you mind
me asking why they're sealed?
Murray ~ There is personal information that might be upsetting to some.
Jesse ~ Okay, so then what happened to Jean? And how did Eleanor end
up here?
Murray ~ When Eleanor and I disclosed what was going on, Jean moved
into Peterborough where she still lives.
Jesse ~ Do you stay in touch with her?
Murray ~ We talk on the phone from time to time. She's happy in
Peterborough. When Eleanor's work ended in Europe she came here.
Jesse ~ And children? Did you have children with any of these partners?
206
Murray ~ No.
Jesse ~ If you have no children then what will become of your estate
when you die?
Murray ~ You'll find out, if you're lucky enough to live that long. (laughs)
Jesse ~ So everything has calmed down in terms of relationships?
Murray ~ Yes, everything is calm now.
Jesse ~ Thank you for sharing about this part of your life. It certainly has
been dramatic – the life of a romantic.
Meeting With Mignon
Arriving back at the farm, Murray takes the new plants out of the car. I
follow as he carries them over to the big old barn I've been curious about,
but have yet to see inside. Murray gives me a tour and tells me about the
sound garden that once existed here, about which the CBC did a
documentary with Yehudi Menuhin. I comment on the giant head of the
Three-Horned Enemy hanging from the rafters. Murray says the barn is
now mostly used to store props from past Patria productions but the
drama continues even in here as he battles porcupines and mice munching
on them.
We enter the house to the sounds of someone playing the piano. It stops
shortly after the door bangs behind us. Eleanor greets us. Murray
addresses her sweetly as Mignon. He tells her we are going to have some
refreshment on the veranda and invites her to join us. I settle myself into a
chair at the back of the house, looking down a long field with a farm in
the distance.
Eleanor appears with tea and cookies. Murray appears with a pipe and tin
of tobacco. As he begins to fill his pipe, Eleanor makes a comment
suggesting that Murray smokes too much. I suppose, for an opera singer,
any smoke is too much. I lean over and take a look at the label. Barking
Dog – Never Bites. If Murray is going to smoke at least it's work related,
seeing that all dogs are descended from wolves – and he's a wolf.
Murray endeavours to appease her, addressing Eleanor as Mignon again.
The use of her nickname evokes something of their intimacy and she
softens. From my satchel I pull out my copy of the Letters from Mignon
CD for them to sign. I comment on how much I like the pictures of them.
The one on the cover has interesting back-lighting, which makes Murray's
wispy-white hair look like a glowing aura. They tell me the black and
white photo inside the cover was taken in Switzerland in 1985, the
passion in their faces no doubt reflecting the early days of their love.
Murray signs the booklet, “For Jesse, The Thinking Ear and Friend,
Murray Schafer.” Eleanor writes, “For Jesse. It's all about love.
Affectionately, Eleanor.”
207
The Labour of Love
Jesse ~ It is all about love, isn't it? And this CD is an act of love – as well
as an artistic act. I understand your romance has been an ongoing project
for quite a few years. That would make the CD a baby you've been
gestating for a while.
Eleanor ~ You could think of it that way.
Jesse ~ One might even say the flicker of it began two hundred years ago
with little Mignon fanning something in Goethe's big heart. Two hundred
years later Murray composes a work based on some supposed "letters
from Mignon," sung by you at its première. Twenty years after that a
recording of it is born and Murray openly identifies that the letters from
Mignon are actually letters from you – celebrating your love publicly.
Last time I was here with you, we had a great talk about the archetypal
love affair between Wolf and the Princess, Theseus and Ariadne, and the
Jungian perspective.
Eleanor ~ Well, we're not pure archetypes, are we?
Jesse ~ Which is what makes life exciting. Human drama takes place as
we aspire for high ideals.
Eleanor ~ When you examine anyone's life there's always a fascinating
story. Even the seemingly insignificant details can take on new meaning
in retrospect.
Jesse ~ I hear you. I've been looking at my own life lately trying to see it
through the archetypal perspective of Patria. But enough about me – I'm
here to find out about you.
Murray ~ If you ask us individually you'll get different stories. My version
is – we were together, then we weren't together, then we are together
again. A labyrinth of losings and findings.
Jesse ~ That sounds suspiciously like Patria. (laughter)
Eleanor ~ But really we've been together more or less for twenty-four
years. We never really separated even when I went to Europe because
Murray would come over and spend time with me there. There were only
a couple of short phases where we thought we wouldn't see each other
again. There were a couple of periods when we said, “This is over.” They
didn't last very long and we ended up seeing each other again. It was
impossible to resist our love for each other. In one case I was contracted
to do a show with Murray. I could have said no but I wanted to do it. I
liked the music and knew it would be interesting. It was after a period of
keeping our distance. But our story was not over and it continued when
we met again.
Murray remains quiet while puffing on his pipe.
208
Jesse ~ What show was that?
Eleanor ~ The Black Theatre of Hermes Trismegistos, in Belgium, 1989.
We were attempting to stay apart but when we saw each other at
rehearsals it became impossible. But there were complications because of
the other people involved.
Jesse ~ And so Mignon was a code name to keep things covert.
Eleanor ~ At first it was easy to say I'll see you next time, and then to
write letters – that went on for years. Being apart was becoming more
painful and the situation didn't feel right either. We both knew that
somehow we had to make a change. It eventually came to the point where
we simply had to make the leap to be together.
Jesse ~ Do you feel comfortable disclosing this part of your relationship?
Eleanor ~ No. Things like that never completely lose their intensity. When
it involves other people there's always a residue of ... I guess I would use
the word “guilt” ... the knowledge that you have hurt others. When you
talk about it, it brings up vibrations from the past.
Jesse ~ You had feelings of guilt?
Eleanor ~ Yes. We thought, we shouldn't be doing this – for their sake.
We don't want to hurt anybody. But then we thought, you can't help but
hurt people. Murray has hurt me. I've hurt him. You hurt people just by
being human. As a Christian, it is a recognition of our “fallen” condition
as human beings. At first I couldn't see beyond my own guilt. But then I
realized that other people had their roles in how things were unfolding –
things were happening for a reason. We're all guilty in a way. You might
say we're all sinners. Once you're mature enough to see that – that things
aren't necessarily one-sided – it becomes possible to move through and
deal with them. I feel I have a more mature perspective now and try to live
with a sense of forgiveness rather than guilt.
When the Muse Moves In
Jesse ~ So you obviously made it through the transition to where you two
now live together.
Eleanor ~ Eventually things worked themselves into a new situation. My
relationship with my former partner is amicable – thankfully there's an
understanding, which I think is highly unusual since erotic love can tend
to arouse a lot of jealousy. The need to possess the other is part of the
passion of eros.
Jesse ~ What about Murray?
Eleanor ~ It was somewhat more difficult for Murray. Thankfully that part
is over because they were very intense times with difficult ups and downs.
I was wrestling with it every day and screaming: Oh God, will this ever
209
end? It was a roller-coaster ride for quite awhile. Some real highs and
lows. Now it's just bumpy.
Jesse ~ Bumpy?
Eleanor becomes slow and deliberate in her speaking.
Eleanor ~ It's just from personality differences. He does things in a way
that has me asking, “Why is he doing that?” He probably thinks the same
of me. Those are the bumps.
Murray ~ We never actually lived together before this. We never
experienced this sort of lifestyle in the times we spent together. So when
Eleanor came back from Europe with all her things – a full overseas
container – and said, “Here I am...”
Jesse ~ So you've learned to adapt to the things the other person brings –
now that you're sharing close quarters?
Eleanor ~ There are all sorts of things a person brings from their past life.
There are loyalties, legalities, whatever – things you can't completely
share with each other because they're part of another life. That sort of
baggage can get in the way but you learn to let the other person deal with
it in freedom. I commented recently to Murray that if we had gotten
together 24 years ago, as we almost did, I wouldn't have had that 24 years
of baggage. But on the other hand, it's probably better that I did go to
Switzerland, because I needed to strengthen myself at that age. I needed to
get my career going and become my own person. Without establishing
myself first, I might have felt trapped with Murray and that would have
been worse.
Jesse ~ So taking the fork in the road to not be together then has made it
better in the end?
Eleanor ~ For a while Murray and I had the eternal honeymoon.
Everytime we saw each other it was for a brief period, so it was always
like that – an idyllic time. When we were communicating transatlantically,
I would get a letter from Murray almost every day. It felt so wonderful – a
special delivery person would bring it to me. And I would answer with a
letter from Mignon. But it was not real life and I wanted the real thing. I
didn't want to live in a dream world all the time. So we finally had to
come down to earth. Now we know each other as real people.
Jesse ~ What a marvellous story. And I think it's wonderful how the music
on the CD comes from real human interaction.
Murray ~ Yes, born of a real romance.
Jesse ~ It's interesting – the dynamic that got set up. You had a flaming
passion for Eleanor, then she went to Switzerland and became a muse.
Murray ~ She always says I didn't spend enough time over there.
Eleanor ~ You didn't.
210
Murray ~ Well, I couldn't spend too much time in Europe because I wasn't
working there. You had a career in opera and needed the opera houses of
Europe. I needed the Canadian wilderness. But I did write the music for
Letters from Mignon while there. And I also wrote Sun Father for you in
Sankt Gallen. And what a place to write. Do you know Sankt Gallen, near
Zurich? It was an important monastery in the development of music
manuscripts.
Eleanor ~ I had a little apartment on the edge of town, so I could hear
cowbells right outside my window.
Murray ~ We would just step outside and go on the Wegerecht – the
walking paths.
Jesse ~ Now I understand why you often dress in Swiss-looking attire.
That environment informs the way you dress. Did it also influence the
writing of the music for Letters from Mignon? It isn't as contemporarysounding as some of your other music.
Murray ~ The writing was influenced a lot by the music I heard there.
Eleanor ~ It's wonderful to sing – every piece is written in a different
romantic style. There is one in Schoenberg style, also a Verdi parody.
Secret Messages
Jesse ~ Have you ever written any music with secret codes in it?
Murray ~ Arcana is a piece that is all in code. It's a text which I wrote and
had an Egyptologist translate into ancient Egyptian. The singer sings the
ancient Egyptian while the notes played by the musicians convey another
message. If you deciphered the whole piece you would know the secret
initiation ceremonies conducted in the pyramids by the Egyptian priests.
Eleanor ~ It's a fabulous piece. I performed it for the Governor General in
Germany at Schloss Albrechtsburg.
Murray ~ East, an orchestral piece, has a message about peace embedded
in it – from the Upanishad. The orchestra plays the coded words of the
text, which creates a textured atmosphere. You could listen to it as a
melody or as an embedded message. There are a lot of hidden messages in
Patria 1: Wolfman. The chorus is singing one thing while the orchestra is
playing something else – the two messages conflict. I've also written
things using Morse Code.
Jesse ~ And it sounds all right?
Murray ~ Encrypting messages into music is something I did a fair
amount of at one time.
Jesse ~ Does this idea come from other composers?
Murray ~ Yes. Some composers do it with their names – Bach, Haydn,
Dmitri Shostakovich: d – s – h – o. (Murray sings the tune) That was his
211
signature which he hammers out in a lot of places. Bach did the same: b –
a – c – h. There was a period of music in the fourteenth century called Ars
Nova, the New Art, where the composers did that a lot. They were
working toward unifying the singers and orchestra into sending the same
mystical message.
Jesse ~ I like to think life is constantly sending me mystical messages.
The Infamous Bathroom
Feeling that my notepad and mind are both filled enough for today, I start
packing up my belongings and excuse myself to use the washroom.
Instead of turning right to use the guest one by the front door, I take a left
and make my way up the stairs to the upstairs washroom to behold the
fabled mounting of Murray's honorary doctorates on his bathroom wall.
It is indeed true. And not only that, he has so many doctorates and awards
he even has some mounted on the ceiling. Taking a quick moment to
scrutinize each one, I see the prized Doctorate from the University of
Strasbourg. And of course, the doctorate from his alma mater, sort of, the
University of Toronto, which he has in the place of honour over the
bathroom sink. I imagine it evokes a smile each time he brushes his teeth.
I then make my way down to the front door where I find Murray waiting. I
tell him I hope he didn't mind me using his upstairs washroom, and show
him my camera. He gives me a knowing smile then hands me more books.
This arouses my curiosity, not just about why he's giving these books but
that somewhere in this old farmhouse is a seemingly endless supply of his
books. Wherever it is, I am delighted that bit by bit the treasure trove is
finding its way into my hands. I insist that Murray autograph them.
In the first book, Ariadne, he simply writes his name. In the second one,
Dicamus et Labyrinthos: A Philologist's Notebook, under the title on the
inside panel where it says, “Let us also speak of labyrinths” he writes,
“Jesse, don't get lost in the labyrinth. R. Murray Schafer.” When I see this
I respond, “I hope I don't – I'm following you.”
I put the books in my satchel then pull out a copy of chapters 3 and 4 of
my book and eagerly give them to him. He thanks me for them, then tells
me of another event coming up in Toronto which I may want to attend. He
has a piece being performed as part of Soundstreams Canada – Cool
Drummings, the last week of May. Not only that, Eleanor will be
performing in it. I tell them I'll meet them there.
The two of them walk me outside to my jeep. It has been a fascinating day
in the country, running errands with R. Murray Schafer, exploring many
things, including his romantic life – the shadow of a legend. As I pull
away and glance in my rear-view mirror, I'm left with a lovely image of
the two of them – one arm wrapped around each other while waving
goodbye with the other arm – Murray and Mignon.
212
Eight
On the Offbeat with R. Murray Schafer
Arcane Mysteries
My daughter is with me for the weekend. I was once married – a short
marriage about seventeen years ago. Now I have a sixteen year old
daughter, Lewissa. I try to maximize her time with me by exposing her to
cultural things that wouldn't be available to her in the small town where
she lives.
It's Saturday morning and Lewissa is enjoying a weekend sleep-in, in
keeping with the usual nocturnal behaviour of a teenager. After my
morning meditation, I'm eager to examine the books Murray gave me. I
count the number of books he has given me so far. Seven. I'm also curious
to know how many more he has penned. I visit the Patria website and
click on the link to Arcana Editions, where I find his works listed by
category: Music Dramas, Recordings, Books, Chamber Music, Choral
Music, Orchestral Works and Program Notes. I click on Books which
brings up the list – twenty-two in total – which means I'm about a third of
the way through Murray's literary oeuvre.
I turn to my most recent acquisitions and pick up the one with the eyecatching cover, Dicamus et Labyrinthos: A Philologist's Notebook. It has a
picture of an inquisitive looking person reading something in a dark
space, illumined by a solitary light. Over his head floats strange looking
language. I open to the inside panel to look at Murray's signature and reread the inscription, “Jesse, don't get lost in the labyrinth.” I examine the
contents and find a new vein in the mysteries of R. Murray Schafer. The
books are unlike anything I've ever seen. They contain a mixture of text,
drawings and arcane hieroglyphics. I'm delighted to discover there are
secret messages embedded in the art. Now I understand why Murray gave
me these books. It was prompted by our discussion about secret messages
in music.
Da Schafer Code
Lewissa awakens and makes the big transfer from the bed to the couch. I
pass her Dicamus et Labyrinthos. She flips it open, begins thumbing the
mysterious pages and asks, “What is it?” I'm at a loss as to how to classify
the book but suggest it's Murray's notes on his exploration of the labyrinth
and his decipherment of tablets discovered in Crete. “Oh,” comes an
interested response. I then tell her I will be working with Murray on a
labyrinth called Asterion in July. This elicits another interested “Oh.”
213
It appears the acquisition of this book is timely for Lewissa as she just
finished reading The Da Vinci Code. After a few minutes of intense
silence, she spouts enthusiastically, “I want to figure this stuff out,” and
says she now understands better why I am obsessed with Murray.
Satisfied she's finding her way into this cultural goodie, I dispense with
any further explanation and leave her to excavate the book's contents
while I make breakfast. Lewissa peruses for a while longer then calls
across the loft, “Murray has a wild imagination. Is he mad?”
“Maybe. I think the jury is still out on that.” I tell her to take a look at the
other new book, Ariadne, which is full of even more bizarre puzzles and
pictures. Some of the artwork is so minuscule it must have taken Murray
many hours to draw. Lewissa's interest is again piqued and she attempts to
decode a piece of it. While she does, it dawns on me why this book is
called Ariadne. It calls forth the Theseus in us – the part of us which must
learn to pick up the “thread of Ariadne” in navigating the maze.
After a few moments Lewissa exclaims, “Oh, I get it,” then gives it a
teenager's top praise, “This guy is cool.”
“Well done, young Theseus,” I respond with parental pride, “You are
learning to crack the Da R. Murray Schafer Code . After breakfast you can
then solve the riddles of your homework.” There's nothing more satisfying
than blowing a teenager's mind.
The Sound of a Name
Lewissa and I enjoy exploring music together, and in particular the
Toronto music scene – from high art to low brow. This includes the
musical offerings of my sister, Jane Siberry. Jane has explored a range of
musical styles throughout her career so I've been exposed to a lot by her
and have been inspired by her work in many ways.
As someone who explores different sounds in music, it's not surprising
that Jane adopted a different-sounding name. Understanding that names
carry a certain resonance, she decided to drop the surname we share and
adopt the stage name Siberry, borrowed from relatives of whom she is
fond. I have done something similar. Baptized as George IV – the 4th in a
lineage of Georges, I took the opportunity to change my name at a time
when everything else in my life was changing – during my divorce – and
adopted a new handle with which to pull myself into the future – Jesse. I
went from a given name to an acquired name and found it very effective
in aligning myself with a new life and energy.
Changing one's name may draw scoffs from those who think it "new-age,"
but it's actually an old tradition found in many religious practices,
marking a rite of passage. Considering it's something our ears hear
countless times over a lifetime, it's worth exercising our right, as the
composer of one's own soundscape, to craft the sound by which one is
214
called. Murray at one point decided to go by R. Murray Schafer – which
clearly adds a distinctive ring.
Patria – The Hero's Journey
For this weekend's cultural outing with Lewissa, I have booked tickets to
a musical. This opens up a discussion about Murray's musical-theatre.
Lewissa has heard me say I'm going to be involved in some of his shows
this summer but she hasn't understood that they're components of an epic
twelve-part cycle – Patria.
I can certainly appreciate the learning curve facing anyone new to this
large body of work. However, the lights go on for Lewissa when I refer to
it as an interwoven tapestry of characters and events. Even though the
nature of the work is anything but linear, she finds it helpful when I
simply and systematically list the 12 titles of the Patria cycle.
The first part is the prologue, The Princess of the Stars. This sets up the
rest of the cycle where we meet some of the main characters – such as
Wolf and the Three-Horned Enemy. It's perhaps fitting that the prologue
starts before sunrise – literally. The audience has to arrive at the lake-side
in the middle of the night. Lewissa knows I'm going to be involved in the
Princess of the Stars this summer and is planning to attend.
Part 1 – Wolfman. The title immediately grabs Lewissa. Wolf is a man in
this story. It's a political commentary on how the treatment of people by
society can reduce them to something less than human. She gets that.
Part 2 – Requiems for the Party Girl . I hadn't realized until now how
appealing some of these titles would sound in the ears of a teenager. I tell
her the basic gist is that a woman named Ariadne, an incarnation of the
Princess, is shut away in a lunatic asylum. The doctors, who are all
speaking foreign languages, think she's nuts. But she's actually the sane
one and the supposed gibberish she utters operatically is the "lingua
materna," or language of the Great Mother. It sounds far out, even though
Murray considers it the most conventional part of Patria.
Patria 3 – The Greatest Show. I explain how it's a re-creation of a carnival
atmosphere, performed for a really big audience. The 150 performers
mingle with the crowd, so no one really knows who's a performer and
who isn't. Someone may come up and say, “Hey, go check out the
performer in the back of that tent,” and then you find yourself as part of
some bizarre scenario. I tell Lewissa that when I asked Murray if he's
planning to do this show again, his response was, “The Greatest Show has
the greatest price tag.”
Patria 4 – The Black Theatre of Hermes Trismegistos, is about medieval
alchemy and Murray would like to see it performed sometime in a
cavernous abandoned mine – in close proximity to precious minerals.
Most recently it was performed in the cavernous Union Station in Toronto
– starting at midnight. That elicits another “wow” from Lewissa.
215
Patria 5 – The Crown of Ariadne stands at the centre like a jewel in a
crown, containing the heart of the cycle in the retelling of the myth about
Theseus, Ariadne and the Minotaur. It is set by the sea and ideally should
be performed at the water's edge. So far it hasn't ever been performed.
Patria 6 – Ra is an Egyptian, en masse initiation where the audience stays
up all night as they follow the Sun into the underworld. The thought of
that gets Lewissa's skin prickling.
Patria 7 – Asterion is all about the labyrinth. Apart from that, I won't
know much more until July when I participate in it.
Patria 8 – Palace of the Cinnabar Phoenix. Performed on a lake, it is the
show I saw last summer that excited me into working on a book about
Murray. Ancient eastern secrets are artistically and tantalizingly dangled
before the audience with Bunraku style puppet theatre.
Patria 9 – The Enchanted Forest is the first Schafer show I saw. The
audience travels through the forest, having encounters with different
characters, as they search for a lost little girl.
Patria 10 – The Spirit Garden takes place in two acts – with a four-month
intermission. The audience comes in the spring to plant a garden, then
returns in the fall to harvest it. Lewissa can only shake her head. I
emphasize that the Patria cycle is not only unique theatre – it is theatre in
which the more you participate the more you appreciate it.
And finally, the epilogue – And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon, also known
as the Wolf Project. Different from the others, and different from anything
else for that matter. Sixty-four people spend eight days doing ritualtheatre in the woods, with no audience! It sounds exciting to her. I hope
she's right.
I explain that the shows aren't performed sequentially but that you just
have to catch them whenever and wherever you can. I further challenge
her credulity by telling her that they weren't even written sequentially.
With the context clearer, Lewissa asks, “What if you don't get to see them
all – how do you know what happens?” I propose the closest anyone will
ever come to seeing them all will be in their imagination – while reading
Murray's book, Patria: The Complete Cycle.
Rock n' Pop
Lewissa is excited about seeing Murray's show this summer. She loves
musical-theatre – partly because I've exposed her to a large amount of it,
including my own works. Lewissa likes the musical-theatre I've been
writing and producing over the past decade, such as the Broadway-style
Oz Recalled: A Musical Comedy About a Middle-Aged Dorothy, and the
off-Broadway Love In: The 60s Remembered – Sort Of, and the off-offBroadway Jesus and the Divas: A Rockus Musical.
216
Lewissa and I begin our afternoon adventure as we enter the Panasonic
Theatre to see the Mirvish production of We Will Rock You, a rockmusical weaving together the songs of Queen. As the storyline unfolds, I
note some interesting elements. Its characterization of rock actually
underscores some of Murray's view of rock culture as decadent and
debased, lacking subtlety, and using all the amplified effects to embrace
as much of the mass market as possible. I get the feeling that Murray
might even appreciate the story. It takes place in a dystopian future, where
originality and individualism are suppressed by a totalitarian state. A lone
Dreamer appears with a prophecy and a power to fulfil it – to save the
world from cultural destruction. The lone Dreamer reminds me of Murray,
how he rallies others to rage against the state of things – through the reenlivening power of music.
However, in the end, We Will Rock You doesn't really rock me. It's
musical-theatre and therefore a pop imitation of the rock phenomenon – a
caricature. If anything, it makes me nostalgic for the echoing arena rock I
was raised on, when attending a concert in Maple Leaf Gardens for
Genesis was the quintessential cultural outing. And witnessing Peter
Gabriel singing his way down from the cheap seats to the stage, through a
grass-saturated haze, gave “high art” a whole other meaning.
Schizophonia
Something else about We Will Rock You brings Murray to mind, as well
as one of the words from his compendium of soundscape terms.
Schizophonia (Greek: schizo = split and phone =
voice, sound): I first employed this term in The New
Soundscape to refer to the split between an original
sound and its electroacoustic reproduction. Original
sounds are tied to the mechanisms that reproduce
them. Electroacoustically reproduced sounds are
copies and they may be restated at other times or
places. I employ this “nervous” word in order to
dramatize the aberrational effect of this twentiethcentury development.
The Tuning of the World pg. 273
As with many of the musicals I've attended lately, particularly in theatres
without orchestra pits, We Will Rock You is attempting to rock us
without a musician in sight. Where is the live music? During the
intermission, I ask the usher if there are actually any musicians on the
premises – or is everything pre-recorded? He says it's a mixture of both.
However, it isn't until the end of the show that the band is revealed on a
platform at the back of the stage, behind scrims and sound walls. They're
producing mostly electronic sounds with three keyboards, two electric
guitars and one drummer, so there's not much "live" music anyway. It
217
ironically underscores what the story itself is suggesting as the possible
sonic sterility of the future.
What is most disturbing to me is the way all the sound is funnelled
through the faceless speakers; anonymously-made music shot into the air.
One could say this short-changes the "audio" part for the "audience,"
reducing the life-giving benefits inherent in music. The sound is suffering
from schizophonia, which, as Murray suggests, transmits a certain disease to the listener.
The Temptations of Technology
After the show Lewissa and I decide to go to the Rex Hotel where we can
enjoy live jazz while having something to eat. In contrast to the farremoved musicians at We Will Rock You, we find ourselves practically in
the lap of a very large jazz band squeezed onto the postage-stamp stage.
At the risk of sounding like a curmudgeon – or at least like Murray – but
in an effort to stimulate Lewissa's critical intellect and artistic
discernment, I tell her how much more I enjoy the sound here than at the
show. Here a drum is a drum and a saxophone is a saxophone. I point out
how the power of technology has become too tempting for sound
producers, who now overuse it. Much of what is recorded these days is so
over-tweaked that, for anyone who listens closely, it often sounds like a
patchwork quilt. All the cutting and pasting can be so glaringly obvious
that it feels like power has been taken away from the artist and the music
has been caught in a digital slaughter.
Lewissa's eyes indicate she is engaged by my viewpoint, but it is clear that
her generation is ready to receive the electronic music revolution carte
blanche. She won't be ditching her MP3 player anytime soon.
Nonetheless, I tell her my hope is that by exposing her to ample amounts
of music in a variety of forms she will learn to make informed choices for
her sonic consumption and not just follow the consumer crowd.
R is for Rock Star
During the set-break Lewissa asks what Murray thinks of rock music. I
tell her that he feels it's an assault on the acoustic environment, but then
add that Murray may be throwing the baby out with the bathwater, and
mixing the medium with the message.
I explain that, while Murray vilifies the medium of rock 'n roll, he may be
overlooking some of its messages, perhaps due to its often loud
amplification. It's undoubtedly Murray's rightful office to maintain a
position against the ravages of modern music on our hearing. And who's
going to argue, when you have Pete Townsend: singer and guitarist of the
decibelically-defined The Who, one of the notoriously loudest rock bands
spawned by the electric rock revolution of the 60s – coming out and really
218
rocking the world with, “I have unwittingly helped to invent and refine a
type of music that makes its principal proponents deaf.”
Townsend suffers from severely damaged hearing – the result of loud
music. His founding donation helped to start H.E.A.R., an international
organization comprised of musicians, audiologists and physicians
dedicated to the prevention of hearing loss caused by exposure to loud
music. In other words, Townsend has taken responsibility for the earbashing of audiences he did over the decades, and has channelled back
some of the big bucks he made from doing so to help remedy the
situation. This underscores much of what Murray has been saying since
the 60s. Nevertheless, forty years later, people are now listening to rock,
pop and everything else through ear-buds, and Murray is no less grieved.
Invoking Marshall McLuhan into the conversation, I suggest that perhaps
his statement, “the medium is the message” translates too literally in
Murray's assessment of rock music. Even McLuhan had an admiration for
the sophisticated use of words and encryption in rock lyrics. He
recognized the ceremony and theatre in the youth culture of the 60s.
“Rock culture is a double-edged sword,” I begin to pontificate parentally.
“It sustains itself by preaching a gospel of good times, but sometimes to
the point of supporting self-destructive activities, such as drug use. Rock
culture has undoubtedly been the backdrop of some of the worst scenarios
in human behaviour. On the other hand, rock culture has seen many
freedom fighters.”
I share with Lewissa an irony that continues to badger me. “In my effort
to understand Murray Schafer and write about what informs his ideals, I
keep thinking about his reputation as the rebellious bad boy of the
classical music establishment. If he were composing in a different genre
he would be considered a rock star.” The comparison is a bit of a stretch
for Lewissa but I entreat her to let me elaborate.
“Consider how Murray is aligned with the hippie movement. He certainly
is more of a hippie than a lot of the long-haired hypocrites who had the
vestments but not the adherence to 60s values. He's more of a hippie than
the ones who cut their hair, turned their backs on the counter-culture, and
went back to sleep. I've seen photos of Murray in the 60s and his hair was
longish but not hippie-long, and he wasn't necessarily around any hippie
epicentres, but he was there in spirit when the word on the street was to
'turn on, tune in and drop out.' And he did it without drugs because I asked
him if he was ever into 'reefer madness.' So, in an authentic way, Murray
dropped out of the system, tuned in to nature, and turned on to
broadcasting good vibes all over the planet.” I'm hoping Lewissa is
picking up my subliminal message about drugs.
“Murray clearly has a bias against the music that went with the 60s, but
nevertheless many of the messages in that music are totally in sync with
219
his philosophy. It's unfortunate that the message of 'love, peace and
freedom' at times got garbled into 'sex, drugs and rock and roll.' And the
potential for creativity often devolved into civil anarchy, angrily incited
through megaphones. But perhaps the rise in volume was necessary in the
60s, so the messages, which had actually begun resounding a decade
earlier during the working-class and racial uprisings, should not be
stultified at the end of the fossilizing 50s.”
The Heart of a Hippie
Lewissa is familiar with my fascination with the hippie movement. She
witnessed the creation of my musical, Love-In: The 60 Remembered –
Sort Of. She humours me as my train of thought keeps rolling. “If hippies
were about peace, love and getting back to nature, then I say Murray has
the heart of a hippie. If the heart of a hippie is about anti-war, antiestablishment, anti-anything that smacks of authoritarianism, that leads to
inequality, impoverishment and destruction, then I say Murray is in synch
with that spirit.
“Murray was there in the 1960s, fighting the good fight, picking a realm
to which he could best relate – the world's soundscape. First he identified
it by naming it, then he began fighting for it by educating others about it.
And he wasn't one-sided, just going around pointing out the negative
aspects, creating more negativity. He did what he could to add beautiful
sounds to the world's soundscape by developing himself as a composer.
“It was in 1967, during the 'Summer of Love,' that he composed his antiwar work, Threnody. And in 1969, while half-a-million people came
together for Woodstock, he was founding the World Soundscape Project.
Furthermore, while the environmental movement was just taking root in
the 1960s, and long before 'green became the new black,' he's been there
all along, looking over a part of the environment that others overlook. He
wasted no time in making his ecological message a priority – as a peaceful
warrior. Or would that be – a warrior of peace?” Lewissa smiles at my
word play.
“Murray's wilderness work, as embodied in the Patria cycle, and his desire
to lead people back to a deeper veneration for nature, is just as much
about Flower Power as anything else from that generation .” I can see I'm
stretching my credibility with Lewissa, as well as her generation's threesecond attention span, but I'm not finished building my case. “Even if
Murray doesn't have the usual accoutrements associated with a flower
child, he certainly exhibits the essence of a child of the 60s – creating a
counter-culture in his own way. Murray is 'way-out,' as they used to say
then. As a matter of fact, he's so way out, he's way out in his garden,
planting, and artfully encouraging others to do the same. Murray has the
heart of a hippie!”
220
A Rebel With Applause
Quite unanticipated, I'm suddenly flooded with further insights to share
with Lewissa. “And to top it all off, the rebellion Murray exhibited in
refusing the Order of Canada – the country's highest honour – so he
wouldn't sell out his right to be a social critic, puts him in companionship
with many artists who use their notoriety to leverage political statements.”
The weight of this last point puts a dent in some of Lewissa's scepticism,
so I continue. “Indeed, sometime I would like to share with Murray the
similarities I see between him and some of his contemporaries who stand
in the hallowed halls of legendom – John Lennon with his promotion of
peace – Jim Morrison, whose writing put the insides on the outside and
encouraged others to open new doors of perception; and Jimi Hendrix,
whose musical innovations and experimentation set new musical
precedents. All these aspects could just as easily be applied to Murray.
None of these fellow-rebels were following the path of the tried, true and
commercial. Each, in their own way, were rebels with a cause, rocking the
establishment and refusing to be fettered by conformity. Rather, it was
nonconformity that launched their legendhood. In their unique ways they
lived the mantra Murray started chanting in the 60s and has continued for
forty years, 'Rage against that which would destroy you'.”
Lewissa likes this part and I feel like I'm gaining some ground by
appealing to her sense of teenage rebellion. “Ironically, while the rock star
is a pre-eminent icon of our age – and seemingly everybody wants to be
one – Murray has been one from the beginning. I would love to put
Murray in the same room with John Lennon, Jim Morrison and Jimi
Hendrix to see where the conversation would go.”
The band is settling back on stage but I have enough time to squeeze out
one last thought.
“And if you want to be historically accurate, the Hippie movement of the
60s actually started with the Beats of the 50s. Along with the likes of
Allen Ginsberg, William Burroughs and Jack Kerouac, Murray was
breaking out of the academic mold to freer experimentation and
exploration of life. I would like to put them in that same room with
Murray, too. That would be one groovy trip.”
Lewissa doesn't have much she can respond with in the face of my
exhaustive declamation. Instead, she just stares at me, partly with the
child-like wonder one has for a beloved father, mixed with a furrowed
brow over eyes ready to roll with suspicion at anyone over the age of
thirty. As if on cue, the band kicks into gear to treat us to another set of
live music.
Sex
It's a sunny Saturday afternoon – May 26, 2007 to be exact – and I'm
enjoying a bike ride to the University of Toronto. Today is the day to
221
meet Murray and hear his work performed in the Cool Drummings
Festival. I lock up my bike on Philosopher's Walk and enter the Faculty of
Music building, where the concert will be. I'm a little early so after buying
my ticket I sit and read the program note for Murray's piece – Tantrika.
Tantra is a cult of ecstasy, focused on a vision of cosmic
sexuality. A Tantrika is an adept in the arts of Tantra,
one who successfully attains Sadhana, the ultimate
knowledge, through meditation combined with sexual
rites. Tantric partners manifest the creative principle of
the Great Goddess with her male partner. Their erotic
love-play is the bliss of cosmic wisdom, the bliss which
vibrates in infinite space, free of time, free of fear, free
of self. The Tantrika walks the razor's edge, enters the
gate of fire, parts the curtain of death, and hears from
afar the tinkling bells of the beloved, dancing the dance
of compassionate wisdom.
“Sexual rites? ... gates of fire? ... tinkling bells? ... bliss which vibrates in
infinite space?” It sounds like Murray was into an interesting subject . I
start musing to myself.
I remember buying a book on Tantra. Unfortunately, I never got beyond
the theory nor the illustrations for that matter. Perhaps I should ask
Murray what he has to say about the practice. But how would I present
the question? Not that sex need be an embarrassing subject. It's how we
all got here. Besides, Tantra is not just about sex. It's about tapping
nature's relentless drive and riding its swirling powers to higher states of
ecstasy, unattainable through the conventional use of consciousness. And
it's about sex. I wonder how much experience a composer needs with a
subject to compose around it with authenticity? Murray would have
needed a study partner to practice Tantra. Who wold that have been? Who
was Murray's muse when he wrote it in 1986?
I begin watching the students walk by, music students I surmise, since I'm
in the Faculty of Music. Are they coming to the concert or just passing
through on their way to practice an instrument? The warm weather is
giving us some of the first hopeful signs of summer and the girls are
wasting no time getting into their short skirts. Couples walking by holding
hands makes me wonder if they will spend the afternoon practising music
or having sex? Or perhaps practising sex to music? Part of me wants to
stop them and suggest they come hear Tantrika, and let Murray's
enlightened music take them beyond the average in school, and their
social life.
My reverie is cut short when Murray sits down beside me. We exchange
greetings and he tells me Eleanor is backstage getting ready for the
performance. He waves to a woman going by and says, “There goes a
222
Wolf,” code language for someone in the Wolf Project. Suddenly the
doors to the auditorium swing open and the ushers indicate that we may
enter. I look at Murray, who quickly rises thinking the same thing as me –
it's general admission, let's get a good seat for optimum sound.
Composers Out Loud
As we enter the auditorium Murray sees someone he knows and invites
him to join us. I follow as they scout the best acoustic positioning. We
end up in the exact centre of the theatre; Murray's friend sitting between
us. Murray leans my way and says, “Have you heard of Gilles Tremblay?”
“The hockey player?” I ask.
“There's a hockey player named Gilles Tremblay?” replies Murray.
“Aren't you up on Canadian hockey greats, Murray?” I respond.
“Aren't you up on your Canadian music greats?” he retorts back. Murray
then introduces me to Gilles Tremblay, whom he refers to as one of
Canada's top two composers. Gilles, obviously Quebecois, lets out an
infectious laugh which gets us all laughing. So many great Canadians to
keep track of named Gilles Tremblay! When I dig a little deeper, I
discover that Murray was the Composer of the Year in 1977 and Gilles
received the title the following year.
Both of them have pieces being performed today and start scanning the
program to see who else is featured. Like a couple of kids they begin
trashing the other composers. I quietly pull out my notebook. As for
Dutch composer, Louis Andriessen, Murray says, “All his songs are the
same – loud.” “And heavy!” Gilles agrees.
Murray tells a story. “I met Louis Andriessen once in Holland and asked
him, 'Why is your music always so loud?' Louis defended himself, saying
that he wrote a quiet piece – once – for the recorder. Murray and Gilles
break into laughter. Gilles adds, “What else can you say about it?” and
shrugs his shoulders the way the French do. “It's popular!” Murray
finishes. The two roar again. I smile, jotting all this down.
The houselights dim and stagelights come up, illuminating an impressive
array of percussion instruments on stage. A man mounts the stage to
address us. I recognize him from the John Wyre memorial where I ran into
Murray. I look down at the front of the program to see he’s Lawrence
Cherney – the producer of Cool Drummings. Lawrence welcomes us, then
introduces the first piece, by Brian Cherney, performed by members of the
McGill Percussion Ensemble. After the piece, the instruments are
rearranged on stage, so the houselights go up. When I ask Murray, I
discover the composer we just heard is, as I suspected, the brother of
Lawrence Cherney. Gilles reads the title of the next piece by composer
Jean-Pierre Drouet, Variations sur un texte de Victor Hugo . I remark to
223
Murray that he has something in common with this composer. Murray
looks at me quizzically.
“You composed something to a text by Victor Hugo.”
“No, I didn't,” Murray replies.
“Yes you did. I heard a piece inspired by him on your CD, Once on a
Windy Night, performed by the Vancouver Chamber Choir.”
“Oh, you're right,” he realizes. That gets another big laugh from Gilles.
After a few more pieces, it is the intermission and Murray gets up to go
see some people he knows. As he passes by me he quietly says, “I really
do believe Gilles is one of Canada's great composers.” I simply sit there,
awed by the amazing art I'm being exposed to from some of Canada's top
talent – while sitting with some of Canada's top talent.
Gilles' piece is next on the program, so rather than reading the program
note, I ask him about it.
“It's something I wrote in 1971 – Le sifflement des vents, porteurs de
l'amour, which translates as The Whistling of the Winds, Bearers of Love .
It's a quotation from the Spiritual Canticle of St. John of the Cross. Even
though there's no libretto, the composition is inspired by the poet's
descriptions of the wind, in both a physical and spiritual sense – pneuma
spiritus.” He remarks how music, like spirit, has the power to take us
where words cannot go.
The intermission ends and the performance of Gilles' composition begins.
There are only two musicians on stage, one a percussionist surrounded by
a laboratory of instruments, the other the only non-percussionist I've seen
so far – flautist, Robert Cram. With remarkable control he plays the flute
in a way that would convince you it is a percussion instrument. Robert
and the percussionist do a flamboyant presentation, impressively holding
the tension in some of the long silences Gilles has written into the score.
I'm deeply moved by the sensitivity of the composition and its subtleties. I
notice Gilles' hands moving along with the music as if he were
psychically conducting the piece from his seat. I imagine how intimately
he must be connected with every note and nuance. Sitting so close to him,
I can sense how he has to constrain his enthusiasm when he is obviously
pleased by the performance.
Tantrika
Next is Murray's piece. Coming to the stage is the always elegant Eleanor
James, along with two dancers and two musicians. Eleanor's beautifully
groomed appearance matches the inner beauty she radiates and has
obviously cultivated. She takes a moment to settle herself and then signals
to the two musicians to begin. The male dancer lies still on the stage,
224
shirtless, while the woman begins to whirl and twirl. Eleanor adds a
percussive vocal line, then some actual tambourine, maracas and bells.
Amidst the mounting chaos of sound, the man remains asleep, as yet
unmoved. In a musical lull the woman notices him and comes near,
kneeling beside him for a moment. But only a moment. The tumult of
music arises again, as does she, off alone in movement.
In a corner of the stage, as if searching for something, she bows to the
earth. The music slows, darkens, and in a musical pause something
awakens in her – as if remembering her brief encounter with the man. She
looks back in his direction with a mix of curiosity and yearning.
Gradually at first, then with growing ardour, this quintessence of
femininity begins to move lithely, exuding a sensuality I swear I can smell
from my seat. Her look suggests "come hither," mixed with a hint of
desperation that says, “If you don't, I may die.” A madness is seen arising
in her while she simultaneously struggles to eclipse it.
The tension grows between holding back and drawing near, and the ebb
and flow of her aura continues to fill the hall with a sensuous dew.
Finally, she approaches the man, swaying over him, then closing the
circuit of electricity in a gesture reminiscent of Michelangelo's God and
Adam – but in this case Goddess and Adam. This moment of requitement
gives way to an explosion of applause as Tantrika comes to its, dare I say,
climax. I have to prompt myself to start breathing again as Murray stands
for a bow.
Tantric Talk
While the stage is being reconfigured, Murray makes some comments on
the performance. “Today's version was fairly tame. It could be done even
more sensually. We used the same choreographer for today's performance
as when it premièred in 1986, and the same female dancer. If it were rechoreographed, I would like to see it done differently.”
Surprised, I respond, “You used the same choreographer and dancer as
you did twenty years ago? Wow, that dancer has stayed in shape.”
Murray provides more history of the piece, “It was also done once as part
of a larger show – Zoroaster, where Eleanor sang and danced it herself. I
think ideally that's the best way to do it. It's more sensual that way.
I pop my question, “What can you tell me about tantra, Murray? You must
have spent some time studying it.”
“The tantric arts are a spiritual practice that engages all levels of our
being, including the sexual. The sexual act isn't just a vulgar bouncing up
and down, but a path to the spiritual. When we did this piece as part of
Zoroaster, the man lying on the ground in a trance was actually Zoroaster
the prophet. The Goddess comes and arouses him and copulates with him,
but this is more about spiritual arousal than sexual intercourse. The point
225
being that after he spends time with Goddess energy he is invigorated and
goes off to win his battles.”
Murray's fascinating description is interrupted by ten percussionists
mounting the stage for the final piece, mallets in hand. It makes for a
powerful sound not unlike what one would hear inside a factory. I check
the program and it is indeed the piece by Louis Andriessen, fittingly
named Workers Union. It is loud. The program goes on to say the piece is
a “symphonic movement for any loud-sounding group of instruments.” It
appears the composer does intentionally write in a way that has rightfully
earned him a reputation for being loud.
As I follow Murray out of the lobby, Eleanor arrives and I congratulate
her on her performance. She is holding the score and gives it to me to look
at. On the front cover is a hand-drawn image of one of Shiva's dancing
consorts. She tells me she did the drawing. The dancer is surrounded by
circles of strange-looking letters which she says Murray drew. That makes
sense. Judging from the arcanely coded books Murray gave me recently,
coming up with new lost languages seems to be a speciality of his. Murray
says he and Eleanor are going out for dinner and invite me to join them.
The Once and Future Campus
While we exit the building I ask Murray how it feels to be on his old
stomping grounds. He says the Faculty of Music wasn't located here in his
day. He points south and says the Conservatory was located at the corner
of University and College, in a building now replaced by Hydro One.
Always fascinated by the interesting historical context Murray brings to
things, my mind rushes to determine what question to ask next, while
traffic rushes past us, crossing University Avenue. Reaching the other
side, but still on the U. of T. campus, Eleanor gets us to stop and breathe
in the fragrance of the beautiful gardens along the path in front of
Northrop Frye Hall. She demonstrates a ready knowledge of the plants
blooming before us.
In light of where we are, the conversation turns to Eleanor. Murray may
be an honorary alumnus of U. of T., but Eleanor is officially one.
Eleanor's aura takes on a glow as she smiles and says she was accepted
just a few days ago into the Master of Divinity program at Emmanuel
College, located right behind where we are smelling the flowers. I
congratulate her, but then add that I already see her as a master of divinity
in the performances she gives.
Murray lets out a little laugh. I ask what is funny. “When I think of the
passionate times Eleanor and I had together – I find it a little funny,”
making reference to their love affair. Obviously hitting a touchy subject,
Eleanor responds, “Don't listen to Murray – he barely finished high
school.” (laughter)
226
Marshall McLuhan: Oracle of the Electronic Age
As we continue walking, I suddenly remember we are on the stomping
grounds of Marshall McLuhan – who was acknowledged in Murray's
biography in the program today.
His casual contact with Marshall McLuhan on campus
in that period could arguably be singled out as the most
lasting influence on his development.
I mention Marshall McLuhan and Murray begins reminiscing with a
chuckle, “I remember the series of lectures on music he gave. It turned
into a disaster. He was the director of the Centre for Culture and
Technology and a hot academic property at the time, so the Faculty of
Music invited him to speak to the students. The students came
enthusiastically at first but then attendance started dropping off.
McLuhan's background was as an English professor – so he was
completely out of his league when speaking about music. After a few
weeks only a few students showed up so they cancelled the rest of his
talks. (laughter)
“But then he invited a group of us to his house in the evenings. His house
was on the other side of that gateway. In those days there were two or
three houses that belonged to St. Michael's College. He arranged the
chairs in his living room so that we all sat in a circle around him and he
sat on a swivel chair in the middle. We would ask him questions, and he
would spin around and fire back answers.
“One night, somebody said they were having trouble understanding
Finnegan's Wake, which for McLuhan was a major inspiration in his
study of war. He claimed it was a gigantic cryptogram of how war would
be conducted in the future. He quoted the whole first page to us. I was so
impressed I went home and began memorizing it myself.”
While walking, Murray begins quoting Finnegan's Wake, “riverrun past
Eve and Adam’s...” As he is speaking we pass under a stone arch
passageway which gives a glorious echo to his recitation. “...from swerve
of shore to bend of bay...” The moment seems surreal – as if staged. And
as providence would have it, when we emerge on the other side in front of
St. Michael's College, Murray gestures to where Marshall McLuhan's
house once stood and this all took place. Murray continues while I
hungrily hold my recorder in his face.
Murray ~ Marshall McLuhan liked to be the centre of attention. He saw
himself as an oracle – you asked questions and he answered them. He
never asked you anything – you didn't feel you were dialoguing with him
– he talked and you listened.
Jesse ~ It's odd that for someone who was considered a giant in the field
of communication, he perhaps had some communication issues himself?
227
Murray ~ That's the way he was – very voluble. I don't think I'm accusing
him of anything. It was his temperament. He was electrifying to listen to,
although it was sometimes hard to understand him. He would say things
like, “Electric light is pure information. You can think about that while
you go for dinner.” And you would wonder – what does he mean by that?
I wasn't one to look into every baffling theory he had, but we were all
reading his work at the time. He was an interesting character and an
inspiring lecturer when speaking about the changes taking place in the
world. He was regarded as a prophet describing the emerging technology.
We don't have anyone comparable today.
Jesse ~ “Guru of the boob tube,” as I've heard him called. I've even read
that his name has become part of the French language – mcluhanisme – a
synonym for pop techno-culture.
Murray ~ He has undoubtedly become a household name around the
world and probably will remain so for a long time.
Jesse ~ It's fascinating that you sat at his man's feet while he was spinning
his ideas. Were there things he said that you did understand?
Murray ~ McLuhan's basic thesis is that tribal society existed in a
harmonious balance of the senses, perceiving the world equally through
hearing, smell, touch, sight and taste. However, all media, regardless of
content, has a transforming effect – the medium is the message.
Technological innovations alter the balance of our connection to the
world. In The Gutenberg Galaxy he portrays the literate human as
dissociated from direct experience of the world.
Marshall McLuhan somewhere says that man only
discovered nature after he had wrecked it.
The Tuning of the World pg. 111
Jesse ~ Yes, and ironically, he suggests electronic media – radio, TV, the
computer – are bringing about a retribalized society: the global village.
The instant nature of electronic information is decentralizing humanity
with new modes of communication in which the entire world is a
simultaneous “all-at-once” happening, and everything can resonate with
everything else. Sort of like the re-tuning of the world. Basically, he was
saying the electronic revolution could restore the balance lost through
print media.
Murray ~ Yes, but because he didn't decry the electronic media, some
thought he was in favour of it. In most of his writings he tries to maintain
a neutral tone toward technology. However, he had a concern that, as
culture plunges into the whirlpool of information provided by the vortex
of electronic technologies, it could lead to a downfall. He wasn't really
celebrating the new media – he saw it as something that could potentially
wipe out individual thought. If you read him closely you'll see that.
Fundamentally, he still believed in the print medium. Nonetheless, he was
228
picked up as an icon for Madison Avenue. He couldn't avoid it. But they
made him sound like he was prophetic in a way that promoted them. What
he was really promoting was the idea of understanding the media's effects
on social values as a way to maintain control over the sensory blitzkrieg.
That was his central message.
When we reach Bay Street, where Murray's car is parked, I point out a
sign to the south that says “Marshall McLuhan Way.” Murray and Eleanor
put some things in the trunk and we start looking for a place to eat. Across
the street is a restaurant, so we go over to investigate. It's one of those
pubs with televisions hanging in every conceivable place, so you can
watch television from every possible angle. It provides a luminous
fulfilment of McLuhanian prophesies. On the side of the building is a
patio, overshadowed by towering condos. Miraculously, we manage to
settle into a tiny spot where a little ray of sunlight is able to reach us.
Book Business
After we put in our food order I ask Murray about his personal
relationship with Marshall McLuhan.
“I always felt he liked me because he liked radical students. He had ideas
on sound and we shared a connection through that. We had conversations
about acoustic space, which was a new concept at the time.”
I ask Murray if he kept contact after being expelled from the university.
“Yes, I got to know him quite well after I returned from Europe and began
teaching. He was quite famous by then. We would have lunch together.
He was even more influential on me then, than when I was in school. A
few months ago I found a bunch of letters from him in a box in the
basement, which I sent to the Library and Archives Canada. I actually had
quite a correspondence with him. When I started to do research on the
soundscape, we corresponded around that. When The Tuning of the
World came out he was quite pleased because he felt I had followed the
direction he had suggested. He saw that I had taken up some of his ideas
and furthered them in my work.”
Murray is looking relaxed with his large stein of foamy beer, so I decide –
with a touch of trepidation – that it's time to ask for his comments about
the part of the manuscript I gave him at our last meeting. Still selfconscious about my decision to include myself in a book about him, I feel
a pressing need to know what he thinks.
“Who is the intended audience of this book? It's certainly not an academic
work. It's not necessarily something someone would read as a
comprehensive biography. It's not really even a biography.” Then comes
the comment I've been waiting for. “It's also about you.”
As I listen to Murray's words I try to grasp what tone underlies them. Is he
saying he likes it or not?
229
“It has taken on an interesting form. I think it's useful to insert quotes
from my books. You made it work with what I was doing in Japan.
However, you've got me giving lectures during the day, then you're out
with the ladies every night. Those tangents are more engaging than
anything I'm doing – I'm in my hotel room with a book. Your audience is
going to be more interested in what happens next – are you going to sleep
with the girl or not?” (laughter)
I think Murray is sounding somewhat encouraging – but I'm still not sure.
“It may be a good thing that you put yourself in the book. So many
biographers are invisible – we don't really know what their experience is.
We don't get to hear what they ate for breakfast or what they did at night.
So yours is a nice departure from that.”
This is music to my ears and lifts a weight I've been carrying.
“I also think a biographer should be absolutely free to say whatever he
wants to say. Your reportage should be open and honest.”
All of a sudden I feel relaxed – very relaxed. Murray is also looking
relaxed as he finishes off his first foamy stein of beer. Now Murray has a
question for me. Have I found a publisher? Before I have a chance to
answer he starts reminiscing about his own experience with publishers.
“I remember when I wrote The Tuning of the World I first went to
McClelland & Stewart. They refused it! They said no one cares about the
soundscape – it won't sell. I told them I thought it would sell as well as
Marshall McLuhan's books. The editor looked at me and said, 'His books
don't sell well.' I guess back then they weren't considered bestsellers.
“So I got an agent in New York. He thought it was an interesting book and
took it to a division of Random House, Knopf. The president, Charles
Elliott, said, “We like your book. We want to publish it.” Then he said he
wanted the rights for Canada as well. But I said I wanted the rights for
Canada to be with a Canadian publisher. He asked who I had in mind. I
told him I went to McClelland & Stewart but they didn't want it. He told
me he would come to Toronto and talk to them.
“So he came to Toronto and talked them into it. McClelland & Stewart
ended up publishing The Tuning of the World in Canada. But they only
kept it for one year. At the end of the year they gave me the option to buy
back all the unsold copies at two dollars each, which I did. And since then
I've owned the rights for Canada and Knopf has them for the United
States – and the book is still in print!”
Our dinners arrive. I decide to hold back telling him the story about my
initial approach to a publisher – ironically, none other than McClelland &
Stewart. I didn't even get to the “Submit Your Manuscript” stage. An
email I sent, which included a short description of my proposal, received
the reply, “Thank you for sending a query for your proposed biography of
230
R. Murray Schafer. Unfortunately, while reading your proposal with
interest, we have concerns about our ability to publish the book
successfully. I'm afraid we are going to have to decline the opportunity to
pursue it further. We wish you every success in finding a suitable
publisher and thank you for considering McClelland and Stewart.”
I wish Murray had told me his story sooner. If the biggest publisher in the
country wasn't interested in a book by him, would they be interested in a
book about him? I also refrain from telling him that every grant
application I have applied for has been turned down.
Murray then shares an addendum to his publishing adventure. “I was kind
of foolish when I made the deal with Knopf. I told Charles Elliott I had
some letters from Ezra Pound. He thought it was amazing that I had
correspondence with one of the twentieth-century's greatest poets. He
said, 'I'd love to see those letters.' I told him, 'You can have them.' He said,
'You can have any book published by Knopf while I'm the editor.' So I
gave him the letters, then ordered twenty or thirty books a year from him.
That helped me build my library.”
Ancient Practices and Eleanor
Murray leaves to go to the washroom. I turn my attention to Eleanor.
Jesse ~ Are you the muse behind Tantrika?
Eleanor ~ Murray wrote it for me but it's really inspired by Jung.
Jesse ~ Murray really loves Jung. What can you say about the piece?
Eleanor ~ Tantra is an ancient spiritual tradition. Tantra literally means
“to weave or expand.” It's about the states of being that come through
union – not solely sexual but by embracing the spiritual in each other.
Jesse ~ Is this something you and Murray have studied and practised?
Eleanor ~ (laughter) Tantra is both mystical and practical. Tantric
practices are about invigorating life forces rather than depleting them.
Fulfilment is held back; vital forces are reserved. Conversely, it's also
about death – death of the ego. You lose your sense of self in the other
person and enter expanded states of being.
Jesse ~ I think I need to catch up on my ancient practices. (laughter)
Perhaps you can speak about your performance this afternoon?
Eleanor ~ It's a very demanding piece to perform. There's a lot of deep
chest voice for the singer. There's a tension all the way through the
soaring repetitions and strong percussive line.
Jesse ~ I understand you have performed this before?
Eleanor ~ Yes, I performed it at its première in Newfoundland.
Jesse ~ How was it received there?
Eleanor ~ They loved it.
231
Jesse ~ I'd like to change the subject, if I may, before Murray returns.
What is it like living with Murray?
Eleanor ~ I've never met anyone like him in my life. Murray has endless
creativity – he works continuously.
Jesse ~ Would you say he's a workaholic?
Eleanor ~ There's a drivenness to him, an innate fire. He's not as happy
when he's not creating – but it's different than being a workaholic. The
way he pours his lifeblood into what he's doing shows real passion, real
connection to divinity.
Jesse ~ Next question. Does Murray rage when he's at home?
Eleanor ~ Yes, he does. It's a space he goes into sometimes – like every
night after listening to the news. It's his way of letting off steam. Some
men just need to get out some "fight" and one way is to flare up and say,
“Look at those damn fools!”
Jesse ~ Next question. Was the Patria cycle born at the same time your
relationship with Murray started? There seems to be a parallel – two
people searching for a way to consummate their love, travelling a
labyrinth through time and space.
Eleanor ~ Murray had written most of Patria before we met. So the
inspiration had nothing to do with me. The searching illustrated in the
Patria cycle could be about anyone. It's archetypal. It's about everyone.
Jesse ~ It's interesting how he wrote about these ideas then, in a way, you
could say he lived them.
Eleanor ~ Murray has always been seeking his anima. A truly creative
person never stops seeking things to animate themselves. Some artists
more so than others. They never fulfil their fantasies. The problem with
some creative people is that they mix up their projections with real
people. That's often what an affair is about – they meet someone who fits
a particular pattern. The muse is an inspiration but then it eventually ends
when they realize it is an illusion. Then they return to their inner world
where they can project their fantasies into their work.
Alive with God in Creation
Jesse ~ How do you see Murray in this regard?
Eleanor ~ Murray is a mature artist but he hasn't lost that wandering part
of himself – he's continually fantasizing. Artists can be childlike in that
way. The real world can be more difficult for them. Life, for them, is in
the creative moment – that's where the excitement is. But that's also where
an artist is more vulnerable. They can get trapped in the fantasy realm and
not relate well to people. They become less patient with people. Some
artists keep others out because they don't need them as much. Most people
get their life connection through other humans. Artists get it through their
art – it's their connection to God.
232
Jesse ~ Murray is like that?
Eleanor ~ I'm describing Murray as well as other artists. Look at Wagner
or any of the great composers. They were alive with God in their
creativity. And others admire them for it, wishing they could have that
deep connection for themselves. If you've ever experienced it, you know
the feeling and think, yes, it would be great to be here all the time.
Jesse ~ Did you idolize Murray as a composer when you first met him?
Eleanor ~ Idolize wouldn't be the word. Murray and I definitely hook into
each other – in a Jungian sense. That happens to anyone who finds their
anima or animus standing in front of them. With Murray and me the
archetypes fit together well. There was an intense attraction.
Jesse ~ You realize that in retrospect?
Eleanor ~ Right. I was attractive to Murray. I was a singer – a pretty goodlooking one and I knew how to turn things on, how to perform. And it was
Murray's music I was performing, so it was a double-whammy for him. I
also happened to be an intellectual, as is Murray. When we started talking
about things we found ourselves on the same wavelength, so the
fascination grew.
Jesse ~ Murray is quite a bit older than you. How old was he when you
first met?
Eleanor ~ He was 49. But that didn't really matter to us.
Death by Love
Jesse ~ Projection can fuel our hopes when stepping into a relationship.
But if we don't cultivate consciousness, love can actually take us down.
Eleanor ~ Yes, it really can. Love can kill you. All kinds of people go
crazy from love. At first it feels oceanic. But then it can turn and feel
threatening or suffocating. That's when dangerous things happen, as with
Berlioz. People go insane because they get drawn into the other person's
persona and can't see it as a projection. They end up in a tragic situation,
suicide pacts and the "dying for love" which Wagner wrote about. Tristan
und Isolde is a classic example of how becoming inextricably locked
together can kill you. But this kind of death is a deception.
Jesse ~ I think it's a more common experience than people realize – we
die on different levels due to this. People feel expansive at first but when
they can't obtain the object of their desire, then ... that word you and
Murray taught me ... the word that sparked your interest when you
discovered each other knew it – enantiodromia.
Eleanor ~ Yes, enantiodromia. A reversal of things. If you're really
passionately obsessed with someone it can easily turn to its opposite –
hate – as with Carmen and Don José in Bizet's opera.
Jesse ~ In earlier cultures they didn't have the conceptual understanding
we have now – Jungian concepts – to help us be more conscious in
understanding what is going on.
233
Eleanor ~ But, at the same time, they weren't allowed to explore their
feelings as much as we do today. Society was more regulated. It wasn't
acceptable to do the things we do nowadays. You had an arranged
marriage – you got married and had a family. They had to deal with their
anima in other ways, through worship or dance, or in some other way to
transform it. You might say to sublimate it. If somebody started acting
out, the shaman or witch doctor would help them deal with it. In later
times, having an affair served the same purpose, but more destructively.
Jesse ~ They didn't have as much opportunity to freely indulge in the
adulterous fascinations of the past two or three hundred years.
Eleanor ~ You would have been ostracized from society if you did. People
were stoned to death for adultery – and still are. It's an interesting picture
of how the sexual drive can lead to death, willingly or unwillingly.
Jesse ~ This says something about getting a handle on the sexual forces
within ourselves. As we exercise more independence from the dictates of
society, or individuate, it's important to understand how the psyche still
moves in mysterious ways.
Eleanor ~ Which, in fact, is what Tantrika is about. But it might take you
fifty years to figure out how to spiritualize sexuality.
Jesse ~ Or you might never figure it out.
Eleanor ~ Which is too bad because then you lose so much of what life is
about. I think it's good that we are attracted to others because it means
there's something to explore. But it's when you insist on that person being
some sort of mermaid, or ideal partner, that problems arise. If you insist
on that, you'll end up divorcing – and then you'll be out looking for
another mermaid.
Jesse ~ And the cycle repeats.
Eleanor ~ It doesn't mean you'll stop feeling attraction. But fascination
has a dark side. Hopefully, as you mature, you come to terms with it and
the dark side begins to “lighten up.”
Making Love Real
Jesse ~ How has it worked for you and Murray in this regard?
Eleanor ~ There was a long time when we didn't have a chance to make
things real – when we were living apart. In a long distance relationship
you spend more time living with an image than the real person. So either
you get to know what that person is really like – or you realize you're
living with a projection and you get that person out of your system. You
either split up or you break through the projection by being with that
person and seeing that they're not a mermaid, or whatever image you're
carrying around in your head.
Jesse ~ Did you and Murray hit a point where the images shattered?
Eleanor ~ There have been many shatterings. Moving in together brought
a certain shattering. The transition period was challenging, especially for
234
me, coming back from Europe. It was a culture shock thrown on top of
adjusting to living with Murray.
Jesse ~ That was six years ago?
Eleanor ~ Yes, it was a good year and a difficult year, depending on your
perspective. The whole thing exploded when we finally decided to live
together because it was affecting other people, so there were shock
tremors all around.
Jesse ~ You mean when Murray broke the news to Jean?
Eleanor ~ Yes. And I'm glad Murray finally did because the situation was
getting too difficult to deal with emotionally. Murray was feeling the same
way. So we agreed that we had to commit to living together. Then it was a
matter of figuring out how to make the change. It took three years of
sorting out.
Jesse ~ I imagine Murray might have preferred to just keep writing and
ignore it all. Living with one woman while musing with another.
Eleanor ~ He might have. In a way he didn't want to upset things. But he
felt unhappy about lying. Nobody likes doing that – not if you're an honest
person. And if you're doing it over a long period, you put it in a drawer
and ignore it and try to go on with things. But once in a while you open
that drawer and look at it. You can't keep that up forever.
Jesse ~ It seems like you've brought a lot of consciousness to this.
Eleanor ~ I've had to.
Jesse ~ Has that helped Murray move through it?
Eleanor ~ I think so.
Jesse ~ I'm not intending to just point out the shadowy things in Murray's
life but rather to look at the patterns that everyone has to deal with. That's
why I think it's important that my book look at Murray's life alongside his
work. It shows how the right hand and left hand have functioned together.
Eleanor ~ I've always thought it's a book I should write, from a Jungian
perspective. There's a lot of classic elements to it.
Jesse ~ Now that you've made it through the transition, how does it feel?
Eleanor ~ There's been lots of adjusting but it has been worth it because
living the other way was like living in a dream world – ultimately
unsatisfying. Real life begins when you start sacrificing yourself for
someone because you're committed to them. You want to be there when
they go through their ups and downs – or on their deathbed. That's when
you show you really love them and care. You stick with them for better or
worse. You don't just go flitting around doing all the things you want.
Romance is like that – you can back out when the going gets rough. The
other is not yet a real person for you.
Jesse ~ Do you and Murray have deep psychological discussions about
your relationship?
235
Eleanor ~ We have a few times. Murray doesn't sit and analyze things. In
his case, a lot gets worked out through his creativity. Whatever he is going
through emotionally comes out in his art. I like to talk about things but he
releases it through his work.
Jesse ~ Does Murray work late into the night?
Eleanor ~ Sometimes. He sleeps of course but he's continually plugging in
creatively. Even in his dreams he's spinning ideas.
Jesse ~ Does Murray ever have nightmares?
Eleanor ~ Murray does have nightmares. Actually, he has more
nightmares than I would have thought. He doesn't always remember them
but sometimes I have to wake him up to get him out of them, and he tells
me about them. Often they're about someone trying to attack and kill him
and he has to fight them off. Obviously there are still things to deal with,
as there is with all of us. We are all “works in progress.”
Jesse ~ Thank you for your reflections on Murray, warts and all. You
seem to have as much of an understanding of Murray's work as he does –
maybe more. He's on the inside, living it. You're on the outside, able to
observe it.
The Tally of Tolls
Just as Murray returns to the table the sound of a church bell peels
through the noisy city-soundscape. Eleanor and I look at our watches. Mr.
Soundscape merely counts the number of tolls. It's six o'clock and Murray
says they have to get going. There is a concert they are going to attend at
seven o'clock. It involves children – thus the early start time.
When I ask what it is, Murray explains he is going to hear a children's
choir that Lawrence Cherney may use for a piece he has commissioned
him to write. I ask if this has to do with the “big project” he's been
working on lately. “Yes,” he responds and, sensing my interest, invites
me along.
Situated in the backseat of his car I reach my hand-held recorder into the
front seat – between Eleanor and Murray – to catch the travelling
commentary. Pulling out of the parking lot, Eleanor as pilot, Murray as
co-pilot, I listen to the two navigate, if not negotiate, the way from
downtown to uptown. Along the way, Murray finally begins to give me
some details about the big project. “Lawrence Cherney began talking to
me a few years ago about creating something with a medieval theme that
could be produced at an outdoor festival – the Holland Festival. We both
wanted to use a children's choir. I proposed a re-creation of the children's
crusade. We agreed and so Soundstreams Canada commissioned me to
write a full-length opera, The Children's Crusade. That's how it began. I
ask Murray for the storyline.
236
“It's an extraordinary story based on an historical event. It started with a
young orphan boy in France, in 1212, who had a vision that he was to lead
a crusade to the Holy Land and redeem it with love rather than force. The
Pope at that time was encouraging crusades to the Holy Land but most of
them resulted in a lot of death and destruction. The boy went to the King
of France, King Philip, who at first laughed at the idea. But when it was
explained to him that the boy had hundreds of gutter children who wanted
to join the crusade, the King saw it as a way to clean up the streets of
Paris. So he gave it his endorsement and ensured them safe passage to
Marseilles.
“By the time they got to Marseilles there were thousands of children who
had joined the crusade. It is a beautiful image. The children all believed
that when they reached the Mediterranean Sea the waters would part like
the Red Sea did for Moses. Yet it was ill-fated and when they got there
the sea did not part, and a lot of them drowned. Many were taken captive
and sold into slavery. Others died trying to return home. It's a tragic yet
inspiring story of purity, innocence and passion to change the world,
pitted against cynicism and cruelty.”
As I effuse with enthusiasm from the backseat, Murray describes the
production itself.
“It's meant to be a spectacular operatic extravaganza, so I want to create a
medieval atmosphere similar to the Bruegel painting depicting the battle
between Carnival and Lent. There will be big processionals moving about
in an outdoor courtyard. There will be over a hundred performers in the
show – actors, singers, and musicians playing medieval instruments. And
of course lots of children moving amongst the audience. The audience are
the Burgers of Paris at times, then part of a mob scene and so forth. It will
include jugglers and dancing bears and lepers, all kinds of colourful
characters peppered throughout the audience, so you'll have to watch out
for pickpockets.”
I ask if the production will take place in Toronto.
“We've been searching for a medieval-looking space in Toronto, but it's
been difficult to find a suitable location. They're either too expensive or
something else problematic. This makes it hard for me because I like to
write site-specific and want to imagine where each scene will take place.
I'm working on the composition now and it's giving me troubles because
of that.”
I ask Murray if he knows how he is going to simulate thousands of
children on a crusade.
“It'll take a large children's choir – or choirs. It took seven choirs to do the
production of The Fall into Light, another commission by Soundstreams
Canada.” Murray then explains we are on our way to scout the use of the
237
Toronto Children's Opera Chorus for the show. He adds that this isn't the
first time a children's opera chorus has been needed to perform one of his
works. The Canadian Children's Opera Chorus premièred Miniwanka:
The Moments of Water at a command performance for Queen Elizabeth
during her visit to Toronto in 1973.
Re-Creating God
We arrive at our destination, Deer Park Christ Church. After getting our
tickets we go inside the sanctuary and Murray leads the way to the best
positioned pew. Settling in, Murray points out the beautiful baroque organ
that is still in use. “Baroque organs are tuned to a higher pitch. It makes a
more brilliant sound. It's a problem though if you try to combine it with
the orchestral instruments of today. Everyone else has to play sharp. The
usual 'A' is tuned at 440 hertz but the baroque pitch is 456 hertz. It creates
a livelier sound.”
While looking around at the array of iconography, I remark, “God created
humans and now humans spend their lives re-creating God.”
Murray responds, “One of the most evident testaments of change is the
way in which we imagine God. It wasn't until the Renaissance that God
became portraiture. Previously he had been conceived as sound or
vibration. In the days of the prophets, before things were written down,
the sense of hearing was more vital than the sense of sight. The Word of
God, the history of the tribe, all the sacred knowledge was passed orally.”
Murray invokes Marshall McLuhan again by quoting another of his
enigmatic phrases, “If you want the Word of God to live in a church, you
need to place the statues of the prophets high up so that their resonance
can be felt and heard.”
I paraphrase Wagner, who said he was convinced that there were
universal currents of Divine Thought vibrating in the ether everywhere,
and that anyone who can feel these vibrations will be inspired. Murray
adds to this. “Johannes Kepler's writing on the tonal system of the planets
is intriguing. It's a beautiful idea that the planets are humming at different
pitches, the music of the spheres, and that the attuned soul may hear them.
Nowadays, there are lots of people teaching about the psychology of
music and how it influences our behaviour – music as medicine and so
forth. Some say we should be tuning our instruments differently to
harmonize with the universe, to harmonize with the celestial spheres.”
I comment about how much people use music to get them through their
day, whether it be while driving in the car, at work or through ear buds
while walking. Murray responds, “Fundamentally, music was used in the
past either as a call to pray or a call to dance. The music that inspired
people to pray evolved into orchestral music. The music that called people
to dance evolved into pop music. But really, if we are going to talk about
238
music and healing we should be willing to look at the other side as well.”
I ask Murray what he means by his last statement.
“I think a lot of pop music is a real pollutant and dangerous. It certainly
has affected people negatively since it emerged in the 60s. Don't you think
a lot of the shooting and drug use are connected to the music? It's
blatantly asserted in the music of today. They're inciting sex, they're
inciting warfare, they're inciting drug use – go out and blow your mind.
They're inciting all sorts of unhealthy things. It's certainly different from
the pop music that existed before. The ballads, the love songs, the
crooners – they weren't dangerous. We've stopped taking a moral attitude
toward music. The reason is because pop music is so much about
merchandising. It's big money. You can't attack anything that is big
money. These are my personal opinions, but it's very dangerous as far as
I'm concerned, and has been dangerous since it began. It's not just in
poisoning minds – the volume of the music is dangerous. People's hearing
is affected – there's no doubt about that.”
It's engrossing listening to Murray's thoughts on this subject. I'm also
engrossed watching his aura heat up as he rages on. I imagine his fervour
to be like that of the prophet Jonah, warning the people to turn away from
their iniquity.
The Search for the Sacred
As we're in a church, I ask Murray about his relationship to religion. “The
search for the sacred is definitely something I'm interested in. Finding the
sacred moment, the sacred place, the sacred sound. I'm interested in all
aspects of religion involved with that. I have created some sacred works.
Some of these works incorporate religious sources other than Christianity.
But I've also written some very large pieces based on the Christian
religion. Apocalypsis is a religious piece about the destruction and rebirth
of the world. The Fall Into Light is a religious work with Christian
elements. But there are some things from Gnostic and Sufi sources, as
well. Zoroaster is a religious piece based on Zoroastrianism.”
One makes music to get out of this world. No other art
form rejects physical existence so insistently, seeking
unearthly heights where the soul floats on cosmic rays
and sings with the angels. Any rejection of this ideal is
to cancel the real purpose of music, to ground it, make
it corporal, debase it with the rasping noises of the
world, the pulsations of the body, the shrieks of the
voice. Yes, given the materials of expression we
possess, this realization of the infinite is often futile,
for the moment we are made aware that the
instruments we have for reaching the infinite are quite
ordinary violins, drums or voices, the transcendental
239
disappears and we hear only the agony of our
terrestrial existence. Still, it can be achieved at times,
and when it is, even if only for an instant, a revelation
of cosmic consciousness occurs and the Divinity
allows us to touch the mists of its unknown Being.
Programme note: Symphony No. 1, R. Murray Schafer
Our attention is called to the front of the church as the choir files in. This
curtails our conversation – for now. We are treated to some truly
delightful singing by the Toronto Children's Opera Chorus. I can tell
Murray really likes it. He isn't one to filter his feelings and his pleasure is
showing. He seems tickled by the presence of the children and is enjoying
their youthful energy.
...nothing is so enchanting as the voices of
children singing.
Patria pg. 225
A Murray Schafer Summer on the Horizon
Mid-June and it's time for the last gathering of Wolf Project people before
the actual Wolf Week in August. From what I've learned at the previous
meetings, this day is an annual tradition to allow people to be assigned to
their clans and make sure all the details are covered before heading deep
into the woods.
While driving to the meeting place, near Murray's farm, I reflect on how
things are shaping up for my Murray Schafer summer. First, there will be
ten days of Asterion: A Journey Through the Labyrinth in July with
Jerrard Smith. Then a week of rehearsals for The Princess of the Stars,
followed by a week-long run of the show. I'm still disappointed I didn't get
the role of the Presenter but I've agreed to be a canoeist, so I'll at least be
able to observe Murray in action. When the show is over, I'll be eight days
in the woods for the Wolf Project.
As far as my commitment level to the Wolf Project goes, I'm still working
on it. Murray said we shouldn't become members for professional reasons,
so I've been soul searching to see what else would be my raison d'être –
my raison d'Wolf. Murray says the reason for joining the Wolf Project is
to become a wolf, but I'm still not clear what that entails. I'm still working
on what it is to be a human.
Then there is the myth-ritualism part with the stated intent to "save the
world from destruction." That should be compelling enough reason to
participate. We're doing a fine job of destroying other species, and are
possibly on the road to our own extinction. If it's going to help save the
world from the likes of me, I guess I should be present.
240
Payable to Ariadne
I pull off the country road in front of an old brick building in the middle
of nowhere, surrounded by farms and fields. The sense of serenity pushes
back some of my apprehension. It looks like there must have been a bell at
one time in the now empty belfry on the roof of the building. The sign on
the front says “Villiers Community Centre,” but when I enter the building
it is confirmed that it was once a one-room school house. I cross the room
to where Murray is and he welcomes me with the customary Wolf Project
greeting – Homitaqui Asin.
The treasurer is taking cheques from those who have yet to pay this year's
fee. I get out my cheque book and ask if it should be made out to Murray.
Indeed not – it's to be made out to “Ariadne.”
I see Neal Evans and thank him for being a sponsor. I ask him where his
double bass is, chiding him about bringing so much wood into the woods.
I then admit I shouldn't really make fun of him – I always feel the world is
a safer place when I see grown men holding musical instruments rather
than guns. I tell him I'm thankful he is taking a double bass into the woods
rather than a double-barrelled shotgun.
There are tables and chairs set up for another round-table meeting. It's the
largest gathering I've seen so far. Before we settle, someone suggests we
go outside and start with some chants. Not only is this a good way to
stretch and wake up, I notice I'm becoming less self-conscious in doing
the chants. As I move about the circle, my mind moves off myself and I
watch the people. I see everyday people who are looking for a way to do
something both imaginative and constructive, and have found their way to
the Wolf Project. In this regard, we are simpatico – and perhaps I've found
another reason for being here.
Wolf Business
Murray begins the meeting by quoting from the front of the Wolf Project
script. “This is a week long ritual-drama, designed to reunite Wolf and the
Princess of the Stars, and thus save the world from destruction.” He
underscores the point by emphasizing, “That is our supreme mission,
nothing less.”
There's no further pep talk at this time, as there appears to be a lot of
business on the agenda. First, we are to find out who will be participating
in the Wolf Project this year. Some letters are read from people who have
applied but are too far away to attend meetings. They are sponsored, so
they are accepted. However, their letter is as much as we get to know of
them before we meet in the woods.
The list of confirmed participants is read out. Murray makes a note of
what musicians will be in attendance to carry the various parts of the
score. Following this comes a discussion of food. Figuring out how much
241
to take to feed several dozen people for a week in the wilderness
obviously is a priority and requires careful planning. Running out to the
store is not an option.
The question about drinking at the Wolf Project comes up. Murray
handles the answer. “Everyone is allowed to bring enough beer or wine to
have a drink with dinner each night. The reason we have created this
tradition is to protect the integrity of the project. In the first year of the
Wolf Project there were twelve of us. Some wanted to sit around the
campfire at night and drink beer. But it became apparent that this could
destroy the sorts of experiences we were there for.”
Murray gives us an example of what he means. “At the campfire we sing
songs, tell stories and contemplate all kinds of things. Then at a certain
point someone sings a nocturne or plays an instrument. This is a signal for
silence – no more talking in the camp. You can sit by the campfire if you
like but you don't speak anymore.
Often in the Wolf Project, after the nocturne across a
deserted lake, I have heard the music lingering moments
or hours after I know the performer has ceased. You
won't find any discussion of phantom sounds in music
theory books; they were all written in cities...
Patria pg. 229
“The silence can be very beautiful for those who stay up to experience it.
And it allows others to sleep. I've had times when I went to my tent and it
seemed that the forest was echoing with music – a sort of audio
apparition. It made me ask the question – who is the author of the music?
Does the music not originate in nature? I may have even personally
written the music that was being played but doesn't the music really
originate in nature and simply echo through us? Nature is the author and
we are the echo – not the other way around. The music doesn't belong to
me, it belongs to the forest – we just release it.
“In the cities people are desensitized to sound and don't truly hear things.
The wilderness is acoustically superior to any concert hall. In the forest
you will be able to pay attention to sounds – pay attention to your
relationship to sound. We are fortunate to be able to experience sound in
nature. Sound and nature are fused in the forest.
“I had some direct learning from a native while I was teaching at Brandon
University, which influenced me a lot. One time there was a little
whirlwind blowing nearby and he stopped to listen to it. For him
everything is animate, the whole of nature is speaking and he had to
listen. In native culture, most of the activities are centred on events of
nature – things that are happening around them. This inspires their
dances, stories and songs. We laugh at these things in our culture, but I
thought – how incredibly wise. Some of this informs the Wolf Project.”
242
Each year a group of musicians visits
a wilderness lake somewhere in Canada
to play and sing together
but above all to learn from nature,
from whom we learned to make music once before
but forgot and need to learn again.
R. Murray Schafer, Wolf Music
Being There – Getting There
Next comes the calculation of the number of canoes required. There needs
to be enough to transport all the food and utensils, as well as everyone's
personal belongings, which will include tents, tarps, sleeping bags,
clothing – and who knows what else people consider necessary for
survival in the woods for a week. There are also the costumes to transport,
not to mention the musical instruments – from flute to double bass. Last
but not least there are the people.
Speaking of which – as far as I can tell it's not necessarily a room full of
experienced wilderness trippers. It's an eclectic mix, or "an assortment of
people," as Murray said it would be. Some look like they could handle an
axe – others look like they'd better stick to an instrument. There are
certainly a number of artistic types who look like they could flare at any
moment with a brain-seizing inspiration. I discreetly scan the circle to see
who I would trust sharing a loaded canoe with.
Other business addressed is water filtration, bear safety, and Wolf Air, a
fund to help assist those who have to fly to Toronto. I can see a lot of hard
work goes into making things run smoothly. And I'm glad. There are a lot
of complex details to be covered so that when we get into the forest there
will hopefully be less obstacles to simply connecting with nature. Not that
this is going to be simply a back to basics camping trip. In fact, the Wolf
Project is a complex of concepts, Theatre of Confluence, as Murray calls
it, packed into one week.
The question of cameras comes up. The answer is easy. Not allowed. I'm a
little sorry to hear this as there will undoubtedly be scenic sights that
would be good to capture, in case I decide to include photos in the book.
When asked why, Murray states that it is another tradition which
developed with the early wolves. They all felt strongly that a person
cannot be fully present while recording it for the future, therefore
mechanical recording devices of any type are not allowed in the woods.
To participate in the Wolf Project is to leave technology in the cities.
When I realize I won't be able to carry my digital recorder around while
out in the woods, I actually feel a relief. Despite the convenience of the
recorder, I actually prefer pen and paper. Someone adds an addendum to
Murray's explanation: “What goes on in the woods stays in the woods.”
243
Instincts
Before our brains and butts get too numb from this unwolf-like sitting in
chairs, someone suggests we close the morning with some singing, then
have lunch.
The Council of Elders meet and eat separately to discuss how people will
be split into clans. There are also decisions to be made about who will be
doing certain roles for Great Wheel Day. The rest of us enjoy our packed
lunches in the shade of a big oak tree. It's a lovely spot and the sunny day
is warming my anticipation for being in the woods.
I sit with another new participant, a student who is working on a degree in
Musicology. She says she learned about the Wolf Project through a fellow
student. When I ask what she's doing for the summer, apart from the Wolf
Project, she says, “Reading cereal boxes – anything but Musicology.” I
like her sense of humour.
I ask why she wants to be in the Wolf Project. “To get back in touch with
my instincts,” she says, as she pulls a banana out of her lunch bag. I watch
with keen interest as she slowly and unorthodoxly liberates the banana
from its peel. She points out that humans peel bananas opposite to
monkeys – which indicates how out of touch we are with our instincts.
She demonstrates how the strings inside the peel come off more easily
when you hold it by the opposite end – which also acts as a better handle.
I tell her I like her sense of observation and thank her for helping me see
why I need the Wolf Project – to recover lost knowledge. In repayment
for her banana wisdom, I tell her I consider there to be three kinds of
knowledge. What we know, what we don't know, and most importantly –
what we think we know we don't know. I state that it's for the third kind
that I'm joining the Wolf Project. She giggles and I can tell she likes my
sense of humorous observation. I then ask her if she has ever heard of
enantiodromia. She says she hasn't but is curious to know what it means.
Even though she's never heard the word, I feel we have a connection and
take the time to explain it.
The Heart of the Wolf Project
I catch Murray for some conversation before we reconvene for the
afternoon meeting.
Jesse ~ It looks like it's all coming together for another year of the Wolf
Project. Other parts of Patria get produced periodically but you pull off
the epilogue every year.
Murray ~ I'm very proud of the way the Wolf Project functions. It's unlike
anything else I know. As you can see there are many people who are
dedicated to doing it every year, and organize every aspect to keep it
going. In many ways, I regard And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon as the
triumph of my career, not because of the music or the text but because, by
244
its survival for over twenty years, it defies the rules and habits of the arts
industry. There is a place for everyone, including children – some of
whom have literally been born into the project.
Jesse ~ It's truly ingenious. The usual way of producing theatre can be
difficult because of the expense – which is perhaps why some of your
other shows don't get staged so often. But with the Wolf Project you're
getting right to the heart of why theatre needs to be done – to feed
ourselves with important ideas. And you've found a way of doing it
without making it a financial burden.
Murray ~ It was twenty-five years ago, after doing some rather expensive
productions that bankrupted us, that I started to consider other ways of
doing something of artistic merit. That led to the Wolf Project –
something which would be cooperative, where none of us would lose our
shirts and we wouldn't have to be fund-raising all the time.
Jesse ~ The cost to participate is very reasonable. $250 for 8 days in the
wilderness. That's an “all-inclusive” vacation above all others.
Murray ~ It's anything but a vacation. It's about exploring what happens
when you put a group of people into an environment they're not
accustomed to. One of our mottos is, “Art should be dangerous.” Most art
isn't dangerous. Most art is luxurious entertainment. But there are dangers
involved in the Wolf Project. Anything can happen at any time. People get
sick. Accidents can happen – and do happen. If someone slices themselves
with an axe, we have to deal with it. But things like that evoke a caring
attitude in people. You will sense it when you're out in the woods.
Healing
Murray ~ We have a healing chant for when someone gets sick. We
gather everyone around their tent and sing to them. People receive a lot
from this and feel incredible gratitude for this sort of care. This used to
happen in other societies but nowadays people back off when something
bad happens because we think there's nothing we can do. We're hesitant
about helping for fear of being held liable, so we call the paramedics to
take them away to the hospital. But there are other ways to help.
Jesse ~ This is revolutionary. It's a healing community. You have created
an intersection between the arts, the environment, healing rituals and
helping each other survive.
Murray ~ Another major factor is our relationship to the weather. We are
outside in the weather – whether it's sunny or stormy. When Great Wheel
Day arrives we perform the show rain or shine. We've done Great Wheel
Day in heavy, stormy weather – people are wilting and thinking we're
crazy to be doing this. It's messy and hard. People get grumpy. But we
push through and when it's over there is a real sense of accomplishment –
we did it! It becomes the thing everyone remembers the most afterwards.
There's something profound about intense weather. It's miserable and
glorious at the same time.
245
Jesse ~ You are giving people a truly interactive theatrical experience
with nature as the backdrop – as opposed to sitting in a black box theatre
for a couple of hours with a ten-minute intermission to stretch the legs.
Murray ~ These sorts of experiences are what I want most to connect
people with.
Clans
After lunch some more business is covered and then it's time to announce
how people are assigned to clans. Most people remain in the same clans
each year with the occasional request to move to a new clan. I'm
appointed to the Fox clan. I can't explain why but when I hear this I feel a
sense of excitement.
We split up to meet as clans. There are four foxes here but others who
will be joining us in the woods. We have a discussion about the traits of a
fox. A fox is known for it's cleverness, as well as its keen sense of sound.
A fox is often depicted as a Trickster in stories. Fox energy can move
through things quickly and navigate through spaces other animals can't. It
all sounds good to me – if not like me. It certainly feels a better fit than a
Beaver, Deer or Squirrel.
My clan mates show me the special sound Foxes make to identify
ourselves. Also, the hand gestures we use as sign language during times of
silence. Shades of a secret brotherhood.
Setting the Intention
Everyone moves outside for a ceremony around a fire pit. It's time for an
initiation ritual. At this point, as a new member, I'm officially welcomed
into the Wolf Project by everyone else. I get to do my first bit of ritualdrama by stepping forward and voicing the intention.
I am Jesse, member of the Fox clan.
I join the quest.
I will make Wolf and Princess whole.
Murray smiles at me from across the circle as if to say he's impressed I've
made it this far. So am I. I think Jung would be proud of me too. But more
so, just as Murray is a sworn enemy of those who contribute to the world's
destruction, so too have I now officially sworn to uphold the highest
ideals of unity and harmony for the creation of a better world – for the
sake of all creatures. And with that I have made the step from being a
“potential” to a “participant.”
Following this, people sit on the grass in a circle while Murray fields
some questions about the Wolf Project and the Patria cycle in general.
The Mirror of Murray's Mythos
“Liberation and apotheosis are only possible once Wolf and the Princess
have been brought together. In Patria, the idea is that the two principal
246
characters, the archetypal man and woman, engage in a search for each
other. They are symbolic of the dissociated halves of the same being.
Wolf and the Princess constantly seek each other to be united in sacred
union. But unity is elusive, so the world is out of balance.”
“All the episodes of Patria follow Wolf's search for his spirit in the form
of the Princess. As the labyrinthine nature of his journey intensifies, the
Princess of the Stars becomes personified to him as Ariadne, who helped
Theseus escape the Cretan labyrinth. The thread provided by Ariadne is
the thread of music . Ariadne's gift is her song, which sustains Theseus
during his wanderings.”
My intention was to treat Theseus and Ariadne as equal
partners, the animus and anima symbols they have
consistently been throughout the Patria cycle, ultimately
destined to blend together in perfect wholeness.
Patria pg. 156
It's becoming clear how intentional Murray is in his use of symbols. The
crafted imagery, drawing from the rich legacy of myths – the
psychological portraits our ancestors employed to understand life's
processes – is intended to touch people at their deepest level.
“The unifying motif of the Patria cycle is Wolf's search for the power that
will transform him. He searches through a thousand lands, in a thousand
incarnations. He travels under many names and assumes many guises.
Sometimes as Anubis, the jackal-headed god of Egypt. Sometimes as
Fenris, the wolf-like monster of Scandinavian lore, raging at the world.
Sometimes as Theseus looking for the thread of hope that will save him
from the Minotaur. At times he assumes great preeminence. At other
times he is chased away as a fool, a criminal or beast.”
I can relate to the last sentence, sometimes feeling like a fool or beast –
sometimes on top, sometimes not. In fact, much of what Murray has
taught me is causing me to reflect on my life – which is probably the
point. He didn't write all this to entertain audiences. It would also appear
to be the point of going into the woods for a week – to reflect on
ourselves in the mirror of mythos, and see how the plot pertains to our
personal existence.
“The dance of duality between the two main characters and the search for
the homeland, Patria, can be understood in a variety of symbolic ways –
anima and animus, spirit and matter, the conscious and the unconscious,
heaven and earth, the finite and the infinite. The yearning for Patria is not
so much for a place as it is a state of being.”
Murray the Myth-Ritualist
Murray addresses myth-ritualism as the heart of the Wolf Project. I heard
him refer to "myth-ritualism" on other occasions and did a little research
247
on the subject. There is quite a bit of academic writing about it, which
seems odd considering, as Murray says, it is about pursuing “a state of
being” and not intellectual knowledge.
Myths are commonly thought to be simply stories – something to be read
or perhaps dramatized. But this is a reduction of the original intention.
Many myths were created to be used in ritual – a catalyst for inner
activity. Myth is a verb as well as a noun. By re-enactment of a storyline
in ritualized fashion a myth doesn't stop at being an interpretation of
phenomena in the world but an opportunity for people to engage
imaginatively with timeless elements. Myth-ritualism becomes a way to
catalyse and manipulate magic. Myth and ritual operating together form
an energetic influence – the "thaumaturgy" that Murray keeps referring to.
The Patria cycle is a mythology that Murray has been building for thirty
years. The Wolf Project seems to be the part that most closely aligns with
this age-old practice, to restore harmony to the world – thaumaturgically.
Murray concludes his remarks, as it's getting dark and people need to eat
before driving home. The meeting is closed with everyone standing in the
circle and doing the Wolf Chant – a little taste of things to come. As I
move in the circle, I experience a touch of magic. I look about the circle
and see a group of humans. I see my new musicology friend stumbling a
bit to learn the steps. I see that I'm not the only one who might have
trepidation about embarking on this journey into the unknown. But I see
people who are willing to take a risk, who are willing to humble
themselves in a childlike way, and enter with faith into myth-ritualism to
save the world from destruction. I feel my heart open and am strangely
moved with compassion. It's a magical moment, satisfying something in
my soul. And with that, I feel I might have found my raison d'être for
becoming a Wolf.
Tent-ative Arrangements
Before I get a chance to fill my plate with food, I'm approached by some
of the elders. They tell me there are some roles to be filled for Great
Wheel Day and ask if I would be interested in doing the part of Utanda.
I'm told he's a human and he doesn't have to sing. “Sure,” comes my polite
but uncertain reply, not really knowing what I'm committing to.
Once settled with a plate of food, my new musicology friend comes over
and sits with me. She found out that her clan and my clan are camping at
the same site. We share a moment's excitement over this.
The question of tents comes up. She says she will have to borrow her
father's tent. She then asks about my tent situation. I tell her I have my
own tent – in good shape, fairly large. She doesn't have to say anything – I
can see the suggestion in her eyes. I ask, “Are you thinking we should
share a tent?” I ask. “Why not,” she responds with a smile. “Sure,” comes
248
my polite but uncertain reply, committing myself to a second thing I know
little about.
A moment passes and I begin wondering if I'm doing the right thing. I'm
not sure if it's right for members from different clans to co-habit. On top
of that, I've agreed to a week of tenting with a woman I just met. So far
we're hitting it off but who knows what will happen in the woods. She
sees the apprehension in my eyes and checks with an elder to see if it's all
right. It is. With that fait accompli, she plops onto my plate a piece of the
dessert she brought for the potluck. I look over and see Murray observing
us from across the room. He gives me a smile which I interpret to say:
Now that I've officially been sworn in ... let the thaumaturgy begin.
249
Nine
Asterion:
Making the Labyrinth Concrete
The Invitation
Two weeks before it's time for me to go to Asterion: A Journey Through
the Labyrinth, I'm emailed the directions to the “secret location” and a
copy of the Asterion script. After my printer finishes spitting out 90
pages, I decide I had better first read Murray's 15-page chapter on
Asterion in the Patria book before I get lost in the script.
What is immediately striking about this chapter is that, unlike the rest of
the book, the pages are black with white printing. This creates a distinct
change in mood – not unlike what I imagine entering a labyrinthine-world
would be like – trading the light of day for the darkness of the unknown.
There aren't even page numbers to act as guides through this section of
Murray's book. The disorientation is no doubt intended to alert the senses
to pay attention to every detail, as they may be important clues for
navigating through.
Furthermore, there is no list of characters, nothing about musicians,
duration – none of the details found in other chapters. This chapter simply
describes a nameless lecturer at an anonymous university giving a lecture
on Cretan mythology. It's not a flamboyant lecture, just an informative
one, delivered matter-of-factly. At the end, while packing up his notes, the
lecturer states, “For those wishing to undertake the journey from darkness
to light, application forms are on the table.”
Suddenly there is darkness. Then slowly, in a dull
spotlight, the contours of a head appear. Who can say
what it looks like? There is nothing frightening in its
demeanour. No mask. A neutral face, mature, sexless,
but strange, owing to the protuberance of three small
horns on the brow.
Patria pg. 210
This horned figure addresses the audience regarding the interstices of the
labyrinth, as if knowing it from the inside out. He speaks with an
expectation that we should all be more familiar with both him and it. He
then withdraws, the light returns, and the lecturer reiterates his invitation
to pick up an application.
250
The Application
The application asks for conventional information: name, address, date of
birth, sex, allergies and medical conditions. Then:
Why do I wish to experience Asterion?
What do I bring to offer to the experience?
What does fear mean to me?
What does courage mean to me?
What does pain mean to me?
What are its positive and what are its negative qualities?
What am I prepared to sacrifice in my life?
How does the thought of death affect my life?
The application states:
Applicants are provided an outline of how to prepare. A
date and meeting place will be given. At the appointed
time the participants are met, blindfolded and
transported to the site of the labyrinth, the exact location
of which they should never know. When they arrive, the
blindfold is removed. The entrance is indicated in
silence and the neophyte enters the labyrinth alone.
The Approach
Because this is a workshop of Asterion, I have not been asked to fill out
any application. And my drive to the location, which I promised Murray I
would not disclose, is straightforward. However, as I make my way, I feel
a strange stirring not felt with other aspects of Murray's work.
Anubis: O beings of the corridors of the dead. I have
with me a neophyte who would be instructed in the way
of death and life. Knowing the risks, knowing the
reward, fearing not death by the jaws of Minotaur or
suffocation from neglect, knowing that having entered
there can be no exit by this entrance, the one I send to
you would attempt to pass the forty-nine stages into the
clear light of knowing that opens beyond darkness.
Receive him as you will.
Asterion script pg. 24
I step out of my car, barely having time to say hello before Jerrard Smith
asks me to sign a waiver releasing him and Murray from liability should
anything unfortunate happen to me while here. It feels strange considering
I'm still unclear what's intended to happen here.
After pitching my tent in the last moments of light on this hot July night, I
make my way to the glow of a fire where a ring of people is forming. I
find a place to sit and am struck by the quietness – not of the surroundings
but of the people themselves. No one is talking. Everyone seems alone.
251
It's an odd silence, with the flickering of fire on strange faces – Murray's
is not among them.
Jerrard joins the circle and tells us Murray will be here tomorrow. He then
describes a bit of his background, including his relationship to Murray.
Despite his current hairless state, he refers to himself as a long-haired,
dope-smoking hippie, working at Simon Fraser University when Murray
was a professor there. He heard Murray's work and was inspired to buy a
synthesizer. He says he now teaches theatre design at the University of
Guelph. Short and sweet, that's all Jerrard discloses for now.
He asks us to go around the circle introducing ourselves. Curious to know
what kind of person would attend this sort of thing, I find I'm amongst an
eclectic bunch, about fifteen in all, each with a different story and reason
for being here. Some are artists, some are musicians, some are builders,
some are healers, some are students of labyrinths, some are students of
Murray's work. And some are part of the work crew that has been here for
a few weeks.
The Nightmare
At the end of the introductions, people are ready to head to their tents and
settle in for their first night. As the circle dissolves, I follow suit. The
darkness of the night has done little to cool the air and I hardly need a
sleeping bag – but I slip inside for the womb-like comfort and fall into a
deep sleep.
In the middle of the night I awaken suddenly, sweating profusely but not
necessarily from the heat. I have the feeling I have been somewhere else.
It was a dark land with moonlight reflecting on a pool. There was a dog –
a very thin dog. I was walking the dog, and had to keep moving because I
was walking on the water and would otherwise sink. A shark fin appeared
in the pool of water which scared the thin dog away. I had to go after him
and bring him back. However, every time I brought him back the shark fin
appeared and frightened him again.
Very strange – if not embarrassing. My first night at Asterion and I'm
dreaming crazy stuff: a thin dog, a shark, me walking on water? What
does it mean? It seems more than coincidental that Murray had a
nightmare, actually two, when he visited me. Now I'm having nightmares
here. Will I have a second one, as well?
Remembering that Murray records his dreams, I turn on my flashlight and
write down my nightmare in hope it will become clearer in the light of
day. Part of me doesn't want to close my eyes again, but despite the sweat,
I pull the sleeping bag around my neck and drift in and out of sleep for the
remainder of the night.
252
The Lay of the Labyrinth
I emerge from my tent to find a breakfast prepared for us by the camp
cook. People are still quiet, as we each take a plate of food and sit eating.
I look around to see if anyone else had a rough night and get a better look
at the other participants. It was odd seeing them first by firelight. But
today everyone still looks odd. We're a random mixture of people.
After breakfast we're gathered for a tour by an engineering student who
likes to go by the nickname Daedalus – after the architect of the Minoan
labyrinth. He tells us he has been here since the beginning – not only of
this summer’s construction session but since Asterion started four years
ago. Daedalus gives us some history of the project. Asterion wasn't
written with a certain site in mind. Part of the reason for this workshop
session is to see how Asterion can live here. If it does come to life, it will
be inextricably grafted to this land in a way that could not be duplicated
anywhere else. Daedalus asks, “Will it work? We don't know yet.”
Looking around I see we are situated in a bowl surrounded by trees. It's a
very steamy bowl at the moment – due to a swamp somewhere, combined
with the lack of air circulation. Daedalus guides us around the four acres
where the labyrinth is being developed. He explains that only parts are
complete and it's expected to take a few more summers – there are many
logistical issues to be addressed and problems to be solved in its
construction. We walk past buildings in various degrees of completion – a
straw bale structure, concrete walls winding here and there, a metal
Quonset hut, a couple of large cargo holds and a concrete geodesic dome.
We come to a pool made from concrete with willow branches soaking in
it. It reminds me of my nightmare – less the shark fin. Daedalus tells us
that all we see will eventually be connected together, however, no one is
yet sure how. I begin to wonder, “Will it work?”
We are taken past a pit to the edge of a forest, where the labyrinth will
lead. As if a dark, cedar forest isn't intimidating enough, there are human
heads made of clay, lying forbiddingly on the ground. The foliage of the
forest is untamed – cedar fences that once marked a boundary have been
overtaken by it. The entrance to the forest is marked by branches forming
an archway. We have to bow to enter and follow a serpentine path lined
with woven willow branches. We pass carcasses of old cars. Skeletal
remains of earlier attempts to traverse this treacherous landscape? It's
eerie in this breathless forest. It's thick and difficult to see more than a
few feet ahead. We eventually come to a fork in the path. The branch to
the right would apparently put us in the swamp. Daedalus takes us to the
left, along the edge of the swamp and to a small clearing. At the centre lie
some bones – bones that were apparently discovered here. Someone has
arranged them in the shape of a Minotaur.
253
If a work celebrating the Cretan myth was to become
capable of firing the modern imagination,...Clearly, the
execution of such a work would require something quite
unlike the traditional theatre as a performance space. I
know some people believe that newer technologies are
creating formats for intense one-to-one confrontations;
but what is missing is terror – the smell of the beast and
the roaring in darkness everywhere.
Patria pg. 202
We eventually gather back at the cook tent, which is the centre of the
settlement here. Not unlike what one would find at an archaeological dig,
there is a tarp to sit under, for protection from rain or beating sun, the
latter currently being the case.
After a light lunch, Jerrard gathers us to discuss the development of
Asterion: A Journey Through the Labyrinth on this plot of land. He has a
photo of the land taken from an airplane. He also has a large board with a
grid map. On a laptop, hooked up to a car battery, he shows us different
possibilities for where encounters could take place. He walks us through a
few scenarios. It's evident how serious he is about finding a way to make
this work.
Reflecting on the challenges, the words are again spoken, “Will it work?”
– not from a participant but from Jerrard himself. I'm astounded at the
amount of effort going into something that, in the end, may not work.
After about an hour and a half, the intensity of the afternoon heat has
become quite oppressive. We are given the rest of the afternoon to finish
settling in and do whatever we want. Some elect to work on a physical
aspect of the labyrinth, like painting, mixing cement or weaving willow
branches. Others go for a swim in a nearby river.
Enter Rachaelle
As I sit in the shade fanning myself with my copy of the script, I strike up
a conversation with one of the participants, Rachaelle. She tells me she's a
graduate student from Montreal. I ask her how she came to be here. With
a French accent she says she first learned about Murray Schafer from a
book she found lying on her lover's night table. She enjoyed it so much
she looked into Murray's music, being a composer herself, and felt she
had found Canada's greatest composer. A friend suggested she do a
research paper on him, and that's what led her here.
I tell her why I'm here. I then ask her if she has ever heard the word
“enantiodromia.” I'm a touch disappointed when she says no, but she
presses me into explaining it to her. As I unfold my understanding, I can
see she enjoys the intellectual stimulation.
254
After a while, Rachaelle starts to groan that she got too much sun this
morning. I'm not surprised – she's been walking around in a bathing-suit
top the whole time. Rachaelle lifts her strap to show me how her lilywhite skin is turning crimson red. I tell her I have some shea butter and
offer to get it from my tent. She accepts my offer.
When I return, Rachaelle looks dubiously at the unlabelled jar. I explain
to her it's pure shea butter I got from a Rastafarian in Kensington Market,
who swears it's the best thing for sun protection, and imports it raw from
Jamaica – thus the unlabelled jar. She still looks sceptical, so I offer to rub
it on her. She accepts my offer. While I slather it on generously to appease
her angry looking skin, her groaning changes tone. Rachaelle then tells me
she has already amassed a sizable amount of material about Murray
Schafer. This gets me excited. She notices this and says, in return for my
services, I'm welcome to make use of her resources. I tell her I'll take up
her offer. She smiles over her shoulder.
Mission accomplished, Rachaelle's back covered in shea butter, I decide
to go for a siesta – and some respite from the heat. In my tent, I take a
little time with the script and ponder the quote on the front cover.
What lies beyond is full of marvels and unrealities, a
land of poets and fabulists, of doubts and uncertainties.
Plutarch: Life of Theseus
I assume that “fabulists” are people who tell fables. “Doubts and
uncertainties,” I've already encountered here in the oft repeated phrase,
“Will it work?” As for, “What lies beyond,” – beyond what? Perhaps
once I'm beyond the front page of the script I will know.
The Greatest Show
After dinner, Murray arrives and gives us a talk on the origins of Asterion.
It's interesting to learn that Patria 7: Asterion and Patria 4: The Black
Theatre of Hermes Trismegistos , were originally designed to be a part of
Patria 3: The Greatest Show. However, they both grew to become their
own parts of the Patria cycle.
“The Greatest Show is the biggest of all the Patria shows, requiring over
100 actors, singers, dancers, musicians and carnival people. It was
originally called 'The Greatest Show on Earth' until we received a letter
from the lawyers of Barnum and Bailey Circus stating that they owned
that title, and telling us they would sue if we used it. I don't know how
they heard about our show in Peterborough, but we had our publicity
already printed and had to cross out 'on Earth' in order to comply. Since
then it's become known as The Greatest Show.
“The Greatest Show is done outside in the style of a travelling carnival,
set up in a field like the ones I remember from my childhood. At the
beginning, a Showman calls everyone to a large central stage – the
255
odditorium. 'Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to a world of truth and error,
delight and terror, real and unreal.' The audience begins to walk around
the fairgrounds, witnessing different acts in tents and on small stages. It's
about blurring the distinction between actors and audience, and the
choices involved on the part of the audience member. It's about drawing
people out and seeing how deeply they get involved personally – how
much they can lose themselves in the blur of fantasy and reality.
“At the end of The Greatest Show the audience is gathered together again
in the odditorium, but suddenly the Minotaur appears and lunges at them.
The Showman starts to scream, 'It's going wrong, get out everyone,
quickly get out, the show is going wrong.' The lights go out and the
audience starts scrambling for the exit because they can't tell if this is
staged or not. If they dare to look back they see a fifteen-foot Minotaur
and bodies strewn about – actors lying on the ground.
“So The Greatest Show starts off as a happy carnival but ends in this way
– everything collapsing as this monster takes over the fairgrounds. It's
about creating a situation in which people wouldn't normally find
themselves. It challenges them to drop their mask and act differently
under these unusual circumstances. Almost every night, someone calls the
police, reporting that people have been injured at the show. Or they call
me and complain, 'How dare you terrify my child that way.' The point of it
is that destruction and chaos are part of the creative process. There's no
escaping it – something has to be destroyed in order for transformation to
take place and something new born. The Minotaur helps us by breaking
things down, making the basic elements accessible for the alchemical
processes coming in the next part of Patria – The Black Theatre of
Hermes Trismegistos.”
According to the alchemists, the base metals cannot
be transmuted into silver or gold without first being
reduced to their prima materia. This reduction to
prime material is the action which takes place in
Patria 3 and their reconstruction will be the subject of
Patria 4: The Black Theatre of Hermes Trismegistos.
Patria pg. 117
The Black Theatre of Hermes Trismegistos
Murray has everyone's rapt attention and continues with the background
description. “The Black Theatre of Hermes Trismegistos, as with
Asterion, was intended to be a side show in The Greatest Show, but grew
into its own piece. The Black Theatre starts at midnight and the audience
is told to rendezvous at a specified location. They are met by a
brotherhood of alchemists who introduce them to a number of characters
representing alchemical ingredients. They are then taken on a journey to
conjure the right alchemical process to unite sun and moon, resulting in
the birth of a divine child, the transformative agent of the world.”
256
Asterion is the title of one of the later works in the
Patria cycle in which I want to develop this theme of
individuation through a series of personal trials.
Patria pg. 158
The journey through the labyrinth must be
experienced alone. The characters that inhabit the
labyrinth are archetypes, symbols of the psyche drawn
from both the light and dark sides of our nature and
presented in order that we might know ourselves
better. There is nothing new in this; it is the function
of all mythology and folklore to turn the dimlyperceived intuitions of the unconscious so that they
may be interpreted and integrated.
Asterion script pg. 8
It's becoming clear from what Murray is saying that Asterion aspires to be
more than theatre. He refers to it as “Initiation-theatre” and
“Labyrintheatre,” and repeats what seems to have become a mantra
around here, “Will it work? We will see.”
The Beyond
The light fades and the campfire is lit. Some participants sit talking, some
play musical instruments and some sit staring into the fire. I go back to
my tent to be with my thoughts and my journal. As I finish writing about
my day, my thoughts turn to the night ahead, wondering what it will bring.
Am I in for another nightmare – nightmare number two? Will I wake up
screaming the way Murray did when he had a nightmare? Will I awaken
those in the tents around me and have to explain myself in the morning?
The night comes and goes. I have dreams, but no nightmares.
After everyone is finished breakfast we settle under the tarp of the cook
tent. Yesterday we focused on the outer landscape and how the Asterion
script might live on this property. Today, with Murray present, we turn
our attention to the inner properties – to see what lives in the script.
Flipping through the pages, someone comments on the fascinating
diagrams Murray has drawn to accompany the text and provide an artistic
rendering of what each section might look like when built. Someone asks
about the subtitle on the front cover – A Pataphysical Hierophany. I came
prepared on this point, and ask who has heard the word “pataphysical”
before. Everyone except Murray and Jerrard say no. I then counter with,
“Oh yes you have. Everyone has heard it before!”
While people scratch their heads, I start singing the lyrics from a well
known Beatles song: “Joan was quizzical, studied pataphysical science in
the home.” The light goes on for some and they chime, “Maxwell's Silver
Hammer!” I credit Wikipedia for the reference. But now I have a question
257
of my own because I don't actually understand the word. Something
pataphysical is apparently beyond the metaphysical. This is odd
considering metaphysical means beyond the physical. So is something
pataphysical beyond the beyond?
As for "hierophany," everyone knows that is something sacred or holy. So
is a pataphysical hierophany a sacred journey beyond the beyond? We are
all now asking the question, “Will it work? And if so, how does it work?”
The Architecture of the Soul
Our attention is turned to another quote on the cover of the script:
If you wish to outline an architecture which conforms to
the structure of the soul..., it would have to be conceived
in the structure of a labyrinth.
Nietzsche: Aurore
“Structure of a labyrinth? ... Structure of the soul?” I overlook for the
moment that Murray is quoting someone who went mad – or perhaps got
lost in the labyrinth of his mind. Is Murray suggesting that Asterion is an
externalization of the soul's structure? Does he want to build a container
that holds the collective contents of the unconscious? Is that possible?
Will it work?
Jerrard explains, “The labyrinth is like a Fun House – full of mirrors. As
one moves through and has encounters with characters, what are they
seeing? Are they seeing someone else, or parts of themselves mirrored
back?” Jerrard turns our attention to the third quote on the cover.
As the eye to the sun, so the soul corresponds to God.
Jung: The Religious and Psychological Problems of Alchemy
Murray is quoting one of his cardinal inspirations, Carl Jung, on the
subject of alchemy. Someone asks if there are a lot of Jungian ideas in
Asterion. Murray answers affirmatively.
The Alchemist of the Soul
Someone asks what alchemy is. Murray begins by stating that alchemy is
much more than an ancient gold rush that sought to change base metals
into silver and gold, as many think. He then gives us a snapshot of the
broad historical span of the subject.
“The word 'alchemy' was originally thought to have come from the
ancient Greek word chemeia, derived from Chemia, a name for Egypt.
With the Arabic article 'al' it would mean 'of Egypt.' But it's now more
widely thought that it comes from chumeia, meaning 'mixture,' and refers
to early chemistry. The ancient alchemists' quest to transmute lead into
gold, albeit a frustrated enterprise, did indeed produce a long list of
chemical discoveries.”
258
Murray explains that, as the ideas of alchemy evolved, so did the
motivation for experimentation. “Alchemy itself evolved and became
focused on the healing arts and the search for a panacea for disease and a
life-prolonging elixir. Today, it has advanced even further and is now a
branch of psychology that seeks to know the inner powers and principles
of personal transformation.”
Murray says Hermes Trismegistos, or the Thrice Great Hermes, is
indistinguishable as either god or man – he may have been both. “In his
Egyptian form, Thoth, as well as his Greek and Roman manifestations as
Hermes and Mercury, he is said to have delivered secrets to humanity that
laid the foundation for alchemy, astrology and other mystical arts,
sometimes also referred to as Hermeticism. According to legend, he
carried an emerald tablet upon which were recorded all the secrets of
alchemy; also a caduceus – a staff entwined by two serpents, a symbol of
mystical illumination. From a contemporary viewpoint, the figure of
Hermes stands as the archetype of transformation through the
reconciliation of opposites.”
Murray then brings Jung into the picture. “Jung's study of alchemical texts
revealed how the alchemists were less concerned with chemical
procedures, and actually more interested in the symbolic and archetypal
drawings of the work. Jung explored the close resemblance of these
drawings to psychological processes, using dream analysis, free
association and active imagination. This was the beginning of a new age
of scientific inquiry, depth psychology, where Jung regarded the ancient
text, opus alchymicum, as descriptions of the psychological process of
transformation and the ego's integration of unconscious contents. Jung
called this process 'individuation,' a term implying psychological
wholeness or, theologically, the soul's attainment of divine selfhood.”
...as Jung and others have been able to show, the
minerals were also viewed symbolically as aspects of the
human personality so that the goal of alchemy, regarded
philosophically, was nothing less than the attainment of
spiritual purification and excellence. But this harmony
was not produced without great difficulty.
Patria pg. 134
Someone asks Murray to back up and explain how individuation is
attained. Murray says the word “individual” comes from the Latin
indivíduus, meaning indivisible or inseparable. Individuation is the
psychological process of first separating out, then integrating opposites. It
is a state where there is no longer anything divisible; nothing more that
can be broken down and assimilated.
Psychologically considered, the alchemical operation
consisted of separating and distilling the basic elements
259
(sometimes called the prima materia) then reuniting
them in purified form in the conjunctio or chymical
marriage. This conjunction was personified as a ritual
cohabitation of gold and silver or sol and luna (sun and
moon). From this sprang the filius sapientiae, the
transformed Mercurius, who was thought of as
hermaphroditic because of his rounded perfection.
Patria pg. 134
Murray continues to unfold his absorbing treatise, explaining that modern
psychology illuminates alchemy, but also conversely, alchemy provides
modern psychology with keys to understanding personal transformation.
“In the past, when someone became a student of alchemy, they had to
swear an oath of secrecy. But today the opposite is true. Someone who
understands the principles of alchemy is beholden to pass on, in the best
way possible, this once secret knowledge which humanity is in need of
more than ever to be saved from destruction.”
As Murray brings his talk to a close with the awakening words, “saved
from destruction,” I'm thoroughly impressed, if not surprised, at how
conversant he is about alchemy. Am I seeing another side – R. Murray
Schafer the alchemist?
As the alchemist Artephius wrote, 'Is it not recognized
that ours is a cabbalistic art? By this I mean that it is
passed on orally and is full of secrets...I assure you in
good faith that whoever would take literally what the
alchemists have written will lose himself in the recesses
of a labyrinth from which he will never escape.'
Patria pg. 134
To calm any concerns about the mystical or psychological aspects of
Asterion, Jerrard says the work here is alchemical but done as
experimental theatre. He is not a psychoanalyst. This prompts me to
challenge the validity of constructing a labyrintheatre at all, and the
amount of labour being put into it. Is it necessary to make so literal what
would be simpler to keep as analogy? I sense a bit of defensiveness in
Jerrard's response, “Thanks for reminding me.” Making a mock mopping
of his brow, he adds dryly, “Maybe I'm doing this just to learn the alchemy
of cement mixing.”
The Dreamtime
At lunchtime, a friend of Murray’s shows up – Fred Taylor. Fred is a First
Nations man who lives at a nearby reservation. Murray takes him for a
tour around the grounds. When they return to the cook tent, Fred playfully
says. “I just wanted to check out what you're doing with my land.” Murray
adds with a laugh, “He doesn't approve. He wants it back.”
260
Murray says Fred's paintings hang in his home. Fred comments that he
can see some similarities between his work as an artist and what we're
doing here – making the invisible visible. He tells us he works in the
imaginative realm, or "dreamtime," and that when he wants to call on
powers to transform and heal he goes to a special place in his mind – a
special island. Animal spirits bring him energy medicine there – which is
what comes through in his art.
I find this cross reference between his art and Asterion helpful, and
realize that there needs to be a similar practice here – an altered state
engaged – the dreamtime, similar to a shamanic journey, if one really
wants to enter Asterion.
The Fair Rachaelle
After lunch Rachaelle approaches me with a groan. The burn she got
yesterday is still bothering her. She asks for more shea butter – and for
more help putting it on.
Some men are breast men. I've always been drawn to the finer nuances of
the back. So I'm more than willing to apply the buttery lotion to her subtle
contours. While I'm in the area of the back I do her arms as well, which
also have fine contours – and a burn. I'm commanded to rub softly
because her skin is sensitive. And she wants me to go slowly, so I don't
create too much friction. To comply, it takes a while to cover the
landscape at hand.
As I work away, Rachaelle tells me more about the assortment of
materials she has collected about all things Schaferish – articles, reviews,
dissertations. I'm definitely interested in getting a look at what she has.
No point in reinventing the wheel by trying to track down everything
myself. I tell her this may even involve a trip to Montreal to investigate
her archive.
The Active Imagination
During the afternoon session, dialogue develops about Asterion and
allegories. As I listen to people's comments, it suddenly hits me and I get
it: this really is a pataphysical hierophony! Murray isn't kidding in calling
it that. It's far more than allegory and archetypes. It's beyond that – it's
pataphysical. It's beyond the beyond.
I start thinking out loud. “Myths, fables, fairy tales and dreams are most
often considered analogous or symbolic of something. But Murray, as a
pataphysician, is reaching beyond that, beyond dreams and nightmares,
beyond the symbolic – beyond the metaphorical, even beyond the
metaphysical – to the pataphysical. He's taking us beyond the beyond, to
another world, a parallel stratum.
“The building of Asterion is more than making a dream a reality. Murray's
vision is to make what some call an 'unreality' more real, because he
261
believes the pataphysical is as real, if not more real, than what most
people consider reality. Murray wants to make more visible what is
invisible, and so, by creating Asterion, he is manifesting the unrealized
part of reality, making it more concrete – by making a concrete labyrinth.”
I can tell some are wondering if I'm being serious or just blowing bubbles.
This makes me wonder if they are taking Murray seriously or not. As for
me, I'm being entirely sincere. I feel I'm going somewhere with my
thought process, so I continue.
“The idea for this project must already exist somewhere. Why else would
Murray be dreaming it? The idea is already pataphysically concrete, yet
waiting to be born – to become physical. Murray doesn't refer to it as
pataphysical for no reason. But even knowing the definition of the word,
do we know what it points to? We have to go beyond all pointers, all
symbols, including words, to find it.”
I don't know if he feels upstaged or not but I sense Jerrard is a little irked
by my musings. However, I believe I'm beginning to understand
something. I avert Jerrard's gaze and pull out my pad to transcribe my
thoughts as I speak.
“To make Asterion more concrete, we need to see what R. Murray
Schafer sees. We need to dream as Murray dreams. Murray isn't just
spinning stories for our entertainment. It's for our engagement. Our job
now is to become active in Asterion, not by analyzing it to death but by
dreaming it into existence in our lives. We need to let it be dreamed
through us – in the dreamtime.”
I intentionally avoid looking in Murray's direction. I don't want to know
what he's thinking at this moment. I can tell some people are annoyed by
what they undoubtedly assume to be presumptuous comments, and that I
arrogantly feel the need to write them down as I speak. But I think I've
made points worth remembering. I pull out my recorder and turn it on
while I continue speaking. Rachaelle simply smiles. She knows I'll let her
use my notes.
“How is this to work? That is the question! I think the answer lies in the
imagination. The answer is the imagination. Not that reason doesn't have a
place. But reason has been exalted to a status that subjugates the
imagination, undermining its power and potential. If we want to give birth
to something that is beyond the beyond, then it must mean it's even
beyond the imagination – and most certainly beyond the reach of reason.
So is it not through active imagination, assisted by reason, that we have
the power to go there?”
As a trained Waldorf School teacher, I'm on one of my favourite
soapboxes. “As adults, have we not demoted the imagination to children's
stories, relinquishing to children the most important capacity we need as
262
adults? Einstein himself said that imagination is everything – even more
important than knowledge. And what is the imagination, if not the ability
to look askance at reality as we know it, and see what lies beyond it,
beyond imagination and reason themselves, beyond dreams, symbols,
language and all allegories – to the beyond? Is this not what opens the
door to true existence? Is it not the key to expanded reality?”
No response is offered to my questions – which is a little disappointing.
Do they think I'm just being rhetorical? Does it indicate a lack of
imagination on their part? Or is it the group's way of getting me to shut
up? Someone starts taking the conversation in a different direction – a
more pedestrian one, which I'm not interested in. I turn off my recorder
and scan my notes, pleased with how my perspective is crystallizing. I'm
glad I made the effort to record it. It will indubitably supply erudite, if not
crucial, material for this chapter.
The Song of the Night
In the evening people gather around the campfire. Some of the
participants are musicians, including Rachaelle, who gets her guitar and
begins to sing some pop songs. A sing-a-long ensues. One of the songs is
Hotel California – a song most people know and join in on.
As I listen to the lyrics, I notice the similarities between Hotel California
and Asterion. Hotel California is about a traveller who becomes trapped
in a nightmarish hotel and can't escape – “You can check out any time you
want but you can never leave.” I sing along.
Up ahead in the distance I saw a shimmering light,
my head grew heavy and my sight grew dim,
I had to stop for the night.
As she stood in the doorway,
I heard the mission bell,
and I was thinking to myself,
“This could be Heaven or this could be Hell.”
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way;
there were voices down the corridor,
I thought I heard them say –
Welcome to the Hotel California,
such a lovely place – such a lovely face.
I look across at Rachaelle. She sends a big smile back at me – such a
lovely face. However, I'm left wondering and struggling to interpret the
look in her eyes.
The Story
As I settle down for the night in my tent, I must admit I'm still a bit
spooked by the nightmare I had the first night, and continue to wonder
why I would dream about a thin dog being frightened by a shark. If
263
dreams are site-specific, why would I dream this here? Was it a warning
dream? Who or what does the shark represent? Is there something, or
someone, I should be watching for? Another nightmare might provide
more information but that's not something to wish for. Instead, I activate
my imagination with images of the labyrinth from the Asterion script.
Thetis: You have begun your journey towards Asterion.
As mother of the sea and distant cousin of Theseus, I
know the story, written on the walls around you. Long
ago, on the island of Crete, Pasiphae, the Moon Queen,
ruled a mighty empire together with her consort, Minos.
Minos was a cruel and ruthless despot. Sailing the
Aegean Sea from one end to the other he held many
lands in subjection. But he sailed carelessly, failing to
make the necessary oblations to the Sea God, Poseidon.
In revenge, Poseidon sent a great white bull out of the
waves and afflicted Pasiphae with a desire to mate with
it. In her lust the Queen persuaded the court architect,
Daedalus, to construct a cow in which she might hide to
attract the animal, for it is well-known that in order to
mate with a god one must first become an animal. At
length Pasiphae gave birth to a hybrid creature, half
man, half bull, called Minotaur. Some called it Asterion
because it was the offspring of the Moon Queen and the
Sea God. But Minos was jealous and had Daedalus
create a labyrinth in which to hide it. Somewhere in this
maze of dark passages and dead ends the Minotaur lived.
To feed it Minos sent in youths and maidens, human
sacrifices taken from the lands under his rule. One of
these intended victims was Theseus, son of Aegeus,
King of Athens. But when Theseus arrived on Crete,
Minos' daughter, Ariadne, fell in love with him. She
gave him a thread by which, having made his way to the
heart of the labyrinth and having killed MinotaurAsterion, he might make his escape by retracing his
steps. Some say Ariadne entered the labyrinth to assist
him; others say it was the sound of her voice as she sang
to him that secured his safety, but Epimenides says it
was the light of her eight-star diadem that led him out.
I do not know whether you belong to this story or how
you came here. We find ourselves in a fable of
imagination, struggling with truth. All I know is that
returning to the beginning of the story is impossible.
Therefore you must proceed.
Asterion script pg. 25
264
The Centre of it All
At this morning's meeting one of the participants, Patricia, makes a
presentation on labyrinths and mazes. Patricia is a student of this subject
and has brought numerous books for us to peruse. Patricia says a labyrinth
can be thought of as a unicursal maze – without choices or branches. One
of the main differences between a labyrinth and a maze is that, with a
maze, the way in isn't the same way out, and has false leads and dead
ends, so getting out is part of the challenge.
She speaks about the geometric wisdom in the various styles of labyrinths
that emerged in different parts of the world, some of them more than
3,000 years ago. There are therapeutic effects from walking labyrinths;
the back and forth motion helps to balance the left and right hemispheres
of the brain. Many people use labyrinths as a spiritual tool and means of
meditation and healing. In medieval Europe labyrinths were laid in the
floors of some cathedrals as walking paths for prayer and pilgrimage.
Jerrard follows the talk by having us draw labyrinths of varying style and
complexity. The act of drawing them seems to have a centering effect.
Someone remarks on how the labyrinths look like mandalas – the ancient
circular drawings used for meditation. Murray says that according to
Jung, the mandala symbolizes wholeness or completeness, so entering a
labyrinth is a walking meditation.
Murray has a large tube with him. He pulls out the paper inside and
unrolls it for us to look at. It is the blueprint of the original design for
Asterion. I survey the complex plans containing numerous passageways,
ascending and descending, moving overground and underground, leading
through chambers. It has all the grandiosity Murray is famous for and is a
particularly detailed, if not impressive three-dimensional rendering,
particularly for someone with just one eye. It is obviously an artistic eye.
It is rare in drama when an artifact figures more
prominently than the leading characters of the story, but
such is the case with the labyrinth at Knossos in Crete,
the site of a drama concerning Theseus, Ariadne and the
Minotaur, later to be immortalized in Greek mythology.
The labyrinth Daedalus built for Minos to house the
Minotaur is not merely the scenery to the drama: it is the
drama. And the image of the labyrinth still holds,
transposed to countless baffling contemporary structures
and situations, each seemingly controlled by an invisible
force at the centre, dark and malignant.
Patria pg. 199
265
The Scent of Rachaelle
After lunch I'm back to Rachaelle's back. I can't understand how someone
with such fair skin could have allowed herself to get burnt. Furthermore, I
seem more concerned about it than her. She seems to think my massaging
shea butter on her is the easiest solution, and continues to parade around
the site in just a bikini top. My other concern is how this is starting to
look to the rest of the participants. Some of them are commenting about
the scent of shea butter pervading the cook tent. I also wonder what
Murray thinks – again I'm focused on a woman. Rachaelle doesn't show
any care about this and just flashes me a smile over her shoulder while I
massage away. She has apparently grown fond of shea butter and keeps
asking for more.
For a little added intellectual stimulation, I trace my finger between the
freckles on her back. I tell her to pay close attention because I am
inscribing the secret of the labyrinth into her cellular memory for future
reference, in case she's lost in its laneways. She likes this and laughs,
although she is actually paying closer attention to a piece of music she is
holding in front of her. I peer over her shoulder while she examines the
dots on the page and hums the melody of the music she is learning. It is
music she received from Murray for one of the pieces in Asterion, which
goes with Novalis' Hymn to Night. He has asked her to sing it for him.
Ariadne: Light had its measured time,
but timeless and spaceless
is the dominion of the Night!
Feel it in the golden flood of grapes,
in the almond tree's wondrous oil,
and in the brown juice of the poppy.
Praise to the Queen of Night,
the high herald of sacred realms.
Asterion script pg. 39
The Origin of Asterion
In the afternoon meeting, our attention is turned to the character after
whom all this is named – Asterion. A discussion arises as to what the
Minotaur looks like and the question as to whether he is of animal, human
or divine origins. Turning to a section in Murray's Patria book, we read:
...one of the most disturbing and unforgettable characters
of any mythology; the Minotaur. Then who or what does
the Minotaur symbolize? Traditionally he was a
chthonic figure, dark, blood-thirsty and evil. With his
cloven hoof or horns (for he is sometimes depicted as a
bull with a human head, and sometimes as a man with a
bull's head) he is a prototype of the devil, ruling his
266
underworld labyrinth with a ferocity that chilled the
hearts of the entire Aegean. No one entered his abode
and came out alive. But just as there is ambiguity about
his appearance, we cannot forget that this dark prince
was the half-brother of Ariadne and the son of the Moon
Queen of Crete. I see him as one of the ambiguous
figures of the unconscious, that is, everything we do not
or cannot know; and by having the Soothsayers refer to
him alternatively as Asterion (Star Creature), I mean to
imply that like Ariadne, to whom he is related, he retains
the divine spark of some nebula we cannot fathom. As
with her, there is a fascination about him that draws us
on, urging us to confront something hidden, perhaps
something lying deep within ourselves. In order to rise
up, the hero must first descend into darkness, into the
ocean or the labyrinth, there to confront the deadly
antagonist face to face. It is a task we must all face at
some point in this miraculous passage called life. To
accept the challenge gives us the chance to become true
men and women, heroic and divine; if we avoid it, we
remain victims of the labyrinth, aimlessly wandering its
dark passages until sooner or later we are devoured by
the beast of oblivion.
Patria pg. 158
The Open Door
After the meeting some of us decide to go swimming. Rachaelle comes
too. At last she actually needs the swimsuit she sports most of the time.
We swim about in the river together for a while. I then get out and sit on
the dock while Rachaelle floats in front of me. Not ready to get out, she
starts splashing me, coaxing me to get back in the water with her.
I know enough about women that when they do something like this it
means they like you, which can certainly warm the male ego. But the way
the corners of Rachaelle's mouth turn up when she speaks may be
indicators that she likes me a lot, which can be a cause of concern for the
male ego. The reason for the concern is that now I have to make a choice,
not unlike a fork in the maze. Which way should I go at this juncture?
What signal should I send back in response to her beckoning to jump in
the river with her?
While Rachaelle floats languidly on her back in front of me, I twist inside
with uncertainty. Part of me wants to jump in and say “yes.” However,
with all the talk around Asterion about passages that lead into dark and
uncertain places, I'm a little leery of open doors at the moment. It is true
that I am interested in getting a look at her documents and the research
267
she has compiled about Murray Schafer. But this could be an alchemical
test and I don't want to make a move based on soupy motives. Who knows
what awaits on the other side of the doorway – if I were to step through. If
I took a step toward Rachaelle, where would it lead? Or worse – what if I
took a step and then tried to turn back?
Thus the labyrinth is an invertible figure, both exotopic
(outward facing as in the life of the adventurer) and
endotopic (inward facing as in meditation). Both
processes are necessary in the search for individuation.
But how could anyone presume to arrange a series of
experiences suitable for everyone? The folly of the
labyrinth is the folly of life: experiences rarely arrive at
the moment when they could be most useful, that is, to
stimulate existential change. Any arrangement of
experiences in a linear sequence is bound to seem
contrived, like an unrelieved exercise in religious dogma
or an educational curriculum. The means of breaking it
is the forking path, and the insertion of a sufficient
number of these into the labyrinth immeasurably
increases its complexity.
Patria pg. 206
The Weaving Willows
I make it through another nightmare-free night. In the morning we are
given a workshop on weaving willow branches with Claire Heistek, a
longtime friend and associate of Murray's. In introducing herself, she tells
us she has worked on lots of projects with Murray because she loves his
boundless creativity. She has been working on Asterion since Jerrard
began building here.
Claire lays before us a bundle of dripping willow branches that have been
soaking in the pool of water. She demonstrates how to weave them into
long braids, then invites us to work on one ourselves. Rachaelle and I
decide to work together on a braid. We are doing this out in the sun, and
again Rachaelle is in her bikini top and doesn't want to cover up. It's like
she doesn't care if she gets more burn. However, I insist and tell her I
won't massage more shea butter onto her unless she gets something to
cover up. Her smile turns to a frown – for a moment – then a smile again
as she goes to her tent for a hat and shirt.
As we settle into working with the willow branches, Rachaelle tells me
more about her collection of Murray Schafer materials. Rachaelle is
actually an academic type, and I find her intellectual astuteness as sexy as
some of her other charming qualities – like the way her French accent
moves the freckles on her face. And the way the corners of her mouth turn
up when she speaks and smiles at the same time. But when it comes to
268
women it's not just the look of the face I take in, but the character that
comes out when they speak. Rachaelle has character.
While weaving, Rachaelle starts humming the melody she's learning for
Hymns to the Night. I tell her she can practice singing it with me. She
says it's not a pop song she can just sing casually around the site – it's an
R. Murray Schafer composition and needs to be sung properly, in the right
space. I tell her she's just being shy, and tease her by singing my version
of Hotel California.
Welcome to Hotel Asterion,
such a lovely place – such a lovely face.
Living it up at Hotel Asterion,
what a nice surprise...
Rachaelle acts as if she has to tolerate me – and chastises me. But by the
way the corners of her mouth turn upward, I interpret it to mean she
actually likes being teased. She then suggests a compromise. She will take
me for a walk in the woods after dinner and, if it feels right, she will sing
Murray's song for me there. I smile at her to show my willingness to
follow her suggestion.
The Community
In the afternoon a new face shows up to join us for our meeting and speak
to us. Erica McNiece was involved with Asterion in its first year and was
also Jerrard's assistant when The Enchanted Forest was produced at
Pontypool. She tells us she entered the University of Guelph because
Jerrard was teaching there, and did her Master's thesis on The Creation of
Community in the Patria Cycle.
Seeing this as an information-gathering opportunity, I click on my
recorder and ask Erica to tell us about her thesis. She says it began with
the question, “How, if at all, is community formed around a Patria
production?” She says her paper looks at how community is site specific,
as is the case with a Patria production. She cites what factors are involved
in most Patria productions. It's usually an outdoor environment – often
remote. Actors, singers, musicians, and crew have to mix on many levels.
Living in the woods and eating around campfires opens dimensions, as
well as challenges, not found in a usual theatre setting. “Does it work?”
was her question. “Not always,” was her conclusion.
She indicates that a lot of the people who find themselves involved in a
Patria production have not spent much time working in an outdoor
environment and often find it disorienting, and are forced to reorient
“egotistically.” No one is above the other in this environment – egos don't
have the usual cues to cling to and can't “hit and run” so easily. They
aren't necessarily free to flee for home or a hotel room at the end of the
day. So community is forged by a fire not necessarily found elsewhere.
269
Erica then talks about her own artistic work and says quite candidly that
she is currently in a slump. She took a year off after her Bachelor degree,
and then again after her Masters degree, to be involved in Patria
productions. She was turned on by what she was doing during those years
but now doesn't see anything that stimulates her in the same way. “I was
so inspired and humbled by what I saw in Murray's work. There are so
many references to deep and mysterious things. There is something that
happens to you when you get involved in a project like this.”
The Music in the Night
After dinner, the relative cool of the evening is a nice respite from the
day's heat. Rachaelle is not wearing her bikini top but a shirt that
accentuates her cleavage. In our often breast-centric culture, my
contemplation of the subject has led me to regard cleavage as both
nothing and everything – a Zen paradox. Symbolically, one could say
cleavage represents the void of nothingness, for what is cleavage but the
space between. However, the gravitational pull on the eye, and the
intrigue this space between a woman's breasts can hold, suggests it
possesses the power of the Great All. Thus, cleavage is simultaneously
nothing and everything. In this setting at Asterion, I find there is also a
mythological overlay. As my eyes glance down at the said subject I find it
is like peering down the dark opening of a labyrinth. It is not exactly clear
where it leads – if one were to venture there. It certainly evokes a sense of
mystery and intrigue, and interest is aroused, but there is also something
dangerous about it. There is even potential danger in just getting caught
looking at it.
Rachaelle has her hair down. Hair down, I have learned, is a clue that a
woman is interested in you. In addition, Rachaelle isn't wearing her
glasses this evening. Getting a better look at her eyes, I detect a slight
dilation of the pupils, which I have also learned is a cue that a woman is
feeling an attraction. Rachaelle tells me it's time to go for our walk, if I
want to hear her sing Murray's song. I follow Rachaelle along what might
have been a cow path at one time. It takes us up a hill, through a field and
into a forest, some distance from the encampment.
There are a series of passages angling in different
directions through which the neophyte must pass
while listening to Ariadne sing the concluding
moments of Hymns to the Night.
Asterion script pg. 38
Rachaelle is looking lovely in the softening light of the sunset. Her hair
rests on her shoulders, where I detect the slight sheen of shea butter,
which is successfully turning her angry skin into a golden tan. A warm
light in her eyes, she seems to be happy in the forest – and happy I'm with
her. She smiles. I smile back, then point out that she won't be able to sing
270
to me and smile at the same time. She takes a moment to compose herself,
then begins to let sound emerge from deep within.
The music Rachaelle is singing is Ariadne's aria. Murray has said this is
symbolic of the thread that leads Theseus out of the labyrinth – once he
has dealt with the Minotaur. Rachaelle seems quite comfortable singing in
the woods and lets her mezzo-soprano voice resound off the trees.
Ariadne: Praise to the Queen of Night,
the high herald of sacred realms.
She sends me to thee – tender beloved.
Now I awaken – for I am thine and mine –
You have proclaimed the Night as Life –
and made me human.
Consume my body with spirit-fire
that I may fuse my inmost being with thee
in the eternal bridal night.
Asterion script pg. 39
While Rachaelle fills the forest with her sublime voice, I hear rustling in
the nearby grass. I discover a rather corpulent porcupine waddling by. Is it
out for an evening stroll, like us, or seeking the source of the sound? The
novelty of the animal upstages Rachaelle's singing and we become
enamoured with our little friend, who doesn't seem to mind us gushing
over it. As we stand next to each other, I can feel the warmth of
Rachaelle's aura, almost as if it were reaching out to me, knocking on the
door of my aura. But I'm still unsure what doors I'm ready to open. I
imagine my aura must feel the way the porcupine looks – prickly.
Suddenly another person shows up who was also out for a walk. She
heard the singing and followed it here. She joins us in admiring our little
friend. This ends my private concert – and our time alone. Dusk turns to
darkness, so we make our way back down the path to the campfire where
people are starting to gather. Soon the musical instruments emerge.
Rachaelle picks up her guitar and impresses me with her versatility – a
short while ago serenading me operatically, now she's belting out pop
tunes. She looks at me as she sings with her French accent. The corners of
her mouth turned up, showing me she can sing and smile at the same time.
The flames of the fire reflecting in her glasses seem symbolic of her
kindling affection for me.
I add to the music with a percussion line, using materials from around the
camp – an empty water jug, a pot, spoons. It's very Murray Schaferish. I
pass the implements around to get some of the more inhibited-looking
people involved. For a while I'm entertained watching a Ph.D. music
student fumble with the spoons – unable to improvise a beat for more than
two bars. The comedy eventually strikes me as tragic. Ironically, Murray
spends much time teaching in southern countries where sound-making on
271
everyday objects is his preferred way of working, over expensive musical
instruments and scores. But here it seems that music theory has choked
out the ability to feel the music.
Retreating to my tent, I reflect on the number of post-graduate students
who have chosen Murray Schafer as the focus of their academic work. It's
interesting, considering I've heard him ask students, usually in a
disparaging tone, if they've finally escaped university. Is Asterion his
answer to the deficits of modern institutionalized education – and the
quest for true self-knowledge?
The Shadow
Another new face shows up for the morning meeting. It's someone Jerrard
invited to help us workshop the script, Susan Spicer. Susan is an actress
and director, and has been involved in a number of Patria productions in a
variety of capacities – including directing two versions of The Enchanted
Forest. The plan is to spend the morning reading through scenes, then to
enact them in the afternoon. The script is made up of seven series of seven
encounters, so we have 49 scenes to choose from. Susan wants to start
with the scene involving The Shadow, and begins by reading the
directions from the script.
From the opposite side of the room, the voice of a
woman is heard speaking. A light behind her casts a long
shadow across the floor, almost to the place where the
neophyte is standing. The figure is now seen to be
wearing a black tuxedo with a top hat. The voice echoes
as if the space behind it consisted of limitless empty
chambers and corridors.
Susan has us take turns reading the part of The Shadow.
Shadow: You have been attracted by the singing. Yes,
here in the flickering light before the blackness, where
Ariadne and Theseus parted. You may call me Shadow.
You have a body which casts a shadow. Now our
shadows blend. I am your shadow as well as my own,
and therefore I am yourself, or rather, the shadow side of
yourself, the dark side you rarely recognize, the
repressed,
guilt-ridden
side.
(Shadow
laughs
sardonically) Where does the shadow live? In the
labyrinth of course. And what is this labyrinth: It is you
turned inside out.
Asterion script pg. 32
Susan encourages us to depart from a conventional tone of speaking to
invigorate the pathos of the encounter. Each time someone reads from the
script, she gets them to deepen its impact by finding a place in themselves
272
to draw from real experience. That is a scary step for some but proves to
be powerful in making the scene come alive.
Shadow: Everyone here can be found in your mind.
Ariadne, whose voice enchants and beguiles; coquettish
Phaedra, full of mischief; fearless Theseus, who lusts
after everything; and Daedalus, whose intricate mind is
always ticking with some new intrigue or deception.
Me? I come from the deepest realm of night, as you will
eventually learn. To move through the labyrinth you
ought need no guide, but you are so inexperienced in
this delicate operation that I foresee you will need many
kinds of assistance. This has all been arranged. But
above all, remember one thing: only a fool carries a light
into darkness. The wise person stands in the darkness
and learns.
Asterion script pg. 33
We've had a lot of intellectual discussion about the script in the days
prior, so it's wonderful how Susan is getting us to feel our way into it now.
It's refreshing to see people dig into their emotional realm and express it
in their voice and gesture. I sometimes think Canadians live with the
shrink-wrap still on. Susan is getting us to take it off.
On either side of me is a door. Pass through one and
move into a realm of nightmares. Take the other and
pass into a state of bliss. Which do you choose? Choose
quickly – my patience is short.
Shadow laughs derisively as the light fades and two
doorways are illuminated, one glowing red, the other
glowing green.
Asterion script pg. 33
The Entrance Passage
After lunch, Susan leads us into enacting scenes. She has us stand in front
of the concrete entrance of the labyrinth. Someone reads the text while we
each enter.
The neophyte enters the labyrinth through the open jaws
of a wolf, set between the inclined legs of a woman.
Crawling through the entrance the neophyte descends
down a ribbed corridor, wide enough for only one person
to move through at a time. It is dark, but not totally. In a
niche where the passage turns, stands the jackal-headed
god, Anubis, illuminated by the light from without.
Anubis: I am Anpu, guardian of the androgynous
273
entrance through which you have just passed. You have
been selected to attempt to solve the riddle of the
labyrinth. It is an honour to be allowed to pass
unmolested through the fangs of Wolf and the Vagina
Dentata of the Mother. Every site of initiation, every
sanctum or temple, is so guarded, by dragons, beasts,
devil-slayers and gargoyles, to prevent the uninvited
from entering. We are the threshold protectors of the
higher silences within. What you experience will depend
on your preparedness and the trust you put in your own
abilities. You will be hindered but will also receive help.
The remainder is up to you. Pass now into the darkness.
Asterion script pg. 23
I enter the dark passageway and run my hands along the cool concrete. It's
a nice break from the stifling heat outside, however, it's not meant to be a
break – the spiritual heat is just starting to get turned up.
The Trial Sample
Following this, we are made to crawl like lizards in the seventh trial of the
Ogdoad of Trials.
Voice: Crawl! Crawl on your hands and knees and then
on your belly like a baby. Crawl beneath the mountains
of vanity like a creature of the soil, for that is what you
are, a mere worm. When you meet Ophion the lizard,
whistle and click your tongue like a beetle, clk, clk,
clk, ... so the lizard will know you do not consider
yourself superior to lizards. Perhaps then she will allow
you to pass.
Asterion script pg. 48
From our bellies to the heights, Susan has us walk up a ramp to the roof of
the labyrinth. What makes it challenging is that we have to do it
blindfolded. We have to walk with trust as the Hierophant talks us around
the rooftop. I'm trusting, but I'm also thinking about the possible 10 foot
plunge – and the waiver I signed when I arrived.
Hierophant: Stop! Remain where you are. I am the
Hierophant. I administer the trials of Migdol, Raphaka
and Azetoth, just as long ago I prepared Theseus for his
confrontation with Minotaur. Listen carefully, your total
concentration is required. If your courage falters for one
moment, you will penetrate no deeper into the mysteries
of the labyrinth. Do exactly as I command. Begin to inch
your way forward, slowly, carefully. Stop when I tell
you. You are on the tower of Migdol. Below you is a
274
terrible abyss. Forward then ... carefully ... carefully ...
stop! You are on the edge of a precipice. If you value
your life do not move. Cross your hands on your breast
and wait.
Asterion script pg. 44
Blindfolded on the precipice of the tower, we make our way to our knees.
Hierophant: You have endured the trial of the precipice.
Do not turn around. Move slowly back. Slowly ... slowly
... stop there. For the next trial you must descend to your
knees. Down then, you must demonstrate that you have
no fear of death, whatever form it may take. In my hand
I have a rapier. Bend your neck forward to prove that
you have no fear.
A sword cuts the air above the head of the neophyte,
once, twice, three times.
Asterion script pg. 46
The Banquet
After the theatrical workout, everybody is feeling upbeat. There's nothing
like having swords swung over your head to get the adrenalin flowing.
However, when we get back to the cook tent the cook says one of the
participants left. She all of a sudden packed up her things – tent, car –
gone. The unofficial word is that something upset her.
Regardless, it looks like nothing is going to upset the plans for dinner,
which is taking on the appearance of a formal affair. Murray is leaving
tomorrow for a few days, so sawhorses and boards are assembled as a
banquet table, covered with white linen, and adorned with linen napkins
and candles. Soft classical music plays from a CD player wired to a car
battery. We are then served roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with all the
trimmings. It's an interesting juxtaposition to our placement in the middle
of a meadow.
Conversation flows along with the wine. Someone asks if the meat we are
eating is the Minotaur. Another person asks if we are being fattened up to
be served to the Minotaur. I offer my observations about the parallels
between Hotel California and Hotel Asterion – as Rachaelle and I have
been referring to it . Murray, in his disdain for pop culture, doesn't
recognize the reference. However, others find it amusing, if not an
insightful analogy.
Mirrors on the ceiling, pink champagne on ice.
She said, “We're all prisoners here of our own device.”
In the master's chamber they gathered for a feast.
They stab it with their steely knives
275
but just can't kill the beast.
Welcome to the Hotel Asterion ...
The Hierophant
Because Murray is going away for a few days, I ask if we can go for a
walk – I want to pick the brains of the mastermind behind Asterion. I
request that Rachaelle join us as she may have questions for her research
paper. I pull out my recorder as we begin our stroll along the edge of the
cedar forest.
Jesse ~ Is Asterion a re-creation of the hero's journey?
Murray ~ You could say that. The participant has to descend into a series
of trials in order to progress. As with the hero there has to be integration
of self-knowledge in order to ascend to higher knowledge.
Jesse ~ Even in the information age, self-knowledge remains the hardest
knowledge to access. I want to know why there has to be a descent before
one can ascend?
Murray ~ The journey to self-knowledge is daunting. The encounters here
are not all dark – it gets dark, then light, then dark. It also has some
beautiful parts but much of it can be potentially unsettling, if not
frightening, as a test of courage. The encounters are drawn directly from
the original labyrinth mythologies, as well as some we have invented
ourselves. In the end, the participant hopefully comes out triumphant,
outwitting the Minotaur, and solving the mysteries of the labyrinth. There
should be some eureka to it.
The challenge of Asterion may be beyond human
endurance. Certainly this is the most intense
experience of the entire Patria cycle – the
confrontation with the Self.
Patria pg. 213
Rachaelle ~ You are using the Minoan myth as the basis of this initiationtheatre – is it meant to be an initiation process?
Murray ~ Potentially, if a person approaches it that way. The Minoan
myth, as with many ancient myths, holds veiled initiatory secrets, the true
meaning kept hidden from the masses.
Jesse ~ So the labyrinth, as a template of the soul, is meant to shape the
inner life of the one who enters?
Murray ~ You could put it that way. The series of encounters is designed
to shape and test the capacities of whoever enters.
Jesse ~ This makes you something of a hierophant – the one who holds
the sacred space for an initiation to take place.
Murray ~ It is a hierophony, you could say that.
276
Rachaelle ~ Perhaps we should be calling you Hermes Schafer.
Murray ~ Some people say I'm going backwards, back into the past. We'll
see. It's not going back if you've never been there.
Rachaelle ~ Is Asterion a true labyrinth? It seems like a maze as well.
Murray ~ Parts of it are a maze. The two words are often used
interchangeably. However, labyrinth is the preferred term when thinking
of it as a tool for transformation. But it is also a continuously forking
maze. A person will move through darkened passageways from chamber
to chamber, through a series of encounters, until arriving at the centre.
Jesse ~ Where does the design for this labyrinth come from? Are you
Daedalus as well?
Murray ~ I made the original design but it has been modified as we've
worked on it. When I wrote the text I imagined it would include a lot of
concrete corridors. But we haven't got there yet.
Jesse ~ Creating it out of concrete makes the allegory even more literal. If
you hit a wall you will know it.
Murray ~ Exactly. Most people wander through life bumping into things,
not realizing they're living in a labyrinth. So this has the potential to make
people more aware of that.
Jesse ~ Maybe I should call this chapter of the book, “Making the
Labyrinth Concrete.”
Rachaelle ~ ...by making a concrete labyrinth.
(laughter)
Jesse ~ Do you think Asterion will attract a lot of people? Who do you
think will want to go through it?
Murray ~ Oh, I can see people coming from all over the world. But they
can only come one at a time. (laughter)
Rachaelle ~ I hear it will require about twenty people to run it, for the one
participant.
Murray ~ That's right, probably more than twenty. There will be actors
and musicians, as well as a technical crew. We don't know how long it
will take to go through. It may vary from person to person. There will be
places along the way where the person can rest.
Rachaelle ~ I imagine they may need to, if it gets too intense.
Murray ~ Theatrical events in the past were intense. People were taken
through alchemical processes in initiation-theatre. However, it was largely
an unconscious experience. Today people want to know more about how
things work – what goes on behind the scenes. In that sense you can see
how people are becoming more aware of what is going on. But it is more
277
than that we are feeding here. There is another part of the person we want
to awaken.
Jesse ~ Awake and on their toes is what I imagine they need to be – as an
audience of one.
Murray ~ It's an experiment. We'll see if it works – one at a time. It will
be a once in a lifetime experience, and potentially life-changing.
Jesse ~ Do you have any idea how much the construction is going to cost?
And how much it will cost to run it? And how much it will cost for each
audience member to go through it?
Murray ~ I don't know the exact numbers. It's more expensive than I
thought. Working with concrete isn't easy and it's expensive. I'm not a
builder, nor do I have the money to pay someone to build it for me.
Jerrard has been doing most of it and getting grants and donations of
materials. But what we really need now is someone to donate half a
million dollars.
Like members of a fan club, Rachaelle and I both express our enthusiasm
for being involved in this project and assure Murray that, even though the
construction is not yet finished, just being here is life-changing –
changing the way we look at life . On the other hand, we also assure him
that we want to see it finished, so we can see it work.
I then ask Murray about the woman who suddenly left today – does he
know why? He says she wasn't comfortable. That's all he has as an
answer. He then says it's time for him to go home. He has to travel to
Ottawa tomorrow to work with some blind people. We bid Murray
goodnight and goodbye.
The Questioning
I lie awake in my tent, tossing and turning with self-talk. Will it work?
Will it work? Will what work? There is something about Asterion that's
bothering me. For all the talk about the allegorical aspects of labyrinths,
Murray, is obviously committed to building an actual one. Murray intends
to take initiation secrets from the past, add some of his own, put them into
a labyrintheatre, turn an audience of one into a neophyte and come up
with a new and improved initiation rite for the theatre-going public.
Despite my expressed enthusiasm, I'm secretly not sure what I think of
putting so much effort into something that seems to be a blurry balance of
art, science and spirituality. Not only could it be panned by critics, it
could botch up a person's life. If people aren't properly prepared, then
rather than a glorious transformation, an applicant could undergo a gross
transmogrification – being reduced to a confused, horror-stricken mess. If
the hope is that people succeed but are put through a series of tests and
fail, what happens? They lose their way and have to be scooped out with
a net? I personally don't relish falling through a trap-door when I
278
incorrectly answer a skill-testing question. Or being ejected out a falsewall into a field in the middle of nowhere. Or worse – left unattended in
an isolated corner of my mind as a babbling idiot.
I fast-forward and imagine what this will look like in the future. Will it be
considered radical and revolutionary – or totally off-the-wall? Am I
witnessing something historic here that will be regaled for centuries as a
brilliant achievement, benchmarking a new cultural era for humanity? Or
will the structures on this site simply be covered over by the encroaching
cedar forest and left to rot along with the carcasses of cars abandoned
here? What will this do to Murray's place in history? Will it immortalize
him among the greats, the mediocre, the odd-balls or the footnotes?
The Doubting and the Departure
My self-talk continues to churn with doubt. Murray said there are those
who have expressed doubts, calling it "backwards." Perhaps I'm with
them. And what about the participant who mysteriously left today? What
was she thinking? One moment she's here, the next she's not. No goodbye,
no explanation, nothing. What's even weirder is that no one is talking
about it. Perhaps no one wants to know why she left. But I do.
Maybe she left because she didn't think she could keep up with the
challenges – or even get past the front entrance for that matter. Did the
rehearsal of the opening scene today with the Vagina Dentata push some
buttons? I must say it is a wonderful job they've done in creating the black
hole of an entrance – entreating the applicant forward into the gaping
jaws of a wolf, doubling as a vagina. Entering between a woman's legs
into a wolf's mouth isn't the sort of thing you experience every day. Is it
intended to excite, repel, arouse, terrorize or instil passion in the
neophyte? It's certainly not something one would want to approach
without preparation. I can just imagine somebody out for a walk and
accidentally wandering into this area. They might need therapy for years.
I then consider myself. Would I get up and leave like the woman did
today if I felt uncomfortable about something? Could I leave? I could
certainly have my tent down and everything in the jeep in twenty minutes
– even in the dark. But if there were a real danger would it be more
courageous for me to leave or stay? Wouldn't it be more ethical for me to
remain and warn the others? If I did leave it would mean the end of the
book, so I would want to be clear before I bolted. I would want to be able
to point out my objections – objectively – rather than be found projecting
unfounded fears and making a fool of myself.
I lie awake listening to my version of Hotel California playing in my head.
Last thing I remember, I was running for the door,
I had to find the passage back to the place I was before.
“Relax,” said the night man, “We are programmed to receive.
279
You can check out any time you like – but you can never leave!
Welcome to Hotel Asterion.”
The Mask
For the morning, Jerrard has set things up to demonstrate how to make
masks. He says it's something he has done thousands of times as a
professor of theatre design. He shows us a mask of Anubis which was
created for use in the show Ra. He says he needs more masks that can be
embedded in the walls of the labyrinth.
I ask Jerrard, “What do you teach your classes about the origin of masks
in theatre?” He responds, “When were the origins of theatre?” I reply,
“The Greek period is what people usually consider the beginning, but I
don't necessarily agree.” “Neither do I,” responds Jerrard, “the Greeks
were just the first ones to write about it.”
This stimulates a conversation about what the earliest uses of masks might
have been. Suggestions come that they were used to tell stories to inspire
hunters, or to ward off evil spirits through the invocation of divine
presences. Or simply a way to open doors through which the gods could
speak to mortals.
...masks; it is our way of touching the supernatural,
of manipulating our identity to align ourselves with
deeper worlds, intensifying our existence by contact
with spirits and essences - what the Greeks called
Enthousiasmos 'having the god within one.'
Patria pg.160
Jerrard then says he would like to do something unusual today, and asks
for a volunteer to be the model for a frontal body cast. Rachaelle
volunteers. Jerrard has her take a seat in the centre where we all start
applying strips of pasty paper and cheese cloth to her front, adorned, of
course, by her bathing suit top, covered with plastic wrap. As we work
quietly at this slow contemplative process, Jerrard tells us about his
origins as a mask maker which began with studies at the Ontario College
of Art and Design. I find Jerrard's interest in mask-making intriguing – if
not perplexing. What would draw a person into such an ambition? Were
his reasons strictly artistic and professional? Or might there be a deeper
psychological motive, even an unconscious one?
...among the Greeks both the mask and the actor were
called persona - the term Jung borrowed to suggest
the image we all try to wear when confronting the
outside world.
Patria pg. 160
280
While Jerrard is focused on mask-making, I focus on him – with a little
self-talk. There's something about him that's bothering me. Is it the fact
that he was partly responsible for me not getting the role of the Presenter
in The Princess of the Stars? He said he liked my audition. Did he say that
to all the auditionees – as part of his persona?
I take a moment to contemplate Jerrard's personal mask – how he has
stylized his persona. His head is shaved. He probably thinks it looks sexy.
And his smile. When he speaks he puts on a smile which doesn't always
fit with what he's saying, which I find annoying. He seems to use it in
conjunction with a deep baritone voice to come across convincingly.
These things all make up a well-groomed persona. I believe I now
understand why he's a master mask-maker.
I'd like to talk to Jerrard about The Princess of the Stars sometime and
share my feelings. I'd like to see his mask melt when I tell him he missed
a big opportunity in not casting me as the Presenter. As Murray's
biographer, I would have been the perfect fit. Somehow his smiling,
myopic, bone-encrusted cranium couldn't figure that out.
The Mask of Murray Schafer
Surprised at how hot under the collar I still am about not getting the role, I
defuse my smouldering emotions by turning my attention back to the work
at hand – putting pasty paper on the front of Rachaelle. But I can't resist a
little more innocent psychoanalysis. My mind turns to Murray.
I've come to realize that Asterion is really just another puppet show. I've
seen Murray's other work involving puppets. And I've experienced work
where he involves the audience. But here he seems to have taken it a step
further – involving the audience as puppets. I believe I'm seeing Murray's
real intention – his hidden agenda. He intends to bring in a blindfolded
audience member and place him in the labyrinth, but unbeknownst to him,
there will be another audience watching – a real audience.
The poor puppet will be put through the paces, bumping around in the
dark while Murray pulls the strings from behind the scenes. Murray, The
Great Wizard of Oz, behind a great mask. Murray wants people to think
his work is about freeing the human spirit but this is really about
manipulation. Murray and Jerrard both love theatre, however, the love of
theatre is the love of manipulation and illusion, a love of fooling people –
fooling fools.
Furthermore, Murray has done a good job of getting Jerrard to do all the
sweat work. Jerrard has willingly taken up the task of creating the facade
of this puppet show. What else can you expect from someone who has
dedicated his life to theatre design! It all says one thing – lies.
281
The Architect
Daedalus: Fool! Who dares to confront me? For years I
have laboured to control human passion. Before I
invented the saw, and the compass and the potter's
wheel, humans were barbarians. They'll remember my
name when they start dating civilization. The
mechanical toys I made for Ariadne and Phaedra will
whirl in perpetual motion forever. Absolute perfection!
And now this, the most stupendous creation of my
career: a maze in which the hubris of humanity may
stifle itself. A mirror here, a trap door there. Walls that
shift their position unpredictably, confronting every
aspiration with a counter movement, shifting it upward,
downward or in all directions at once, taxing the
intelligence and the imagination until the brain bursts.
And now another visitor has come to stumble through.
Come here, I'll open the door for you to pass into
oblivion. I can leave whenever I wish. I'm just staying on
a little longer to polish the place up and make sure all
the deceptions are working. Everything is set and ready
to trip into action. Look here! Slide that panel to the left
and it leads to the Ogdoad of Trials. Slide it to the right
and it will take you the Heptad of Experiences.
Asterion script pg. 40
The Deception
The group is quiet during lunch. It seems like everyone is in their own
little world. After eating, Rachaelle wants me to come see her frontal cast
which is apparently firm enough to be mounted. Then she wants me to rub
shea butter on her back. But I feel a need to be alone and walk through the
forest labyrinth to be with what feels like an unfolding epiphany.
I've heard Murray say on a number of occasions that he's "just a simple
composer." However, in light of what I'm seeing that's just a cover for
other sides – sides he'd rather keep out of the limelight. Here Murray is
far more than a simple composer. He is the anonymous lecturer who
invites participants. He is Daedalus, the creator of the labyrinth. He is
Hermes the Hierophant, he is the master alchemist, he is the all in all, the
labyrinth and everyone in it. But trying to wear so many hats may be
catching up with him. There is the danger of being consumed by one's
own masterpiece – or is that “monsterpiece?”
I now see Jerrard's invitation to workshop Asterion is nothing but a baldheaded lie. This is no work-in-progress – this is it. And even the half-built
edifices are but cleverly designed deceptions to test our astuteness.
282
Deceptions within a deception. It doesn't matter if Murray had a ton of
concrete to finish the labyrinth, the real labyrinth is right here, right now,
pitting our skills against the real maze – the mind of Murray Schafer. We
are really trapped in the mind of Murray Schafer. He's holding us here,
putting us through the paces, to see how well it works before opening
Asterion to the paying public. But I didn't come here to be cast in
someone else's psychodrama.
The Hymn to Night
After the evening campfire, and before turning in, I take a trip to the
outhouse. On my way back I pass by Rachaelle's tent and see she is still
up. Her flashlight is moving about, casting her shadow on the walls of her
tent. I hear her softly singing Hymn to Night. Part of me wants to call out
to her but I don't want to interrupt her practice. Instead, I look up at the
sky. It's another incredibly starry night – white lights on black
background. It reminds me of Asterion in the Patria book – white writing
on black paper. With no city lights for miles the stars are very visible
here. So many individual stars – what do they say? What do they say
when you put them all together? What will it say when I put all the
evidence together? What do they say about Rachaelle and me being
together? Bringing my gaze back to Earth – and Rachaelle's tent – I listen
to her as I watch her silhouette getting ready for bed.
At the far end of this space stands a figure, backlit so
that it throws a shadow on the floor before the neophyte.
It is impossible to see any features clearly.
Simultaneously the voice of a soprano is heard singing
the opening aria from Hymn to Night, accompanied by
chamber orchestra.
Ariadne: Heartwarming Light –
beams – waves – colours.
The whole world breathes it –
the restless stars, floating
in their azure flood, breathe it –
the glittering stone breathes it,
the sensuous plants breathe it,
and the animals.
But above all,
the glorious stranger
with the thoughtful eyes,
the hesitant walk,
and the singing voice,
breathes it like a king.
283
The light on Ariadne begins to fade.
I turn aside
to the holy, ineffable,
mysterious light.
The voice fades out, leaving only the sound of an
Aeolian harp in the darkness.
Asterion script pg. 30
The singing stops. Again, I want to call Rachaelle's name but her
flashlight goes out. She's going to sleep. I decide I also need sleep. It's not
only the hot days, but the hot nights that require rest.
Old Man: I smell you. (Sniffs) You smell of incense.
(Sniffs again) The sweetness of woman is about you. So
you've been with her. Was it Phaedra you kissed? The
way she used to lick when she kissed ... Is she still
young and beautiful? I've lost track of the years. I'm
blind now but that doesn't matter, I hear everything. Just
now I heard the whirring of wings beating against the
walls, seeking release. It fell back and was still .... (the
voice of Minotaur is heard in the distance.) Do you hear
that? You will die, one way or another, or wander
aimlessly awaiting for it.
There was once a man who left a piece of clothing at
every fork hoping to retrace his way out. Finally he was
naked and wandered in circles, pissing like a dog on
every stone until the Minotaur found him. Others think
they can escape by finding the secret formula of seven
words. They end up howling gibberish until they come
to the same end. The first thing Minotaur eats is your
tongue. Sometimes that's all he takes and lets you
wander without it. Then perhaps a hand or a foot.
Seldom is anyone killed outright. If you want to survive
as long as possible, learn to trust your ears and nose.
Fir' Aun they call me. I am a king. What is that to you? I
killed Minotaur half a lifetime ago, but I lost the thread
and have been wandering in the dark ever since. Now I
am just a rat with a voice. If you want to go on, you'll
have to walk over me. Go on, kick me out of the way ...
otherwise return to the Gallery of the Deceived and
await your fate ....
Asterion script pg. 43
284
The Riddle
During the morning session we gather as a group under the tarp of the
cook tent to spend time looking at the script. However, I'm finding it
difficult to stay focused with the group. I'm becoming increasingly
consumed by my own thoughts.
In a grotto there is a crevice before which is a
stone bench. If seated on the bench, one might
hear a whispering voice coming from a small hole
in the crevice.
Voice: Can you hear me? I dare only whisper so
not to arouse Minotaur. Who am I? A victim just
like you. Isn't it amazing to think that freedom may
be only a wall away? On one side the victim; on
the other side God...or Asterion...and this is his
palace. Prison cells and ballrooms – both
necessary to sustain the illusion. Do you know that
you've been watched constantly, even in the
darkest places? I don't mean by cameras, I mean by
eyes, real eyes, either the beady eyes of insects, or
the soft eyes of...but don't be fooled by the
deception. I'm trying to solve the riddle, just like
you. I calculate it like this: to get from A to B, you
first have to go through C, which lies between
them; but before that you must pass D, between A
and C, and so on in infinite subdivisions so that
getting anywhere is actually impossible. That's the
monstrous attraction of the labyrinth, the crooked
line breaking the straight, every advance a retreat,
more questions after every answer. Seek nothing,
you'll live longer. That's the only...
A monstrous roar interrupts the voice. Slowly the
cavity in the rock is filled with a red light. It grows
stronger, then suddenly the great beam of a single
red eye shines out of the hole and for a long
moment stares directly at the neophyte, then slowly
retracts again into darkness.
Asterion script pg. 51
The All-Seeing Eye
Sitting at the back of the group under the tarp, I'm more interested in my
self-talk than in what others have to say. Murray says he's gone to Ottawa
to help the blind but I can still feel him here. I feel him in the space. I feel
him in my space. Is it because I've been feeding on his words all week?
285
He's in the script and now he's in my head? Or maybe Murray isn't in
Ottawa at all. Maybe that's just another deception along with all the other
deceptions he's designed for Asterion.
Murray hasn't gone to Ottawa. He's hiding in the forest, behind a tree,
behind a veil, mystically cloaked from our sight. He may have only one
eye but he's proven how well “The Eye” works. He's got the sight, the allseeing Eye, and is watching us while spinning dials and turning up the
heat from backstage. As Murray told us, Asterion was originally part of
The Greatest Show, which turns into a form of shock treatment to break
people down into their basic alchemical elements, that they may be
manipulated into something else. That “something else” could be
anything in the hands of the wrong person. I now know I need to stay here
and get to the bottom of what could possibly lead to a full-blown criminal
investigation into Murray Schafer's activities.
The High and Holy Hierophant
If Murray has gone somewhere it's most likely to some secret society
meeting. I bet Murray is the High and Holy Hierophant of a secret order
of occultists. Saying he's going to work with “the blind” is simply code
language he uses to communicate with Jerrard. It probably means he's
going to work with lesser-ranking members. Jerrard is likely part of the
Brotherhood and has the “second sight” too but has to miss the meeting to
keep an Eye on us here.
I understand now why the insignia of Murray's publishing business,
Arcana Editions, is a single eye, the Eye. It's a symbol that should have
tipped me off sooner to his occult connections. It all seems to point to the
obvious fact that Murray is a practitioner of the black arts. His Black
Theatre of Hermes Trismegistos is all about that dark stuff. He wouldn't
be able to write about it if he didn't know something of it. And this little
"experiment" is but another outlet for his thaumaturgical training – thus
the need to keep the location a secret.
I hope you can hear me, Murray. I allowed you in my head, first as a
mentor, but now you've become a tormentor. So it's time to turn the tables
and for me to be in your head. How about that – doesn't my voice make a
nice soundscape? Ha! Now that I'm in your head – would you like to
know what I really think of you? You said the book shouldn't be hero
worship. Good, because that's only going to come in the first few
chapters. Now that things are clearer, the later chapters will tell people
what I really think. I'm not sure you're the genius people worship you as.
Do you think you're a genius? Maybe I'm the genius here – and you're just
a little nuts. Ha. If you're a genius perhaps you can answer something I've
always wondered about. Does a genius know he's a genius? Answer me
that Mr. Cryptic Riddles, because I know people who think they're
geniuses but haven't got the smarts to realize they're not. Ha. So I want to
286
know if a genius would know he is a genius, because I want to know if
I'm a genius. Furthermore, wouldn't I be the greater genius if I can see
through the schemes of a lesser genius?
The Mad Composer
When Jerrard had me sign the waiver on the first day he said participation
was optional. I feel I need to opt out of everything in this so-called
workshop – which is now feeling more like a sweatshop. I decide to not
attend the afternoon activities so I can be alone with Murray in my tent –
in my head.
People refer to you as the mad composer, Murray. I've never heard you
refute that. But are you really a mad composer – or simply a poser? Or
maybe you just have some troublesome mental health issues? The word
“mad” is a big word implying insanity – with definitions from
“distracted” to “delirious” and “deluded.” I know because I looked it up
in the dictionary once to see if I qualified.
An artist is expected to be a little “different.” But look at all the wackos
in the world of music. When it comes to music it seems that truly great
compositions only come from truly troubled minds. Mozart was more
than a little nuts. In his declining days he had delusions of himself as a
prince being pursued by dragons – that could only be rescued by swordwielding ladies.
Even though you're considered a mad musical genius by some, my
reckoning is that you're just a little off-kilter, staring out your window all
day at trees, waiting for inspiration. Ha. No, I don't think you're quite
ready yet to be put alongside the musical masters who cracked the cosmic
egg and went into the frying pan of madness to serve up melodies. That's
an exclusive society for only the truly mad – those who have pushed the
boundaries of genius far too far.
But I may be mistaken. If you really are mad, here is your opportunity to
defend yourself and define the form of madness you fall under. What
particular brand of insanity is it that makes R. Murray Schafer a member
of the Mad Composers Society? Do you have triskaidekaphobia like
Schöenberg – an irrational fear of the number 13? Is that why you were
trying to track him down in Vienna when you couldn't go onto Grade 13
at high school?
Why is it that genius flows more readily from a cracked pot than a whole
one? Schumann knew it was only when he was feeling manic that he
could create – when depressed he couldn't compose a thing. On the other
hand, when Tchaikovsky was depressed the compositions flowed. It's too
bad his depression killed him at the height of his career though.
Rachmaninov also left incomplete compositions due to his madness. Or
are you more like Hölderlin – an incurable hypochondriac who was so
afraid of getting sick it eventually killed him? What works for you when
287
your mood starts swinging, Murray?
At the height of his madness, Schumann complained of hearing one
particular note all the time, “A”, and tried plunging himself into the Rhine
to put an end to it. When that didn't work, he sought out psychiatric help.
Have you ever sought help for insanity, Murray? The doctor told
Schumann he was composing too much. Schumann sought another
psychiatrist. Eventually he checked himself into a sanatorium where they
ironically treated him with hydro-therapy. Do you like to take baths,
Murray? Beethoven's loss of hearing may have contributed to his
psychosis. His syphilis probably didn't help either. Schumann lived the
rest of his life in an asylum, as did Smetana and Wolf. Would you like to
be remembered as living your last days in an asylum, looking out at nice
trees, endlessly listening to music – in your head?
If you are a mad genius, Murray, you know the line between genius and
insanity is a thin one. And those who tread it sometimes tip a little too far
to the wrong side. Which way do you tip? Tchaikovsky was more than a
little “touched” and attempted to cut his life short because he had an
intense fear of his head falling off while conducting. Fortunately he got
things under control – by conducting with one hand while holding his
chin with the other.
Satie was considered normal, except he was reclusive – not unlike
yourself. The only unusual thing is that after he died they found his home
full of umbrellas – none of which had ever been opened. They say
Mendelssohn believed in fairies, as did a number of English composers,
such as Purcell and Britten. But so do I, so I wouldn't count that unusual.
Heselstine's “demon voices” convinced him to gas himself in his
apartment. Luckily he had the presence of mind to first put out the cat.
Carlo Gesualdo, the crazy choral composer, killed his wife and her lover
during one of his infamous mad rages – ending his career.
History seems to corroborate – beautiful sounds come from unsound
minds. I want to hear something that truly qualifies you as a mad
composer, Murray. Have you succeeded in going over the edge at least
once? Mendelssohn, while speaking of Berlioz, said, “with all his efforts
to go stark mad he never once succeeded.” Rott was committed to a
mental hospital in 1881, where he sank into depression. By 1883 his
diagnosis read, “Hallucinatory insanity, persecution mania, recovery no
longer expected.” In 1884 he died of tuberculosis – at age twenty-five.
You're turning seventy-five, Murray – it's not too soon to let something
horrible take you down to seal your iconic status as a madman.
Gershwin wasn't exactly a psychiatric success story either. At the peak of
his career he became pathologically depressed. His psychoanalyst gave
him treatment five days a week for two years. That would cut into a lot of
composing time wouldn't it? Why bother when there are those who see
288
insanity as a social plus anyway? Not only in music, but in the arts in
general, you're expected to be a little schiz if you want to be taken
seriously. Lots of writers, such as Nietzsche, were famous for their
madness. Come to think of it, you even wrote about one – Ezra Pound –
famous for his incarceration in an asylum. Would you say you picked up a
little mental virus during your visit?
Let's not forget your dear friend Glenn Gould. You both had the same
piano teacher – you must have observed his eccentricities up close,
perhaps even adopting some yourself. Have you ever worn two coats at
the same time – in Florida? What about the way he hummed and sang at
the piano, even conducting himself with whichever hand wasn't playing.
Employing a unique style astride his 14 inch chair, upholstery burst,
weight born by his genitals upon the bare crossbar, he managed to make a
living legend of himself. I have yet to observe you matching any of his
curious idiosyncrasies.
So tell me, Maestro – what is the preferred form of madness that
possesses your mind while you sit at your table and work up your next
outbreak of insanity you call a composition? I don't want to hear about
some garden-variety eccentricity or common quirk. I want something that
will not only immortalize you as truly mad but will put my book on the
Bestseller's list. Every great artist needs a great insane claim to fame.
Delusions of Grandeur
I'm not feeling particularly connected to the music-making around the
campfire this evening. In fact, I'm feeling increasingly alienated by the
others in the group. Are people resentful of me because I'm writing a book
about Murray? Or is it the scent of shea butter that seems to follow me
everywhere I go? Rather than feeling alone at the campfire, I go to my
tent where I can more comfortably feel alone.
More and more, I'm seeing how Schafer's sordid scheme is neither
creative nor constructive. The irony is that, while all this effort is going
into the construction of a labyrinth, its sole purpose is the deconstruction
of the human psyche. Schafer intends to put people on a dis-assembly
line, to deconstruct them psychologically. This little “Fun House,” as it's
referred to, isn't intended to be fun at all. It's a Nut House, a House of
Horrors – full of distorted mirrors and synapse-jamming riddles.
Schafer speaks ad nauseum about his concern for the environment and
composes music for it. This is obviously another unscrupulous deception.
At the same time, he is wreaking havoc upon the planet in an attempt to
set himself up as Most High – it's all delusions of grandeur.
The Feet and Faeces of the Master
The corridor leads to two enormous cloven hooves of a
creature who, if projected in scale, would be 50 meters
289
high. From somewhere a voice hurls out the following
words, accompanied by a rumbling noise.
Voice: The Master of Darkness dwells alone,
at the centre of the foundation he dwells,
at the centre of the great quaking he dwells,
pivoting, moving, sliding unseen,
rising up to heaven, stretching down to hell,
the first and the last,
informing all space with his glorious presence.
You may advance respectfully through his excrement.
Asterion script pg. 53
Sometimes things are clearer in the light of night. I recall the words of the
nameless lecturer at the beginning of the script, expounding on the
labyrinth. Those are words Murray wrote. And Murray does like to
expound on the labyrinth, so it makes sense that Murray is the lecturer.
But I believe I'm seeing something else through the cracks in his aging
mask. Behind the lecturer is the Minotaur with three horns protruding
from the brow. So if I'm doing the math correctly, and if A equals B and B
equals C – then A equals C – which makes Murray the Minotaur. I knew
there was a strange power behind Murray's madness. It's Minotaur
madness. That would explain why what we get from him is half human –
and half bull. There is no question this diabolical beast needs to be
stopped before his grandiose machinations get any grander.
Oh, I can hear your rebuttal, Murray. “Art should be dangerous.” Bullshit!
I've never heard such bullshit in all my life – art should be dangerous.
Now at least I know where this bullshit comes from – from the mouth of
the Minotaur. You aren't the Thrice Great Hermes. Not at all. The truth is
that you are the Minotaur – and you are dangerous.
The Loaded Coded Lyrics
I don't want to disclose to Rachaelle any of what I'm discovering about
the dark underbelly of Asterion, and concordantly Murray Schafer's
hidden agenda. However, it appears she's subconsciously in tune with it
anyway. Last night while I figured things out in my tent, I could hear her
leading everyone around the campfire in Maxwell's Silver Hammer.
Everybody is so turned on to that song since I pointed out that it contains
the word “pataphysical.” However, while everyone was mindlessly
singing the lyrics I was hearing the embedded message, “Bang! Bang!
Maxwell's silver hammer came down upon his head. Bang! Bang!
Maxwell's silver hammer made sure he was dead.” Judgement. The song
is about divine judgement. And in this case it's about the divine
judgement of Murray Schafer. Rachaelle is channelling Ariadne through
her music, like the thread that led Theseus through the labyrinth.
290
Furthermore, it contains a clue as to what I'm to do. My mind is able to
decode the clue because the clue was meant for me to hear. I'm the one
chosen to hear it because I'm the one chosen to do it. Why else would I
have the insight? Ironically, it is thanks to Murray that I'm able to figure
this out. Examining his cleverly coded books and cryptic messages in his
music opened my awareness to subliminal messages. It's the thread of
Ariadne pulling me forward in procurement of divine justice – to put R.
Murray Schafer in his place, “Bang! Bang!”
The Trialogue of Lovers
In the darkness, two voices beside the neophyte are
heard speaking.
Ariadne: Shshsh! Someone's here. I heard them.
Theseus: I heard nothing.
Ariadne: I can smell them.
Theseus: It's your imagination. You shouldn't be here yourself.
Ariadne: You don't know what it is to kill a god, or a monster.
Theseus: I know my job.
Ariadne: You need me to guide you.
Theseus: My guide... My thread... My song...
Ariadne: The victory will belong to us both. Take my
hand.
Asterion script pg. 83
The Commissioning
What are you doing right now, Murray? You're not in Ottawa. You're at
your worktable engineering your next scheme of manipulation to foist on
unsuspecting patrons. Well, nigh is the time for your unmasking. And it
looks like I'm the one to do it. It looks like the gods have positioned me
perfectly to save some Canadian bacon from your little abattoir of the
soul. And it looks like there is only one way to do it – I'm going to have to
kill you. Now is my moment to rise and shine – and kill. Now is the time
for a plot to save the planet – a plot to save the planet from none other
than R. Murray Schafer.
For the hero to live the hero must die. The fate of
Osiris, paralleled in many religions, is also the fate of
the artist, who is plundered and torn to pieces by his
critics and his epigone alike – a necessary prelude, it
seems, to his final apotheosis.
Patria pg. 117
291
In fact, in some bizarre twist of fate, I believe Murray has enlisted me to
do this – to author his death sentence while I write his life story. Yes, I'm
convinced that on an unconscious level he wants me to do this. His
colourful life needs a colourful conclusion – to galvanize his place in the
annals of history and the already overcrowded pantheon of composers. He
needs a finish with a flourish – a noteworthy ending so people will read
through to the last chapter. Murder is universally considered the more
interesting way to go. It's the sort of thing that makes headlines. Dying
peacefully in your sleep, surrounded by loved ones, gets lost in the
obituaries on the back page.
The Plotting
Theseus: The voice, the thread, this is the way. This is
the way the Sun rejects the Shadow. To accomplish the
dark deed one needs to be bewitched. Woman, singing
somewhere in the half light, my fingers itch to kill for
you. Yes, I'll surely succeed. And when I'm finished I'll
bring flowers to adorn you. Sing again to guide me in
my mission.
Asterion script pg. 38
I wish I could thank Rachaelle for her song in the night – for channelling
Ariadne and musically guiding me through this maze of madness. I also
wish I could tell her that what I'm about to do is dedicated to her, but I
fear her conscious mind couldn't handle it. Besides, I need to watch my
back. Who knows who can be trusted in this place of smoke and mirrors.
Right now, all I know is that I need to annihilate R. Murray Schafer. But
how to do this is still a question. I feel the “bang, bang” of a gun would
not befit the father of the World Soundscape Project. A knife is too lowbrow. Strangling is a little too hands-on. Poison is a possibility. It has
done the job with many a despot over the ages. But then again it may not
be dramatic enough. There needs to be enough pizzazz to fill a few pages
rather than a few paragraphs.
The Murder of Murray Schafer
One of the features of your manic-madness, Murray, is that you need little
sleep. Which is why you're working late into the night. Your house is
darkened except for one light – your workroom light. It's not the light of
truth. No, it's a singularly focused bulb hanging over your worktable
where you sit with the singularly focused intention to inflict more
pretension upon the innocent.
I don't knock politely as I've always done in the past, wishing not to upset
the sensitivities of the artist. I just walk right in catching you red-handed
as you notate more of your impure thoughts and violate the virginal white
paper spread before you. As you reel around in your chair I say, “Good
292
evening, Dr. Schafer. I presume I can call you Doctor with all those
Doctorates you've got concealing the stains on your bathroom walls, the
same way you try to conceal what goes on in this room – you impostor!
And you say with evilly ingenious ingenuousness, “Whatever are you
talking about?” Then you blink at me blankly with those blue eyes – the
glass one betraying nothing while the good one spins around in your head
in panicked desperation, attempting to do likewise. And then I say, “You
may project the sincere idealism of Dr. Jekyll but you can't Hyde the truth
from me. The gig's up.”
Then you reach for your pipe and tin of tobacco to give your gaping maw
something to help clamp it shut – but also to mask the latest off-gassing of
falsehood lingering in the room. And while you're doing this I take out my
pen. Yes, the very pen I have used to diligently describe the details of
your existence, both great and small. The pen of pure intent that has
lauded you up one page and down the other while you've been secretly
scheming to bedevil the world. No, you don't have a plot to save the
planet. Rather, you've been plotting to overtake the world, one audience
member at a time.
While you wonder if I'm not just another nightmare emerging from your
beleaguered conscience, I ask, “How would you like to see the real
Greatest Show on Earth – right here, right now?” And while you puzzle
over my cryptic question, I say, “Sometimes the pen also needs to be a
sword,” and I wield the point in front of your face. No, I won't bother
with the heart, for the existence of a heart is questionable in this case.
Who knows if a Minotaur has a heart. But no doubt you have a brain, or
at least half a brain – a particularly well-developed right brain I would
say. Perhaps unduly so – left-brain logic has had little opportunity to
inform you of your folly.
So it is the brain of the evil enemy I extinguish, thrusting my pen into
your cranium through your good eye. A bulls eye – if you'll pardon the
expression. And once that is done, I do nothing else. Nothing else is
required beyond extinguishing the thought processes of the behemoth
before he has another opportunity to defecate his polluted ideologies onto
the unsuspecting public. I then simply turn off the incandescent bulb to
stop the waste of electricity – electricity you've wasted for years, “Mr. SoCalled Environmental Activist,” while you sat here squandering kilowatts
over dim-witted ideas.
And what a great ending to my book this will make – punctuating the last
sentences with the very blood of its subject, a tell-all of the darkest
degree, revealing secret plans, secret locations, secret relationships – all
the things you didn't want people to know but makes for a great read –
warts and all. Ha! I can see the media frenzy now, not to mention the
boost to advance sales.
293
The Star
Biographer of international icon, R. Murray Schafer,
uncovers more than expected. Interview cut short as
biographer kills subject to protect the people.
The Sun
Living legend, R. Murray Schafer, found dead, decomposing at worktable.
The Moon
Blood stained, half-finished requiem of famous composer up for auction –
performed only once at Schafer's own funeral after sudden death.
The Verdict
And when the case goes to trial, I will have my day in court. You will be
dead so the diaries you have given to the National Archives can finally be
unsealed and used as evidence. All will be revealed and the people will
recognize what a selfless act I've committed – that I'm not a stalker but
rather one of the faces of the hero with a thousand faces. All the fame and
adulation you've had for years, in the blink of an evil eye, will be
transferred to me. And you will be dead and gone the way of long
forgotten composers relegated to the trash bin of history – like Babgene,
Stiltifer and Radinsky.
What will stand – and will continue to stand in the annals of history – is
that I, yes I, courageously and ingeniously made it to the centre of the
labyrinth. And I, yes I, successfully took down the dreaded Minotaur.
The Gallery of the Deceived
We, the inmates of the Gallery of the Deceived, would
like to speak to you but we have no tongues. Wouldn't
you like to try a little ambrosia prepared by Innana? It
deadens the pain. Here we are happy, content to love and
dream until our time runs out. Some of us have been
here for years. Some were born here. There is no way
out, just useless groping until you die. Better to relax
among friends. Won't you remain? One draft of
delicious ambrosia...
Asterion script pg. 35
The Second Nightmare
I awaken in a sweat. It's more than the heat. It's been a restless night in the
dreamtime. After breakfast, to everyone's surprise, Murray shows up.
Back from Ottawa, back from working with the blind – apparently. As
Murray settles in with a cup of coffee he tells us about his trip. He tells us
that, when first invited, he wondered what exercises he might give to the
blind at the National Gallery of Canada. His initial response had been,
294
“Why?” And even though it was another one of those invitations he
doesn't really like to accept, he did it as a way to raise money for Patria
Productions. It turned out the workshop wasn't for the blind but for the
“visually impaired” – the politically correct term. And the workshop was
for the tour guides at the gallery who encounter the visually impaired.
In one exercise he had the participants smelling, feeling, biting and tasting
apples as a way to awaken senses other than sight. But then an
overzealous security guard ran over and told them they couldn't eat in the
gallery. The gallery director had to become involved for them to finish the
exercise. While Murray has a good laugh over this, and recounts other
aspects of his trip, I'm thinking he is either a better storyteller than I
thought – or he did actually go to Ottawa. And if he did go to Ottawa –
where have I been?
After lunch I retreat to my tent. Suddenly I don't feel so well. While lying
down, half in the tent half somewhere else, I enter a strange state. At first
it's hazy but then pictures begin to emerge – pictures from the past, people
from my past. It's as if all my bad judgements and misdeeds come to mock
me – a mocking evil, haunting and taunting me. It's as if a door is opened
and an ugly torrent rushes in, showing me the lies and illusions to which
I've succumbed. Consuming guilt allies with shame. If the labyrinth is an
externalization of the soul, as Murray states, that would explain why my
guts feel like they're hanging out. The only thing holding them in is the
thin skin of my tent. If it weren't for that I'm sure my innards would be on
the outside, squeezed into view by a monstrous grip.
As the afternoon heat worsens I hear others planning to swim. Rachaelle
comes to my tent and wants me to go with her. I decline despite her
protestations and her offer to rub shea butter on me. Although, part of me
is wondering why I would rather stay alone in a sweltering tent when we
could be playing together in the water – or perhaps making love while she
moans French in my ear. Instead, I lie alone, bathing in sweat. Despite the
heaviness of the humidity, if not the humility, I know I have to deal with
the situation at hand – the situation in my head.
To relax I try doing something I've neglected while here. I try to meditate
– to clear my head, where all the action has been . Still struggling to gain
equanimity, I resort to something I've done since a boy to calm myself. I
pray. I pray the prayer that's easiest to remember when under duress – the
Lord's Prayer. I repeat it a few times, not because I think God won't hear
me the first time but because I could benefit from hearing it repeated. For
good measure I finish with the Hermetic creed. As above, so below. As
within – so without.
Something lifts. A veil parts. Fear and remorse abate, restoring some
serenity – if not sanity. I ask God for forgiveness for any folly I may have
committed. I also ask, What in hell is happening? Am I under the weather,
295
the heat – the intensity of the situation – caught under a cloud of
madness? Have I been seeing truth or have I, in some somnambulistic
way, been bumping into myself in the halls of an inner maze, projecting
my shadow onto someone else? Is what I've been thinking about Murray
actually images of myself in a mirror? Did my wish to deliver astute
reportage on every aspect of Murray's work, including a little
psychoanalytical probing, inadvertently lead to an all-out punch-drunk
binge of Murray-bashing?
The soundings have warned you: the thundering
reverberations, the trembling voices – they were
illusions preventing you from transcending your own
mind. You know now that everything that you have
experienced here has come from within yourself and are
radiations of your own heart and mind.
Asterion script pg. 89
As I lay quietly assessing my soul carnage, I wonder where on the hero's
journey I am. I must be down in the abyss somewhere. It feels like a long
way to get out, and even further from bringing the boon of a book to the
world. I want to quit the book – again. I don't know anything about
anything, so why would I want to write about it? I want to bury my pen
where I can't find it.
Words come to mind that Murray wrote inside the cover of the Dicamus
et Labyrinthos book he gave me: “Jesse, don't get lost in the labyrinth.”
Did I get lost in the labyrinth? The words of St. Augustine also come to
mind, “Inter faeces et Surinam nascimur.” We are born between shit and
piss. If our mother's birth canal is the first labyrinth of life, and the
labyrinth of life becomes the birth canal of the ego-self, then I feel lost
somewhere between shit and piss right now.
Enantiodromia Again
Whatever happened, it was a complete inversion of my previous
perspective on Murray. Did I need a catharsis of repressed feelings?
Perhaps I needed to get some backed-up bile out of my system through a
major reversal – an episode of enantiodromia. I've been so politely
positive in the presence of Murray, the pendulum had to swing sooner or
later – where all unspoken negatives needed to be voiced. It could only
go so far until it turned back on itself – turned back on me.
It is the law of enantiodromia, the tendency of
everything to move to its opposite, which Hermes
announced and the alchemists practised. Gold becomes
vulgar and decays; the King dies. Lead is raised up and
transformed into gold; the King is reborn. To rise up
we descend. To reach the light we move into darkness,
and out of this pit the fire will throw up personalities
296
from our unconscious, archetypes from the various
stages of rotation and ascent.
Patria pg. 136
Perhaps I've become the thing I've been running from. Running from my
Minotaur, I became a Minotaur to others. Victim becomes aggressor,
protagonist becomes antagonist, prey becomes predator. So where now do
I go in Asterion to quell this flip-flopping?
Suddenly there is darkness. Then slowly, in a dull
spotlight, the contours of a head appear. Who can say
what it is? There is nothing frightening in its
demeanour. No mask. A neutral face, mature, sexless,
but strange, owing to the protuberance of three small
horns on the brow.
Asterion: We do not both exist. For us both to exist
there would have to be two worlds, yours and mine. Let
us say we are merely embodiments of one another on
different planes, giving us each an illusion of
independence. In reality we are the same. Hearing
together, seeing together, moving together, knowing
together. All your life you have feared facing me.
Suddenly I am here, your deliverer. Would you kill me
then? The killer and the killed are one. To know the
light you must seek the darkness. I am the light in the
darkness. I am the darkness in the light. Neither is
vanquished by force, only by acceptance. I am the
thought you are thinking. If you wish to know yourself,
die before you die; enter the darkness before you. I will
be near you but unseen, pouring light into your life.
Asterion script pg. 16
My mind goes back to the questions on the application form I received
before coming to Asterion. “What does fear mean to me? What does
courage mean to me? What is pain to me? What are its positive and
negative aspects? What am I prepared to sacrifice in my life? How does
the thought of death affect my life?”
Fear. Fear caught up with me – that's what happened. Fear is the latchkey
that lets loose all other monsters. And what was to be feared here?
Everything. From the moment one arrives and signs the waiver,
everything in this place is terrifying – from the Vagina Dentata to swords
swinging over your head. But swords and fangs are just outer props to
push inner buttons. What are my real fears? Fear of death, fear of failure,
fear of losing my head – losing my mind. Fear of losing myself in trying
to find myself? Fear of seeing something ... horrible in me?
297
I know intellectually that nothing should be feared – especially our dark
side, the shadowy corners of our subconscious mind. The courage to flush
out those corners is undoubtedly what we're here to secure. But fear,
working with its cohort, pride, corrodes courage. We succumb to fear,
then hide behind pride, acting as if everything is fine. But underneath we
know it isn't, and fear – fear of being found out – advances further. In
turn, our ego grows even fatter, attempting to mask our fear – which suits
the Minotaur fine because it's on the fatness of the ego that he will dine.
That's his function. That's ultimately where the trail leads – to a meeting
between our ego and the Minotaur. But there will be nothing for him to
eat if we willingly dine on our egotism first, valiantly swallowing our
vanity in a feast of self-knowledge.
If this is the case, then dropping my fears and withdrawing my projections
might avert any future unleashing of my inner monster. At the same time,
Murray should be aware that it's unlikely I will be the last to fall prey to
such folly. People's personal stuff will undoubtedly ooze through the
concrete walls if Asterion is going to be as intense as he intends it to be.
The Sphere of the Self
The questions that have been haunting me since last winter lunge at me
again, still waiting to be answered. When am I being myself? When am I
not being myself? How would I know if I'm not being myself? And if I'm
not being myself, who am I being? It's clear that I'm on the trail of not just
Murray Schafer but also myself. My question is now, where can this self
be found? Could it be the one asking the questions and hoping for
answers? I hope so.
Hermes Trismegistos moves down the western corridor.
At the end of the corridor is a large egg-shaped sculpture
illuminated in warm, yellow light.
Hermes: The self is one.
Unmoving, it moves faster than the mind.
The senses lag but the self runs ahead.
Unmoving it outruns pursuit.
Out of self comes the breath that is the life of all things.
Unmoving it is far away, yet near,
within all, outside all.
The self is everywhere, without body, without shape,
whole, pure, wise,
all-knowing,
self-depending,
all transcending.
The centre of self is everywhere,
the circumference is nowhere.
It is everything; it is nothing.
298
The self encircles endlessly without cause.
How then can it die or be killed?
Whoever thinks it can be killed,
whoever thinks it dies is ignorant.
Whoever says the self is unknown, knows.
Hermes Trismegistos remains for some time gazing at
the egg before leading the neophyte back to the centre
of the chamber.
Asterion script pg. 78
The Labyrinth of Love
It's the last night. As I sit in the campfire circle across from Rachaelle, I
detect an unspoken question in the air. Will a relationship exist beyond
the walls of Asterion? Do I have the will to continue, despite the distance
and other factors that try to hinder the course of love? Rachaelle's
patience undoubtedly has limits, as does time. Tomorrow she leaves for
Montreal, and I for Toronto. It's another fork in the maze and I know
avoiding a choice is in itself a choice.
I look over at Rachaelle. She doesn't look back. She's ignoring me because
she feels I have been ignoring her. At this point I doubt even an offer to
rub shea butter on her would warm things. When I recently brought up the
question of seeing her archive of Murray Schafer materials, I got a tepid
response. Do I hear a door closing?
I let my eyes follow the trail of sparks from the fire up to the sky full of
sparkling stars. In the face of the vastness, the sense of where I am
dissolves and I feel I could be anywhere. For that matter, Asterion could
be anywhere. Indeed, the labyrinth is everywhere, and making it concrete
is as easy as imagining its existence. I bring my gaze back down to Earth,
to Rachaelle, to the down-turned corners of her mouth waiting for a
reason to smile. I'm tempted to tease out a smile with...
Mirrors on the ceiling, pink champagne on ice.
We are all just prisoners here of our own device.
And still those voices are calling from far away –
wake you up in the middle of the night
just to hear them say...
Welcome to the Hotel Asterion,
such a lovely place – such a lovely face.
Instead, Rachaelle finally sings the song she has been practising all week
for Murray.
Ariadne: Now I know when the final morning will be –
when the light no longer frightens
away Night and Love
299
when the slumber shall be an eternal dream.
Praise be to eternal Night!
Praise be to eternal Slumber!
Eternal is the duration of Sleep –
Holy Sleep.
Asterion script pg. 40
The Swamp
I awaken the final morning curious about what will come in the last act of
Asterion. I don't hear anyone except some dawn birds. I decide to go for a
walk in the forest labyrinth. When I come to the fork on the path, I decide
to take the turn to the right – to the swamp. I go as far as I can until I push
through a reedy hedge to behold the swamp for the first time. There are
patches of mist on the water. It's easy to see how someone could think a
swamp is only a place of death and decay. I greet the swamp. An air
bubble pops in the water assuring me it's alive and breathing. Looking
down at the water, I can see the sky above; an interesting image – the sky
in the swamp, the celestial in the terrestrial – Asterion in Minotaur.
Asterion: You recognize correctly. We are alone now.
The others have returned to their places in the story to
act out their parts again. For them evolution is
impossible, they cannot break free from their own
mythology. Theseus will go on killing Minotaur.
Ariadne will go on singing songs to inspire him. And
Daedalus will go on devising deceptions.
Asterion script pg. 87
I crouch down to look beneath the surface. Another air bubble makes its
way from the depths and pops, like a burp after a big meal. I feel
surrounded by a profound stillness. But there is a presence to be felt in the
stillness – like the person at a party who is overlooked because of their
shyness. But when you take a moment to say hello you find they're
actually full of interesting things.
Asterion: O Nobly-Born, the time has come for you
to seek the path. Your breathing is about to cease.
You have been placed before the clear light. Now you
will experience it in its reality where all things are
like the void and cloudless sky, and the naked spotless
intellect is like the transparent vacuum without
circumference or centre. At this moment, know
yourself and abide in this state.
Asterion script pg. 88
I ask the swamp what it has to say. I wait. Like an air bubble arising in
myself, it tells me how important it is to take the time to digest things
300
properly – to interpret things correctly – in order to move forward. In the
same way one keeps within the lines of the labyrinth, one has to stay
within bounds when interpreting one's experience.
I respond that it's not always easy to interpret something, especially while
in the middle of it. Who can interpret a dream while dreaming it? Can you
understand the labyrinth while walking it? I ask the swamp to help me
interpret my experiences of the past 10 days. I lean over like someone
about to read tea-leaves. It's interesting what I'm able to see. Not only do I
see the surface of the water, I see under the surface, my face reflected on
the surface and the clouds floating above. Many levels at once.
I am Daedalus who made the labyrinth and I am everyone and everything
in it, including the neophyte who must learn to not run in fear.
The swamp remains still as if waiting to hear more from me.
Likewise, I am everything in my nightmare. I am the pool reflecting the
moonlight. I am the shark beneath the surface. I am the thin dog who runs
away in fear.
A bubble pops on the surface as if to say I'm heading in the right direction.
What is the dream telling me? I am in need of regaining my dogness, or
would that be wolfness, considering that all dogs descend from wolves?
And I need to be able to stop running away from the shark-infested
waters. I need to stop walking lightly on the surface. I need to dive down.
I need to go deep.
Jung remarks: Water is the commonest symbol for the
unconscious...Psychologically, therefore, water means
spirit that has become unconscious...The descent into
the depths always seems to precede the ascent.
The Tuning of the World pg. 170
As I continue to stare into the depths of the swamp, it shows me the same
thing Murray has been saying all along – life arises out of murky chaos.
The destructive chaos of the Minotaur calls forth the constructive higher
power – Asterion. The word "thaumaturgy" pops into mind.
As I continue to lean forward, I look at myself reflected on the water and
think of Rachaelle. If I were to take the pataphysical perspective, I would
ask what part of me she reflects? She's been an Ariadne to me – an
extension of my anima. Where do we go from here?
What is it, you ask, that is green or blue or red or
yellow? What is the meaning of the shifting sound?
They are diversions, obscuring the pure white light and
the silence of eternity.
Asterion script pg. 89
301
Out of the stagnant waters more answers flow. Murray has illuminated my
inner labyrinth and now I need to traverse it more adeptly, navigating the
descents and ascents. As he has shown, it is only wide enough for one to
pass through at a time.
You and I alone have passed through the darkness. You
have understood. Come, take the hand of Asterion and I
will prepare you to enter the light.
Asterion script pg. 87
I look up at the sky. The stars of last night are gone but I know the
labyrinth they trace still exists. I just need to use active imagination – but
not too active. I look back down at the swamp and thank it for its
reflection, if not putrefaction, and tell it I'm glad I took the right fork this
time. It's as if Asterion alighted in the gossamer of the early morning. It
makes me realize why Murray wants to keep this a secret place – it's a
sacred place.
That which is called Death being come to you, try to
resolve to remain in the state you are now, experiencing
the state of radiant clear light.
Asterion script pg. 87
As I begin walking back, retracing my steps in the labyrinth, I realize that
entering the labyrinth ten days ago set an intention. Setting an intention is
like hitching your wagon to a star. In this case the star was Asterion. And
what a ride it's been – an adventure into myself.
The Concrete Conclusion
Back at the campsite people are taking their tents down, getting ready to
leave. For our last session, we fittingly work on the section at the end of
the script called Revelation. It's where the neophyte arrives after having
made it through the forty-nine encounters.
The neophyte is led to a couch and made to lie down on
it. Asterion washes the face and hands gently. The hands
are then folded across the breast. Asterion next perfumes
the throat and temples. Some strips of cool, soothing
fabric are laid across the hands, the brow and on the
throat. Soft music accompanies the process. When
complete, the light will slowly fade and Asterion will
take a seat at the side of the couch.
Asterion script pg. 88
We do this in a concrete chamber which still holds some of the coolness
of the night. Rachaelle lies down on the altar-like couch playing the part
of the neophyte. While words are spoken and the rest of us add soft
humming to the soundscape, I can feel the spirit of the dreamtime touch
302
down again – blurring the lines between the real and the mythical – the
physical and the pataphysical.
Anubis: And so you are nearing the completion of your
life in the labyrinth – have you lost track of where you
are? Here everything is perfectly orderly. A descending
series beginning with forty-nine and ending with one, all
measured out and arranged as an initiation and an
education for your benefit. You alone know to what
extent the experience has been successful. We are mere
instruments in the process – actors with masks and
disguises, warping our identities, mouthing lines
bequeathed to us by history and tradition.
Asterion script pg. 80
A powerful mood is built by the scene and there is a tangible
connectedness in the space. Rachaelle gets up from the couch and looks
at me as she returns to the circle. There is a different look in her eyes and
the smile has returned to her face. Murray and Jerrard also seem pleased
with what is taking place. Someone else takes a turn as the neophyte.
I suppose we might call this the final countdown: a triad
of protagonists, a duet of combatants and a winner. Isn't
that the way the story ends? Two will be eliminated; one
will survive.
Asterion script pg. 80
The Light at the End of the Tunnel
I take my turn on the couch. Looking up at the domed ceiling, I watch the
hanging veils moving in the breeze coming through a round hole in the
roof. It feels like the first time in ten days that air from outside Asterion
has entered this hermetically sealed site. When my turn is over I get up
and look at Rachaelle. There is a knowing look in her eyes, as if to say – a
neophyte has to do what a neophyte has to do. The only words needed
now are the close of the script.
Go now into the light that is not before you but within
you. Enter the brightness that you took to be darkness. I
will be with you even beyond death, for the death of a
God is the birth of a God. And there are no Gods if you
are yourself not a God.
The voice ceases. The neophyte is alone. Colours grow
faint and the music drifts to silence. A door has been left
open revealing a long ramp leading up to ground level
through which streams the light of day.
Asterion script pg. 90
303
Ten
The Most Neglected Masterpiece
in the Modern World
Day 1: Schafertopia
I have been given instruction to arrive at Bone Lake in the Haliburton
Forest for an orientation meeting at 7 p.m. Ready to dive into another
piece of the Patria puzzle, the public production of Patria prologue, The
Princess of the Stars, I arrive a little early and find a spread of food at a
cook-tent. It's evident that others have been here for a few weeks readying
things for the rest of the company to arrive.
I feel excitement in the air as we are directed down a path for the meeting.
The path leads to a place I could only describe as Schafertopia – a
beautifully designed amphitheatre for about four hundred people. Built of
wood, sitting at the edge of a lake, it meshes with the natural environment.
One can see, as with most of Murray's theatrical works, there will be no
fourth wall between actor and audience. There are no walls at all.
This amphitheatre did not exist when I attended The Enchanted Forest
two summers ago at this same location. It then caught me by surprise
when I arrived for The Palace of the Cinnabar Phoenix last summer. One
could say this is where it all began, where I had the moving, mystical
experience that sparked my interest in Murray Schafer. Here I am again,
this time in the show. It may not be in the role I wanted, as the Presenter,
but at least as a canoeist I'm on the other side of the stage apron – if there
were a stage apron. But there is no apron, no footlights, no proscenium
arch. This is theatre outside the box, theatre in the wild where art and
nature court, mate and produce offspring.
The Schedule
As I enter the amphitheatre I'm handed a Performer's Information Sheet . I
scan the Accommodation Information and then the Rehearsal and
Performance Schedule where it says, “Please be aware that there are no
days off in this 14 day schedule. However, the rehearsal schedule is
subject to change depending on weather and progress.”
I take a deep breath as I read the part that says the call-time for the show
is 3 a.m. I hold my breath while reading Additional Information, “Please
be advised the facilities at the performers' area are minimal and rustic, i.e.
no running water, no washrooms, no heated warm-up area, no separate
dressing rooms.”
304
As I look up, I spot Murray among the dozens of people gathering. He
stands out in the crowd with purple, all-weather pants. He looks prepared
for wet weather even though the sky is currently clear. Jerrard Smith, who
is co-directing with Murray, calls our attention and welcomes everyone.
He then asks us each to introduce ourselves. The go-around reveals a
colourful constellation of singers, musicians, designers and technical crew
– about sixty in all.
Wolves and Bears
Singing suddenly arises from the lake. A canoe appears from behind a
point chauffeuring a singer who is giving us a sample of the outdoor
acoustics. I hear someone behind me say, “Wow, who dreams up this
stuff?” Murray stands up and, as if to build our excitement for the 3 a.m.
call-time, explains that the singing will sound even more beautiful over
the morning water.
On the heels of this sonic tease we are given a visual sneak peek. From
behind another point emerges a giant wolf, straddling two large canoes,
powered by crew members who are obviously excited to show off this
astounding prop. The wolf, or Wolf, as he is referred to in the script,
stands about twenty feet high and looks amazingly realistic. Again, I hear
from behind me, “Who dreams up this stuff?”
Jerrard begins getting us oriented to where musicians and singers will be
positioned on the shoreline of the lake during the show. “Oohs and ahhs”
are heard rippling through the crowd. He then adds the sobering fact that
everyone will need to be in position before the audience arrives, which
means getting there in the dark. This sends an even stronger reverberation
through the group.
One of the musicians asks, “What about bears?” Others echo this concern.
Jerrard makes no attempt to hide the fact that we are in bear country and
they have been seen recently. He spends the next ten minutes going over
bear safety. Personally, I'm not concerned about bears. More people get
hurt and die each year from run-ins with deer than with bears. I'm just
glad I won't be driving to the site in the middle of the night for call time,
as some people will, when run-ins with deer are most likely to occur.
Besides, after my experience at Asterion, I'm more concerned about
encounters with Minotaurs.
The logistics of housing are then covered. Crew and canoeists are to tent
on-site. Singers and musicians are to lodge in cabins at the base camp of
the Haliburton Forest. This arrangement is partly to safeguard voices and
instruments against the possible stresses of cold or wet weather. The
meeting ends and I start scouting for a suitable tent location. There are
trails winding all over and I'm reminded of when I walked through this
forest looking for a lost child during The Enchanted Forest. I opt for a
quiet hilltop overlooking the lake, rather than the forest gulley where a
large settlement of crew and canoeists is forming.
305
There isn't much going on around the campsite tonight, so after pitching
my tent I crawl in. I get a little shiver from memories of my last time in it
– Asterion – and my Kafkaesque experience . I consider how easy it is for
someone new to Patria to lose the thread of the plot. I shake off the shiver
in hope that my experience here will be different. It should be – the
setting is different; a hilltop with an expansive view of a lake as opposed
to the limited visibility of the maze, in the sweat bowl at Asterion.
Furthermore, Asterion is number seven in the Patria cycle and deeper into
the psychological complexities. The Princess of the Stars, being the
prologue, gives me an opportunity to go back to the beginning and freshly
pick up the thread.
Day 2: The Morning News
In the morning, while waiting for rehearsals to begin at the base camp, I
pick up the Haliburton Forest newsletter – The Howler. There is an article
about the show: Genre-Defying Music-Theatre at Home in the
Wilderness. It describes the show as “the most significant, remarkable and
unique music-theatre creation in Canadian history.”
It goes on to state, “This opportunity is the result of a special partnership
between Patria Music Theatre Projects and the Haliburton Forest and
Wildlife Reserve. Iconic Canadian composer, writer, educator,
environmentalist and acoustic ecologist R. Murray Schafer has spent the
last 40 years writing a cycle of 12 masterworks collectively known as
Patria. These works reflect the composer’s reverence for the environment
and draw their inspiration from ancient myth and ritual. Part opera, part
theatre-spectacle, part sacred ceremony, many of the Patria works cannot
be staged conventionally but rather require the type of stage only nature
can provide. The Princess of the Stars is just such a work. Seven
performances of this piece are being presented to lucky audiences
beginning at 4 a.m. Audiences will gather in the pre-dawn hush, listen to
Mr. Schafer's haunting score and, while the sun rises, watch an epic battle
on the water as more than 60 performers, musicians, singers, dancers,
canoeists and craftspeople weave a spell of magic and mystery.”
The Backstory
To start off the morning, Murray gives us a synopsis of the show. “The
Princess of the Stars, daughter of the Sun God, was in the heavens and
heard the mournful howling of a wolf on Earth. She leaned down to see
what the sound was and fell from the sky to the edge of a lake. This
startled Wolf, who lashed out and injured her. The Princess went to the
water to bathe her wounds but was dragged to the bottom by an evil force,
the Three-Horned Enemy.
“All of this has happened during the night. When the audience arrives, the
first sound they hear is the Princess singing from the lake. With the
Princess trapped at the bottom of the lake, Wolf has to figure out how to
rectify the situation. When the Three-Horned Enemy appears and begins
306
to do battle with him, the dawn birds see this and go to tell the Sun. This
is timed for about half an hour before the sunrise, when the birds actually
start to wake up. The Sun Disc then enters, positioning himself before the
audience just as the sun is rising. The show ends with the Sun sending
Wolf into the world to face trials that will ultimately restore the Princess
to her rightful place.”
Canoeography
While the musicians and singers work on the music, we canoeists are
convened to a grassy area and given our assignments. Some canoeists are
put in groups, assigned to one of the three war canoes which carry either
Wolf, the Sun Disk or the Three-Horned Enemy. I'm to be a dawn bird
canoeist, which means I'm one of six solo canoeists chauffeuring a dawn
bird around the lake while they do their choreography.
We are then given our first lesson in canoegraphy, as Jerrard calls it. With
a sketch pad he runs us through a "paper practice" of the patterns we will
be doing on the water. We are then paired with a dancer who will be the
dawn bird in our canoe. I'm paired with a woman named Julie, a dancer
from Haliburton. We then do a few run-throughs which go well, even
though we're still just on the grass.
The company has lunch together at the base camp. As I fill my plate with
delicious-looking food, I overhear one of the musicians say, “I think it's
fantastic.” I can tell he's not just talking about the food. Obviously the
music rehearsals are off to a good start. Plate full, I head to where Murray
is eating with some of the crew. I ask for any off-the-top thoughts. Murray
responds, “The morale is very high,” a sense of strength resonating in his
voice. His tone then changes with, “We'll see what happens with the
weather. It's expected to rain over the next few days.” I can see a cloud in
Murray's mind, undoubtedly forming from memories of last year's show,
which suffered at the box office due to inclement weather.
Very few people do theatre the way R. Murray Schafer
does, with God as co-designer of stage and lighting.
The risks are high with such a fickle collaborator,
but when it works, the effect is beyond description.
Robert Everett-Green, The Globe & Mail
Onto the Water and into the Fire
For the afternoon rehearsal, we canoeists are taken back to Bone Lake and
down to the production dock where we can begin working with the
canoes. After Jerrard gives us some safety tips, he has us venture out onto
the lake. Once everyone gets over the initial giddiness of being on the
water, Jerrard, who is also in a canoe, shows us some paddling techniques.
As none of us are trained canoeists, it takes awhile to get the hang of it
but once we settle in the morale continues to run high.
307
There are five males and one female canoeist for the six female dawn
birds – the average age being somewhere around late teens or early
twenties. There is a group chemistry forming and it's obvious we're going
to be our own sub-culture of the company.
As our paddle practice comes to a close and I allow myself to just drift in
my canoe, I take a moment to look up at the sky and enjoy it from this
vantage point. Both sky and lake are still, and breathtakingly beautiful. It
reminds me of what I sometimes experience while standing back about
fifteen feet from a Group of Seven painting. A mystical dimension opens
up that seems beyond the naked eye. I feel excited that I will be in this
environment for two weeks. It will surely inoculate me from the growing
phenomenon of NDD – Nature Deficit Disorder.
In the evening, everyone is tired from all the activity, and probably from
all the fresh air too, so there is little action around the campsite again,
apart from a few people talking around the campfire. I'm tired and the
light is fading fast, so I'm happy to lay my head down around 10 p.m.
However, I'm restless and keep waking up to see what time it is – afraid
I'm going to miss the alarm and the morning call.
Day 3: Dawn's Song
During a restless moment, when checking the clock, I notice the ambient
sounds. It's a little before 5 a.m. and I can hear the birds awakening. It's a
time of the day I usually miss, especially when sleeping inside.
I sit up to better witness the morning routine of the dawn birds. One bird
sounds, then another, then another. The forest becomes a cacophony of
birds, sounding their delight for the dawning sun. It makes even more
sense why Murray wants the audience to arrive at 4 a.m. and the call-time
for actors is 3 a.m. Not only does it have an esthetic that won't be
experienced at any other time of day, it's the call-time for dawn birds.
I reflect on how, of all the animals in the forest, it's the birds who are the
ones to announce the dawning of the day. It isn't the foxes, bears, snakes
or fish. Other animals such as frogs and crickets play their part later in the
composition of the day – adding a soundscape to the dimming light. But
birds are the ones who start the song and call others to join in. I consider
how I might participate in this moment. How can I contribute to this part
of the symphony? I pull out my notepad and allow words to flow while
listening to the simmering of morning delight.
Faint at first is the light at the end of the night.
But hope it holds even in its dimness –
a promise of good things to come.
Like a bird – excitement chirps from the beak of my pen.
308
Writing poetry feels very different from working on the book, so I let my
thoughts drift in and out and wind their way down to my pen before
falling back asleep for a few more winks. When I awaken with my alarm
at 7 a.m., I notice a marked difference in the mood of the morning. The
sound in the forest is subdued. The chorus of birds has been replaced by
an occasional chirp. The excited moment of transition from dark to light
has passed and nature is well into its second or third movement.
Emerging from my tent, I look down at the lake in the new light and
decide to go to the water's edge. Rinsing my face, I notice remnants of
sleep falling into the water. As I watch the flakes slowly sink I get the
impression that the lake is both welcoming and willing to serve in my
cleansing. It dawns on me how the entire natural environment is
supportive of this. The oxygen I breathe and turn into carbon dioxide the
environment turns into something again breathable.
I think about the uncleanliness of my soul from which psychic or
energetic pollution is sometimes breathed into the world, such as at
Asterion. I recall how the wisdom of the swamp helped me to turn my
darkness into light, my questions into answers and something lifesustaining. What marvellous systems have been put in place long before
creatures like us entered the environment. More poetry flows into me.
I breathe in
I breathe out
Nature breathes through me
I breathe through Nature
Breathing lives in me
I live in breathing
Vying for Alpha Position
Rehearsal starts at 9 a.m., making it almost like normal working hours.
Jerrard wastes no time in getting us canoeists out on the water again. I can
tell he's anxious for us to work on our “canoeography.” Communication
issues immediately arise. It's not just that Jerrard is on the shore, while we
canoeists and dawn birds are out on the lake trying to get directions from
him – directions that are sometimes shouted across the water and
sometimes channelled through one canoeist with a radio headset that
works – sometimes. Our group is also in the midst of establishing
interpersonal dynamics. And some people are being paid while others are
volunteers, so the question of leadership hangs in the air, along with a
growing accumulation of clouds in the sky.
To complicate things further, the dawn bird canoeists aren't necessarily
theatre types. The high morale of last night is a little more tempered today
by the realities of working together while attempting syncopated
canoeing. There's no shortage of enthusiasm to get things right, but
everyone has a different perspective of what that is. While opinions are
flying and people snapping, it's beginning to feel a bit like a pack of
309
wolves all vying for alpha position. After a few unacknowledged attempts
to voice my opinion, I deem it wiser to remain quiet and wait to see where
I end up in the pecking order.
Modes for Social Intercourse
While digging into some shepherd's pie being served for supper, Murray
settles beside me. He seems relaxed and open for some conversation, so I
push aside my plate and pull out my notepad. Jake, a local fellow on the
work crew, standing by the campfire with a bottle of beer, looks over and
asks what I'm doing with a notepad. “I'm interviewing Murray,” I tell him.
“Oh, Murray Schafer,” he exclaims with a twang, as he comes over to
shake Murray's hand. I explain that I'm writing a book about Murray.
Murray corrects my statement, saying that the book is actually my
autobiography about him.
Murray takes to this character and asks Jake how things are going. Jake
has been working on set construction and says everything is fine, except
he's getting nervous because people keep telling him he'll be paddling a
canoe soon, which he's not too thrilled about. Apparently, the canoeists
they hoped to enlist from local canoe clubs are all busy at camps, so we're
short of paddlers, particularly for the war canoes which are very large and
require many people to power. This means every able body, including
some of the cookstaff, is being considered a potential canoeist. The joke
going around is that if something doesn't happen even Murray might end
up in a canoe.
I turn the conversation back to Murray to see what interesting things he
has to say about the show. Murray proceeds to tell us how he was recently
looking through some of his old diaries and came across the time when he
first conceived The Princess of the Stars. He says it came in a vision – all
at once – and there has been little change to it since.
When I ask about composing the score for The Princess of the Stars,
Murray says the music came more slowly, taking about six months to
write, along with the libretto. This raises an interesting point and I ask
why he doesn't have other people write the libretto for him, as most
composers do. He says he has written the libretto himself for all his
music-theatre and so far he's never heard anyone say it wasn't a good idea.
He enjoys the reciprocal effect of working on two levels at once; writing
the text inspires the music, which inspires the text.
Murray tells us the first production of The Princess of the Stars came
relatively soon after its conception and that he barely had the music
finished when it was produced at Heart Lake, near Brampton in 1981.
I remark that he has directed a number of the Patria productions himself
instead of hiring others. Apart from the money factor, which I know is one
of the reasons he is directing this year's show, he says he feels best about
the shows he has personally directed.
310
Jesse ~ As both composer and director, how does it feel to be so closely
involved with the people in a production?
Murray ~ It's great. We've created a real atmosphere here. I don't know of
any other place where you have such devoted people attempting to
achieve the impossible.
Jesse ~ Why do you do it – keep pushing to do the impossible?
Murray ~ These productions will never be done perfectly. But they keep
challenging us, stretching us – all of us. It's also about finding modes for
social intercourse we've lost. These things were done in the past in small
towns. There were barn raisings, harvest festivals, Orangemen's Parades –
things that animated people. There was more of it when I was young – a
lot more of it. That's one of the unfortunate changes in our society. The
further you go back in history the more you find people were actually
creating their own entertainment rather than relying on professionals to
entertain them. We've become more passive with the separation between
entertainer and audience. I prefer to include the audience in the action,
blurring the line between actor and audience as much as possible.
Jesse ~ They say you know something about a person by the people that
surround them. It must feel great, in your 75th year, to be surrounded by
all these young creative people.
Murray ~ It does feel great. I'd rather be surrounded by young people who
are eager and creative than by a bunch of professionals in an orchestra
who are just hacking away at another job. Those people give you exactly
what they're paid for. The people here are enthusiastic and willing to take
risks. The social realm in these productions is important. It's very different
from the social realm in a fully professional production – there wouldn't
be any sitting around a campfire and talking, getting to know each other.
To find performers in full control of a dozen musical or
dramatic styles today is not difficult, but to find
performers able to modulate their talents in order to
perform around a lake at sunrise, or over a twenty or
twenty-four-hour period, or while hiking in a forest, is
no easy task. The new techniques required for these
tasks are missing even if the volition is present.
Patria pg. 99
Murray ~ (looking up at the sky, then getting up) I'd better get back to the
base camp. It's going to get dark soon and tomorrow is going to be an
early day.
Jesse ~ Tomorrow is going to be an earlier day – the start time an hour
earlier. I guess we'd all better start thinking about getting to bed earlier.
As I watch Murray drift off into the dimming light, I recall how someone
once described him to me as a reclusive person. But seeing him here, I
realize he's paradoxically a reclusive people person.
311
After hanging around the campfire for a while, getting to know some of
the other canoeists, I head off to bed. Tucking into my sleeping bag, I'm
treated to an encounter with nature. Off in the distance I hear wolves
howling. It makes for a nice bookend to the morning wake-up with the
dawn birds.
Day 4: Upping the Hour
Call-time today is 6 a.m. so my alarm is set for 5 a.m. I sleep through the
annunciation of the dawn birds this morning, but upon awakening enjoy a
chorus of crickets near my tent. I also notice light flashing outside. Is it
someone with a flashlight? I hear thunder in the distance then, within
minutes, the sound of pouring rain.
I make my way in the rain to the cook-tent. People who have driven from
the base camp or from Haliburton are crowded under the tarps waiting to
see what will happen. Periodically someone lifts the edge of a tarp to pour
the pools of water off the sides – sometimes accidentally onto others.
Murray takes the opportunity to explain what will happen if there's
inclement weather during a show, something they failed to offer when hit
with bad weather last year. A scaled down presentation of music and
singing will be performed for the audience in the Logging Museum at the
base camp.
After milling around and munching, the decision is made that, despite the
rain, the rehearsal is on. The thunder and lightening has stopped and there
is no time to lose. Out in the canoes we go – in the rain. Someone
endeavours to buoy damp spirits with the logic that we are out on the
water so what does it matter if we get wet? Somehow my soggy shoes,
soaking up rain in the bottom of the canoe, fail to find much consolation
in this. By the time we finish practising our canoeography in the pelting
rain, everything is soaked.
The Power of the Sun
After lunch break and a bit of drying out we are back in the canoes
rehearsing. Murray and Jerrard already want to attempt a full run-through
of the show to see how the blocking looks. The rain has been gradually
waning since the morning, and when we hit the point in the show where
the Sun Disk enters, the real sun, as if on cue, emerges from behind the
clouds lighting the space. Rejoicing is heard from all sides of the lake
where the singers and musicians are positioned. I'm amazed at the sun's
power to lift people's spirits.
The Sun Disk itself is a sight. Set on a war canoe powered by nine people,
it's a huge disk, twice the size of the singer standing in front of it. The
singer and the Sun Disk are both covered with reflective material. In the
afternoon sun they sparkle brightly, as does a bit of poetry in my soul.
Good weather, bad weather,
both have the power to make people look up.
312
Diana – Team Impossible
After supper, I see Diana Smith sitting by the campfire. She is Jerrard's
wife and also the costume designer for the show. I join her. There isn't
enough light for me to write in my note pad so I pull out my recorder. She
sees what I'm here for and smiles.
Jesse ~ So you're another part of the Mission Impossible team?
Diana ~ (laughing) Yes, we've been doing the impossible since we started
working with Murray. And we're still doing it twenty-six years later.
Jesse ~ That's a long history of working with Murray.
Diana ~ I hadn't planned it. I didn't even think I would be involved in
theatre when I studied painting and lithography at school. I thought I
would become a painter.
Jesse ~ As did Murray when he was a student, but you've both gone way
beyond painting. What is it like to work with Murray?
Diana ~ Murray has very high standards for himself, and therefore for
everyone else. He puts an enormous amount of work into everything he
creates. Some things come spontaneously but he can also be very slow
and methodical.
Jesse ~ It seems that he also likes to leave room for interpretation by the
artists involved in his work.
Diana ~ Yes, but at the same time he is very meticulous. He auditions
carefully. He knows what he wants. He is open to people's artistic
interpretation but at the same time things are set up very precisely.
Jesse ~ He obviously has a great respect for the work you and Jerrard
have done for him.
Diana ~ We have a lot of respect for each other. At this point in our
relationship, Jerrard and I have a lot of artistic freedom in what we bring
to a show. Murray knows he can count on us. It doesn't mean he won't
disagree with something or say, “What the hell are you doing?”
Jesse ~ Have you ever had times when you wanted to quit?
Diana ~ Every show! At some point in every show I hit a wall and say,
“Never again.” But it's a bit like giving birth. The memory of the
discomfort dissipates after a while, so you go back and do it again.
Jesse ~ What keeps you coming back?
Diana ~ I think Murray has really important things to say and he says
them in a unique way. It's wonderful to be a part of that. I love Murray.
He's very special. I'm honoured we are friends. There are ups and downs,
as with any long-term relationship. We've had our disagreements but it's
really the sum total that keeps me coming back.
Jesse ~ Can you give me a memorable Murray Schafer moment?
Diana ~ Oh, there are lots of them. Murray says a lot of funny things that
make me laugh – then he'll say, “Oh, better not repeat that.”
313
Jesse ~ Is there any occasion that especially stands out in your mind?
Diana ~ We did The Palace of the Cinnabar Phoenix for the first time in
2001, at Wolverton Hills. We had a dress rehearsal on September 11 – the
day of the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington. Jerrard and I
were living in Peterborough at the time, and I was at home getting some
supplies when a friend called and told me to turn on the television. It was
really horrifying of course. I thought, “We are going to put on a puppet
show. Are we nuts?” I was upset but drove to the site and got busy. Then I
thought, “No, this isn't nuts. This is a really good thing to be doing now.”
Jesse ~ You saw more deeply into what you were doing?
Diana ~ It's partly because I love The Palace of the Cinnabar Phoenix. It
makes people happy. It's gorgeous to look at. And what it says addresses a
lot of what was going on with 9/11, so I realized the importance of what
we were doing. It wasn't just a puppet show.
Jesse ~ I had something of a transcendental experience when I saw The
Palace of the Cinnabar Phoenix last year. What is it about that show that
gives it such power?
Diana ~ The whole theme is about understanding and accepting each
other – and one's self. That's highly simplified of course. But it was
relevant to how people were feeling at the time. The opening night of the
show all airplanes were grounded, so it was absolutely quiet overhead.
That made it feel even more powerful.
Jesse ~ It's such a contrast to all the destruction happening on the planet –
it's something that feeds the mythological mind and gives people an
expanded sense of reality.
Diana ~ Murray says a lot of insightful things about living in the world.
He can get a little heavy-handed about it once in awhile. But what he has
to say is important and is presented in an interesting way. And I get to
design the costumes for it. How much better can it get? Jerrard and I
haven't accumulated a lot of expensive things doing this but it's been a
great way to spend our lives.
Our conversation is drowned out by a soundscape of singing, backed by
guitar, banjo and harmonica – Jerrard himself on mandolin, which is
quickly becoming the evening tradition. Diana and I acquiesce and allow
ourselves to be absorbed into the musical merriment of the campfire
circle. Eventually I get up and head for bed, feeling a bit like a wimp, as
it's only 8:00 p.m. But I'm very aware that tomorrow will be an even
earlier day.
Day 5: Covert Operations
A thunderstorm erupts in the night. I'm caught between listening to the
variations in volume – trying to tell if it's moving closer or further away –
and wondering how many hours of sleep I'll get before my alarm goes off.
314
Today the call-time has been ratcheted up another hour to 5 a.m., so I
have my alarm set for 4 a.m.
When I emerge from my tent into darkness, I make my way with my
headlamp to the production tent. The stage manager, Amy Lippold, is the
one person I make sure I see – and that she sees me , for check-in. She's
running things with all the precision of a military operation, which is how
it needs to be in order to manage a large group of people in the dark.
The entire morning routine is taking on the quality of a military
manoeuvre – walkie-talkies crackling, “Time for deployment of dawn
birds.” When I hear those words I head down to the production dock, go
through my checklist of things for the canoe, then embark. At this point
the production assistant reports back to the stage manager via walkietalkie that I'm deployed.
When I reach the stage-left dock, my dawn bird, Julie, is called down
from the waiting station for load-in. After she enters the canoe, she stands
and spreads her huge wings so a technician can fine tune the spotlight
secured to the front of the canoe, which will shine on her during the
performance. Once the technician gives the thumbs up and Julie is seated
with wings folded, I push off from the dock to let the next dawn bird
canoeist into the slot. Then comes the crackle of walkie-talkies again,
reporting that I have been deployed from the stage-left dock. Once all the
canoeists have their dawn birds on board, we begin the trip to the other
side of the lake to take up covert position number 1. This daily
deployment routine has become dubbed Operation Dawn Bird.
This morning there is an extra bit of business that needs attention. The
war canoes with their large installations have been having a hard time
finding – and holding – their positions on the lake. The unsettled weather
has brought a fair bit of wind and chop, which has been blowing them
around. Unfortunately, you can't mark a lake with stage tape, so small
wooden markers, the size of a cutting board, have been anchored in
position to help the canoeists find their position. However, the problem is
that they can't find them in the dark.
One of the problems of modern life is the avoidance of
darkness as the nadir of 'enlightenment' in the great
swing of cosmic evolution. Just as today we deny the
dark side of our nature, we have also choked off physical
darkness in our lives – a matter, incidentally, which
makes it increasingly difficult to find suitable playing
spaces for the Patria series. It is precisely at night that
humanity's arrogant conquest of the world is most
evident. Everywhere there are puddles of electric lights,
even when there are no humans about, like urine traces
to which their owners will eventually return to establish
their territorial sovereignty. From the air at night one
315
views the earth and ripples of electric lights like strings
of pearls or the starry sky turned upside down. Even in
cloud or fog one sees the blush of civilization reflected
thickly in the air. How far must one travel to find
darkness? No city knows it any longer, nor even most
rural areas as the electric glare worms its way into every
crevice of existence.
Patria pg.176
When I paddle my canoe over to the stage-left dock, Jerrard is there and
asks me to take him out to the three markers to fasten glowsticks to the
markers. I'm happy to oblige except I'm wondering how we are going to
find the rafts when there aren't any glow sticks on them to begin with. It's
a little after 5 a.m. and despite the fact that there is supposedly a moon
somewhere overhead, the cloud cover has intensified over the past few
days making it as black as the inside of a wood stove. There is no
moonlight, no starlight, no distinction between black water and black sky.
I then remember I'm wearing a headlamp, so I push off like a miner going
down a dark shaft, beaming my little light as we go. We navigate about
the portion of the lake where the markers should be. We eventually find
them and Jerrard affixes the glow sticks. We complete our mission but
then the next challenge is to get back to shore. Again, there aren't any
lights to act as reference points. It's just really, really dark – unlike
anything I've ever experienced. In fact, it's so dark I become disoriented
and lose my bearings. We start to drift uncertainly.
I wonder for a moment if this is providence opening the door for me to
speak my mind to Jerrard. Is it an opportunity to tell him how I feel about
his picking someone else to do the role of the Presenter? I could tell him
what an excellent job I would have done and how perfect it would have
been for me, the person writing Murray's biography, to do the role of the
Presenter, so I could write about the show from that perspective. I could
also tell him I know the only reason I didn't get the role is not because he
didn't think I could do it, but because he needed more canoeists and
thought that if he used someone else for the Presenter it would leave me
no choice but to be a canoeist. And now we're both lost in a canoe – adrift
in darkness because he couldn't see the light when casting the show.
I don't say anything. We drift in silent darkness for awhile. Eventually we
hear voices on the shore, which helps us reorient, and we paddle back to
the dock. When we arrive, Jerrard disembarks and I get back to my usual
deployment procedure, hoping he noted what a lousy canoeist I am.
The Ears Have It
Because of this deviation from my usual deployment routine, the other
dawn bird canoeists have already left for the pre-show position, leaving
me alone to navigate to the other side. I feel somewhat daunted by this, as
it's still really, really dark – nothing but blackness in every direction. It's
316
like someone has put a bucket over my head and I can't see a thing. I've
never experienced anything like it and I'm concerned I could end up in the
wrong part of the lake. The upshot is that it forces me to rely on my ears
instead of my eyes, something I'm sure would please Murray.
As I cautiously paddle, I listen to the musicians warming up at their
various positions along the shoreline. At the far end of the lake I hear a
tuba, which I know is near where I'm supposed to go. With the sound of
the tuba doing scales guiding me, I make my way to the other side. With
white knuckles wrapped on the paddle, I finally reach the far shore. With
the scantest of visual assistance, I back my canoe into position next to a
dead tree that conveniently lies in the water, giving me a place to park.
Relieved, I sing silent praises to the oft under-esteemed tuba. Thank you
tuba, I will never think of you the same way. And thank you ears!
Next comes the waiting. We sit in silence until our first cue. For me, the
waiting is actually exciting. Part of the fun is hearing the bats circling
about, and sensing how close they come to my face without actually
touching. There are also several beavers around who are wondering what's
going on. They make their presence, or perhaps displeasure, known with
the occasional hefty tail slap.
This is also a time for me to get to know my dawn bird better. Julie is a
local, who has been involved in both of the previous Patria Productions
here. She has a dance school in Haliburton and was able to supply Murray
with dancers for The Enchanted Forest and The Palace of the Cinnabar
Phoenix. When I ask her if she ever thought she would be dancing in a
canoe, I learn that she can neither paddle nor swim. I thank her for the
added pressure, and promise I'll do my best to keep her on the water rather
than in it.
Catching the Cue
During this morning's rainy rehearsal, we dawn bird canoeists have a hard
time catching the cue that signals when we should stop circling Wolf and
turn our canoes inward – into a circle to face him. Right now the cue is to
count sixteen gongs over eight minutes, then turn on the last gong to face
Wolf. But keeping track of the number of gongs is not easy when you're
paddling a canoe across a windy lake in the dark, keeping a V-formation
with five other canoes, transitioning into a straight line part way and then
eventually a circle. Add to this a person standing up in the canoe in front
of you, waving an eight-foot wing span in front of a spotlight which is
shining between her legs into your face – and it becomes an impossible
feat. I've not once been able to count the gongs and usually react the same
as the other canoeists, “Now? Do we turn now? Is it now?”
To further the possibility of distraction, there is a chorus of singers on
shore all making bird sounds during this time. Murray has the singers
doing everything from a Whip-poor-will to a Nuthatch to a White-throated
sparrow. I know from earlier discussions with Murray that he owes the
317
inspiration for this to Ludwig Koch's work on creating speech-sounds. I
really enjoy it, it's a surreal moment, but also a potentially distracting one.
It's supposed to be an invitation for real dawn birds to join in. The intent
of this invocation, which Murray had in mind while scoring the music, is
actually working and the birds are responding. So everyone is listening for
the response of wildlife rather than counting intermittent gongs.
When we are called into the shore and given notes from Murray and
Jerrard, we are asked why the cue isn't working. I wince when one of the
younger canoeists says the problem is the score. Murray jumps up, score
in hand. According to him, the problem is not hard to fix – you have the
composer on-site. Murray offers a few options to remedy the situation.
Would we like a descending glissando from a horn instead of the
sixteenth gong? He mimics the horn sound. Or would we prefer an
ascending glissando. He again mimics exuberantly. I can see how Murray
is most at home when working, and enjoys a compositional conundrum.
We canoeists come to a consensus that an ascending glissando would
work best. Within moments Murray brings the french-horn player over to
give us an example of the sound. This settles the revised cue and gives us
hope that we can put this nagging problem to rest.
Nature's Reflection
After a post-lunch nap, I go down to the lake to wash my face. It's not
raining but there's a heavy dampness, or what I heard someone call
"highly saturated air." As I lean over the lake, I see above me the top of a
tall pine, across the small bay, reflected in the water. The reflection is
upside-down, pointing down at me. It makes for a beautiful image in the
mirror of the lake. As I reach out my finger and touch the top of the tree, I
think of Michelangelo's painting of God and Adam touching.
Tree and me.
Earth and tree.
Earth and me.
Sacred geometree.
I draw inner refreshment from a poetic moment. I have always wanted to
write more poetry but never felt justified in taking time from the busyness
of life to write something no one else would necessarily read. If it wasn't
something I was going to show to others, such as a book about Murray,
why would I write it? However, here I don't feel that way. Being outdoors
makes it feel like all of nature is witness to my thoughts. And it feels like
it would be injurious to the heart if I withheld the inspiration it holds. I sit
and stare a long time at the poet in the water.
Poet, poet, underwater
where do the waves of inspiration come from?
From the depths below
318
or the sky above?
Or from both meeting at the surface
and scribing with ripples on the water?
Campfire Steam
Lots of steam gets blown off at this evening's campfire. Anecdotes are
traded, each illustrating the difficulties of working under these
circumstances; shortage of resources, the relentless wet weather, living in
the wilderness in close quarters with others, problems with
communication – both technical and human – and people doing things
they're not trained for.
There's a lot of beer drinking going on too, which seems to have become
the norm – the cases of empties are mounting up behind the cook-tent.
And, if my sense of smell is not mistaken, there's even a bit of wackytabaccy in the air.
Whoever made the schedule was kind enough to introduce the early
rehearsals gradually. It allows us to adjust our evening activities slowly,
which have evolved into campfire singing, swilling beer, and throwing
cans at raccoons to keep them out of the garbage.
Even though it's hard to pull away from a campfire at 7:00 p.m., while it's
still light, call-time is call-time whether one has successfully managed to
get eight hours of sleep or not. I try to discreetly get up and leave for my
tent but some of the younger canoeists accuse me of being a party-pooper.
This leads into a debate as to whether it's better to stay up and party until
call-time or go to bed for a few hours and then get up in the middle of the
night. Some of the teens insist that staying up all night then sleeping in the
morning is easier than sleeping for a few hours then trying to wake up in
the middle of the night. I wish them well in attempting the former, while
leaving to do the latter.
Day 6: Rise and Rain
Following the numeric sequence, today's 4 a.m. rehearsal has me setting
my alarm for 3 a.m. Upon awakening, I maintain my ritual of morning
meditation. The more regularly I do it, the easier and more effective it
seems to be. However, as I sit in meditation this morning I'm distracted by
something. Rain on the roof of my tent. It's starting to rain – again.
The rain this week hasn't been continuous but it has been displaying its
sovereignty – starting just when we want to begin rehearsing. I don't sense
any intentional animosity in the weather, but it may be testing our mettle
at this stage of wedding ourselves to the environment. Due to the tight
rehearsal schedule, the directive from Murray is, unless there are
thunderbolts shooting down from Heaven, rehearse – rain or shine.
In light of this, I'm quite pleased that somehow I managed to pack three
hats. By rotating through them, I've been able to have something dry on
my head while fending off each new outpouring of precipitation – until
319
that one becomes saturated. Then I rotate to the next hat. But apparently
my challenges with water are nothing compared with the stories I've heard
around the campfire from those less accustomed to tenting. Some have
left their flaps open during rehearsals only to return and find everything
inside soaking wet. And those who opted to pitch in the gulley now have
puddles lining the bottom of their tents.
Finishing my morning meditation, I pick up my notebook from my dry
tent floor and wonder how I've managed to keep it from getting soaked,
considering it's constantly with me and often open in the rain while I jot
thoughts. After putting on my rain gear, I venture out into the wetness to
see what today will give me to write about.
Jerrard – Humble Beginnings
When I arrive at the cook-tent, I'm met with a surprise. There is a hot
breakfast being served – bacon, eggs, hash browns and toast, all done on
the barbecue. This is in contrast to the cold cereal and fruit we usually
serve ourselves. With all the challenges of wetness, one of the cooks
wanted to make sure we were happy campers, and got up early to give us
this treat.
With a steaming plate in hand, I see Jerrard eating alone, and trying to
keep clear of the run-off from the sides of the tarps. I sit next to him and
say, “We'll be laughing about this rain a year from now, so we may as well
laugh about it now.” He smiles back. I compliment him on the realisticlooking quality of Wolf's coat, even when it's soaking wet. He says he
designed it after studying wolves at the Royal Ontario Museum, so
everything, including the mechanistic movement, is authentic-looking. I
then ask for more information on how he got mixed up with Murray and
working on crazy things like this.
“Murray was looking for a designer to work on the first production of The
Princess of the Stars at Heart Lake in 1981. He had contacted some well
known theatre designers but either they weren't interested in working on
it, or Murray wasn't interested in working with them. Then Murray
approached the Ontario College of Art and Design who put him in touch
with me. I had just graduated from the school, specializing in maskmaking.
“When Murray contacted me, I got really excited about it. I was looking
for work experience and this seemed like an incredible opportunity. I told
Murray, 'I really want to do this.' But when Murray arrived at my home in
Toronto for a more in-depth discussion, I discovered that what he really
wanted weren't masks but someone to construct what seemed like giant
floats for a parade. I took on the task and ironically got assistance from a
neighbour who was constructing a float for Caribana in his backyard.
“Then I went up to Murray's place in Maynooth to work on the project. I
stopped at the Bancroft drugstore where they had a stuffed wolf on the
320
shelf. The taxidermy wasn't very good and it looked kind of comical but I
asked to borrow it. I took it to Maynooth and used it as a template to weld
up a frame of a wolf, covered with chicken wire. Murray watched me
construct it through his window while he worked on the music.”
Jerrard says they used his design for Wolf when the Banff Centre for the
Arts did a production of The Princess of the Stars in 1985. Then in 1998,
when Murray did a production of the show at Wild Cat Lake in the
Haliburton Forest, Jerrard invited a bunch of friends to attend his course
at the Haliburton School of the Arts, where they designed and built the
Three-Horned Enemy we have here for this show.
Such are the details of how Murray and Jerrard's long-running, if not
legendary, collaboration has unfolded. Jerrard says, since they met, he has
worked on all of Murray's shows, as well as doing other things like taking
care of the Patria website. And now, he is co-directing with Murray on
this show, making his directorial début. Coming back to the realities of
directing, Jerrard informs me that, despite the rain, we need to run parts of
the show to see how the upgraded lights are working in the canoes.
Bailing
Back in the canoe, in addition to stronger car batteries for the spotlights,
we have been outfitted with proper bailers, as opposed to the cans we
were previously using. Part of the problem is that because the canoes are
outfitted with so much rigging, they are left tied at the dock each night
rather than pulled up on shore and turned over. Thus they are catch basins
for any precipitation. I estimate the accumulated rain in the bottom of my
canoe this morning is about three inches, so I'm thankful for the bailer. I
start using it right away in hopes of keeping my now dry shoes, dry.
Water, water everywhere,
in and outside my canoe.
I can only take so much –
not to mention my shoes.
After I finish bailing and deploy into the dark, we run through some of the
entrances of the show so Jerrard can see how the lighting looks. When it
comes time for the Three-Horned Enemy to enter, it is a powerful
moment. With its fearsome-looking bow and stern lit up, the ThreeHorned Enemy comes charging across the lake from a dark corner. It is
truly one of the most exciting moments in the show, with its loud
screeches, scattering the dawn birds. The sounds made by actor Christian
Bök, who makes use of a megaphone, are as frightful as any sound one
could imagine. Terrifying is the malevolent quality of his harassing tones,
made with a profusion of labials and compact vowels.
We run through the dawn bird entrance where we light up our canoes one
at a time in succession. I wish I could witness what it looks like from the
321
shore but unfortunately, being in the canoe, I can only take other people's
word for it when they say it is stunning.
When we return to the dock we are called together for notes. Murray sits
quietly in his purple rain-pants, puffing on his pipe and looking the most
serene I've seen him since we started. Despite the fact that some of the
canoeography has been scaled back due to the shortage of canoeists, there
don't seem to be any dampened spirits. Jerrard seems extremely pleased
and says a lot was learned during that run-through, and is appreciative of
our heroic efforts to perfect things – while weathering the elements . He
states that the breathtaking beauty of the boats lit up on the dark lake
makes every ounce of effort unquestionably worthwhile.
Good-bye Jake – Hello Murray
This evening's campfire again provides a forum to reflect, discuss and
joke about some of the day's trials and tribulations. Stories emerge, such
as the war canoe that nearly rammed the amphitheatre seating, a canoeist
falling into the lake, a tenor's encounter with an unidentified animal in the
woods, and a few meltdowns between crew members. But the big
conversation this evening is how we lost one of our canoeists – the local
fellow, Jake. It had nothing to do with his canoeing. It had everything to
do with his drinking. Last night he decided he wasn't going to sleep before
rehearsal and stayed up consuming one beer after another – until every
bottle and can on site was empty.
When the rest of the company showed up for the 4 a.m. rehearsal he was
still conscious – but hardly in any shape to paddle. He was far tipsier than
a canoe, as one person put it. It was deemed that his actions were not only
uncalled for but unsafe. Therefore he was dismissed, which is a big blow
because we're already short of canoeists and now we're short one more.
The laugh-getter of the evening is that Murray is going to have to start
paddling to keep the show afloat.
The Enigma of Evil
Aspects of today's rehearsal continue to ring in my ears, particularly the
horrifying screams and derisive laughter of the Three-Horned Enemy. The
monstrous sight of him charging across the water, three horns towering
over the bow of the war canoe, for some reason is replaying in my mind.
Listen! Look!
It is Three-Horned Enemy!
Hear how he comes with flashing energy,
weeds slithering at his feet.
The thief who holds the Princess captive
churns the water insolently,
frightening the Dawn Birds.
But Wolf will resist him.
Hold fast Wolf! Hold fast!
322
The question of evil comes into the discussion around the campfire. One
of the canoeists who is familiar with Murray's works says that evil plays a
part in all of Murray's shows. The Three-Horned Enemy in this show
appears in various guises in different parts of Patria. In The Enchanted
Forest, the Shapeshifter is another representation of the Three-Horned
Enemy who reappears again in And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon. He is
the god Mercurius in The Black Theatre of Hermes Trismigestos. I'm well
acquainted with this presence as the Minotaur in Asterion, which is also
its form in The Crown of Ariadne and The Greatest Show.
Light and darkness, high and low, good and evil – they
are recurrent themes in the Patria series right from the
outset of The Princess of the Stars where the savage
unconscious (Wolf) is drawn out of the dark forest by
the spark of starlight (Ariadne) into the presence of the
omniscient sun. The theme can be traced repeatedly in
the ensuing works.
Patria pg.176
Someone asks why Murray doesn't just use the same evil character
throughout Patria. Another person answers that not only would it be
unimaginative theatrically but it wouldn't be true to the nature of evil,
which relies on a chameleon nature to mask its moves. Theatrically, each
manifestation of evil brings its own characteristics and allows Murray
more breadth in demonstrating the mercurial nature of evil. The hero with
a thousand faces has to face evil with a thousand faces.
A question about the three horns comes up. Even though Murray doesn't
include much in the way of Judeo-Christian imagery in Patria, someone
points out that the three horns are reminiscent of the three-pronged trident
of the cliché Devil. This image apparently evolved out of the preChristian iconography associated with Neptune, God of the sea, known
for his temper and vengeful nature.
I come up with a question: “By putting this character into the story is
Murray showing how, in initiation, we have to deal with him? Is Murray’s
re-mythologization of the hero's journey stating that darkness is not just
the absence of light but that darkness is an entity unto itself?”
I add the question, “Is the Devil, or Satan, real or made-up? Does this
being exist or is he an invention for theatrical purposes?” Someone states
that the idea of a Devil is as outdated as the idea of a flat earth, and
should be relegated to the trash-bin of quaint historical concepts. I counter
with, “This is perhaps exactly what the enemy wants. The greatest
strategy may be to get people to think it doesn't exist. Is the secret to its
success the secrecy of its moves?”
I also suggest that reviving the concept of a spiritual opponent, which
appears to be what Murray is doing, may be better understood with better
323
terminology. I toss out the term “World Opponent” as an intelligent force
that opposes evolution. This certainly stirs things up and the conversation
could go on all night – or at least until call-time, which will be 3 a.m.
tomorrow. That might be easy to manage for some of the younger
canoeists who have apparently obtained caffeine pills to help stay awake.
As for me, I tell them to let me know what discoveries their discussions
turn up, as I head to bed. When I get to my tent I look up the reference to
the Three-Horned Enemy at the end of the script .
In the meantime, it is the Three-Horned Enemy who
rules the earth. If you meet him, show him respect, for
you are mere humans and cannot do otherwise.
Day 7: Wild Awakening
This morning the call-time is ratcheted up to its last notch of 3 a.m.,
getting us on par with an actual show. When my alarm goes off at 2 a.m., I
sit up and start munching on the peach I brought to the tent last night
intending to enjoy it upon awakening. All of a sudden I hear the sound of
something pounding down the path toward my tent. I'm barely awake and
have no idea what it is.
It suddenly stops running – right outside my tent. I stop breathing and
listen. I hear heavy breathing – very heavy breathing – mixed with
grunting. It's as if, whatever it is was running from something. Or is it
running toward something? I look at the half-eaten peach in my hand. Part
of me wants to believe it's the one dog on-site. Another part of me realizes
that is wishful thinking. I fumble to remember the bear safety rules Jerrard
taught us the first night. Noise – I need to make some noise. I put down
the peach, which – having in my tent, I now recall, is a contravention of
bear safety rules – and may be the very thing the bear is after.
The heavy breathing about five feet behind my head continues, so I clap
my hands once then listen. There is some movement – rustling in the
bushes. I clap my hands a few more times and listen again. I now hear
clawing at the tree behind my tent. If I could break beyond the paralysis
I'm currently experiencing to muster some self-talk, I would no doubt say
something like, “Holy crap, Jesse – you have a bear outside your tent!”
Both my goosebumps and active imagination kick into high gear as I
imagine myself in a stand-off with a big black bear. Somehow I'm not
comfortable just sitting and seeing which way the stand-off goes. Will the
bear climb the tree? Or will it attack the tent to devour the edibles inside –
my peach and me? I grab my headlamp and unzip the tent door. Standing
up, I swing around in the direction of the bear and point the light toward
the tree. Without a moment's rehearsal, I start making a sound that would
upstage the screeching of the Three-Horned Enemy. More rustling comes
from the bushes.
Next, I take a leap of faith. I turn and start moving. I resist running like
the frightened doe I feel inside – which would be contrary to another bear
324
safety rule. Instead I walk slowly but very purposefully in the opposite
direction of the rustling. From a tent down the hill I hear the sound of a
human voice, “Jesse, what the hell was that?” Not wanting to stop and
explain, I simply say, “A bear! Please listen to see if I make it to the cooktent alive!”
When I arrive at the cook-tent, the people milling around seem as
weirded-out as I must look – dashing in wearing only underwear. Again
wanting to keep explanations short, I simply say, “There's a bear outside
my tent! There's a bear outside my tent!” It takes a while for this to sink in
with this groggy group, who are pretty much debilitated until they can put
together some coffee and sugar. I feel like a wild-eyed madman running
around half-naked, going up to anyone who will hear me, “There's a bear
outside my tent.” I get about the same reaction as if I were asking for
spare change.
Suddenly I hear a loud shrieking sound. Startled, I look around and shout,
“What the hell was that?” Apparently, someone with a few years'
experience in the woods heard my maniacal mutterings and grabbed the
megaphone with a siren on it and sounded it down the path in the
direction of my tent. Satisfied that every animal within several kilometres
has been scared out of its skin and is running in the opposite direction, I
feel safe enough to head back to my tent to put on some clothes.
There's little time to dwell on the situation. The rehearsal schedule isn't
going to alter on account of my near-bear experience, so I'm quickly back
to the usual deployment procedure. But during the rehearsal, my
heightened sense of alarm is particularly sensitive to the Three-Horned
Enemy's entrance. This is a point in the show where I'm supposed to
paddle with everything I've got. This morning my emotional state is
heightened, which puts some added passion in my paddling. I'm struck by
the realization that an encounter with evil, symbolized by the ThreeHorned Enemy, must be far more daunting than any bear encounter could
be. My mind flashes on my time at Asterion and what I learned about the
Minotaur. Tears start welling up, as I reflect on the real dangers of
existence – things that would not only imperil the mortal body but would
usurp our spirit. The tears make it difficult to see where I'm going, causing
my direction to be more erratic than usual. Fortunately, it doesn't matter at
this point in the show, where the dawn birds are supposed to look like
they're fleeing the enemy as we zig-zag to our next position.
Bears and Beers
After another full day of rehearsing, people are keen to relax around the
campfire with the usual jollifications – and drying of socks and boots on
sticks, as if we were roasting marshmallows. No time has been wasted in
replenishing the beer supply since being cleaned out by Jake last night.
Someone made a trip to town so the campfire tradition could continue
unimpeded, libations in hand, blowing off steam.
325
Questions arise about my bear encounter this morning – finally giving me
an opportunity to tell my harrowing tale to an awake audience, which
includes a new canoeist who arrived today at the beckoning of one of the
teen canoeists. He's obviously an uninitiated city-slicker, so I take every
opportunity to dramatize the ferocity of the situation for his benefit. This
makes it even more entertaining for the others to watch, although it would
be even more hair-raising storytelling were it actually dark. But the
campfire time has been notched up to 5:00 p.m. in the hope that people
will quieten down by 7:00 so those who choose to go to bed can get about
seven hours sleep. This is with a view of stemming the growing rift
between those who want to retire early and those who want a good oldfashioned campfire each night with the usual storytelling, music-making
and carrying-on.
As far as my bear experience goes, there are others who heard the bear
crashing through the woods after the siren was sounded. Some of us went
to look at the path it broke through the bush. The conclusion is that it was
scavenging around the cook-tent for a late night snack when someone
spooked it, causing it to run down the trail to my tent.
Retiring to my tent, I dispense with the habit of bringing fruit to enjoy
upon awakening. Furthermore, I employ Murray's magic for discouraging
groundhogs on his farm, by urinating around my tent to mark my turf. I
then enjoy a bit of poetry before slipping into sleep.
I caught a fleeting glimpse of some hindquarters this morning.
I know not what it was – a rabbit, lynx, perhaps a small fox.
It reminded me of the many hindquarters I've seen in the past,
the tail end of a dream, a fleeting reverie,
a vision I thought I got – then gone.
Are these appendages of the Princess,
as she calls from the lake,
coming to the surface for a gasp of air
before being submerged again into murky depths?
Day 8: Dress Rehearsal
I hear the sound of my alarm followed by the sound of a howling wolf. Is
it Wolf getting excited about another confrontation with the ThreeHorned Enemy? The moon is so bright I can read 2 a.m. on my clock
without a flashlight. I climb out of my tent and look up at the sky. It's
mostly clear except for a few cumulus clouds, illuminated by a nearly full
moon hovering against a star-spangled backdrop. Would it be too much to
hope that the wet weather is finally over?
Today is dress rehearsal and there will be a small audience – staff from
the Haliburton Forest. After deployment, I paddle myself and my dawn
bird to first position on the far side of the lake. As in any pre-show period,
there are the usual sounds of musicians and singers warming up. There is
also banging about in the canoes, as canoeists manoeuvre themselves into
326
a comfortable position to settle in for the forty-minute wait. I look up to
the sky and give my inner poet some airtime.
The Warrior looks to the sky
and sees it is limitless;
he looks at the earth
and knows it is not.
A whistle is heard from the other side of the lake – the conductor, David
Buley, signalling for silence. Quiet ensues. In the woods behind me I hear
the crash of a falling tree. It's the first time I've ever heard a tree fall in the
forest. It makes quite a sound. On the side of the lake to my right,
something falls followed by a grunt – presumably percussionist number 3.
Despite the levity, both in the light mist on the water and the excitement
in the air, gravity is quite active this morning.
The rehearsal runs fairly well. At the session afterwards there is a long list
of things to fine tune. And there are some chafed nerves and simmering
frustrations over things that have never gone right – cracks in the show
that need fixing. Jerrard asks the dawn bird canoeists meet with him. He
points out that we're not working together. He's right. It has been a tough
haul trying to master synchronized canoeing. On top of that, some
canoeists have been doing double-duty, helping the construction crew
when we're not rehearsing. Furthermore, sleep deprivation has eroded the
energy of those who like to stay up late and party, so achieving the one
mind needed for elegant canoeography has been elusive.
We spend an hour with Jerrard just talking. We go over the script and
discuss all the cues and their respective moves. We even set up a minilake in the sand with pieces of bark as boats, so we can show each other
what we think we're supposed to be doing. But the conversation moves
beyond this into the soul realm. At this late date, Jerrard takes
considerable time to build up our team spirit – the magic ingredient that
has been lacking. It's not that there's too many alpha males trying to lead
the pack, it's that we're not moving as a pack at all. Identifying this helps
and our discussion manages to unite and excite us.
David Buley – A Conductor's Perspective
At the evening campfire, which could technically now be called the lateafternoon campfire, I approach David Buley to get the conductor's
perspective on things.
Jesse ~ Let me first ask how you came to know Murray.
David ~ We met fifteen years ago in Halifax when he was the composer
in residence at the Scotia Festival of Music. I was teaching music in
public school. I knew some of Murray's music and had read some of his
books on music education. I was intrigued but not rabidly converted. At a
workshop on music education he talked about the Wolf Project, which got
me excited. The next year I joined and have been a member ever since.
327
Jesse ~ And now you're a “rabidly converted” wolf! You're obviously also
involved in other aspects of Murray's work, like conducting this show.
David ~ Yes, working with the composer on a show is a very interesting
process. It's not the same as working with the printed score of some dead
composer. I enjoy the collaborative aspect of working with Murray. A
piece like The Princess of the Stars invites a lot of collaboration. You're
also collaborating with the environment. You have to be very sensitive to
the location because it has a huge effect on the performance.
The Princess of the Stars is conceived for a situation. It
can only be presented when the conditions are right.
This is both its birthright and its stigma. Like the art of
ancient times it is wedded to its time and place by
indissoluble links which guarantee that it will never be
successfully packaged or sent spinning on a licensed
rerun into the armchairs of the indolent and sleepy,
wherever on earth they may be.
The Princess of the Stars score pg. 5
Jesse ~ What other shows have you worked on?
David ~ Zoroaster. It's a piece done in total darkness, similar to this, so
you're not working as a conductor in the usual sense. It's more like a
ritual. I'm interested in ritual-theatre. A piece of music is not just a
performance but an investment in a sacred experience – it becomes a
transformative experience. The performers are doing something that is
life-changing. That happens a lot with Murray's work. I have been
intrigued by that.
Jesse ~ How has your experience of this show been so far?
David ~ The production is good. It's a good team and been a good process,
apart from all the rain.
Jesse ~ I've been wondering how everyone is managing with their scores
in this weather.
David ~ It's taken me a while to figure out how to do this sort of thing.
Everything goes in plastic sheets so it doesn't get affected by the wet. And
I use clothes pegs to fasten the music down. I come prepared to deal with
the weather. I always try to convince others ahead of time, when they're
given scores, to be prepared to do the same. But for some reason no one
believes me when I say it's going to be windy. And there is always the
potential for rain. Most of the music is supposed to be memorized anyway
because it's being performed in the dark. But some people don't
understand that until they get here and realize there will be no light for
reading the score.
Jesse ~ Has that affected things at all? It seemed like something was
missed this morning.
328
David ~ We missed a cue this morning. Someone skipped ahead, which
affected someone else. There's nothing you can do to fix that here. In
dealing with a choir, if something goes wrong, you can usually give a
signal to fix it. But here there's no way to communicate with people in the
dark half a kilometre away. The work is structured to function largely
without the direction of a conductor anyway, so we rely on the musicians’
ability to listen to each other.
Jesse ~ Wow, that is a lot more responsibility for the musicians than when
they all sit together and have a conductor in front of them.
David ~ With this production all the performers arrive in the dark and
move to their spots in the dark. I don't actually see them before the show. I
can hear them warming up – but as I sit there, I think, I haven't actually
seen these people yet. So the community sense is quite different. We feel
it as we sit around the lake together in silence, which is actually a
wonderful experience. It's quite tangible.
Jesse ~ Do you know of other composers doing things like this?
David ~ I don't.
Jesse ~ It seems Murray gets his thrills out of attempting the impossible.
What is it like to work with Murray? I see both a complexity and
simplicity to him. It's enigmatic because he's so well read and quite
intellectual, but at times he's like a country bumpkin.
David ~ You're right. Under it all, Murray just likes to play. He can be
very serious and wants to be taken seriously, but at the same time he has a
sense of humour and can laugh at things. If I've learned anything from
Murray, it's that it's okay to play – to not try to be perfect because you
can't be perfect.
Jesse ~ You only have so much control over things anyway, especially out
here in this Schafer playground.
Thus, the environment is extremely important, not only
for the effect it has on the audience, but also for the
ways it is intended to affect the performers. Unlike an
indoor theatre, this is a living environment and
therefore utterly changeable at any moment. The
lighting alone is in a constant state of change and
atmospheric disturbances can arise at any moment.
Thus nature enters and shapes the success or failure of
The Princess of the Stars as much or more than any
human effort; and knowledge of this must touch the
performers, filling them with a kind of humility before
the grander forces of the work's setting. But as we
participate with these forces, allowing them to
influence us in every way, is it not possible to believe
that we as performers and audience are also influencing
329
them as well? ... Yes, there must be something of that
kind of faith in the minds of the participants as they
approach a performance of Princess.
The Princess of the Stars score pg. 4
During the campfire, I look up and see the moonrise for the first time
since we arrived. The cloud cover that has been hanging over us for most
of the week seems to be receding. David is evidently interested in
astronomy and points out that, not only is the moon going to be full for
the opening show, but a full eclipse is expected to happen right in the
middle of the performance. It sounds improbable – if not impossible.
However, if the weather keeps improving there will apparently be a
celestial sideshow for the opening of The Princess of the Stars.
Day 9: The Opening
2 a.m. and there is palpable excitement in the extremely clear air. The full
moon is brightly beaming in a cloudless sky. Like an orb mounted on a
ruler's sceptre, it shines down with grace, heralding nature as supreme.
Today we have perfect conditions. As we deploy in our canoes, I notice
how the moonlight reflects on the wetness of my paddle each time I pull it
out of the dark water. I'm not sure what it is but there is something present
beyond the natural environment. Something supernatural seems to be
waiting in the wings. Light and dark feel like they’re in a playful balance.
There is even a perfect amount of mist this morning, casting a spell no fog
machine or dry ice could ever simulate.
With our newly fostered team spirit, we dawn bird canoeists sail with
enthusiasm to the far end of the lake. The whistle for silence has not been
sounded yet, so I get a few moments for conversation with my dawn bird,
Julie. We talk about what kind of audiences will come to the show. She
says that when she told her friends in Haliburton about the show and what
time it started a lot responded, “Forget it!” I fall silent, feeling sorry for
the people who will miss this experience because of its start time. I feel
fortunate to experience it repeatedly.
Instead of a somnolent evening in upholstery, digesting
dinner or contemplating the one to follow, this work
takes place before breakfast. No intermission to crash
out to the bar and guzzle or slump back after a smoke. It
will be an effort to get up in the dark, perhaps drive a
great distance to arrive on a damp and chilly
embankment, sit and wait for the ceremony to begin.
And what ceremony? Dawn itself, the most neglected
masterpiece in the modern world.
The Princess of the Stars score pg. 5
The whistle signals for silence. Then there is the sound of buses bringing
the audience from the base camp. When they arrive they too sit in silence.
We all sit together in silence under the celestial canopy. As Murray says –
330
spaces of silence become reservoirs of strength. For me, it feels like the
first time in my life I've actually heard silence and felt it so tangible.
From silence something can be born.
Out of silence everything was born.
After everyone is sufficiently soaked in silence, the show begins. The
light of the Presenter's canoe emerges from a reedy inlet. It takes a full
fifteen minutes for him to reach the audience on the far shore, while he
calls hauntingly, “KÁNIOTÁI,” over and over. He has a message to bring.
He informs the audience of what has gone before, what has taken place in
the night, then thaumaturgically turns them into trees so they can be
invisible witnesses to what is about to come. If I had a say, my request
would be that I'm thaumaturgically turned into the Presenter and have the
experience of doing this part before the audience. I still wish Jerrard and
Murray had cast me in this role. But this is no time for grumbling about
the past – the present moment is pregnant with something.
The Impossible
The next scene starts. Everything is going as scripted so far. Then the
lunar eclipse begins, magically – because it's actually in synch with the
music, While following my canoe cues, I keep one eye on the sky. The
Moon Disk, starting as a full orb, diminishes bit by bit. It looks as if it's
alive, as it morphs and then vanishes before our eyes. It truly has the
mesmerizing effect of a classic magical illusion. As an encore, the Moon
continues its descent in the sky and in the face of an audience that would
have to be asleep to not be awestruck, it disappears behind the silhouette
of the treeline. This stellar event coincides beautifully with the finish of
the show.
As a result, the dawning sun is upstaged during this performance, as is the
entrance of the Sun Disk. But I don't think anyone is too concerned about
that. This once in a lifetime confluence of art and nature couldn't have
been any better had it been planned – unless it was planned? At the end of
the show everyone returns to the production tent. There is an excitement
in the air. Jerrard stands on a picnic table so everyone can see him, his
smile eclipsing his bald head.
“This show was phenomenal. There were over a hundred people in the
audience and it changed their lives. We have a show that is stunning. I've
been part of the production of this show four times and today's was by far
the best. The mist on the water was perfect. When the lights on the canoes
came up there were gasps in the audience. The music was superb – you
could hear everything. Canoeists, you did the impossible. Your energy
was great. Thank you. Thank you all. The hard work paid off. Nature was
in perfect cooperation with us. The full eclipse of the moon was
incredible. Now, if you can repeat that for another six shows...” He trails
off as everyone bursts into laughter.
331
Jerrard sees me looking at him. He smiles as if to say, “You better write
about this.” Indeed I will. And from that moment on, any grudge I have
felt toward Jerrard for not casting me as the Presenter vanishes. My soul
has been touched in a way that would make it impossible to
simultaneously harbour negative feelings. We are a team with each other
and with nature and that's all that matters now. I look around for Murray
to see how he's feeling about the opening show. I don't see him anywhere.
Was he even here? No one seems to know.
Where is the Princess?
I go to the base camp where breakfast is served to the audience as part of
their ticket – and to meet my sister, Susan, who came today with her
daughter. When I ask my sister what she thought of the show, she says she
was “moved and blown away” by both “the show on the lake and the
show in the sky.” Words barely suffice – the expression on her face
illuminates her enthusiasm.
I then turn to Paige, who is six years old and looking dreamy, if not tired
from the early morning. I wouldn't normally ask someone that age what
they think. I'd prefer to let her just enjoy the afterglow of the show rather
than require a response to what she witnessed but I can't resist a little
probing for a reaction to this unique event. However, Paige catches me
off-guard when she says nothing about the celestial side-show and
expresses disappointment about not getting to see the Princess. I then
realize a young child coming to see a show called The Princess of the
Stars would naturally expect to see a princess – like Cinderella. This gets
me thinking about the expectations of any audience member and the
myriad considerations when writing a piece of theatre for public
consumption. One factor is how people's expectations are shaped by the
marketing. The poster for this show has the face of a wolf floating in the
sky under the title The Princess of the Stars . How is one to interpret this?
Is the Princess a little on the hairy side? Or are we to anticipate that the
wolf will eat the Princess, as in Little Red Riding Hood?
After saying goodbye to Susan and Paige, I feel the need to go back to my
tent to pen some poetry, as well as release some tears in response to the
unutterable beauty I experienced this morning. Despite the fact that we
never saw the Princess of the Stars, I can still hear her haunting aria.
Sit and listen to the void,
there's nothing better than nothing.
Sit and listen to the voice,
because something from nothing is something.
The Princess beneath the surface,
too long submerged in shadowy reeds –
I come to thee.
332
Day 10: Another Opening
A hint of wind can be heard in the treetops this morning. Some small
clouds are passing by but the full moon is still dominant in the sky, giving
everyone ample light to make their way to their stations around the lake
for our forty minute wait. I enjoy again the thrill of bats flying in my face,
filling themselves with bugs. The beavers are particularly active this
morning, tails slapping at our presence. Some of the other canoeists have
found positions comfortable enough to catch another forty winks while
waiting. But I enjoy being awake to savour every moment. I don't want to
miss a thing, including contemplating infinite nothingness in silence. I can
dwell in that magic place where wind and water meet, waiting for what
will emerge out of nothingness.
The production of this work will always be tinged with
the excitement of a première. It will always be a theatre
of 'first nights only.'
Patria pg. 106
Then comes the sound of buses transporting people along the country road
to the lake. I think thankfully of the people who got up in the middle of
the night to join us and consider the effort it takes to get here. It requires
will – changing the time on their alarm clock, being surprised by the early
alarm, obeying the alarm, getting up and dressing in the middle of the
night, driving the car, getting on a bus, sitting outside, waiting in silence,
in the cool, in the dark. For what? I've heard Murray say this show will
never be recorded so people can sit at home and watch it on a television
screen. I understand now – to presume that could even be done would be a
gross misunderstanding of Murray’s intentions.
Here is a ceremony then, rather than a work of art. And
like all true ceremonies, it cannot be adequately
transported elsewhere. You can't poke it into a television
screen and spin it around the world with anything like a
quarter of a hope that something valuable may be
achieved. You must feel it, let it take hold of you by all
its means, only some of which have been humanly
arranged. You must go there, go to the site, for it will
not come to you. You must go there like a pilgrim on a
deliberate journey in search of a unique experience
which cannot be obtained by money or all the
conveniences of modern civilization.
Patria pg. 115
Murray says the best way to approach this show is as a pilgrimage.
Indeed, the trek to The Princess of the Stars is more than a theatre
experience, it is a modern pilgrimage, for people to connect with nature
and art. Or perhaps to connect with the spirit in art and nature. That would
be a good way to describe what happened when I first saw The Palace of
333
the Cinnabar Phoenix and was moved to meet Murray. Since then I've
been following him and his work to see where it will lead me. I guess I'm
on a pilgrimage. It makes me want to look at the rest of my life as an
ongoing pilgrimage.
The sound of buses stops. Silence reigns supreme for several minutes as
the audience settles into the lakeside seating. Then the show begins,
teasing us out of our immersion in the void, with seven minutes of the
Princess' haunting aria. The effect of the echo off the water, forest and
atmosphere is exquisite and incredibly moving. I feel the need to silently
weep. Do my tears come from the Princess stirring beneath the surface in
me? I'm reminded why I returned to see The Palace of the Cinnabar
Phoenix a second time last year. There is nothing like having your breath
taken away by beauty and having your heart opened spontaneously. It
feels unbelievable. My pilgrimage to a remote place in the woods is taking
me to a remote place in myself, a place not often visited – if ever.
Every sound casts a spell.
The Thinking Ear pg. 180
I'm on my knees. It's not only the best position for paddling, it's not bad
for prayer either, which feels like a natural thing to do at this moment. I
send up some gratitude – gratitude for the forces that have given us the
power to create things like this Patria production. I'm thankful for being in
this sacred space, fostering the marriage of art and nature. I'm thankful to
play a part in it.
As the aria continues to unfold, I'm overcome by another welling of
emotion and silently sob – allowing a few rivulets to flow from my eyes
and return to the lake. Would this not be required to release the Princess
from the depths? Part of me is wondering if anyone else around me is
feeling the same. Another part of me is glad it's dark so no one can see me
as I let down my mask and let out emotion. As much as I'm enjoying the
release, unfortunately the face of a crying man is not considered a pretty
sight in our society.
Today's performance comes off without a hitch. There is no eclipse of the
moon, but having that every day would upstage Murray's masterful use of
the sun as a prop. As Murray puts it – dawn is the most neglected
masterpiece in the modern world. This morning, the rising sun is the
prime celestial show, as the Sun Disk makes a grand entrance announcing
his edicts. I find it all so very inspiring.
I am blood brother to the wind,
sister with the waves.
I wear shoes of clay
yet contain the power of the sun.
334
At the Speed of the Sun
After the show, I go to the base camp to see what's happening there, and
who I might corner for an interview. I find a program from the show
sitting on a bench and have a look at it, as I haven't seen one yet. Among
all the names and biographies of the performers I get to see my name in
print as a canoeist. I also get to see the names of the honorary patrons of
Patria Productions, including The Right Honorable Adrienne Clarkson,
the Honorable David Crombie, Maureen Forrester, Bramwell Tovey,
Courtney Milne and Michele Landsberg.
I spot Murray eating breakfast with Eleanor at a picnic table outside the
cookshack. I sit down to join them. A couple passing by thank Murray for
the wonderful experience. They say they came from Owen Sound to see
the show. A woman approaches Murray and thanks him for the magic she
experienced this morning. Murray cannot suppress his look of pleasure.
He asks where she came from and finds out she came all the way from
Toronto just to see the show. More people pass by thanking Murray and
asking for autographs. Murray says he's pleased with the turnout – but
even more so with the mood of the audience.
I make a remark about the lunar eclipse during opening show. Murray
asks how it was.
“Amazing! Where were you?” I respond.
Murray discloses that he generally doesn't like to be at the opening of his
own shows. We begin discussing the show.
Jesse ~ The tempo of the show is quite slow.
Murray ~ By nature it's slow – its gestures are minimal. Sometimes it's so
slow, it's as if nothing is happening. But something is always happening.
You have to allow a certain mood to alight so you can be transfixed and
experience it that way.
The tempo of the production of The Princess of the
Stars is never fast. Even when Wolf and the ThreeHorned Enemy engage in battle, they move at the pace
of an armada rather than that of modern warfare. It will
take the Presenter fifteen minutes to come down the lake
to the audience area at the beginning of the show, an act
which prepares us for the tempo of the entire work. But
something strange happens when nothing happens. The
senses are sharpened with alertness, ready to print the
decisive action when it occurs. There can be little doubt
that primitive rituals are deliberately structured in this
way. Long informationless interludes are punctuated by
sudden events, which cause an adrenalin rush to the
brain, making the experience memorable.
Patria pg. 108
335
Jesse ~ Instead of being constantly stimulated, it's the lack of stimulation
that allows for something inside to open up.
Murray ~ The show moves at the speed of the sun, which is really the
speed of the earth. Tempos are much faster today than ever in history.
People in the past didn't live this fast. If you were going by horse and cart
from one town to another, it took you all day to go the 20 kilometres and
home again. That's completely different from the expectations of today.
Slowness isn't something we celebrate these days – we expect speed,
directness and efficiency.
Jesse ~ And the unhealthy effects aren't necessarily immediately
noticeable. But what you're offering is healthy for the heart. It allows the
heart to be held in a healthy rhythm and be more in tune with nature.
Feelings and emotions have time to emerge and express themselves.
You're really going against the current with this. Today's media tries to
pack as much as it can into two-and-a-half seconds.
And so in the slowness of the breaking dawn we are
alert to the smallest change. Perhaps the eyes wander to
the hills and notice they have become lighter. Or we
notice a ripple on the water as a breeze skims across it.
Or we hear an animal scurrying for cover in the
underbrush... In the slowness tiny events become
magnified; large events are haunting.
Patria pg. 108
Playing with Perception
Murray ~ In some periods of history, the visual is more important than the
sound environment. In a visual environment, you are on the outside
looking in. In a sonic environment you're at the centre of the action.
Jesse ~ Even though the sound puts you at the centre of the action it's not
hitting you over the head.
Murray ~ The sound is no more than 50 or 60 decibels because of the
distance involved. It might be interesting sound but it's not loud sound.
Most people are used to listening to music at 100 decibels, so this requires
a new mode of listening. And the sound source is blurred – people don't
know exactly where it's coming from. If you asked them to point to the
Princess, they'd point anywhere in a 180 degree radius. Which is perfect
because she's supposedly under the water. So it's about losing your
balance – loosening the focus you normally have in today's world where
everything is up close.
A clairaudient listener knows how to listen at all depths
and distances. In the crowded life of the city, distant
listening is no longer possible and the skill is lost. It is
totally absent from the concert hall and recording studio,
and contemporary listeners have forgotten how sound
336
can be 'sweetened by distance' or can become unfocused
by the drift of air currents or the blur of rain. Their CD
players don't produce this kind of impressionism.
Patria pg. 228
Murray ~ To a certain extent it's the same with sight. In urban
environments you can't see very far. Only in the country can you indulge
in distant viewing. You're looking out at the lake, in the darkness – is that
a mountain or clouds? Are those trees or people? What's back there? You
can't quite make it out. But little by little, over the hour-and-a-half,
outlines emerge and things get clearer. When I moved into a log cabin in
1975, it was completely different from urban living. You're listening and
looking at things that are much more mysterious. You could be looking at
a stump and wondering, “Is that a person crouching there?” You begin to
see these kinds of visions and spirits in the forest. I started to think about
Tapio, the Finnish god of the forest. Tapio obviously influences my work.
Jesse ~ You have gone to a lot of effort to create an environment where
people can have that kind of experience. It allows for a psychological
projection of sorts.
Murray ~ The imagination can become active. When the Presenter begins
to appear off in the distance, you see a tiny light in the middle of the lake
and want to know what it is. Your imagination asks, “Do I see the
Princess? Is something coming out of the water? What is it?”
Jesse ~ My sister came yesterday with my niece, who wanted to know
why she never got to see the Princess. She wanted to see Cinderella or
something coming out of the lake.
Murray ~ (laughing) That's the whole point of the prologue – the Princess
is held captive in the lake. Our job is to get her out.
Jesse ~ It's revolutionary, what you're doing. It runs counter to the
Disneyfication of fairy tales, where every detail is laid out in celluloid.
Here, people are required to conjure the Princess within themselves in
order to perceive her. Blurred looking and distant listening allows for it.
We can ask, “What does she look like? What is she saying?”
Murray ~ Then your imagination comes up with answers. The active
imagination has to supply what's missing.
Forest Walk
As part of the program for people attending the show, Murray is guiding
audience members on an optional forest walk. A sizable group is
gathering for this morning's walk. While waiting, a person comments on
the variety of sounds in the show. Murray points out that the libretto of
the Three-Horned Enemy is made up of all the ugliest consonant clusters
in the alphabet, while the aria of the Princess consists of vowels
suggestive of distance.
337
“My note to the performers reads – do not shy away from the strange
sounds of this language. It is a magic language. Deliver its phonetics
firmly and with faith that you understand and control its properties. When
you repeat the words and phrases try to hit the right resonance that will
release their magic powers. This is not the language of poetry or of
fiction, where words 'stand for' objects or ideas. These words are
concrete, palpable and complete in themselves. They are themselves the
objects and when uttered properly those objects come to life. This is what
you must think when you are performing – you are creating the world
with your mouth.”
Brooke Dufton, the soprano who sings the Princess' aria, is among us, so
Murray asks her to tell the people what she does. Brooke explains that she
sings from a place in the woods on the far side of the lake. But the
Princess is supposed to be singing from within the lake, so she never sings
directly toward the audience but rather back into the forest, altering her
direction to diffuse the projection. It creates the illusion that she is singing
from under the water.
If the singers knew how to read the environment, they
would be able to position themselves to take advantage
of wind currents, rather than waiting for the director to
tell them where to stand. I am convinced that outdoor
performers of the past knew these secrets; performers of
environmental music dramas today need to relearn them.
Reflection and refraction might also play a role in
achieving the desired effect. There is no point in always
facing an audience who cannot see you.
Patria pg. 227
As the walk begins, the first and last thing Murray says is that it would be
best if no one spoke. It becomes an interesting exercise in group silence.
There is a variety of artistic experiences along the way, in addition to the
beautiful surroundings of old-growth forest. Art installations, live
presentations from poets, storytellers and singers, including the
incomparable Eleanor James standing amongst the trees singing Murray's
Sun Father.
“The verie essence and, as it were, springe-heade and
origine of all musiche is the verie pleasaunte sounde
which the trees of the forest do make when they
growe.” Poe says he found it in an old English tale but
forgot the source. It is a phrase I have often recalled
while writing music...
Patria pg. 227
338
Campfireless
Campfire time comes around as usual and people gather to sit and
socialize. However, the tradition is growing odder by the day. First, even
though we've all had our supper, it's only 4:30 and the sun is still shining.
Some people are actually able to go to bed and sleep. However, for most
that's too weird. But even odder is the fact that it has been dry for the past
few days and the Haliburton Forest management has stated that there are
to be no fires. So we are sitting in a circle, in broad daylight, staring into a
fire pit with no fire in it.
However, the spirit of a campfire is hard to extinguish, especially with a
crew of people who are gung ho to party. So with some imagination, a few
musical instruments and the flow of beer, we manage to spark something
of a campfire atmosphere. Murray shows up and is a bit apologetic about
not being able to have a fire, which he undoubtedly envisions as part of
the package when putting on a production in the woods. But he
emphasizes that we must be prepared for anything when putting on a
production outdoors.
Murray then tells a story about the production of The Palace of the
Cinnabar Phoenix last summer, and how one of the performers
complained that there were no flush toilets on site. After the show closed,
the person reported it to the Equity actors' union. Murray was informed by
Equity, “We will be out to inspect the premises before the show next
year.” Murray states, “That's why we don't have any Equity people in the
show this year.”
He then talks about the time The Princess of the Stars was staged at TwoJack Lake, Banff, in 1985. There's no question the show produces its own
kind of noise, with the pounding log drums and the screeching of the
Three-Horned Enemy. He says part of the intention in the scoring is to
invite a response from the wildlife in the area. It has worked here, with
responses from wolves and loons off in the distance and calls from nearby
fowl. Murray says that when they did the show in Banff, the campers at
the nearby campground had not been warned about it, and during one of
the runs there was a shout in the distance, “Shut up!” We all laugh.
Day 11: A Change in Direction
Good thing I suffer only from the occasional insanity and not from
insomnia. The alarm goes off at crazy o'clock again, reminding me of my
call to the hero's journey – as a canoeist in this mad Murray Schafer
production, with a view to bringing the boon of a book back to the world.
I'm roused by the sound of strong wind breathing in my tent and there's a
different charge in the air. I meet up with the other canoeists at the cooktent and am introduced to a new canoeist. A teenage friend of one of the
canoeists arrived last night, up from the city to help.
339
As I paddle my way across the lake this morning, it's not only the strength
of wind I have to contend with but also the fact that it's blowing in the
opposite direction to what were used to. Everyone will need to be sailors
as much as canoeists in order to read and work with the wind. Once we
make it to the far shore we are somewhat protected. However, I'm worried
about what is going to happen to all the symmetry we've worked so hard
to achieve, once the show starts and we are out in the middle of the lake.
While waiting for the show to begin, my hair prickles as I hear the sound
of some wild animal catching and subduing another animal in the woods
behind. I wonder how the tuba player feels, sitting alone on the shore.
Nature is definitely feeling wilder this morning. I am inspired to spin
some poetry.
The Wind in the Trees Whispers Through the Leaves
Resist the wind
for it will take you.
Give in to the wind
or it will break you.
Set the sail
as a bird in flight,
knowing how to navigate
giving it height.
Soaring and lofting
giving and resisting;
the wind in the trees
whispers through the leaves.
Chaos and Creativity
Our cue comes and we set off across the lake. The younger canoeists are
pushing hard this morning, I suspect fuelled by last night's beer, this
morning's coffee, and a few caffeine pills on top. However, with the wind
pushing from behind, the wings of the dawn birds act as sails, hastening
our passage across the lake. This makes our entrance a bit early, so we
have to circle Wolf even longer than usual, waiting for the glissando from
the french horn. As a result, our circle becomes a bit flat looking – more
like an oval. However, it's when we make our second entrance, with the
Sun Disk, and the wind blowing even stronger, that the comedy begins.
It's never easy to stop a canoe on a dime. With the wind at your back it's
even harder. The canoe carrying the Sun Disk overshoots its mark. As
much as they try, I can see that reversing a war canoe with a ten-foot
diameter disk erected on it, in the wind, isn't going to happen. This leaves
the Sun looking a bit lost and confused. At this point, it's light enough for
the audience to see everything that is going on. Despite efforts to maintain
some semblance of order, the show takes on a Vaudevillian quality. All
the dawn birds are being tossed about like toys in a tub. Wolf gets turned
backwards in front of the Three-Horned Enemy and almost gets a three340
horned enema. As for the poor Sun Disk, he gets stuck at an odd angle and
looks like he's pontificating to the wind.
Slowly, all the action at centre stage begins to drift stage right, then more
to the right – then more to the right. I'm not sure the audience can see us at
all anymore, as we drift beyond a peninsula of land where the canoes are
normally hidden. It doesn't matter anyway – we are close to the ending
and the audience doesn't know what is supposed to happen. So when the
wind blows everybody into the right-hand bay we just try to make it look
as graceful as possible, while the last strains of the closing aria are barely
heard over the blustering wind.
What is the effect of treating nature in this way? By
mythologising the fluctuations of nature, we have
intensified our own experience of it. We begin to flow
with it rather than against it. We no longer spite it or
shut it out as we do in covered theatres. This is our stage
set, and we have become one with it, breathing it,
feeling it in all its mystery and majesty. Of course, there
will be problems, for nature is fickle, though as Jung
reminds us, she is never like man, deceitful.
Patria pg. 108
The show over, I battle the wind to make my way back to the production
dock. I ask the stage manager, Amy, how the show was from her
perspective. She says she almost called the show off when the ThreeHorned Enemy nearly smashed into the shore where the audience is
sitting. That would have been a bit too participatory.
Day 12: Fog
I go down to the lake to splash water on my face before the check-in and
to gauge the conditions at lakeside. The windy, cloudy weather of
yesterday is gone. Above me I can see the moon but at water level I see
nothing. There's a low-lying fog as thick as French Canadian pea soup. It's
as if someone has stolen the horizon. In fact, when deployed, I can barely
see the front of the canoe. We dawn bird canoeists stick close together,
trying to keep an eye on each other as we cross the lake, wondering if the
audience will be able to see our entrance, or anything, for that matter, of
today's show.
Safely on the other side, we again enter as near a state of silence as
possible. I've become fond of this time and am grateful to have it each
morning. It gives me time to think, but not necessarily about myself or the
things of my life, or what I'll do after the show. I'm intentionally avoiding
any thoughts of what comes next. I'm not even thinking much about the
book. It feels like a suspension of time, a rare bubble that will burst if my
thoughts become too this-worldly. It feels as if the other-world is more
open and accessible with the loosening of earth-bound consciousness. It's
a rich space, inviting me to let everything go and just be fully present in
341
the woods, present in the moment, present in another part of myself – and
to pen some poetry.
Poems on My Paddle
Dipping my paddle in the lake,
where the Princess is captive,
I bring up words –
words, like the water
running up my paddle to my hand,
wishing to be put into poems.
Just as I'm pondering if the Princess of the Stars really is beneath the
water, trying to make her way up my paddle, the opening aria begins.
Then the Presenter makes his entrance. Usually a solitary light moving
slowly across the lake, this morning I can't see the Presenter at all in the
fog. He definitely appears to be making his entrance from the beyond. I
can only hear his haunting, “KÁNIOTÁI.” Interestingly, just as the lake
and sky are one, so his chant and echo meld into one; everything bouncing
off the liquid layers of the atmosphere are making a thick soup of sound.
Since sound travels at slightly more than 330 metres a
second, it will take the music of a performer at the far
end of the lake three seconds to reach the audience area
and another three seconds for the echo to return, if
there is one...echoes become a special feature of the
performance. The feedback in the echo will soon begin
to modify the production which lengthens and lingers in
breadth and resonance as performers learn how to turn
this into advantageous cybernation. At Two-Jack Lake
we were able to position the musicians so that their
sound was funnelled indirectly to the audience area, the
auditor sometimes receiving the echo more prominently
than the original sound. Indirect reception removes
much of the high frequency sound, giving the tone a
mysterious, remote quality – an effect, by the way,
which was aimed at by Wagner, though in quite
different circumstances.
Patria pg. 109
Then enters Wolf, performed by sound poet Paul Dutton, the one who has
always performed this role and who worked with Murray in creating it.
Wolf chants an invented language incorporating some
morphemic and phonetic elements of North American
Indian dialects. This lends it an ancestral dignity, but
has a practical significance as well, since Indian
languages not only have an abundance of long vowels
but also contain few labials (such as 'm') or compact
342
vowels (such as 'î' [bit] or 'ê' [bet]) which do not carry
well in the open air.
Patria pg. 110
Even though the fog continues to obscure all visibility, the sound of log
drums accompanying Wolf's entrance is clear. One percussionist begins
and goes for about 12 bars, then another percussionist joins in from across
the lake, then a third one, then a fourth, until all four are saturating the
soundscape with sharp rapping of log drums.
Similar considerations also affected the choice of
instruments: for instance, tests proved that log drums,
so dull and muted when played indoors, took on an
exciting resonance in their natural environment,
particularly if they were placed over pits or gulleys,
which acted as sound boxes.
Patria pg. 110
Day 13: Eye in the Sky
As I navigate my canoe to the opening position this morning, I notice how
much easier it is for me to paddle across the lake than when I first got
here – my biceps and upper body have responded favourably as a
canoeist. All the outdoor living, good food and exercise has me feeling
strong and buff.
This being Saturday, the audience will undoubtedly be the biggest yet.
While waiting for the show to begin, I spend time looking up at the sky. I
love the pristine clarity this time of day can have. It's crystal clear this
morning and I'm able to behold the multitude of stars. For a moment I feel
a flash of annoyance – annoyance at not knowing what is out there. It's as
if Earth has been left in the dark, in the midst of the creamy swath of stars
and planets of which we are seemingly a speck. The surrounding sky feels
like a bubble around our planet. I want to know what's out there – beyond
the bubble. It doesn't seem probable that there is nothing. I'm annoyed
because I want to know the wisdom behind all this – the wisdom of the
stars. If we are supposed to raise the princess back to her rightful place, as
the reigning wisdom of the heavens, what is that going to do for us?
As we begin our first trek across the lake, my gaze is more toward the sky
and for a moment my mind twitches, giving me the impression that we are
being watched, but not just by the audience. I look at the moon and notice
that the white ring around it makes it look suspiciously like an eye – an
eye in the sky. I take a moment to dedicate today's performance to the
universal audience.
The show runs smoothly and crescendos with the sunrise washing away
the starry sky, as if it didn't exist. This shifts my contemplation to the sun.
Watching the sunrise each morning has been in itself a powerful
experience. It makes me a bit ashamed I haven't witnessed this awe343
inspiring event more often in my life – “the most neglected masterpiece in
the modern world.” Living in the city I'm not usually aware of what's
going on above my head, unless it requires an umbrella. So being out in
the wilderness from 2 a.m. through sunrise each morning is a potent
reminder of the huge celestial events that take place each day, outside my
frame of awareness, yet essential to my existence. It makes me wonder
what it would be like if we didn't have a sun and we lived in perpetual
darkness. It seems like a gift that everyday the dawning light peels back
the darkness to reveal for us all the wonders of colour, shape, growth and
movement. It makes me wonder how impoverished our soul life would be
if we weren't able to feed ourselves on these – in the light of the sun.
The Orange Sun
The sun peels back the skin of the night,
to reveal the fruit of the day
ripe for the picking.
Critique
After the show, I speak to someone who was in the audience. When I ask
him how he liked it, he straightforwardly says he didn't. I'm a bit stunned
by the immediacy of his response. It is the atonal aspect of the music he
doesn't care for. He finds it irritating, even annoying, to listen to. I'm still
in my show clothes, a hoodie over a life-jacket and two pairs of pants to
keep me warm and dry – and not feeling up to an in-depth discussion. So I
simply say, “I appreciate your honesty,” and walk away thinking, “Beauty
is in the ear of the beholder.” However, in thinking it over, I can
appreciate where he is coming from. Much of Murray's music does not
conform to the tonal systems that characterize most classical European
music. The music of The Princess of the Stars particularly lacks a tonal
centre. So for someone who prefers classic opera, this music won't satisfy,
and may even rub their musical sensibilities the wrong way.
There's no question that some of Murray's music takes time to appreciate.
Murray is coming from a different place artistically than other composers.
It can be an acquired taste, which is why I'm glad to be able to hear the
music over and over again each morning. With the daily variances in
performance and environment, one starts to get a sense of how Murray
has written something that gives the singer, environment and audience
each an opportunity to play an active role.
Talking to the Sun
I don't know if it's serendipity, but while looking for something to do on
this overcast day I see the Sun walk by – Tony Bergamin. My only
interaction with Tony has been at the end of each show when the dawn
birds escort the Sun Disk up the lake into the mouth of a small inlet. Some
of us precede the Sun's entourage and some follow. I prefer to go last so I
can gaze upon the glory of the Sun Disk shimmering in the sunlight. In
doing so I've been able to admire the way Tony holds the presence of his
344
character. While everyone else is pulling off costumes and starting to talk,
it's not until we are well out of sight of the audience, which is over half a
kilometre away, that he gradually allows the energy of his presence to
rest. Then when he takes off his mask he always sends me a sunny smile
and affirming nod, which I enjoy returning. I feel warmed knowing that a
sunny person is playing the part of the Sun.
I greet Tony as he walks by and explain to him what I'm doing. He sees
me pulling out my pen and paper and agrees to be interviewed.
Tony ~ I came to Toronto from Windsor at age nineteen to study at the
University of Toronto. I saw Murray's Black Theatre of Hermes
Trismegistos at Union Station and was totally amazed by it. A door
opened into another world of vocal expression. It really resonated with
me, to see the mystical ideas of alchemy, deeper realms which I felt,
blended into the music and theatre. I was fascinated by the alternative
ways of singing that Murray was exploring. He opens up the traditional
voice and explores its shadow side.
Jesse ~ What do you mean by the “shadow side” of the voice?
Tony ~ The beautiful voice must sit next to its shadow. For example, the
Princess in this show is contrasted by the screeching of the Three-Horned
Enemy – the voice at extremes.
Jesse ~ So there should be a place for unusual and ugly sounds in the
production of music?
Tony ~ Yes, exactly. That's where the power comes from. It's thought that
the voice should be only beautiful, but that's hiding all else behind a mask.
That's the ego covering up things it doesn't like to see in itself. That stuff
gets pushed aside but becomes like lost children. This is what I do in my
expressive voice therapy work – recover the lost darker sides of sound. It's
an emotional and psychologically rich realm, with a fuller palate of
colours to play with. The first time I saw Murray's work, I thought, wow,
here's art that brings these things out, integrating them. I saw no precedent
for this kind of work in history. I became very inspired.
Jesse ~ What program were you studying at the time?
Tony ~ Voice Performance. It was an interesting program but I didn't
finish it because I found the focus too narrow. I ended up piecing together
a program for myself where I integrated research on the voice with
psychoanalysis, writing papers on Jung and voice work – some really
interesting things.
Jesse ~ Murray must be proud of you circumventing the university
system. And you must be able to appreciate the mytho-psychological
underpinnings of Murray's work?
Tony ~ Absolutely. The underlying archetypal themes are what make it
such powerful theatre.
Jesse ~ What is it like to be the Sun?
345
Tony ~ Singing the Sun is a bit ridiculous. How can anyone embody that
archetype? At most, I put on the mask and play it the best I can.
Jesse ~ You do a great job – it's a powerful moment in the show. I learned
something interesting about the singing that accompanies the Sun Disk.
Murray has the chorus singing all the different words for "sun," from
different languages around the world, sequenced in a way that takes the
audience from the eastern-most country, Japan, the land of the rising sun ,
then moves westward. It’s a great backdrop to your part. Has the way you
sing your part evolved?
Tony ~ Definitely. At first I thought, “Oh, the Sun must be very grand,”
and I was singing it very operatically, very cleanly. When I showed up for
rehearsal Murray said, “No.” Which was fine because he knew what else I
could do. I did screechy bits in The Enchanted Forest, as the Marsh Hawk.
Jesse ~ You were the bird tied to the top of the tree – screeching away?
Tony ~ That was me. Murray said each character had to be approached in
terms of their unique sonic landscape, so he had me explore other ways to
find the sun's voice. I feel fortunate to be involved in this kind of work.
It's very challenging but broadening.
The Forest Festival
In the evening, as part of the Haliburton Forest Festival , a concert is
staged at the lakeside amphitheatre. Stuart Laughton, the trumpeter for
our show and long-time associate of Murray has organized the event. The
music begins and five brass players on a dock perform two of Murray's
songs, composed specifically for outdoor settings, Twilight and Aubade
for Two Voices. In the second piece, a nuthatch's call is mimicked in a
way where the female and male bird calls are an interval of a second – an
interval which holds a certain tension. The effect is humorous – both in
the way Murray has written it and the way Stuart plays it.
Also on the program is, quite fittingly, Handel's Water Music. The sun
setting across the lake is almost upstaged by the magical echoing of brass
off the atmosphere. I've never heard such reverberations even in large
cathedrals. It's unbelievably beautiful and moving. Even a family of ducks
land next to the dock and listen to the music for about twenty minutes.
The audience is so enthused by the performance that they give a standing
ovation at the end and call the musicians back for an encore. Stuart allows
the audience to request which song they would like to hear repeated.
Murray's Twilight wins. Just before the musicians begin, someone shouts,
“Look – it's the northern lights.” Sure enough, off in the distance, a glow
above the tree tops adds to the magic of the evening, and we are treated to
an encore by both musicians and nature.
The Cultured Tree Cutter
After the performance, I spot Peter Schleifenbaum, who owns the
Haliburton Forest and is responsible for Murray being able to do his
346
shows here. I approach him to ask a few questions.
Jesse ~ What were the events leading up to Patria Productions’ presence
in the Haliburton Forest?
Peter ~ They were looking for a new place to do the Wolf Project. They
had heard about the Haliburton Forest, so asked about doing it here. At
first, the Wolf Project seemed pretty off-the-wall. I went into the woods to
see what they were doing. It was quite intriguing, so I have continued to
be supportive of it. I have an interest in culture combined with nature.
Jesse ~ How is that?
Peter ~ I am a forester. Schleifenbaum actually means tree cutter but I was
exposed to a lot of culture growing up. I grew up in Germany, listening to
classical music – and strongly dispute that Handel was English. For me he
is staunchly German. (laughter)
Jesse ~ I won't argue with you about that. So in Germany you were trained
in forestry while listening to classical music?
Peter ~ Yes. Then I came to Canada twenty years ago. When I first met
Murray I read his books and found his theories to be perfectly sound. I
also saw some of his other work – the visual art he is capable of – and saw
he is just as much a visual artist as a composer. He's truly a multifaceted
artist. I also like him as a person. Often artists are difficult to deal with,
especially once they become famous. The more famous, the more
arrogant. But I felt Murray was down to earth. So we developed a concept
called Environmental Music Week, which we held here for three years for
Murray's disciples.
Jesse ~ Disciples?
Peter ~ People came from all over the world interested in spending time
with Murray. Murray was looking for that – an opportunity for people to
approach him about his ideas. At the end of the week they put on a
concert. Out of that came the idea of performing The Princess of the Stars
at Wildcat Lake, in 1997. It happened, but it was difficult logistically
because it was really far into the forest. So we decided to develop the site
at Bone Lake. We began there with The Enchanted Forest, which turned
out to be better than we expected. The following year we did The Palace
of the Cinnabar Phoenix, which was even more elaborate.
Jesse ~ And now The Princess of the Stars, which seems to also be a
success. You bring a gift of European culture, which is something Murray
carries from his time in Europe, along with the desire to connect people to
the environment. What a marriage – you and Murray – high art and
environmentalism.
Peter ~ I'm not necessarily fond of everything Murray creates, but when
Stuart Laughton played his Twilight tonight – you can't beat that. It was
so in synch with the outdoors. I've always appreciated Stuart Laughton's
work. I remember telling him a long time ago, “I would really like to see
347
you perform one evening at a lake and blow everybody away.” Tonight
was that night.
Jesse ~ The fulfilment of a musical wish.
Peter ~ That's it. The setting was absolutely perfect – the lake at sunset.
And with the northern lights in the background – it doesn't get any better
than that.
Jesse ~ It was truly amazing.
Peter ~ And when I was at the dress rehearsal for the show, I could hear
wolves howling in the distance. To me, that's the ultimate. When wolves
respond to your art, you've made it. Re-establishing communication with
nature through the arts – that's what fascinates me.
The Sound of Anguish
As our conversation ends, I hear a loud sound in the distance. It's coming
from the campsite. It must be people having a good time around the
virtual campfire – maybe too good a time. But it's 10:00 p.m. – late by our
standards. All good canoeists should be in bed – and I'm sure a lot of them
are. Which is why I'm surprised to hear such a loud noise. As I get closer I
hear shouting – loud, agitated shouting. It continues for an inordinate
amount of time.
I make my way to the campfire and am dumbfounded to see people just
observing one of the young canoeists screaming at the top of his voice. No
one seems to be incensed. However, there is something in the wail that is
deeply disturbing – worse than the screeching of the Three-Horned
Enemy. There is deep emotional pain. It's the newest canoeist. He sounds
angry, distraught, even remorseful.
Someone takes me aside and explains that this person checked his
messages on his cell phone for the first time in a couple of days. First,
there were messages from a friend – drugged and suicidal – calling for
help. Then there was a message from his mother telling him his friend is
dead – suicide.
The wail continues, “Why did he do it? Why didn't he wait? I would've
helped him.” Someone tries to console him but to no avail. “I knew about
it. He talked to me. I should have told his parents.” These words are all
shouted between bursts of tears. There's obviously a lot of guilt wrapped
up in the raw emotions, as he begs for his friend to come back, for the
clock to be turned back so he can make a difference.
Others as far away as the gully start to show up. Each enters, listens and
learns what is going on. A mood sweeps through the site. Eventually,
people start to drift off as there is little anyone can do except give him
space. This is not a time for intellectualizing or rationalizing. There is no
avoiding the sting of pain. The clock can not be turned back. There's no
bringing back the dead. The unbearable anguish will have to find its own
course over the next days – and years. He has plenty of support from his
348
friends, so I leave for my tent to write some poetry under the echo of sobs
and howls.
Sometimes
Sometimes I go into the woods and see beauty.
Sometimes all I see is a tangled mess.
This situation gives me cause to reflect on a movie I recently saw called
The Bridge. It's about people throwing themselves from the Golden Gate
Bridge in San Francisco and plunging to their death. It was startling for
me to learn the suicide statistics among young people. It made me lament
the lack of consciousness in our culture and how drugs and other things
become a dangerous substitute for people searching for meaning but not
finding it and then relinquishing their gift of life.
Day 14: Modern Initiation
Second last day, second last show. Our grieving friend is gone. His pain
was too much, so he left in the middle of the night. There's an old adage,
“The night is darkest before the dawn.” From what I've experienced doing
this show, it's darkest in the middle of the night. The adage should be,
“It’s darkest when you're in the middle of something dark.” And I would
add the axiom, “The light of day, as with the light of understanding, grows
gradually. Keep looking for it. It will come.”
As we paddle through the darkness to our position on the other side of the
lake, there's a heaviness in the air, the anguish of last night still
reverberating in everyone's souls this morning. During the show, the sad
cry of loons off in the distance fits with the mood. The task given to Wolf
by the Sun Disk is particularly poignant today.
Now to Wolf the Sun Disk speaks: Go North...Go
West...Go East...cover the world with your searching.
The trials will be difficult. You will need many lives,
and you will have few friends. Seek the Princess, find
the Goddess. Redeem her and she will lead you to the
final trial. If you come over it, you will win eternal
life as the Moon.
Thus heralds the initiation process set for Wolf. My mind gets stuck on
the part about “few friends.” I'm glad the Sun points out that sometimes
we have to go it alone. No one can walk with us all of the way – not
friends nor family. So we sometimes feel alone – but it needn't feel like
the end. It's part of the plan. I've heard Murray speak of the lonely times in
his life. But he knows we need to be alone so we can be in silence – so we
can hear our own inner voice. Aloneness ensures that the thread of the
Princess' voice not be obscured by other voices. If we listen deeply for
that voice we may feel less alone.
With the intensity of the sound barrage going on all
around, it has become fashionable to speak about
349
silence. Therefore, let us speak about silence. We
miss it.
The Thinking Ear pg. 102
The words of the Sun Disk remind me of how life really is an initiatory
trial. It takes courage to live as an individual. This is perhaps why we seek
to work with others, as I'm doing on this project, or Asterion, or the Wolf
Project. In the end though, we're all lone neophytes, Wolf, the hero with a
thousand faces sent into the world with an initiatory task.
I let my self-talk continue – it makes me feel less alone. In fact, this
morning my self-talk sounds as if it's speaking to more than just me, as I
think of the canoeist who left and his friend who took his own life,
another part of the Princess dragged down, down to the bottom of the lake
by the Three-Horned Enemy.
Seek the Princess of the Stars imprisoned in the water, captive in the
unconscious. She holds the cosmic wisdom, the wisdom to guide us on
our journey. It is for this we seek. Seek it eternally with devotion and
passion. Everything else is temporal. Everything else is but a stepping
stone. Everything else is to serve this purpose. That is what Wolf is to do.
That is what Wolf in you is to do. Stay hungry, stay lean and let this edict
of the Sun be the reason for everything, lest less worthy causes draw you
off your course and you lose your way.
Murray and Eleanor on Mythos
In the afternoon, I go to the base camp to meet Murray for some
conversation. Eleanor is with him and we sit at a quiet picnic table by his
cabin. I spy something moving in the grass. A bug – a very big bug. I
scoop it up with my notebook to discover something I haven't seen for a
while – a praying mantis.
The praying mantis seems to like its perch on my notebook and it takes
me a while to coax it onto the picnic table so I can take notes. It becomes
the centre of attention and the interview is put on hold while we marvel at
it. It seems equally intrigued with us, as it turns its triangular head to take
us in. Eventually our friend settles down in a prayer-like position. While
Murray is packing his pipe, it seems like a good moment to tell him about
my other close encounter with nature. I share my bear story.
Jesse ~ It was a real wake-up – in more than one way. As wonderful as it
is to produce beautiful art out here in the wild, we are potentially exposed
and vulnerable.
Murray ~ Art should be dangerous.
Jesse ~ And out here it is dangerous! It made me realize we can't be naïve
about nature. We can't overly romanticize it. Nature has a dark and
dangerous side.
Murray ~ We've put ourselves out here in a place of potential danger, not
because we want a tragedy but because we dare to do something
350
outrageous. The avant-garde artists of the past used to do outrageous
things in order to be provocative. The composer, George Antheil, a bad
boy of the avant-garde movement in Paris , used to keep a gun on the
piano when he performed in case his provocations incited people to start
throwing things. It's the same thing here – we're in a potentially
provocative relationship with the environment.
Jesse ~ So we're taking a risk with hope that something good will come
from it?
Murray ~ The hope is that art is able to charm the environment. All the
earlier peoples had ceremonies where they endeavoured to charm nature –
by singing magic songs or doing certain kinds of dances.
Jesse ~ So it's about provoking something that is potentially dangerous,
then charming it?
Murray ~ Yes, but remembering that humans are dangerous too. We
shoot, poison, exterminate. We're greedy and want to take over. We keep
pushing animals further into a corner.
Jesse ~ There is a quote in the front of The Princess script, “Without man
the world was born and without him it will end.” What is the source of
that quote?
Murray ~ Max Bensa, an avant garde philosopher-poet from the early
twentieth century.
Jesse ~ Are you saying humans will annihilate themselves, or that we're
not really needed here?
Murray ~ Perhaps – if humans continue to live as we do presently. If we
keep destroying the planet, we will destroy ourselves. But, if we wake up,
perhaps we will continue and evolve. We are the ones in a position to
decide how we interact with the rest of nature.
Eleanor ~ (looking at the praying mantis who is now kneeling) Perhaps
that's what he's praying for – Wake up, humans!
Murray ~ You can't force people to change but you can provide
alternative perspectives. Here we're trying to get people to look differently
at their relationship to the earth. We have to grow beyond petty
egocentricity and recognize we're part of a bigger picture.
Jesse ~ And you believe art can serve this purpose?
Murray ~ Art has to serve some master. If you look at history, there have
been a variety of masters. At one time the aristocracy were the masters.
Today, commercial art is used to charm money out of people's pockets. It's
always serving something but right now it's going in the wrong direction. I
believe art should be like an arrow pointing at new possibilities. It's not
necessarily going to be easy but we need to start moving ourselves in a
new direction.
351
When you wound the earth you wound yourself. When
others wound the earth they wound you. The only way to
revoke the staggering destruction taking place today is to
remythologize the land.
Patria pg. 227
Jesse ~ I like how the Presenter in the show turns the audience into trees –
not because it's another play about saving trees. It's about using the magic
available to help humanity save itself. If I'm understanding your message,
the roots of our environmental problems are not in nature, but in human
nature – when humans place themselves above everything else. But where
can we find the power to tame our arrogant nature? It seems that the
message of religion, particularly Christianity, has been interpreted to say
that humans are to have dominion over everything else.
Murray ~ We're not here to dominate nature. I think most religions, with
the exception of Zoroastrianism, promote harmony with nature.
Eleanor ~ In contemporary Christianity, the environmental movement is
growing. We have become aware of the importance of creation biblically.
Also, the work and spirituality of our “relations,” the First Nations
people, is teaching us about our place in the sacred circle of life.
Jesse ~ How do you relate the re-mythologization of nature through the
Patria mythos to the ideas of a religion like Christianity?
Murray ~ Of the Christian Trinity, it's the Holy Spirit that interests me
most – the spirit animating all living things. I believe God lives in every
creature. None of the native cultures see themselves as superior to
animals. They accept that the divine runs through everything and they
have an equal place in the universe.
Grass is divine, clouds are divine, water is divine, sun
and stars are divine. But that is not the end of it:
electricity is divine, feathers are divine, mercury is
divine, the proportions of the caterpillar are divine, the
eye of the wolf is divine and the claw of the lion is
divine. Man is also divine, not more divine, just divine
along with all the rest.
Patria pg. 86
Eleanor ~ In the Old Testament, God says to Job, “Who do you think you
are? I created the leviathan.” In the Judeo-Christian teachings, the human
is constantly reminded of his or her place in the divine plan.
Jesse ~ You're obviously comfortable with the Christian mythos.
Eleanor ~ It's what I grew up with. I received much musical training
through the church, singing Bach and the great oratories. When I lived in
Europe for 20 years I came to appreciate the beauty of the cathedrals and
the history of the church. I've read a great deal about other religious
traditions and I believe every religion offers some important insights into
352
the meaning of our life on Earth. But there is something I relate to more
deeply in Christianity. One must dig one's well deeply and not another's.
Jesse ~ And now you're about to go back to school and start studying for
your Masters of Divinity.
Eleanor ~ There's such rich material in the Christian faith. Jung too has
written about how the Christian religion correlates to the deep imagery
within the psyche. His work Aion, for example.
Jesse ~ Jungian concepts have been helpful in understanding some of my
experiences. Perhaps you can speak about the Jungian perspective.
Eleanor ~ Jung might suggest that exploring the wilderness is necessary if
you are going to access the raw power of nature within yourself.
Otherwise you're not living deeply. I think it's courageous what you're
doing here, as it is for everyone involved in this show. When you do
something like this the things in the darkness have less power over you.
Jung incorporated his shadow into his life. As a result, he doesn't always
appear as the perfect person. Without his shadow he would not have
plumbed the depths of the psyche as he did, giving the world priceless
gems of wisdom.
Jesse ~ It seems there is no way of avoiding the darkness.
Eleanor ~ Light calls out darkness. The Devil, as Jung pointed out, had to
appear when Christ appeared. Christ calls the Devil into being. Jung
would have said, too much light blinds us. We need to look our shadow in
the face.
Jesse ~ So light will prevail.
Eleanor ~ That's where I think the mystery of Christianity offers hope. But
what will the final light reveal? Only God knows.
Jesse ~ Murray's work embraces a wide-ranging mythos. Do you and
Murray have religious differences?
Eleanor ~ No. Whenever we're in Europe, Murray loves visiting the
cathedrals and going to mass. Murray was brought up as an Anglican
choir boy and is very connected to the Anglican service and music.
Jesse ~ What about in Canada?
Eleanor ~ We go to a small, local church. It has an interesting mixture of
people – farmers and a few artists.
Jesse ~ Is Murray involved with the music there?
Eleanor ~ No, but I have been playing the organ at the church and have
enjoyed introducing a little Baroque music into the mix. We organized a
pilgrimage a few years ago and it was very satisfying to see everyone
involved in giving praise to God, each in their own way, with their own
gifts. A little lower than the angels we were that day.
353
The Setting Sun
Back at the campsite I'm told it's “cashing in time.” At least that's the way
it's described by the local fellow who does the cooking here. All the
empty beer bottles, since the first night, have been piling up behind the
cook-tent. “That's like money in the bank,” he says. “We just need to take
them to the beer store and cash them in.” But it's evident he's not talking
about getting money for them. He's talking about re-investing in more of
the same – for one last hurrah.
When the beer arrives, people break open the bottles while digging into
our last supper together. After eating, an “interesting” energy sweeps
through the site. In a rare occurrence of all on-site people doing the same
thing at the same time, apart from the actual show, we move like one
wobbly amorphous being, beer bottles in hand, to the lakeside. It's sunset
– seen simultaneously in the sky and in the face of each person perched
on the amphitheatre seating. Together, we watch the sun setting over the
lake. The collective vibration is strong – energy buzzing, and everyone
really, really loud.
All of a sudden someone gets up, walks to the water, strips down and
plunges in. He swims out to the marker where Wolf takes up his first
position. Then, a second person does the same, only he takes up the
position of the Three-Horned Enemy. To cheers and jeers, these two give
us a swim-through version of the battle scene. It further incites an
enthusiastic froth from the onlookers. I can't help but think Murray would
applaud its raw exuberance.
With the sun setting behind the trees on the far side of the lake, we again
move collectively – as if not wanting to lose warmth, and configure
ourselves around the campfire. This being our last opportunity to sit
together, we're allowed to have an actual fire. The outer warmth is a
fitting complement to the inner warmth amongst the group. There's a
tangible something in the air – a mixture of emotions from last night's
tragedy and the emotions of it being our last night. We all know that after
tomorrow's show there will be a liquidation of our collective soul – the
energetic bonds we've created over the past two weeks will dissolve.
Day 15: Big Question, Big If
For one more time, I awaken to the 2 a.m. alarm. As I hear others getting
up I can feel an up energy in the air despite the fact that a lot of people
are a little slower moving this “morning-after.” We get into our positions
as usual and wait once again to see what we will achieve in attempting the
impossible. As the show begins, tinged with the excitement of a closing, I
savour the last words the Presenter makes to the audience – the last words
of the show.
You have seen a mystery, the unfolding of a drama
begun long ago, and continuing to the present. In the
days and years ahead do not forget what you have
354
witnessed here. You will depart from these waters but
you will carry the song of the Princess with you. If you
meet her on this earth, show her love, for hers is a life of
sorrow. Wolf will search for her and one day find her.
Then the Sun and Moon will unite in their rejoicing.
I wonder how many in the audience will seriously carry “the song of the
Princess” with them? Has their experience here made enough of an
impact to get them to listen and look at life differently? It's a slow-moving
opera, no car chases, no gun fire, no mature content. Libretto is volleyed
back and forth, while puppets on canoes chase each other around a lake.
How many will go out just looking for their next entertainment fix?
Nevertheless, Murray has submitted some deep questions for the
audience's consideration.
The Princess of the Stars is a work which, simply by
moving outdoors, challenges us to breathe again. But
disguised beneath its simple plot and musical textures
are timely questions – big ones.
Patria pg. 114
He has also given us some direction with these questions.
From this lake, Wolf will go out in search of the
Princess, seeking her forgiveness and compassion. If he
can find her, he will also find himself.
Patria pg. 103
As we make our final exit into the inlet at the far end of the lake, a sound
is heard from the opposite end of the lake. I watch as the Sun Disk
removes his mask and listens. It's the sound of cheering – the first time the
audience has done this. Perhaps they're requesting this not be the last time
Murray does this. Or maybe they're waking up to “the most neglected
masterpiece in the modern world.” The Sun smiles brightly.
355
Eleven
The Wolf Project:
The Inner Wolf Out in the Woods
No Turning Back
As I pass the sign for the Haliburton Forest and Wildlife Reserve , I smile
at the “Wildlife Reserve” part. It sounds like a good place for city-slickers
to keep the wild in life. I recall my conversation with the owner of the
forest, Peter Schleifenbaum, during The Princess of the Stars, where he
told me it is 70,000 acres of wilderness, making it the largest private
outdoor playground in Ontario.
As I pull in for the 1 p.m. rendezvous, a Wolf Project elder tells me to go
into the office and fill out a waiver. “Is this in case we get too wild?” I
chuckle. Entering the office I see a poster for The Wolf Centre, a
sanctuary for real wolves in the Haliburton Forest. I consider for a
moment going there rather than to the Wolf Project. If I'm joining the
Wolf Project to get in touch with my inner wolf, perhaps I would find
better models there.
After the paperwork is done I join the rest of the Wolves. Everyone is
dressed in a way that is ready for the woods. However, I notice Murray is
not. After greeting him with Homitaqui Asin, he informs me he's not
coming into the forest. What? I'm going into the woods with a bunch of
strangers so I can get to know more about him – and he's not coming?
Murray says he'll be joining us later in the week – for Great Wheel Day.
When I ask why, he says the arthritis in his knees has been giving him
trouble and it would be difficult for him to hike the trails. Questions start
running through my mind. Has Murray reached the point, as have other
alumni, where he can no longer manage the physical demands of the Wolf
Project? What will this mean for the Wolf Project? Is this the beginning
of the end?
“To assist Wolf on his way,” says a note in my dairy
from 1980, “we will perform the ritual annually and
without fail, lest without our prayers and assistance he
lose his way and fail in his mission.” If there is an end to
the Wolf Project for me, it will come when I can no
longer manage it physically. And what then? Will others
carry on or will the entire work pass into oblivion?
Patria pg. 265
356
Then I see my Musicology major friend – the one who has got me peeling
bananas from the opposite end – and with whom I'll be sharing a tent. She
greets me with a hug. I also see Rae Crossman, the one who performed the
role of the Presenter in The Princess of the Stars. I approach him to see if
he has some words about it.
Rae Crossman – Risking Creativity
Jesse ~ How long have you been with the Wolf Project?
Rae ~ Twelve years.
Jesse ~ How did you get started?
Rae ~ I had been a canoe tripper for a long time but was looking for a way
to engage my passion as a poet. The irony is that I had to leave the forest
where I was living in Petawawa, and come to the city to find out about all
this taking place in the forest. I came the first year the Wolf Project was
done in the Haliburton Forest. I enjoyed those early days, finding sites
and cutting trails. It had what I was looking for – a creative element
combined with camping. Things I never imagined I would find in one
place. Up until then no children had been involved. My son, aged
fourteen, was the first child to attend. It worked well, so since then it's
been open to everyone – children, teenagers, even babies. I think it's a real
strength of the Wolf Project – all ages working together.
Jesse ~ What have you found to be the most interesting aspect of working
with Murray?
Rae ~ I came to the Wolf Project as a non-actor. But Murray talks about
art as a transformational process, and he stands by this because he gives
people an opportunity to grow with artistic challenges. I'm a case in point,
as with the role of the Presenter in The Princess of the Stars.
Jesse ~ Without any training as an actor?
Rae ~ That's right. It's more a matter of willingness to put yourself at risk,
then Murray is willing to take a risk. I also played the part of Wolf in The
Enchanted Forest. It would have been easy for Murray to recruit an
experienced actor. Instead he asked me.
Jesse ~ Does this approach always work out?
Rae – Even though the productions strive for equality amongst all
participants, people are people and there sometimes exists a tension
between professionals and amateurs.
Jesse ~ I guess the point is that Murray puts people in new environments
where things can happen.
Rae ~ Exactly. Murray lives his ideals. I find it energizing.
Rae slips into poet mode and quotes Murray from Patria, “What is the
purpose of art? First, exultation. Let us speak of that. The change that
occurs when we are lifted out of the tight little cages of our daily realities.
To be hurled beyond our limits into the cosmos of magnificent forces, to
fly into the beams of these forces and if we blink, to have our eyes and
357
ears and senses tripped open against the mind’s will to the sensational and
the miraculous. To feel these forces explode in our faces, against our
bodies, breaking all incrustations and releasing us with a wild fluttering of
freedom. Let us first speak of that.”
I refrain from any further questions and let the profundity of Murray's
words, delivered from the lips of a poet, hang like a rainbow in the air. I'm
left with the realization that what I had really coveted during The Princess
of the Stars was not the role of the Presenter, which had been given to
Rae, but rather the opportunity to take a risk and sink my teeth into
something creative. That hope remains alive for the Wolf Project.
Into the Woods
The call comes to load into our cars and get ready to convoy. With a
mixture of excitement and trepidation about entering this social
experiment, I bid adieu to Murray until we see him in six days. There's
another hour of driving that will take us yet deeper into the woods, where
the clans will split up, two per campsite. We are going to the farthest
reaches of the Haliburton Forest, which will put us next to the south-west
corner of Algonquin Park.
After navigating increasingly rough roads, we finally arrive at Wildcat
Lake and are greeted by other Wolf Project people who have been here
for a few days as part of “seed camp.” They came in to set up campsites
and clear trails. And now they're waiting for us with canoes. This gesture
also helps to alleviate the logistical nightmare of having everyone show
up at once, transferring from jam-packed cars into jam-packed canoes.
This need becomes all more evident as a family of five pours out of a van,
strewing a pile of stuff onto the forest floor.
To add to the drama, the sky is looking increasingly threatening. Someone
says the forecast is for thundershowers. Regardless, people are loading
into canoes and setting off. Things need to get moving because there
aren't enough canoes to accommodate everyone in one trip. I remain back
with others for the second coming of canoes, while the sky becomes
increasingly apocalyptic.
The storm continues moving in our direction, and sprinkles of rain turn
into a downpour. The canoes on the lake disappear behind a curtain of
rain. Distant thunder adds a soundtrack to the visuals, which includes a
pelting pattern on the water. Some stand admiring it while others cover
packs with tarps and debate whether we should seek refuge under a tree or
not. I quietly murmur to myself, I hope I made the right decision to come
here ... because I hope to leave here.
By the time some canoes return, the rain has lightened. Now it's my turn
to load-in and push off. As a new person, I'm offered a seat in the middle
of the canoe with the gear, letting others do the paddling so I can simply
enjoy the scenery. When seated, an encased cello is straddled across me.
Once out on the lake – too far to turn back – the rain starts again, as does
358
the thunder. I ask how long this part of the trip will take. I'm told an hour.
Now I wish I had brought some decent rain gear. The cello is staying
dryer than I am, so I try to get as much of myself covered by it as possible,
promising that I won't make any more jokes about it being brought into
the woods.
Entering Tapio's Realm
Not far along we have an interesting animal sighting. A swimming
squirrel. We slow the canoe to watch it dog-paddle 50 metres across a
channel. It strikes me as strange how an animal would risk its life with
such behaviour peculiar for its species. For what? Nuts? Then I realize
how we are risking our lives with behaviour peculiar for our species. For
what? Is the answer, "nuts," again?
I'm reminded of the email recently sent out to the Wolf Project
participants with bear safety information, accompanied by more
reminders of "art should be dangerous." Now that I'm here, this oft-touted
mantra makes even more sense. Life is dangerous, and if art is a mirror of
life, then it's axiomatic that art should be dangerous. Murray simply
echoes this, opening the door for us to take risks, to push the limits of
comfort – go for the bigger nuts on the other side of the perilous abyss.
Even though I'm a Fox, I decide to carry the image of the swimming
squirrel as my power animal.
Next, we encounter a costumed person standing on a rock at the edge of
the lake. I'm told it's one of Tapio's helpers. Tapio, protector of the forest.
We are greeted with the words, “The wind welcomes you, the rain
welcomes you, the trees welcome you, the rocks and the ferns welcome
you. You are needed here by the water, by the land. Know that you no
longer stand alone. The time of fulfilment has come. Go, join your clan.
Open your heart to all your kin.”
This bit of theatre makes for a graceful transition from the parking lot into
the pristine forest. Tapio's helper then reminds us of our pledge and
purpose for coming here, “Go and sing the songs, tell the stories, make the
Wheel. The Princess needs you. Wolf needs you. Make them whole.”
Setting Up House
After a bit more canoeing, we pass a jutting peninsula whereupon our
campsite comes into view. As nature would have it, the rain finally stops
and the sun comes out just as we finish the pilgrimage. I take a moment to
admire the sun sparkling on the water of the lake, as well as pooled on my
duffel bag. I welcome the sun and the opportunity to dry things out.
There's something of a steep learning curve for someone new to the Wolf
Project, and this is underscored by the steep incline that greets us at our
destination. The final stage of transporting our luggage is as far from an
airport conveyor belt as you could get. We have to get all the gear up a
steep rock incline. I can see why Murray was concerned about his knees –
and I'm concerned how my legs will manage it. To my relief, we organize
359
ourselves into a human chain to move the loads of stuff up the rocks to the
level where we have a panoramic view of the lake and forest that will be
home for the next week.
After completing this bit of business, we're told to pitch our tents. My
tentmate-to-be and I go scouting for a suitable location. Do we want to be
near the kitchen, near the toilet, near the campfire, near other tents or
perhaps more secluded? We decide upon a quiet corner overlooking the
lake. Next comes laying out our bedding. It's a fair sized tent so there's
lots of room to spread out our things – while leaving a nice polite swath
down the middle. Finishing this bit of business, we hear a loud howl.
Apparently, this is the way the people who cook the meal call the others to
come and eat it. Being a wet and hungry Wolf, the howling comes as
music to my ears.
My new friend and I make our way along a curving path through the trees
to the kitchen, a tarped area on some rocks. There's a fire pit with a nice
fire blazing and a pot of water for anyone who wants a warm cup of tea.
Nearby are waterfalls which add a soothing soundscape.
The group of us at the Wildcat site, consisting of sixteen people, settle in
for our first meal. With tin plates and cups, we serve ourselves from the
pots of grain and stew. Some people have beer and wine they brought to
enjoy with the supper meal. I wash back my meal with a cup of filtered
lake water.
The Call of the Kybo
After the meal, as eating would have it, the need to eliminate follows. I
enquire about the washroom facilities. I'm told there are kybos in the
forest, the entrances to which are marked with trail tape. I go off in search
of one of these stations. Upon arrival, I discover a wooden box with a
hole in it – over a hole in the ground. That's the extent of it; no roof, no
walls, no mosquito netting – nothing to interfere with the total immersion
into nature the Wolf Project proudly offers.
As I mount the box, I consider how far this is from the electronic toilets I
encountered in Japan when I first began trailing Murray. I also consider
what it will be like sitting here under other conditions. What if it's raining
– or thundering and lightning? What will it be like at night?
Kybo – I say aloud to myself to see what the word resonates with. Like
Murray, I enjoy exploring the sound of words for clues to their deeper
meaning, I'm not sure if kybo has an indigenous meaning but I much
prefer it over crapper – a word whose origins I'm familiar with, as I was
set straight by a woman who claimed to be a descendent of Thomas
Crapper, whom many consider the inventor of the modern toilet. In fact,
according to this woman, it was Sir John Harington, a courtier of Queen
Elizabeth I, who invented the toilet, thus giving us the John. Thomas
Crapper was actually born after the first flush toilet was patented, and as a
360
plumber helped improve its design thereby popularizing it. Ms. Crapper
put it in no uncertain terms that "crap" did not come from Thomas
Crapper lending his name to faeces, but rather comes from the Middle
English "crappe," meaning chaff or residue from rendered fat.
Getting the Backstory
Another howl, another signal to come – this time to the evening campfire.
The temperature is dropping so I make my way, looking forward to sitting
by the fire. Settling in by the warmth, I'm pleased to see that the smoke
acts as a natural repellent against the mosquitoes which have suddenly
become quite aggressive.
The fellow sitting on the stump next to me sees me swatting and informs
me with a chuckle that it's the females you have to watch out for here. He
then proceeds to give me more detail than I really want, and paints a
picture of a female mosquito hovering around trying to land so she can
stick her proboscis into my skin to extract some blood. If she succeeds,
she will leave nothing but an itchy bump as thanks – the after-effect of the
anti-clotting agent in the saliva she gobbed on me while sucking my blood
into her abdomen. He further informs me that blood is not a source of
food for her, which both she and the male get from plant sugars. Rather,
she needs blood to develop fertile eggs. With a look on his face which
betrays a bizarre fascination with this sort of information, he emphasizes
that it's all about the biological imperative to have kids – and with a life
span somewhere between a few days and few weeks, the ticking of the
biological clock of a female mosquito is like a battle cry.
I look around the circle at the other faces illuminated by the fire. There is
a variety: male, female, young, older, introverted, extroverted. Some look
at home in the woods – others not. Several are new to me – people who
weren't at any of the preparatory meetings, travelling from out of province
to get here. For some this is their first Wolf Project meeting ever.
It becomes an evening of introductions. We are introduced to songs and
chants, some of which we need to know for the final performance on
Great Wheel Day. The backstory of the Wolf Project is cobbled together
as people take turns recounting bits and pieces from the previous eleven
parts of the Patria cycle.
One of the girls in the circle who has been to the Wolf Project a few times
talks about The Enchanted Forest and her participation in the 2005
production. She speaks of one of the characters who lives in a tree in the
forest, Hatempka, who appears again in this epilogue. She then proudly
shows us the image of Hatempka tattooed on her leg – her commitment to
the work obviously runs more than skin deep – it is indelibly stamped
upon her soul. Someone opens their Wolf Project script and reads about
how the Great Wheel of Life originated – what has happened to it, and
what remains to be done.
361
In the beginning humans and animals were the same, for
humans were also animals. They believed they were
descended from the gods, who lived in the heavens as
planets and stars. They shared the same world together
and all spoke the same language. The symbol of their
harmony was the Great Wheel of Life, which contained
all creatures as well as trees, plants and stones in a
harmonious cycle. But then humans began to develop
the idea that they had ascended from the animals, were
therefore their superiors, and began to invent another
language, that the animals could not understand, in
order to deceive them. They took all the best land for
themselves, building fences around it and killing all
intruders. The animals met together in council to discuss
the situation. Each spoke in turn but the last words were
given to Wolf and Bear who were the strongest of all the
animals and who loved free space the most. Wolf was
for declaring war on man but Bear counselled restraint
and arbitration. After a full discussion, the animals
decided to accept Bear's advice. Wolf left the meeting
angrily, swearing that henceforth he would live alone in
the deepest part of the forest. Each night he could be
heard howling and his howls sent shudders of fear
through all the animals as well as humans. All this is
evident to the animals, though humans, who have
forgotten their myths, are ignorant of it, and believe that
harmony, if it is to be achieved at all, will result from
improved human management. The animals, however,
have decided to attempt to restore harmony by a
different strategy. They will take some humans into the
forest, teach them the ancient myths and incorporate
them into a ritual that will bring Wolf and the Princess
together at last.
Following this, we go around the fire and each get an opportunity to state
the words introduced at the meeting in June, and affirm our intention as a
participant in the Wolf Project.
I am Jesse, member of the Fox clan.
I join the quest.
I will make Wolf and Princess whole.
Changing
It's been a long day and everyone is looking weary, so after the campsite
director lays out some logistics for the next few days it's not long before
people start dispersing to their tents. It's completely dark now, so I follow
my new friend who was smart enough to bring a flashlight to the
362
campfire, making it possible to find our way back to the tent. Once there,
I'm a little unsure as to how we're going to orchestrate changing from
clothes to pyjamas. It's actually easier than expected. Once I have my
pyjamas in hand, I turn off my flashlight and it's just a matter of politely
changing in the dark. Feeling my way into my pyjamas is the least I can
do to show some gentlemanly decorum. She does the same. It's been a
long haul since my alarm started the day in Toronto, so with little
conversation our heads hit our pillows. However, I'm still awake enough
for a little conversation with myself.
So Jesse, you've finally arrived at the Wolf Project. After months of
debating you're actually out in the wilds. Murray Schafer's Wild
Kingdom! But are things really so wild out here? Where is Wolf? We are
deep in the woods, where is Wolf's rage against the atrocities of
civilization? So far it's been rather civilized: beer and wine with dinner,
an assortment of sauces on the side, dishes washed with hot water,
singing songs in a circle around a campfire. Now everyone is quietly
slumbering in their tents with pillows and pyjamas. Not much like real
wolves, nocturnal and wild, but rather domesticated. I guess that's why
we've scheduled a week's vacation in the woods, away from the office
cubicle – to recapture the feeling of pissing on a tree. Ha! However, I still
find it questionable to identify with wolves as a means of redeeming our
human nature – as a means of spiritual development. We will see. If
nothing else, the Wolf Project is a way to get closer to the mysteries of
the wild in a world where we get little exposure to it other than television
or a trip to the zoo. Nature isn't all cute and cuddly the way people project
onto it. In the real wild world only the most adaptable endure. It will be
interesting to see what challenges arise – and what I'll have to write about.
I lift my head and perk up my ears for a moment, listening for evidence of
wildness outside the tent – animal or otherwise.
Aubade Awakening
Each morning someone volunteers to do an aubade – a musical offering to
wake up everyone else at the site. This morning someone plays a piece
written by Murray, actually entitled Aubade. The sound of the trumpet
pierces effortlessly through the forest.
Dawn
Mist over the lake
Mist rising
Rising over the water
Nature awakens
We awaken
R. Murray Schafer, Wolf Music CD
I hear my tent mate stirring in her sleeping bag, so I know the aubade has
successfully awakened her to this world. While she lies half-asleep, halfstretching, I slip into my clothes and vacate the tent to give her space to
363
change. This is also because we aren't supposed to speak until after the
first ritual. I follow the forest path to where I hear the solemn beating of a
solitary drum. This is calling everyone to the sunrise ritual where we greet
the four directions and the rising sun. This is done the moment the sun
peeks over the horizon. While text is recited, the group faces the four
directions, then faces the centre of the circle, finishing with the words,
“Wake wonderful – marvel morning,” followed by a group hug.
Salutations to the Sun finished, I follow the veterans to the next order of
the day – breakfast. Someone has been at work in the kitchen, readying
the fire, the breakfast and a large pot of what I discover to be the highlycoveted "camp coffee" – a generous amount of ground coffee grounds
mixed into boiling water and stirred with a stick. It blows off any
sleepiness the trumpet solo and sunrise ritual may have missed.
Recreating the Wheel
After breakfast comes an important step. Everyone at our campsite
proceeds to Moose Rock – a large expanse of rock thus named after a
moose was seen there. Following a path that leads out of the forest we
enter an expansive meadow, half a kilometre wide, surrounded by treed
hills. It's awe inspiring. The centre of this meadow is where we will create
a Wheel. Each campsite is responsible for creating a ritual Wheel, similar
to the native Medicine Wheel, honouring the four directions. Each day we
will ritually open and close it and hold sacred space in silence.
This being the first day, the Wheel has yet to be created. We are reminded
that this was the directive of Tapio's helper whom we met during the
canoe ride yesterday. First we make a large circle in the tall grass, about
fifty feet in diameter. Then everyone begins collecting dead wood to
create eight markers or stations on the large circle, one station for each of
the clans. Some people have brought coloured ribbon to decorate and help
identify each clan's station – every clan having a different colour. I'm
pleased with what has arisen for our Fox clan. A huge piece of a dead tree
in a triangular shape, evocative of a fox's face. Red ribbon is twined
around to accentuate its features. This begins building anticipation for
Great Wheel Day at the end of the week. One of the elders tells me how a
pilot flying overhead saw the Wheel and reported it to the Haliburton
Forest, wondering if they had noticed the crop circle in the area.
Preparing Our Encounter
Finally comes the first meeting with my Fox clan mates, Judith, Rachel,
Andrew and Doug. Two are composers from Montreal, one works at
Trent University and one works in an art gallery in Ottawa as well as
making film documentaries about artists. This is a time to get to know
each other and to begin preparing our encounter. Each clan is responsible
for creating an interactive encounter for the rest of the clans, something to
amplify the backstory of the Patria epilogue, And Wolf Shall Inherit the
Moon – otherwise known as the Wolf Project.
364
The Fox clan is to introduce the Shapeshifter character. How are we to do
this? Music, dance, song, theatre? As my clan mates points out – there are
no limits in the sky above and few limitations in this R. Murray Schafer,
theatre-of-confluence, outside-the-box, out-in-the woods, way-way-offBroadway, creative setting. I recall some of the first words Murray used
when describing the Wolf Project to me: “It's a forum of possibilities.”
We approach the process systematically, beginning with a contemplation
of our own nature as foxes. The ensuing discussion uncovers some
interesting facts about foxes. I learn that a fox will travel in very complex
patterns of movement so it can simply walk in on its prey. I like it. People
often say life should be simple, but I often find I have to go through a lot
of complexity to arrive at simplicity – like a fox. Building on the concept
of the fox's cunning nature, we begin to build an idea of the Shapeshifter's
qualities, as well.
Taking the Plunge
After a couple of hours of conversation in the sun, I'm ready for my first
swim. I go back to the tent to change. I find my tent mate there, also
interested in swimming. We decide to go together. She says she heard
there's a swimsuit optional spot, as well as one for swimsuits. I'm not sure
which one she has in mind, so I ask, “Which do you prefer?” With
youthful enthusiasm she exudes a keenness to go skinny-dipping. “Well,
then ... me too.”
We head toward the sounds of splashing and find ourselves at the top of a
cliff overlooking the swimsuit optional spot. We stop and survey the view,
not only of the beautiful tree-lined lake, but of unfettered bodies splashing
playfully in the waters below. It's quite a sight for my city-slicker eyes.
Taking my time descending the rock face, I stop again to drink in the dark
waters spotted with pink flesh. I feel I've been transported to some distant,
exotic land. Am I on the threshold of Patria, the paradisiacal homeland?
My friend wastes no time divesting herself of the vestiges of civilized
society, freely tossing her clothes to the side and plunging into the water
with a primal squeal. Are women more comfortable than men in taking off
their clothes? It's a beautiful thing but I'm concerned this liberated part of
the Wolf Project sub-culture could harbour an element of danger. I take
my time disrobing, interested to see what sort of effect the scenery might
have on my creative juices.
Art should be dangerous! We are talking about
transforming lives here, not enchanting boobies.
Patria pg. 256
I maintain focus with some self-talk – You're at the Wolf Project, Jesse.
Toronto is only three hours away. You can drop your city-side and drop
your drawers without losing your mind.
365
Held spellbound on the sidelines long enough, I short-circuit any further
nay-saying that would keep me from fully entering this beautiful scenario
by remembering my power animal – the swimming squirrel I saw on the
first day. If that squirrel can do it – so can I. I find a place to neatly pile
my clothing on the rocks, drop my drawers and take the plunge. Hitting
the water is life-changing – refreshing and refleshing – and I relax into the
unparalleled feeling of swimming naked.
Evening Ritual
After supper we meet on Moose Rock again, giving us a fantastic view of
the Sun setting over the meadow and the Great Wheel we constructed this
morning. I'm not much good at plant names but some informed individual
points out the alder, leatherleaf, juniper and sedge that speckle the vista.
All I know is how good it feels to be surrounded by such rich diversity of
foliage. Before we begin the walk over to the Wheel to close it, someone
leads us in a ritual to celebrate the celestial event of the sunset, rivalled
only by what Murray refers to as the most neglected masterpiece in the
modern world – the sunrise.
Despite the fact that we are losing the sun, it's a heartwarming moment.
As each person enters the Wheel they bend and touch the rock placed at
the east entrance and utter Homitaqui Asin, to reverently recognize the
interconnectedness of everything. Once inside, we each stop at whichever
station of the Wheel we feel drawn to stand at, facing north, south, east or
west. It's as pure a silence as you could get standing in the middle of a
marshy meadow at sunset, accented by birdsong, the whisper of the breeze
in the surrounding trees and the din of waterfalls in the distance. People
leave the Wheel when finished with their solemn moment and get ready
for the last part of the day – the campfire.
Campfire Stories
The evening campfires are an important feature of the
Wolf Project, stimulating both intimacy and the
imagination. Some logs or flat stones are arranged
around a large firepit, in which a teepee of sticks and
birch bark has been arranged. When it is almost dark, the
fire ritual is danced and the fire lit. We move close to
keep warm. The Talking Stick is passed around the
circle and each person holding it speaks, tells a story or
sings a song.
Patria pg. 257
Songs and stories begin to flow. The stories are mostly folktales and
fables coming from various origins, many involving animals. Someone
tells a story about a real wolf who visited one night when some slept out
under the stars. In the morning they discovered fresh wolf scat in between
them. This image brings "ohhs" and "ahhs" from the circle – as everyone
366
imagines a wolf sniffing around them while they sleep. They apparently
saw the wolf eye to eye the next day. There was a sense that they were
intruding on the wolf's territory but they managed to co-exist for the
remainder of the week. However, one year a bear was hanging around too
close to the campsite and the clans decided to pack up and move in with
clans at another campsite.
While on the subject of scary but true animal stories, someone tells about
the woman working at the Wolf Centre of the Haliburton Forest in the
1990s. She was one of the caretakers responsible for feeding the wolves.
No one knows why she entered the enclosure alone, but when she did she
was circled by the pack and attacked. Someone else contributes to the
story, saying that the woman was in her early twenties and it was only her
third day working there. It was her job to feed the wolves while visitors
watched from behind a protected area. It was when she was feeding the
wolves that she was attacked by one, which caused the rest to swarm her.
People watched, stunned, while this horrifying scene unfolded. The
wolves were relentless and it became a feeding frenzy. The onlookers
were helpless and the girl was torn to shreds.
Someone else tells a different version of the story, saying that the girl was
leaving work and realized she had forgotten something. She went back
and that's when the wolves circled and killed her. In the morning only her
remains were found. There is speculation as to why this happened – the
girl thought she had some magical alliance with wolves, or she was
menstruating and that triggered the alpha female to lead the attack. The
second-hand stories grow more chilling, as is the night air, and people
begin to peel off quietly for their tents. I see my tent mate's eyes blink at
me across the circle and I nod that I'm ready to retire too. She guides our
way through the dark with her light.
The Night Moves
Another tradition of the Wolf Project is someone performing a nocturne –
a gentle singing or playing of an instrument as the last act of the day. It
bookends the morning aubade, caps off the day, and signals for all to stop
talking. Tonight's nocturne is someone singing, as she walks the path that
winds through the tent area. A superb soprano voice ringing through the
forest – a bedtime treat.
Negotiating undressing isn't an issue tonight – not after seeing each other
swimming in the buff this afternoon. As we settle down for the night I
notice how our sleeping bags are closer than last night and the nice polite
swath down the middle has shrunk. After the nocturne, as we lie in
silence, I can feel her presence next to me. It feels nice.
Instead of tired, I'm wired from the day's activities. I can't even close my
eyes. In the dim starlight, I stare at the now familiar contours of my tent
ceiling and listen to the sounds of the wild outside. There is more stirring
in the woods tonight, sounds of indeterminate animals moving about.
367
Based on the sounds, I try to picture which animals and what size they
might be. I then roll on my side to face my tent-mate and study her
contours – a wolf, medium-size. I listen to the sound of her breathing as
she moves to a deeper state of sleep – off to wolf dreamland.
Opening the Wheel
Today's aubade is performed by someone playing the flute. The flute
doesn't have nearly the same awakening power as yesterday’s trumpet.
The sound moves through the forest more like a languid fish than a
darting grouse. It brings me out of dreamland more slowly. I have to rouse
my friend to get up for the sunrise ritual.
The mist ascends, dissolves in the rising Sun,
loons move in pairs across the water,
a crow chatters over the bay.
There is no world but this world.
R. Murray Schafer, Wolf Music CD
After a breakfast of pancakes with real maple syrup, we all go down to the
meadow to open the Wheel. I can see that this will become one of my
favourite parts of the day. To get to the Wheel we wind our way along the
path while singing a chant in the Iroquois language, written by Murray, O
Yan Do Neh. When we arrive and stand in silence it is a beautiful time to
open our ears and just listen to whatever is going on in nature – or within.
It is said that we do this ritual to open the Wheel, but personally I feel it is
to open ourselves.
Ritual is older than art. Konrad Lorenz and others have
shown that even animals practise it when they indulge in
stylized gestures unconnected with any vital function.
Every work of performance art is encased in a ritual.
The ritual is axiomatic and performers rarely dare to
challenge or break it. The repertoire varies, but the ritual
appears to remain constant for it alters much more
slowly. Thus one does not interpret rituals so much by
their content as by their form; the special space and time
they occupy, the ritual objects they employ, the roles of
the participants, the decorum and ceremony. Yet when
properly performed and experienced they can facilitate
existential changes or become a palingenesis of spiritual
renewal.
Patria pg. 93
The Wheel at our campsite is the one that will be used for the final
performance. It feels good with all the energy being put into it; I'm sure it
will feel incredible for Great Wheel Day.
While leaving the Wheel today, Jerrard Smith, who has been a longtime
participant in the Wolf Project, pulls me aside and says he wants to show
368
me something. He has two shiny white stones which he places on the
ground about three inches apart. He then steps back and says, “There!”
“There, what?” I ask, as I stare at the stones. He doesn't say anything but
lets my mind spin a while to figure it out. It takes a few moments but then
it clicks, my perception shifts and I suddenly see what he has done. The
way he is standing, his shadow is being cast over the stones so that they
are in the exact position of the eyes in his shadow. The white stones now
look like two gleaming wolf eyes on a shadowy character. “Marvellous,” I
respond, “perfect for the Wolf Project!” A simple, yet profound trick that
brings to life something of our inner nature – Wolf in the shadow.
Devising Our Encounter
Today, my clan is back working on the encounter we will present to the
rest of the clans in two days’ time. What would be both thought-provoking
and convey a sense of the Shapeshifter? Building on yesterday's session,
we take time to contemplate the nature of a shapeshifter. The shapeshifter
in And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon is a character borrowed from
different mythologies. I've heard others comment about how Murray
seems to randomly, if not gleefully, mix mythologies together. I, however,
appreciate the fact that his work keeps archetypal characters of the past
alive, instead of trapped in textbooks. And participating in the Wolf
Project is an opportunity to keep them alive in our experience.
We start to discuss the shapeshifters of various lores. Shapeshifting is
present in stories such as Beauty and the Beast and the Frog Prince, in
characters like werewolves, wizards and vampires, even Zeus himself. As
the name suggests, they possess the power to transform from one form to
another. Their mercurial qualities empower them to cross race, species,
age and gender boundaries.
I'm told the appearance of Shapeshifter in the Patria epilogue is far more
than theatrical dressing and is far from being a minor player. Shapeshifter
was not there when the originators of the Wolf Project were developing
ideas, but it became apparent that this archetype was a necessary
ingredient to bring the Patria cycle through its ultimate transformation, via
the alchemical marriage of Wolf and the Princess.
My inner fox gets excited by the creative prospects inherent in this
character and begins treading back and forth in my mind, ready to pounce
on an idea. I relish the challenge of writing a theatre-piece and want to
share my thoughts with the others but I'm the new kid in the clan and
express some hesitation. “No, no,” they react. “You have to share what's
coming up for you – that's how things work here.” My more seasoned clan
mates are more than happy to give me artistic breadth to develop my idea.
I tell them I will put together a plan and present it tomorrow. We also
need to decide on a location. Someone suggests a place known as "Three
Corners" about a half-hour hike from here. Everything about it sounds
perfect for my plan. We agree to hike to it tomorrow.
369
Foraging for Perspective
Supper is a delicious vegetarian meal. Actually every meal has been
vegetarian. I ask the question, “Is the Wolf Project promoting
vegetarianism? Is this another part of the plot to save the planet?” This
encourages some interesting conversation. If an animal, such as a wolf,
will eat human flesh, is it wrong for a human to eat animal flesh?
I know Murray isn't a vegetarian because I've eaten with him and observed
him eat meat. One person enumerates the physical, mental, emotional,
spiritual, economic and environmental benefits of vegetarianism. Another
person counters that there are many enlightened people who eat meat,
including the Dalai Lama, who, at the insistence of his doctors, eats meat,
which is actually a long-time staple of the Tibetan people.
I make it clear that I don't have an issue with the vegetarian menu – I'm
quite enjoying it and have no problem being a “vegetarian wolf” for a
week. However, in the outside world I consider myself a “flexitarian” –
someone who is “almost meatless” or a “mindful meat-eater,” and
considers meat as a complement to a meal, akin to a glass of wine, rather
than the main focus. Furthermore, I know quite a few people who took up
the meatless ideal only to return to carnivore ways. And for some strange
reason, I have been with several of them when they decided to take their
first bite. It has happened so often I somehow feel I've been placed on
people's path as a preacher of moderation, to counter the extremism that
idealism sometimes spawns.
Philosophically, and perhaps paradoxically, I suggest to the others that our
reliance on animals is another way nature demonstrates our
interconnectedness. Animals eat each other and we are animals. We are
part of a food chain that includes the grub, skunk, and wolf. A human can
honour this while consuming fellow creatures with mindfulness.
Singing and Dancing
The campfire is particularly upbeat tonight – chant after chant. Actually,
some are chants and some are songs. I listen as the seasoned singers
harmonize beautifully in the songs, whereas the chants are more primal,
more improvisational – sometimes with dancing.
I ask someone why we haven't sung any familiar camp songs yet? This
brings snickers and a warning to not do it – especially when Murray
arrives. The reason given is that people are in a unique space here, and to
sing songs learned elsewhere would take people elsewhere. Pop music
and other music of the outside world is kept outside. The themes of the
campfire songs relate to the content and characters of the Wolf Project.
All the songs in the Wolf Project and all the stories told
have been created (or plundered) by the members, and
all, in one way or another, are emanations of the theme
of the project itself. Each clan has its Clan Song and
370
there are rain chants, courage chants, healing chants and
even a birthday chant. I wrote some of these in the early
years of the project, but numerous other people added
copiously to the collection, and most of them are sung at
one time or another every night. A statement by a North
American Indian, which I have often quoted, is most
appropriate here. He said: 'No one in our tribe sings a
wrong note.' He didn't mean that everyone had a great
voice but that everyone was encouraged to sing without
censure.
Patria pg. 258
Animal Dreams
Singing and storytelling waning, people begin withdrawing to their tents.
My friend and I go to our tent which is beginning to feel like a cozy
warren. Our conversations are becoming cozy too – the type you have
when lying next to someone. We haven't seen each other much during the
day because we're working with our respective clans, so now is the time to
catch up. We cheat a bit and talk after the nocturne. We also listen to
sounds in the woods, playing a guessing game as to what they are. I love
how a person's eyes grow bigger when they're listening intently.
“Are there lions and tigers and bears out there? Or perhaps wolves, long
in the tooth, looking for a late night bite?” I ask. “No, they're all tucked in
tight for the night – the way all good wolves should be,” she giggles back.
“But are you a good wolf or a bad wolf?” I ask mischievously, then
confess that I lay awake last night listening to the sound of her breathing
while she drifted into dreamland. Her eyes open wide again, also looking
mischievous. This turns into a discussion about whether animals dream or
not. She says they do. I tell her she must be an animal in order to know
this, and ask, “What kind of animal are you – and what do you dream of?”
She giggles again. I like her giggle and look for more ways to make her
laugh. She pretends to be mad because she has to laugh into her pillow, so
no one will hear us and know we're bending the rules.
Our playfulness is drawing us closer together – literally. Our sleeping
bags are now touching. It feels completely innocent and socially
acceptable to be touching someone when there are layers of sleeping bag
in-between. We eventually fall asleep – face to face.
Reverse Psychology
I'm awakened in the middle of the night by a sound – something brushing
against the tent. It could be a wild animal but it sounds nothing the size of
a bear or wolf. It's a light brushing on the side of the tent, first one side
then another. Convinced I'm not about to have another bear encounter like
I did during The Princess of the Stars, I decide to get up and go to the
371
kybo – and investigate what wildness may be happening outside. Finding
nothing, I muse my way to the kybo.
So far everything here has been more mild than wild. One would hope for
some close encounters of the untamed kind at something called the Wolf
Project. Murray says we come to the Wolf Project to become a wolf.
Does he really mean that? I think he means the opposite – to not become a
wolf. Who wants to be a wolf? It's hard enough being human. Murray
must mean the opposite – to overcome our wildness. He is using reverse
psychology. On the other hand, Murray cast a wolf as the protagonist of
his Patria series. Indeed, Wolf is the central character of his entire
magnum opus. Why? With all the mythology existing around wolves
already – why more? Perhaps it's because the wolf is so often cast as the
antagonist, Murray feels it's his duty to rectify that.
My musing continues while resting my haunches at the kybo.
Because of its predatory penchant for little lambs, the wolf has been
vilified in countless fables and fairy tales. I suppose sitting near the top of
the food chain, it's naturally feared by most other animals. But so are
lions and they don't get the same bad rap. Why do humans perpetuate a
negative image of the wolf as the perennial evil doer? Perhaps we need it
as a projection of something in ourselves. We are in denial of the fact that
we possess the same predatory potential. Murray is asking us to redeem
the negative image of the wolf while simultaneously redeeming the
destructive side of ourselves. Clever Murray. Clever like a fox!
More thoughts alight as I make my way back to the tent.
Murray is not the only Canadian attempting to revise the image of the
wolf. Farley Mowat had a huge impact worldwide with his book, Never
Cry Wolf, changing people's views of wolves and spawning a movement
to protect an endangered species. Critics were quick to point out,
however, that this was a work of fiction based neither on experience nor
science, and that some of the so-called facts about wolves were also
fiction. When asked about this in an interview, Farley stated, “Never let
facts get in the way of a good story.” Hmmm. What if I took that approach
with my story?
When I get back to the tent and lie down I realize for the first time that the
slope of the terrain plays in my favour. That is to say, it slopes toward me
so I'm a little lower than my tent-mate. From past experience, I know the
law of sleeping in a tent is that whenever someone moves they will
unavoidably migrate down the slope. Translation: my new friend has
migrated a little closer to my side of the tent. I squeeze in beside her.
Morning Has Spoken
Our concert across the water
is attended by birds, animals, insects.
They come not as listeners but as participants;
372
they listen and then they join in.
And each creature has its own preferences,
singing along with its own favourite instrument.
R. Murray Schafer, Wolf Music CD
Today is the day I signed up to do the morning aubade. I've learned that
"aubade" is old-French for "wake-up call," and I'm looking forward to
giving a wake-up call to everyone with some drumming. When my alarm
clock goes off I find myself being spooned by my friend. I awaken her, as
we had pre-planned, so she can assist me. I want to drum out on the water
and I need her to manoeuvre the canoe.
We embark from the canoe landing, and start paddling to the middle of
the bay. I want to weave back and forth in front of the cliffs, where I
anticipate good echoes. I notice my friend is weaving a bit too much.
When I turn around to see what's happening, she smiles and informs me
she doesn't really know how to paddle. I smile back and tell her she gets
top marks for enthusiasm but I wish I had known this before I got in the
canoe with her. She smiles again. There's nothing more to say – so I start
pounding the drum while we weave about the bay.
Over breakfast, I'm told that the sound of the drum echoing off the rocks
was spectacular and more than enough to awaken everyone. My friend
smiles at me again. Someone else says that they thought they heard mice
jumping on the sides of their tent last night. I remark that I had the same
experience. The campsite director states that this is an annual event when
the Wolf Project arrives here. It's like the circus has come to town and the
mice start jumping on the sides of the tents to slide down.
As usual, after breakfast, everyone goes to the Wheel to open it. I can see
why the indigenous people refer to this sort of structure and ritual as a
Medicine Wheel. It feels healing to just stand in it. The fact that we are
standing together in a circle creates a warmth of intimacy that is
sometimes hard to find in the outside world. There feels like an intangible
connection arising in the silence circle.
People leave the Wheel when ready, followed by a physical and vocal
warm-up. Out in the woods, everything takes on a different timbre. A
heightened sense of survival kicks in, and thus the willingness to
cooperate and pitch in and participate. Out here, removed from the
amenities of modernity, there's a another set of rules. Even if you find
yourself with people with whom you wouldn't normally socialize, a new
level of interacting opens. You have to co-operate and communicate – and
communicate well – so time, energy and resources don't get wasted.
There's no place for divas in the woods.
Rehearsing Our Encounter
Our clan has one more day before we present our encounter to the rest of
the clans, so the pressure is on to get it together. Today, the five of us
373
follow a path up a steep hill through the forest to survey our venue. Along
the way, we encounter countless raspberry bushes waving at us, just
asking to be picked. We pick and eat nature's candy as we walk and talk.
The forest we are going through is quite dense, and in light of the fact that
bears also enjoy these ripe raspberries, I scan the landscape, and the
soundscape, for berry-picking bears.
While walking, I reflect on the spectrum of responses I got when telling
people I was going into the bush for a week. Some people were
completely freaked-out at the prospect of being in the woods with wild
animals. Others offered only a blasé attitude. They couldn’t care less
about seeing a deer. To them, you see one beaver, you've seen them all.
However, I'm thankful for the fact we can have such encounters with
nature – even dangerous ones. Countries like Australia have no predatory
mammals to be wary of in the wild. We have bears and even cougars in
Ontario. During the day we've been treated to the sounds of woodpeckers,
blue jays and hawks. At night, owls and loons punctuate the soundscape.
And of course, I have been witness to a wide variety of bugs, some so
small I wonder if scientists have even named them. It's amazing to think
that they all have a life, a drive, a purpose. And each day they are up with
the sun, looking to fulfil their purpose – just like us.
After a half-hour walk, we finally arrive at Three Corners, so named
because it's the intersection of the three paths that lead to different
campsites. Perspiring profusely, we each plop down and pull out our
water bottles to top up our liquids, while taking in the environs. As I look
around at what appears to be a natural theatre in the woods, I'm thrilled to
see it will perfectly fit my plan.
I take the lead to get things moving into the production stage. Having
directed over a dozen shows, I know the anxiety of not wanting to be
either under-rehearsed or over-directed, so I try to not be too bossy as I
push to get things in shape. My challenge is to keep people focused, but
also to discern if the side conversations that keep arising are part of the
creative process, or simply side conversations. It becomes apparent how
fox energy doesn't run in a straight line, as we ride the creative tension
and travel a circuitous route in unfolding my idea. It would appear we've
already invoked the energy of the Shapeshifter.
Our presentation, in the form of a play, is to be a trial scene – the humanbeing on trial for acts against planet earth. Judith is to be the judge – an
owl. Rachel will be the human – presenting her own defence. I, as a fox,
will act as prosecutor. And Doug and Andrew will be brought in as
various witnesses. The audience will be enlisted as the jury.
We do a run-through, figuring out our lines and positions as we go. It is
fox energy at work, as we go round and round, chasing ideas, sometimes
nipping at each other with frayed nerves and occasional flaring tempers.
We have to stop a few times to deal with social issues that emerge, like
374
people not feeling heard, or impatience with each other. However, we
work things through, which will hopefully strengthen our chemistry for
the performance. Satisfied we have something to offer, we pack up and
walk back to the campsite.
The more directionless society becomes, the more urgent
is the need for strong-willed artistic undertakings.
Patria pg. 34
I immediately head for the lake. It's not only the best way to cool off, it's
the best way to wash. It also provides respite from the uneven ground one
is constantly walking on. There's nothing level anywhere. Flat surfaces
don't exist in nature. Alone in the water, I take a moment to examine the
extent of my mosquito bites. I've taken a few hits from some hungry
females. I also examine the burn on one hand and the sprained finger on
the other. There are other aches and pains from all the hiking, and bruises
on my legs from knocking into rocks. Life in the forest is making its mark.
Eventually, others come down to the water, strip and jump in, a sight I'm
still getting used to. It isn't something you see every day, and I'm
fascinated by the fact that even though we all have the same body parts –
no two bodies are alike.
I Philosopher King
Before going to the kitchen to help with preparation of the evening meal, I
snatch a little quiet time at the kybo. It would appear all the delicious
vegetarian food, replete with beans and grains galore, is doing a fine job
of keeping me regular. However, it brings to mind one of my pet peeves –
a grievance with God – so much of our life revolves around the feeding
and fulfilment of our animal appetites.
It takes time to obtain food, prepare it, eat it. Three times a day. Then
there are the activities attendant to our appetites, such as washing up after
eating, brushing and flossing teeth – so we'll continue to have teeth with
which to eat. Additionally, there is the time spent in the bathroom, which
then needs to also be cleaned. With a third of our life spent sleeping and
then all the time taken to keep our animal nature happy there's not much
time left for a life – let alone a spiritual life.
Atop my woodsy throne I am the philosopher king.
Has nature endowed us with appetites for a good reason? I grow weary of
the endless shopping, eating and shitting, and for what, just to stay alive?
A part of me rebels against this cycle and wants more time to make art,
make music – make love. What we do as humans seems more determined
by our appetites than our aspirations. We're already wolves with all the
eating, crapping and cleaning. A wolf will awaken in the morning, groom
and feed itself, then seek companionship. I too move with these
undulating urges. But where is the "me" in that? What makes me different
375
than an animal? Is the only difference the thing I sit upon – the kybo
between me and my shit?
I'm not one to spend hours on the toilet like some who do their reading
there. However, I feel no hurried urge to depart my woodsy throne in the
presence of these majestic trees. There's something philosophically
invigorating about vacating one's bowels in the presence of tall trees. The
questions that have been following me since I've been following Murray
alight once more.
When am I being me? When am I not being me? How would I know if I'm
not being me? Where is the "I" in me? If I'm not being me – who or what
am I being?
Endeavouring to understand the mystery of myself, I look up to the tops of
my pillar witnesses, high in the sky, in hope they can pass something from
their perspective. I notice sunbeams playing down through the trees, some
illuminating leaves, some rays making it as far as my quiet commode. It
feels like the trees are trying to channel enlightened thoughts to me.
We humans are dichotomous beings. We experience a split between the
part that has its eyes directed downward – nose to the ground like a wolf
seeking food. But there is also something that wants to be elevated, eyes
and ears turned up toward high art, transcendent sounds and lofty ideals.
Is this the tension between animal and divine realms, in which the human
is found squirming in the middle? Is this what Murray is illustrating in the
dualism of Wolf and the Princess of the Stars?
Mosquitoes have discovered me and are beginning to circle in for a
feeding frenzy. My reverie fades. It's time to leave the kybo and my
philosophizing for now. But not with the toilet paper placed here in a ziplock baggie – unsuitably civilized for this primal moment. Rather, I reach
out again to my friends the trees and pluck some leaves, thanking them for
their selfless participation in my lofty ruminations, as well as serving me
in my lowly places.
Appropriation
The Wolf Project is definitely a place for people who like to sing. Each
evening the repertoire grows, as does everyone's confidence, seasoned
Wolves teaching the songs to the new Wolves. A ritual that gets repeated
every night at the campfire is called One Red Willow.
One blue lake, one sky
One people
One red willow bending close to the ground
One flame in the darkness
One people
One red willow bending close to the ground
One blue lake, one sky
376
A million stars
One red willow
One people
This is an aboriginal poem that has been incorporated into the Wolf
Project. A new person brings up the issue of appropriation of native
traditions. This sparks a question – is the Wolf Project appropriating
aboriginal songs, symbols and rituals inappropriately? Someone makes
the point that these sorts of pieces were created long before copyright
laws. But others think it's not right for anyone to use these traditions
without the blessing of the people who carry them from their ancestors.
An elder informs us that One Red Willow is being used with permission.
Furthermore, the Wolf Project is within the context of the larger body of
work, the Patria cycle, which pays homage to many legacies – Greek,
Egyptian, Chinese as well as indigenous cultures. There is even an
Egyptian song about the Sun god Ra sung here, Sach-me Ri'a, which is
purportedly somewhere between two and three thousand years old – one
of the oldest known songs.
Reportedly, Murray's position is that universal truths and archetypes are
intrinsic to all cultures. They are codes of the soul. If there are things that
have been fostered by a particular tradition, then we acknowledge that
respectfully. However, they are gifts of the earth that are needed by all,
and should be used rather than relegated to books where their worth in our
collective cultural heritage is limited. If something has value, then singing
and performing it brings it to life and gives it honour. It feels like we are
doing that in this environment.
These are not old rituals. They are timeless and always
new. Compared to them the rituals of modern life appear
crude and self-serving: Christmas, New Years Day,
birthdays, wedding anniversaries, football and hockey
playoffs. Suddenly we are plunged back into the world
of technicians, stars and money.
... In the area of spiritual affairs our rituals are weak and
emaciated.
Patria pg. 96
What's a Howl?
The tradition is that every night at some point during the campfire we do
the Wolf Chant. At the end of the chant we all howl. If the atmospheric
conditions are right the howl can be heard at the other campsites, a
kilometre or more away, and they howl back. The howling can go back
and forth several times and sometimes even real wolves join in. Tonight is
such a night. We can hear the howl of wolves and it causes me to wonder.
Why are we howling? If we are to identify with wolves – what are the
wolves howling at? Some say wolves howl at the moon. Others say this is
in the realm of Farley Mowat fiction. Tonight the wolves are howling at
377
our howling. So maybe it's not just the moon that wolves howl at. Yet we
know the moon affects the earth, the tides and the activities of sentient
beings. So perhaps the moon brings out the howling of wolves even if it's
not the moon itself they howl at. So then, if not the moon – what is the
object of a wolf's howl – and why am I howling?
The Wolf Project Bubble
As spirits dim with the fire, people begin to disperse to their respective
dens. The days have become busy with little time to be in our tents, so I
look forward to some tent-centric time with my friend. She feels the same.
Lying together we listen to the nocturne – someone walking slowly,
singing, along the path through the forest. Music sweetened by distance. It
gradually fades but the beauty remains imprinted on my senses, leaving
me feeling warm and open.
Breaking the silence, my friend asks me about my family. The question
comes as a bit of a shock. I've not been thinking about my family, or
anything else outside the Wolf Project for that matter. It feels like an
intrusion on the sanctity of the space and causes my heart to recoil. Why
does she want to know more about me – the me on the outside? I tell her I
don't really want to talk about myself and that I actually like not knowing
about her at this point, it makes it more mysterious. I ask if we can leave
these questions until later. She understands and agrees. Silence returns.
Maeterlinck once spoke of the 'overwhelming influence
of the thing not spoken,' believing that 'the profounder
vibrations of the soul are more easily communicated by
silence than by speech.'
Patria pg. 145
The mood in the tent shifts. It's as if this agreement to hold silence
regarding our personal lives has put a bubble in place. It then hits me –
one of the things Murray is aiming for. The Wolf Project offers the
opportunity to temporarily suspend aspects of ourselves. We have
permission to park our personae at the parking lot and let other parts
emerge, in the Wolf Project bubble. The Wolf Project is meant to be an
oasis from ourselves – the outside self and the constant cues of who we
are, or more so, who we think we are. It allows the "Wolf in you" to come
through. To hear our own howl.
The silence in the tent feels like a balm, a protective skin, not unlike the
tent itself. There is no compulsion to fill the space with words as if
silence were an indicator that something is wrong. Paradoxically, a deeper
sense of connection emerges between us. The barrier of the sleeping bags
now seems superficial. Last night we pushed through the social barrier of
coming into physical contact with each other. Tonight we have broken
new ground in soul contact. It takes minimal words to agree that sharing a
sleeping bag would be warmer, as the nights have been getting colder. In
378
darkness we transition from separate sleeping bags to sharing – one
underneath and one over top. It feels good. Really good. Her warmth feels
good. Her body feels good.
I then pick up our conversation from the previous night, “If animals
dream, do you think animals ever dream of being human? And do wolves
howl because this dream has yet to become reality? And do we howl at
the campfire every night as a way to get in touch with the dream of our
inner wolf – to become human?”
She giggles at my questions, as if I'm not being serious. But I'm
completely serious. She then snuggles closer, silent except for the sound
of her breath upon my neck. It makes me aware of the change in my own
breathing, as something stirs within.
To Wolf or Not to Wolf
I awake in the middle of the night. A part of me needs to go to the kybo.
Another part resists, sniffing the cold air. A third part witnesses the debate
to see who will win – the call of nature or the part that enjoys creature
comfort, curled up with my snuggly-friend.
My analytical side deduces that lying on the cold ground has shrunk my
bladder, reducing its carrying capacity, and the level of comfort will
continue to diminish until I get up and relieve myself. Reason wins over
comfort – rationalizing that a little late-night philosophizing might also
relieve my restless mind.
While winding along the tranquil trail, ideas swarm like mosquitoes –
idioms pertaining to wolves. He "wolfs" down his dinner is a common
idiom, in which case "to wolf" becomes a verb. Is this what Murray wants
in the Wolf Project? To learn to wolf? This idiom is usually used about
someone who eats hurriedly or greedily. This is surely what a wolf will do
amidst the competition of the pack, biting and tearing off pieces and
swallowing without the twenty-two chews a human is recommended to
do. However, a wolf's teeth are primarily designed for biting and tearing,
more than chewing. And often the food which is hurriedly swallowed is
regurgitated later for other wolves. Even in the frenzied chomp at survival
there's empathy for other wolves. So it's one thing when a wolf "wolfs" –
but quite another when a human "wolfs.”
My self-talk seems particularly lucid in the cool of the night. And the
darkness surrounding the kybo feels like a safe space to do it audibly.
A wolf is a wolf and a human is a human. A wolf has canine teeth to tear
at flesh. A human too has canines but also other types of teeth. Is this
symbolic of how we as humans have more variety in how we use our
heads? Even though we can bite and tear, we have the added choice to
chew – a nice metaphor for how the mind can mull and masticate before
acting. Animals are specialists – there is something they're each good at.
But humans are generalists – we can create all sorts of things such as
379
planes to fly in, submarines to submerge in and computers to calculate for
us. Our intelligence can create things to take us beyond our limits,
whereas animals can't. So when a wolf “wolfs” it is really innocent in its
action because it has a limited instincts. Whereas when a human “wolfs”
rather than chews, it's what they choose. In this way humans are more
accountable, unlike a wolf who can do no other than “to wolf.” Thus the
potential for guilt comes with power and freedom of choice. Which is
why the human is always on trial, as we Foxes will demonstrate
dramatically in our encounter tomorrow.
It's a good time to enjoy the kybo. The cool air kills off mosquitoes, so
one can sit and think without the distraction of swatting. Despite the
earthy aroma wafting up from the dark chasm beneath me, I prefer this
facility over a sterile, tiled cubicle with florescent-lighting and autoantibacterial sprays any day. Nature seems to reveal her secrets more
readily to my bone-encrusted cranium whilst in the receptive, if not
vulnerable position of a primitive privy – pants about my ankles. I reflect
again about the wolves that attacked and killed the young woman working
at the Wolf Centre.
They were all destroyed, as ordered by the authorities. They were held
accountable for their actions. But they “wolfed” as wolves will do, simply
following instinct. Perhaps it was unnatural for a human to think she
could get close to something wild. And perhaps we are dancing
dangerously close here at the Wolf Project, thinking we can get close to
the wildness in ourselves. Yes, art should be dangerous.
I look at the silhouettes of the trees. They point up to the sky. I look up
and see the stars. White dots on black paper. Is there a secret message
scored in the stars? We need the Princess to sing it to us.
For a human “to wolf” something down it must be coming from a place of
fear. Isn't that what Murray is suggesting in his story? In the prologue,
Wolf is frightened and chomps at the Princess, wounding her. So when a
human reacts with fear it is coming from a baser place, rather than higher
knowledge, and therefore living below the capacity for consciousness.
Things like greed, envy, lust and gluttony are instincts gone off the rails.
But humans have that freedom – and thus are the most unpredictable and
potentially dangerous creatures on earth.
Feeling tingly from the purity of space held by the trees, I revel in the rich
material Murray has laid before us to chew on. Murray wants us to engage
with our inner Wolf but I think he wants us to engage with our inner
philosopher too. In the Wolf Project, Murray is more a philosopher than a
composer. I return to the den and lay with my fellow wolf.
The Beat of the Day
Our concert is an eternal première
changing each day and each hour of the day.
Are they approving or disapproving;
380
the birds and animals with whom
we share this wilderness lake?
R. Murray Schafer, Wolf Music CD
The rhythm is picking up. It's the fifth day and I'm starting to get a feel for
what each day holds – a great deal in the daily recital of activities.
Awakening with the aubade ... sunrise ritual ... breakfast ... down to the
meadow to open the Wheel. These activities are bookended by the sunset
ritual, closing the Wheel and the campfire. In between there are chores ...
getting water ... filtering water ... chopping wood ... cooking. And then, of
course, there is eating, cleaning and pilgrimages to the kybo. On top of
my preparation for the Fox encounter, I also need to work on my role as
Utanda for Great Wheel Day. The days are full at Wolf Week.
Of course Haliburton Forest isn't Butlin's Holiday Camp!
Patria pg. 255
The presentation of the other clan encounters has begun. Some have been
lively performances of music, drama and dance, involving costumes made
out of forest pieces, and escapades into decorated places in the woods. It
is wonderful to experience a variety of landscapes – meadows, forests,
gorges, glades, the Canadian shield, the face of Mother Nature – and see
how people can carve out performance in this variety of settings. Even
getting to the other campsites to see these encounters is an experience in
itself. Hiking there is half the fun. Along the way we get to see signs of
where animals have been active. Stag rutting and bear and moose scat
keep everyone's eyes open for a chance to spot a real animal in the wild.
The Trial
Today we Foxes present our encounter. After opening the Wheel, the five
of us make a beeline for Three Corners, rushing past the raspberries
screaming to be picked. We want to squeeze our forty-five minute
encounter into a ten minute run-through before everyone else arrives. We
definitely don't feel over-rehearsed but we do feel excited about what is
coming to fruition.
The rest of the clans – our audience and soon to be jury – arrive and are
seated facing the judge's bench. Judith, as Judge Hooty, presides. Order is
called in the court and the proceedings begin. I, as prosecutor, Mr. Fox,
make a confident, if not pompous entrance with my bushy tail swishing in
the air behind me. I acknowledge Her Owlness and greet the courtroom
full of animals. The defendant, Rachel the human, is brought out and
seated before the court.
Judge Hooty reads the charge. “The human is on trial for travesties
against the earth, arrogant acts of destruction, and atrocities against other
life forms. The human is charged with a form of high treason, heresy, or
more specifically in this case – Hairlessy. Today, the future of the human
is called into question.”
381
Judge Hooty calls on Mr. Fox for his introductory remarks. My fox tongue
goes to work.
“Dear members of the jury, you have been called here today on this
auspicious, if not propitious juncture in evolution, to weigh in the scales
of justice the fate of the human being. I apologize in advance that we will
be forced to speak of unspeakable acts as we survey time, produce graphic
evidence, and introduce distraught witnesses to testify to the crimes of
humanity throughout history that have led to the devastation, if not
extinction of plants, animals and even other human beings. In this case,
the human is accused of mismanagement of power, refusal to work in
cooperation with the animals on earth, and of denying the consonant
forces of creation. In other words – Hairlessy.
“I beg the jury's forbearance for the urgency of this inter-species
emergency. And I beg your patience as you are placed in the
uncomfortable position – on three horns of a dilemma you could say – as
we face animal enemy number 1. But I feel assured that in the end you
will see that the bi-ped does not have a leg to stand on, and that there is no
other option for the jury than a verdict of guilty. The roadkiller must
become the roadkill.”
I finish my opening remarks with a glinty smile and swish of my tail. The
first witness, the Passenger Pigeon, is brought out and put in the witness
box. Doug gets a good laugh from the audience, not only because he has
constructed a great costume out of forest bits, but when he's asked to
place his wing on the Holy Bark and swear to tell the truth, he produces
the most forlorn look imaginable. He does a good extinct pigeon.
When asked to tell his story, he takes us back to a time when there were
so many Passenger Pigeons they “flew in clouds” and “blackened the sky”
but began to “fall like rain” when humans arrived with “thundersticks.”
Under Mr. Fox's examination, the witness clarifies that it was the humans’
over-hunting that drove the Passenger Pigeon to extinction.
Next up is the Black Rhinoceros. When asked where he was on the night
of his extinction, Andrew musters up a good rhino impersonation and tells
the court of his days enjoying the grasslands of the Serengeti – that is
until humans came along, shot him down, took his horn and left him to
rot. When asked why the human wanted his horn, the Black Rhinoceros
tells the court it was to make an aphrodisiac. Apparently his horn makes
humans “horny.”
That gets a laugh from the audience. However, Mr. Fox is aghast that the
procreative prowess of one species was enhanced at the expense of
another. “The irony, your Honour, is that in the human's quest for survival
they screwed the Black Rhino out of existence!”
After each examination by Mr. Fox, Rachel, as the human, who has no
one to defend her but herself, is called to make a cross-examination and
speak on her own behalf. This is where the challenges of the case emerge
382
and become intriguing. With each witness, Rachel does an admirable job
of defending her actions and demonstrating how not everything is black
and white, as Mr. Fox suggests, but how there are lots of gray areas. She
also assures the court that she no longer owns any clothing, jewellery or
accessories that involve cruelty to animals.
The Teak Tree, indigenous to India is brought in next. This tree is not
dead, but it is fifty rings old. He tells the court he feels threatened by the
human. He then presents Exhibit A, a coffee table made out of his friend.
The human has taken to turning teak trees into coffee tables at an
alarming rate.
“Coffee tables!” Mr. Fox focuses on the seriousness of over-harvesting
and monoculture – the Teak Tree's demise is dominoing into the demise
of other plant life. The human argues her justifications, even if regrettably
there has been collateral damage. As she continues to build her case for a
stay of execution she insists she now only drinks fair-trade coffee.
The parade of witnesses is concluded with testimony from a Beothuk, a
member of the now extinct aboriginal tribe who at one time populated
Newfoundland. “Thank you for coming all the way from extinction to
address the court today,” says Judge Hooty. In his stumbly English, the
Beothuk tells of how “the floating people arrived on his shores, stealing
his food supplies and leaving him with their diseases.”
Again, the human rises and makes points in her own defence. “Would
progress have been possible without incident, without impact, without
some destructive elements? Are all problems on earth rooted in human
nature? Or is nature itself a contributing factor? The causes of destruction
are debatable!”
Judge Hooty then asks if there are any in the room who would like to
come before the court and present arguments for or against, to help
determine the fate of the human.
There is no problem in finding members from other clans to come forward
and take the stand. Some step into the theatrical aspect of our encounter
and speak in animal character. Some seize the opportunity to air serious
points about the history of humanity. Pros and cons come to the surface.
In the ensuing debate there is an opportunity for people's attitudes and
opinions to change, as the poles are pitted against each other. Some think
the human should be annihilated, and some think the human should be
given more time. It's entertaining and informative. The power of the
Shapeshifter has been invoked, and everyone's thinking processes are
ignited in some way.
Judge Hooty then calls upon Mr. Fox to make his closing comments. This
gives my silver fox tongue one last workout. “Fair members of the jury,
today we have heard from the very mouths of extinct and near extinct
species. We have heard of the horrors of being hunted and harassed. We
have heard a list as long as a giraffe's neck of the unearthly activities of
383
the human acting hairlessly. How much longer will we allow this rampage
of carnage to continue? It all boils down to one thing, my fellow furred
and feathered friends. In the end, either the human will survive or animals
will survive. Which will you choose? As the clock ticks away, I tell you
it's high time to vote the human off the island! The only good Skin Animal
is a dead Skin Animal, destined to become a mere footnote in history
books, relegated to be a relic in "museumdumb." Members of the jury,
you hold the power in your paws and claws.” Turning to the Judge's
bench, I finish with, “Thank you, your Hootiness, I rest my haunch.”
Judge Hooty then charges the jury. “As you retire to the Jury Chamber,
you take with you the question – Is the human guilty of the said charge –
Hairlessy? And if so, how guilty? Guilty enough to warrant annihilation?
Would that save the world from destruction? What you decide will not
only determine the future of the human, but the future of the planet and all
life on it. Members of the jury, you are charged with determining the
outcome. Masticate with care!”
In foxy fashion we leave the audience hanging – a hung jury one could
say – and depart to our green room behind the bushes. We don't stand
around to postulate a position, propose an answer or present a conclusion.
As Foxes with the mandate to illustrate Shapeshifter energy, it is entirely
suitable to deal in paradox and riddle – then leave everyone to their own
devices. Case closed, curtain down, encounter over.
Debriefing
Following the encounter all the clans gather at our campsite to eat lunch.
It's a hot, sunny day and there's time for swimming, which is what most
people decide to do. The swimsuit optional spot is a magnificent sight,
Adam and Eve everywhere, blissfully enjoying paradise regained,
redeemed by goodness, freed from the fig leaf and the covering of guilt.
I'm reminded of one of the fears I had when I first heard about the Wolf
Project – that I'd be with an odd bunch of people who like running around
naked and howling at the moon. Well, it's not far from the truth – and I'm
loving it.
A lot of people are complimentary about the Fox encounter and tell us we
did a good job. I feel good about it myself. But more importantly, the
question we put to the jury still lingers – should we humans be
exterminated from the shores of this planet for the damage we've done? Is
there a way to work things out or is it too late?
I recall the Old Testament story about Abraham's plea-bargaining with
God to spare the city of Sodom, if enough good people could be found
within its walls. I wonder what our situation looks like from God's point
of view. While disrobing and drinking in the refreshing sight, I ask myself
– is there enough good going on here to spare the planet? Is a handful of
myth-ritualists participating in the Wolf Project and the plot to save the
384
planet putting much weight into the scales of justice? Will we end up in
glory, or as grease spots?
These are big questions this Fox doesn't have answers to, so I just jump in
and join the swimming – while the going is good.
In the Light of the Moon
After the evening campfire, my tent-mate and I both seem excited to get
back to the tent together. The nocturne begins before my friend and I have
a chance to speak – someone walking through the woods beating a drum
soulfully. But there's no need to introduce words into the tent-bubble,
which feels like it is holding all the world out, except for just a touch of
yin moonlight.
The beating drum becomes a lush backdrop as we undress. I lie back and
watch my wolf-mate remove her layers of fur right down to the skin.
Reaching the last layer her breasts shine in the platinum moonlight,
radiating like intent celestial orbs high in the sky. As if hungry to wolf
each other’s warmth, we navigate our positioning under the covers to
optimize the amount of body surface touching. For a moment it feels like
some disguised caressing takes place.
Lying together as one, a problem arises – there isn't enough room for two
pillows. We decide to share one pillow. She offers hers, saying it's the
larger of the two. It's an intimate gesture, to share one's pillow. I feel
warmth in my friend's gesture. Now we are sharing one cover – one
pillow – and one red willow.
A sense of sacredness permeates the space. The tent feels sacred. The cold
earth beneath us feels sacred. The warmth of two bodies feels sacred.
Sacred space was invoked today and therefore everything in the space is
endowed with sacredness. I can see why Murray says the search for the
sacred is important – it gives direction to our efforts. Life is imbued with
a new hue. I can see why it has been a central focus of ancient peoples. In
a world that sometimes seems devoid of purpose, sacredness gives
purpose – perhaps the ultimate purpose.
I Wolf
It’s the middle of the night and I'm awake. I can't sleep. It's cold – but I'm
hot. Not hot and bothered. Well, sort of. It's been another exciting day.
The encounter was exciting. Socializing was exciting. Swimming was
exciting. Lying here wolf to wolf is exciting. But it's an unfamiliar
excitement. Or is it an excitement about the unfamiliar? An opportunity
lies before me.
I look more closely at the one I embrace, moonlight penetrating our tent
illuminating her hair and flesh. There is a certain "je ne sais quoi" about a
sleeping woman. So warm ... so open ... so delicious ... so vulnerable! In
the wheel of life everybody is feeding on everybody else to stay alive. It's
not something people like to admit but we all got to do what we got to do
385
to survive. It's not a good thing to repress one's animal appetites. A wolf
has to do what a wolf has to do; to wolf.
I listen to the crazy thoughts in my head, the kind that come when creative
juices are dangerously intermingled with passions, while the conscience
clambers for handholds on the mountain of ideals. Phrases from Murray
start swimming in my head – enantiodromia – rage against that which
would destroy you – journey through the labyrinth – a forum of
possibilities – thaumaturgy. I wish Murray would hurry up and get here!
Wolf feels the call of nature. I cock my ears and listen for sounds outside
the tent. No mice tonight, just dead silence. Too bad. Unzipping the
zipper, I slip out. Padding along the path barefoot, without flashlight, my
white wolf eyes piercing the thick darkness, the forest feels different
tonight. Vacuous.
The instinct for self-preservation is as important as the instinct for selfexpression. On the other hand, I don't know if sexual expression is the
best alternative to sexual repression. It can create problems. On the other
hand, some say that if we take care of our instincts our instincts will take
care of us. On the other paw, I imagine there's a fine line between being in
touch with one's inner wolf and being swallowed up by it. There are
millions of people on the planet right now who are behind bars because
they were unable to tame their wild side, their shadow, so society cages
them like an animal.
I approach the kybo – also feeling vacuous. As I rest myself, I scan the
forest and its menagerie of silhouettes. No animal rustles in my presence.
What is worse – being eaten by a wolf or being consumed by one's
shadow? What would happen if a wolf came up to me right now? Would I
fear? Would I flee or fight? Would I be torn to shreds and consumed until
the last morsel was wolfed down – literally becoming one with them? Or
would I be befriended by them, considered an ally – wolfboy, gradually
ascending the hierarchy of the pack to become the alpha male? Wolfman
– fully embodying the protagonist of Patria, Murray's hero, the hero with
a thousand faces, the hero with the hairy face. Would I then be fulfilled?
The Great Gnawing
There's something deep down being denied, the hunger of something
unsatisfied, a gnawing – The Great Gnawing. Wolf speaks.
I Wolf
I long for something
Hungry, looking
Hungry looking
Looking hungry
Looking, hungry
Something longs in me
I Wolf
386
Should I go back to the tent and feed my hunger? Is this the onset of
another mad episode à la Asterion? Is this more maze-fever, more turns in
the labyrinth, more crazy-making conundrums – more of Murray's “art
should be dangerous?”
I look down at the dark hole beneath me; an apt metaphor for how I feel,
perched on the precipice of the abyss.
Here I am hanging out at a crapper, looking at the shit most humans don't
like to think about. I'm not unlike a wolf that regurgitates the contents of
its stomach to share with others.
I decide to go to the kitchen for a snack. I quietly pad my way to the
kitchen, cocking my ears to hear if other animals are there. Sometimes
people are careless about closing the bear barrels, inviting a night-time
feeding frenzy. With baited breath I start digging into the barrels to see
what I can find to stave, suppress, silence the Great Gnawing.
Rice cakes. I hate rice cakes – packaged air.
I wolf one down like nothing – which it is. Perhaps it will do as a late
night snack – not too heavy and hopefully fulfilling.
That's it. That's what I want, to feel filled – creatively fulfilled, not just
from sex but from creative fulfilment. The animal inside thinks that
fulfilment comes from creature comforts but that doesn't address the other
part that longs for art, science, religion – things that come from creative
power rather than procreative prowess, things that inspire evolution of the
spirit. Is that not what I really hunger for – on top of sex? Or is it just sex
on top?
I let out a long laugh as I adorn a rice cake with a load of peanut butter
and wolf it down. I like my inner animal – I like its biting wit. I lick the
peanut butter off my paws, then wipe the grin off my face, looking around
to see if anyone heard me laughing. Self-talk is considered healthy but
laughing out loud at yourself still has a stigma of peculiarity attached to it.
I want more of the sort of thing you get from engaging in the arts. Artistic
intercourse, like we did today in the Fox encounter. Creating that
encounter was satisfying.
I put another swipe of peanut butter on a rice cracker, this time adding a
sizable dollop of jam, wolfing it back.
What stupid beasts we humans are. We put so much thought into what we
put into our mouths but so little thought into what we put into our
thoughts. We think we think! I think if more people took the time to talk
to themselves – I mean to have a really good conversation with
themselves – especially late at night when the light is dim, as are the
senses, then maybe they'd get to know the human inside. Otherwise we
remain a human trapped in wolf's clothing. Or like Little Red Riding
Hood's grandmother, stuck in the wolf's belly. But if we exercise our
387
thinking, spiritualized thinking, then maybe we can get beyond the
limitations of our instinctual nature.
I load up one more rice cracker to sate the Great Gnawing.
The Wolf Project takes people into nature. Why? So we can get in touch
with our nature and then turn it into a different nature. Wolf is not a wolf
but a symbol of the drive to survive but malleable enough to be directed
toward something else, something higher.
I wipe the peanut butter from my muzzle. Satisfied that the night's
excursion quieted my hunger, I pad my way back to the den and return to
the supine position – snout to the sky.
The Arrival of Our Murray Schafer
Music should approach nature said Jean-Jacques Rousseau.
Nature and music integrated again,
blended as they once were
before we cut ourselves off from the breathing earth.
The musician performs and nature listens.
Nature performs and the musician listens.
This is what we are learning – how to listen.
R. Murray Schafer, Wolf Music CD
Murray, referred to here as "the man in purple pants," arrives after
breakfast in his signature rain pants. Jerrard Smith went and picked him
up by canoe at the landing. None of us have any way to know what the
weather forecast is so Murray acts as the weatherman and tells us there is
a tornado warning in effect. Apparently, a large tornado passed through
the Haliburton Forest last night causing a huge amount of damage at a
lake just 12 kilometres away. And there is still more unsettled weather in
the forecast.
A meeting is called. Some start talking about setting up emergency places
to go in the event of a tornado. Someone says, “Art should be dangerous
but it shouldn't be stupid,” and talks about evacuating immediately. As the
meeting starts to break up, Murray begins to walk away. I stop him and
ask what he thinks. He simply says, “Let's get on with the show.”
I Utanda of the Human Clan
Tomorrow being the Great Wheel Day ritual, today is the time to work on
my role as Utanda. I have been given directions from my fellow Foxes as
to where I am to be as a Fox during the performance, however, my other
role requires that I leave them for part of the show to perform as Utanda.
Peg Evans, who is directing the show, goes over my cues with me and
reviews my positions.
I ask Peg the same question I have asked others, especially those who
have done the role of Utanda in the past, “How should I portray this
character?” The answer is always the same, Murray wants the creativity
388
high – it's ultimately up to me how to interpret this character and deliver
his lines. So I'm left to ponder how I'm going to bring him to life,
especially considering he is the one human, who represents all humans,
joining the animals in the Great Wheel.
Magic Songs
The day is ending,
it's raining now – a new song.
In the woods a timber wolf begins to howl.
R. Murray Schafer, Wolf Music CD
During the evening campfire "bad weather," as some people refer to it,
moves in. I don't like to think any weather is "bad." Weather just is. In this
case rain has decided to include itself in our gathering. Someone suggests
we do the rain chant and we invoke it fervently.
That is what our ancestors tried to do when they danced
and drummed the rain chant. As nature's creatures, they
believed they had the power to influence environmental
changes.
Patria pg. 230
The Wolf Project has numerous chants, including chants to invoke
different kinds of weather, chants for other creatures, chants of thanks and
praise, and healing chants – all considered magic songs. Murray says he
composed these magic songs for the Wolf Project but they are also
performed by choral groups – mostly in Japan, which he attributes to the
fact that the Japanese are still strongly connected to the nature-based
religion of Shintoism.
In response to someone's question about how the chants should be done,
Murray takes a moment to talk about the nature of the chants. “Attitude is
primary. If you believe in magic you can make things happen with a single
note. But a magician has to believe in magic in order to make it work.”
Magic Songs leads us back to the era of “tone magic,”
when the purpose of singing was not merely to give
pleasure but was intended to bring about a desired effect
in the physical world. In spirit culture, everything has its
voice, and the aim of the singer is to unify himself with
this voice, “For anyone who knows and can imitate the
special sound of an object is also in possession of the
energy with which that object is charged...by soundimitation the magician (musician) can therefore make
himself master of the energies of growth, of purification
or of music without himself being plant, water or
melody. His art consists first of all in localizing the
object in sound and then coordinating himself with it by
trying to hit the right note, that is, the note peculiar to
389
the object concerned.” (Marius Schneider, “Primitive
Music,” The New Oxford History of Music.)
The aim of these songs, with magic texts in a language
spoken by no human, is to restore aspects of nature
which have been destroyed or neglected by humanity. To
the extent that the performers and the audience believe
in them, they will be successful. I have heard the work
sung by many choirs and it is quite obvious whether the
performers believe or not that they can change the world
with their voices. The modern belief that the purpose of
singing is merely to provide pleasure for the ears inhibits
the grander theme of Magic Songs. If choirs were to sing
them in the dancing light of campfires in the wilderness,
they would get closer to the magic power these songs
can release. In fact five of the songs are adaptations of
chants I composed for the Wolf Project and are sung in
precisely this manner each year during Wolf Week.
Magic Songs – Program Notes 1988
News
Our attempt at charming nature produces no immediate respite from the
rain. I'm not sure if people in this circle believe fully enough in the magic
to make it happen. We live in such materialistic times. Those remaining
zip jackets a little tighter and pull closer to the fire. Murray takes the
opportunity to tell us some bad news from the outside world.
Just two days ago Richard Bradshaw collapsed at the Toronto
International Airport while returning from a holiday. He died of a heart
attack, cutting his life short at age 63. This has left his wife, two children
and the opera community in shock. For those not familiar with Richard
Bradshaw, Murray explains that he was the General Director of the
Canadian Opera Company.
A discussion arises about Richard's life and how he sacrificed himself for
the creation of the new Four Season's Opera House in Toronto. Personal
testimony from Peg Evans, who had close contact with him through her
performances with the Canadian Opera Company, and is obviously moved
by Richard's passing, tells how his passion drove him. As artistic head he
would be conducting at night, then as administrative head he would be in
the office at 4:30 a.m. doing paperwork. He was there with hammer and
nail helping to get the building up. He came to Toronto in 1989 with the
belief he would one day work in a new auditorium, better suited to opera
than the O'Keefe Centre. Bradshaw took it as a personal mission to move
the COC into its own home, calling it his “Thirty Year War.”
Murray makes the comment that perhaps the "bad news" has a good side
for the Canadian Opera Company, and that they'll be able to finally let the
390
damn thing die with him. “What?” is the response from a few, as their still
shocked minds try to register whether Murray is sincere or sarcastic.
Perhaps it's due to his history with the COC that Murray allows this offcoloured comment to overshadow the sadness some feel at the moment.
It's obvious that others don't find his humour funny or well-timed.
Co-Opera
I'm reminded of something I read in Patria, where Murray does little to
disguise his curmudgeonly attitude toward the Canadian Opera Company.
In the chapter on Wolfman he writes quite sourly about the monotony of
the process that led up to the 1987 production.
Opera is defined by its repertoire. This makes it
irretrievable. Perhaps its obesity distresses us the most,
for we want lean, athletic art. The waste of capital is
more conspicuous in opera than in any of the arts. …
Yet there it stands in the midst of society with the
appetite of a dinosaur, fed by blowzy socialites. The soft
carpets and the red velvet are still there, the chandeliers
with their thousand tiny drops of glittering light still
spill down on the jewelled necklaces. We are to presume
that such a bastion will fall in our time? Let us
circumnavigate it.
Patria pg. 41
Murray has invested a lot in the development of the concept he calls "coopera." He explains his ideas in the chapters of Patria dealing with the
"Theatre of Confluence," where he has laid out simultaneously what I
consider his most scathing social criticism and erudite insights. His ideal
of co-opera has obviously not been satisfied in working with Canadian
production companies, perhaps leaving him feeling misunderstood,
undervalued or even alienated. The ironic twist is that both Patria 1 and 2
are studies in alienation. He makes a statement in which he identifies with
the alienated character, D. P. – an abbreviation for Displaced Person.
Murray says, “D.P., c'est moi.” Sincerity or more sarcasm?
The chapter about Patria 1 concludes with, “A trashy poster advertised
Patria 1 as 'a work about alienation and non-communication in the video
age,' which is about as accurate as calling Faust a drama about a libertine
who raped a maid. The audience was provided with no introduction to the
work in the flimsy program notes ... The Canadian Opera Company
charged me for tickets to attend the première. I did not attend any of the
performances.” In the following chapter, Murray describes in similar
tones an episode in 1972 when Stratford produced Patria 2: Requiems for
the Party Girl.
So Murray carries a bit of bile about past productions of his works and
lets it ooze out on occasion, such as now. I've heard some people speak
391
with admiration about Murray's lack of censorship when it comes to
voicing his opinions. For others, it doesn't always sit well – as in this
moment. However, it seems that a provocateur must do what a
provocateur must do. Murray may also be carrying some frustration
regarding the future. He tells us that he met with Richard Bradshaw this
spring about a possible Canadian Opera Company production of Patria 5:
The Crown of Ariadne. Richard Bradshaw wanted to do it. But he is gone.
Did he tell anyone about his intentions? Will it happen now?
Murray continues to speak about his past experiences with others who
directed his work. “I'm always suspicious when you let one of these opera
directors take a work of yours and try to do something with it. Today they
are so extreme in trying to find something that will appeal to the public.
We end up with operas in which the décor, the costumes, the deportment
of the performers is totally out of context with the writing. I don't go to
operas, so I don't see it, but Eleanor knows all about it. She's done things
like Carmen where the clothes they wore and the stunts they were made to
do had little relevance to the actual theme. But they do this to appeal to
the audience, to make it an eye opener, playing up the audaciousness and
sexiness. The frivolity of a lot of opera productions is absurd.”
The more we travel the world, the more we are made
aware of how unusual our western notions of art and
music really are. The Eskimos have no word for music
and the term is absent from many African languages as
well. ...
We don't know how long art will last in the western
world. I have already described the tendency for it to
erode before the broader appeals of entertainment. That
is the word used by daily newspapers throughout North
America to describe what both artists and entertainers
do. The fact that the artist sees his mission as one
transcending the production of various states of pleasure
is of little consequence here. If he speaks of the height
and depth of his work, he will be regarded as obscure. If
he speaks of his work as prophetic, he will be dismissed
as a quack.
Patria pg. 97
Nocturnal Submissions
Eventually the weather becomes so gusty even the fire has difficulty
hanging in. The image of the bubble of my tent and my friend's warm
bosom finally pulls me away and I say good night to Murray. I undress
and place my head on my friend's pillow – our pillow. My friend places
her head in the crook of my neck in the fashion we've mastered for a
seamless fit. I can smell the smoke of the campfire in her hair – as
tantalizing as any expensive perfume. It's an exotic night with the
392
elements tussling about us, the heaving wind pulsing the sides of the tent
while the rain tries to penetrate. As a juicy humidity fills the tent,
enveloping us, my thoughts warm. My heart warms. I warm all over.
Our embrace has a special quality tonight. More electric than last night.
More magnetic than our first touching. Neither of us is saying anything
but I can tell we're both aware of the rising passion in the bubble. Warmth
builds in my chest as if looking for expression. No words come to mind,
yet my mouth feels energized. I lift my friend's head from the crook of my
neck so we are face to face. I move my face toward hers so the tips of our
noses are touching. I sense her lips smiling. I need no other invitation. I
press my lips against her smiling mouth. No resistance – just the sense of
her body releasing tension and warm flesh melding. But more than flesh –
beyond the flesh – I feel myself inside her flesh – beyond carnal
boundaries. I revel in the passion and want to say something but breaking
the silence would break the spell. I instead allow her lips to read my lips –
to translate my feelings. Lips opening – I wag my tongue excitedly. My
wolfess wags back.
My inner witness watches my inner recklessness assuming the driver's
seat – a man with only one hand on the wheel, the other given licence to
move wherever it wants. The laws of alchemy activated ... elements
engaged ... senses heightened ... careening dangerously ... spinning ...
bubbling ... action seeking reaction ... tension seeking resolution ... heart
pounding beyond chest ... passion expanding beyond the tent ...
Scrambling to remain master of my universe, while my thoughts dart in all
directions like wild rabbits, I suddenly feel confused. Or maybe I was
already confused but this moment is revealing the fact. In some ways it's a
delicious confusion to which I want to surrender. But a part of me remains
lucid enough to ask – who or what is running the show right now? Is it
instinct? Is it Wolf? Is it me? Is it right? Is it in accord with the Wolf
Project? Is it what Murray Schafer would do?
Another part of me doesn't care and wants to plunge deeply. But the now
famous questions that haunted me last winter have located me in the
woods, like hungry female mosquitos, looking for answers. When am I
being myself? When am I not being myself? How would I know if I'm not
being myself? If I'm not being myself – who am I being? And to those
questions I add another – How do I know what instincts to trust?
The bubble of passion pops. I remove my lips from her lips and plant
them on her forehead – channelling the intensity there until it subsides.
Suddenly I have to go to the kybo.
I Creep
More than what is currently in the sky overhead, I feel a dark cloud over
me as I make my way to the kybo, seeking refuge on the philosopher's
throne. What to do? What not to do? What would Wolf do? What would
Murray do? What should Jesse do? What should Jesse the wolf do?
393
I hate it when my self-talk answers questions with questions. Why throw
a wet blanket on a hot fire? Despite all the creativity going on here, why
does something still feels unfulfilled? Does it boil down to lack of sexual
fulfilment? Could it be as banal as that? Of course, one could consider
sex as art – like Murray's Tantrika. That might make it okay. But am I a
serious artist, or am I just interested in sexual rice cakes?
Sometimes you can't see the forest for the trees. Tonight, I can't see the
forest for the dark. In the darkness around I feel a darkness within. To
connect sexually isn't necessarily connecting. The spirit remains
untouched. What really needs arousing is the spirit. That's why we came
here. That's what Wolf is seeking – his spirit in the form of the Princess.
My mind goes back to a conversation I had with someone about the
reptilian brain. I understand what she means now. The reptilian brain has
great power. The reptilian brain is small but mighty. It can assert itself
unexpectedly, seemingly without our consent. How many times has my
reptilian brain trained my eyes on someone as they walked by – scanning
them as potential mating material, wondering what kind of offspring
would be spawned from whatever reptilian warmth we could muster out
of our cold-blooded instincts, as I part the scaly folds of my flickeringtongued lover and propel my seed into her depths and awaiting eggs.
I push to keep the self-talk going – it feels like it's just getting warmed up.
This week would be better called "The Reptilian Brain Project." There is
something more primitive about reptiles than deer and squirrels. I feel
more aligned with their lowliness. Sometimes I feel like a creep. It's partly
my quiet nature – creeping around like I am right now. But I think I also
have a creepy guy side – an inner creep, like when looking down a
woman's cleavage into the abyss between her breasts; looking for a place
to hole-up for the night. Why is there no clan for creepy crawlers? Then I
could feel connected with all that creepeth upon the earth and really own
it. I could officially come out as a creep, warts and all, and work on it. I
could turn my inner creep into a butterfly, and become free of it.
A light goes on. An inner light that points to where some of the difficulty
may lie.
Freedom is the problem. The ability to handle power and freedom is the
greatest challenge a person faces. That's it. That's what we need to deal
with. Sometimes you can have so much liberty it chokes you. When
happy and carefree we are the most dangerous. We don't know which way
to choose. Therefore we have to protect ourselves from ourselves, to save
ourselves from self-destruction and what destruction we may wreak on
the planet. Unable to handle the freedom of a fluttering butterfly, we will
remain a creep.
I make a note to bring this up with Murray and the elders.
394
This is really the crux of the problem facing humanity. It isn't poverty,
disease, hunger or the environment. Those are symptoms. We just don't
know how to handle our power yet. So we don't use it, or we settle for
second best, or we live in a cage with no lock on it. We don't know how
to manage the wealth and abundance of the earth. But we need to use it or
we'll lose it. When a person doesn't use their creative powers properly it
will turn on them. It will lead to destruction. We each need to be engaged
creatively, yoked to a higher ideal and serving the whole.
I feel I'm getting through to a place of honesty I have not been to often
enough in my life.
God show me the right way to express my creativity. I want to be released
from my wormhood and fly in the sky, with the Princess of the Stars. I
should just go back to the tent and say, “Look, let's keep things friendly
but platonic.” It wouldn't be sexual rejection. It would be about exercising
clear boundaries in the face of passions running high.
My self-talk takes on the sound of Murray's voice.
Jesse, you are on the eve of Great Wheel day – the day we draw Wolf out
into the open, not to trick him, not to capture him, but to call him forth to
his apotheosis and unification with the Princess. You have a role in that.
You, Utanda. You are the only human in the Great Wheel, agent of all
humans. You have a job to do – to bring out the best in the rest of the
animals, to get everyone playing their part in the whole. This is the
ultimate mission, for the ultimate salvation. It's the plot to save the planet,
should you decide to participate in it. What do you say, Jesse?
I find these moments of heightened alertness to be engrossing. They
reveal another side – a side usually blanched by the glare of day. It's a bit
like being backstage, behind the scenes, watching the director at work. I
return to the tent to find my tent-mate facing away from me. I do the same
so we're back to back. She doesn't stir. I lie there feeling the warmth of her
back radiating to me – running Utanda's lines until I fall asleep.
You call Wolf but it is I, Utanda, who hears your cry...
On the Tail of R. Murray Schafer
The sun rises like a great yellow eye over the water,
the beginning of a perfect day.
R. Murray Schafer, Wolf Music CD
Getting up is getting easier. The morning aubade is the most beautiful
alarm clock imaginable. And to greet the dawn with others has given the
morning a momentum. The sunrise is truly the most neglected masterpiece
in the modern world, as Murray describes it. It is also probably the
greatest demonstration of enantiodromia in nature. Overcoming the
darkness, it slowly rises, reaching its zenith at midday, then reversing as it
395
descends in the sky, darkness eventually overcoming it until another
enantiodromia occurs with the next day.
Today is the day of the finale, not only of the Wolf Project week but of
the entire R. Murray Schafer Patria cycle – the epilogue, And Wolf Shall
Inherit the Moon. It is Great Wheel Day, the day which everyone has been
preparing for since the beginning of the week, since the beginning of the
year – perhaps since the beginning of time. All eight clans gather at our
campsite for last minute rehearsals and a vocal warm-up before getting
into costume. During the warm-up with the conductor, David Buley, some
rain decides to show up, so we huddle under the tarp and do the rain chant
in hopes it will ward off any stormy weather. No sign of a tornado so far.
Then comes call time. Everyone lines up on the path leading to Moose
Rock. As fate would have it, the Fox clan comes first in the line because
of our position in the Great Wheel. I, being the new Fox, am put at the
head of our clan with the Fox totem, which means I'm standing next to
Murray who will lead the whole procession.
Murray is officially a Turtle, so he's dressed in green, including a green
vest with turtle-shell markings. I scan the gathering of the clans. It almost
looks like a Mardi Gras in the woods – bright costumes and lots of stage
makeup. This is a moment where a person would normally pull out a
camera and start shooting. But because no cameras are permitted there is
none of that, and I must admit the usually ubiquitous camera is not
missed. No clicking away during encounters, no flashes at campfires, no
one looking into viewfinders when they could be looking at the real thing.
Sharing experiences from memory will suffice.
As we wait for the opening cue, I feel some performance anxiety. Having
Murray next to me seems a perfect way to distract myself, so I search for
a question to ask. I don't have my recorder with me but at this point I've
become good at jot notes, so I discreetly pull out my notepad.
Jesse ~ I guess one of the main distinctions of this part of Patria is that
there won't be any applause, as there won't be any audience.
Murray ~ Applause is not something we're here for. Applause separates
the performer from audience. Here, we are simultaneously the creators,
performers and audience. Some artists can't survive without the attention
of an audience but the Wolf Project will never have an audience.
Jesse ~ And I guess there will never be a theatre critic out here, either.
Murray ~ We're not trying to create a masterpiece. In some ways that
would be easier than what we're doing. There's a lot of ridiculous things
we do here, much of which you wouldn't want to judge purely on artistic
merit. Look at us – dressing up like this for the marriage of Wolf and the
Princess of the Stars. There are a lot of absurdities you wouldn't want an
art critic writing about unless they could speak of it perceptibly.
Otherwise, it would be easy to tear down. There is a New York Times
396
critic, Colin Eatock, who has written about other works of mine and
wanted to come to this, but I said no.
Jesse ~ Perhaps it would be more relevant if a sociologist or an
anthropologist came out here to review it.
Murray ~ You're right. The Wolf Project can be broken down into three
main categories: theatre, social experiment and myth-ritualism. It is born
of an ideology that emphasizes shared experience over polished product.
It seeks a return to ritual. It is as much a work of art as an effort at
creative community in nature. It is underscores the difference between art
as ritual versus art as commodity. The Wolf Project is by definition a
work in progress and ultimately ephemeral.
The sacred circle has been drawn but we cannot enter it
directly. We are unprepared; our experience and training
has been in the profane theatre, and even if we decide to
abandon it now, it will be a long time before we dare
take full possession of the charmed new spaces that have
been prepared for us.
Patria pg. 88
Jesse ~ So performance is not the primary thing, and whether one has a
big role or not, whether one is in the orchestra or completely tone deaf,
we all have a place in the Great Wheel?
Murray ~ It's not about having the best singers or musicians in the world
but about interacting creatively with the natural world. If we lose our
connection with nature we lose ourselves. Participating in the Wolf
Project is not so much about developing yourself as a professional, as
developing yourself as a person. A performer's desire to convey a piece of
music and be acknowledged for their performance is at odds with the
ideal of delivering a piece purely to others and inviting them to enter into
it with you.
The split that has occurred between the artist and the
public is not the subject of this essay and it affects us
only to the extent that artists have been disinclined or
unable to assist in regaining the spirit lost in the long
evolution of civilization. If this is the case, then we must
cease to be artists. We must become something to which
we cannot yet give a name, but which our works will
reveal with increasing clarity. What they will reveal is
man subdued by reverence for nature and the cosmos.
What they will reveal is human dependence on an
environment consisting of all things understood,
misunderstood and mysterious.
Patria pg. 98
397
Overture
Our conversation is curtailed by the sound of an alphorn in the distance.
The clans begins to move along the path, across rocks over the river and
onto Moose Rock. When we arrive we are greeted by Tapio.
I am Tapio, protector of the forest.
All that I say and all that I think is harmonious with the forest.
Tapio within me, Tapio around you; spirit keeper of the forest.
Not only is it wonderful to be greeted thus by Tapio, it is refreshing to see
one of the Patria board members doing the role. Making his proclamation,
he stands before us naked except for a swath of animal skin staring up at
us from his groin and another peering at us from his brow. Animal teeth
ring his neck and decorate his breast. I rejoice, imagining he is probably
stuffed into a suit the other fifty-one weeks of the year.
In me is the joy of the sunrise,
the heat of the day,
darkness descending
and moonlight mysteries.
I am the forest, the sheltering Tree of Life,
protector of all within its realms.
Tapio is pleased with the gifts each clan presents to him and allows us to
proceed to our work in the Great Wheel.
Enter Utanda
At this point, I separate from the Foxes and follow another trail to get
ready for my entrance as Utanda. Ironically, the trail I follow is a real
animal trail, part of a maze-like network of trails that animals have carved
coming to the river to drink. I hide while everyone else enters the Great
Wheel. A character called Wordshaker addresses the clans and begins to
incite them.
Wolf and the Princess will dance in the sky!
Wolf and the Princess will dance in the sky!
The clans chant this for a while. I wait for the part where they begin the
Wolf chant. Off in the distance I can hear some crows cawing. It feels like
they're getting ready to heckle me during my performance. I take a
moment to humble myself and remember the weight carried by my
character. As the once despot human, I am now more like the prodigal son
returning after years of selfish excess in hope of being welcomed back
into the circle.
My cue comes and I rise from the tall grass. I walk to the east gate of the
Great Wheel and say the customary Homitaqui Asin. However, when I do
it, I don't say it quietly as people usually do. I stand tall and say it as
loudly as I can to interrupt the wailing of animals at the centre of the
circle. Inwardly I think of its meaning – All my relations, I am here to
reconnect with you. This is a family reunion of the grandest scale.
398
My next task is to introduce myself, which is necessary because it's been a
long time since humans have had contact with animals.
You call for Wolf, but it is I Utanda who hears your cry –
Utanda who comes to you on behalf of the human clan.
I at one time stood along with you in this sacred place.
The lines following are something of a recap of what happened to bring us
all to this point. I enjoy this part, as I get to grovel a bit before the animals
and offer remorse for how we humans have disconnected ourselves from
the rest of creation through arrogance. Then I state it is time to turn things
around and that the human clan can't and shouldn't be left out of this. I
like the fact that humans have been the source of the problem but now are
the ones initiating the restitution.
Remembering Wolf and the Princess of the Stars,
who met and were separated in the Forest,
we gather together.
To attract them to this circle in fulfilment of
the Sun Father's ancient promise,
we gather together.
Enter Princess
A few other scenes take place which culminate in the decorating of a
flower bower, an arched gateway made of branches, in hopes of attracting
the estranged Wolf back to the circle and uniting him with the Princess of
the Stars. Suddenly, in the distance, singing is heard. It is the Princess.
She approaches the Great Wheel.
Love is returning to earth.
You have built this temple of flowers
to welcome me into the Great Wheel of Life.
The rivers and lakes, the flowers and ferns,
the rocks and hills, are dancing with joy.
O animals, earth friends,
I come to you, I sing to you,
I have come to greet the wild one.
Call him.
The Princess then disappears. We take up her request to call Wolf and
begin the Wolf Chant, this time reaching a fevered pitch. My eye is drawn
across the circle to Murray, who is standing with his Turtle clan. He is
intensely chanting in character. I'm inspired by his obvious commitment
and belief in the power of what we're doing as myth-ritualists.
What I also find interesting about my experience, even though I'm in
character and fully participating in the songs, chants and role playing, is
that there is another part of my consciousness that is watching all this. I'm
truly actor and audience simultaneously. I'm involved in the activity but
also aware of it – doer and witness at the same time. This insight makes
399
me realize what a progressive practice this is and how the Wolf Project is
an opportunity to evolve new capacities of consciousness.
Enter Wolf
Suddenly the chant is broken by the sound of a long howl. Out of the
forest emerges Wolf. Restless, ravenous, spewing forth his enraged
sentiment – ages of pent-up anger from lonely wandering, caught between
fear and longing, ready to snap at anything.
Wolf begins in an unknown language with all the ferocity a human actor
can muster. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. As he nears the
circle, Wolf begins to speak in our language so we can understand the
reasons for his howling. His first line in particular speaks to me, “In the
middle of the night I roam.”
In the middle of the night I roam.
Ready to tear up the world I roam.
Shivers running up my spine I roam.
I am instinct, ruthless and untameable.
I am the destroyer;
my destruction breeds creation.
Don't try to tame me.
Honour me!
Before the performance I had a chance to speak with Ivo, who plays Wolf,
and asked him how he was approaching his role. He said Murray had told
him to read Herman Hesse's Steppenwolf for inspiration, the story of a
man who struggles with his duality – human nature and animal drives, and
spends his days caught in wolf-like aggression and homelessness. Ivo says
this helped him tap into the trapped energy in the human, rather than play
the role as an enraged animal. Watching him do the role, it feels like a
strong acting choice. The tone he is hitting resonates with my own
unrequited wolfish longings. In the middle of the night I roam.
To my utter astonishment, off in the distance, I hear the howl of a real
wolf. I can hardly believe my ears. A few of us notice and exchange looks
of amazement. I can't tell if Murray notices, as he is so focused on the
work at hand but I imagine this is the ultimate engagement of nature. All
the clans take up a reverent chant in response to Wolf's decree, repeating
it with pathos over and over. Something ethereal flows within this high
tension moment.
E-Wa-Ya, Wa-Ya, Wa-Ya
E-Wa-Ya, Wa-Ya, Wa-Ya
E-Wa-Ya, Wa-Ya, Wa-Ya
Wolf, who has been standing outside the circle enters at our coaxing.
E-Wa-Ya, Wa-Ya, Wa-Ya
Cutting through the chant comes another voice. We all look to see the
Princess of the Stars approaching. The lamenting sound conjures a sense
400
of the thread of Ariadne as song, calling Wolf back – back to his senses,
to the only exit in the labyrinth, and from lifetimes of wandering. It is an
invitation to take his final step of initiation, to overcome the final obstacle
and cross the return threshold of the hero's journey. Wolf's libretto
beautifully conveys the gradual melting away of the last remnants of the
old and the birth of the new.
Whose voice keens through my lust?
Sorrow sings into my blood.
My ears betray me.
My jaws tremble, slacken.
Where is the snap of bone?
I want to lick the wounds my teeth have ripped.
I want to listen to the voice that sings in my blood.
This is accompanied by a sublime piece of music written by Murray. The
sound of the Princess' accompaniment softens the space and further draws
Wolf toward her. The voices sound incredible outdoors. They carry well
across the meadow, the wind intertwining at times, adding to the
instrumentation. The Princess' words commend Wolf on his new found
capacity for compassion. The Princess and Wolf come together and stand
by the bower we decorated with flowers.
O Moon,
Lover,
Light of my night
I come to you
I sing for you
I rejoice for you
with you ... for you ... with you ... for you.
Today is the day
in the presence of all the animals
you have shown compassion.
We then sing a new song which two members wrote over the past year.
One wrote the music, the other the words, replacing a song written by
another member. These changes exemplify one of the strengths of the
Wolf Project – it is an on-going work in progress. The years have
produced a substantial legacy, so new people can step in and be a part of
something mature, yet at the same time it is open to new contributions.
The front cover of the script says it's the thirteenth draft. For something
that has been going twenty years, this shows how much it has been
worked – and reworked. This also shows something about R. Murray
Schafer who stands at the centre of amazing creative activity and yet is
not actually the creative hub. This has never been more evident than
today. The same man who says, “There are no more teachers – just a
community of learners,” stands in the circle along with everyone else.
401
Sun Father
As for the weather, there has been little sign of a tornado – only light rain
and occasional strong gusts of wind. I look over at the orchestra to see
how they're managing the weather. The tarp overhead seems to be doing
its job, as it breathes up and down with the gusts. Everyone underneath
has their attention fixed on their music sheets, which are neatly protected
in plastic and attached to music stands with clothes pegs. David Buley is
busy waving the baton.
This crescendoing juncture in the storyline is carried by the full orchestra,
mostly made up of brass, woodwinds and percussion – which all sound
fabulous outdoors. The only strings are the double bass and cello of Neal
and his son, Max. Neal is hard at work on his double bass which looks
surprisingly natural out here in the woods. And why not – it's made of
wood. This is where it began its journey to become a bass. It probably
feels as much at home as Neal looks playing it here.
I then hear some gasps and turn to see people looking up. Another
unbelievable moment – not just one rainbow but two. There is a double
rainbow in the sky. It is a high climatic moment to accompany the high
climactic moment about to unfold.
Wolf and the Princess are standing together by the flower bower, basking
not only in the late afternoon hue of the meadow but also in the aura of
accomplishment. We sing, in rounds, the new song. It's hard to hold back
the tears. It's a powerful symbolic moment representing the ultimate unity
of all beings. Our little circle is symbolically holding everything in perfect
balance. An image of the global village. I can't hold back the tears. In
addition to the double rainbow, shafts of light ray through an opening in a
cloud like something from a Biblical movie, where celestial light is shown
accompanying the voice of God. Nature seems to be pulling out all the
stops and the timing couldn't be better as the Sun Father arrives to preside
over this reunification.
Children of the earth,
at last you have understood.
You have brought harmony into the world.
As your reward, I will send you new light
with each dawning day.
Creatures of the earth, keep the story of Wolf
and the Princess in your memory forever.
When the first stars appear in the evening sky,
know this time as the hour of the Princess.
And when the full moon rises above the horizon
to begin its journey to meet the stars,
know this as Wolf time.
402
Let them now return to the sky
where they may inspire you.
The Princess has regained her crown,
and Wolf shall inherit the moon.
Achieving Apotheosis
As Utanda, I then have more lines to deliver.
Our ceremony in the Great Wheel is done,
Wolf and the Princess are one.
Ho-mataqui-asin.
Now to Moose Rock to dance on this day of joyful union.
The celebrations begin. We all move to Moose Rock where we dance a
spiral dance led by Shapeshifter. It's a joyful time. Following this we are
then summoned by Tapio to go to the lake for the send-off of Wolf and
the Princess.
As I sit perched at the edge of Wildcat Lake waiting for the wedding party
to arrive, I take a moment to consider what just happened. A lot. But I
have a personal interest in understanding how Wolf got to where he is
now. How did he go from roaming the woods half-crazed, to being in the
company of a princess? There was an interesting dramatic arc, involving
twists in his transformation, before reaching this apotheosis. It's not
necessarily an easy thread to follow amidst the other script trajectories
and information elucidated in song and dialogue – but I think it boils
down to this. Wolf made a brief appearance early on, being pursued by a
hunter. The hunter shot at him with his rifle and both acted as if shot,
however only the hunter fell. Wolf ran off. While the hunter lay bleeding,
his soliloquy showed a turn in attitude. Hunting hadn't put him in touch
with his wild self but rather ran counter to it. Thus his attempt to take
down a wolf backfired.
Shapeshifter then appeared and led the wounded hunter to a nearby
stream, apparently to wash his wounds. However, the hunter sunk beneath
the water behind a large rock and re-emerged as a stag. The stag was all
white, except for a red spot where a wound was – the wounded hunter
transformed into an animal himself. Shapeshifter led the white stag to the
centre of the Great Wheel and tethered him there. This lured Wolf back,
who approached the stag, turning it into a dance, as the stag attempted to
break free. But Wolf continued to move in, chanting lustfully, as if
tethered to his own instincts and unable to do otherwise.
Suddenly Wolf stopped short, hearing something – a lamenting voice in
the distance – the Princess of the Stars dangling the thread of Ariadne
before him. She was calling to him, speaking to his deepest nature,
reminding him of his mission. Wolf wrestled with himself in thought and
song while the stag looked on nervously. The sung appeal, combined with
the chorus of animals encircling him, melted away his enduring intent to
403
wreak vengeance on everything, including the hunter – now in the form of
a vulnerable animal. Like a prince awakened from a spell, Wolf rose
above his own nature and a new character emerged full of compassion.
And so went the successful final step of Wolf's transformation, laying the
ground for the ultimate marriage.
From our serene perch, looking over the lake and a canoe decorated with
cedar boughs, we watch Wolf and the Princess arrive and board the canoe.
Above, the sky is decorated with huge, happy clouds. The setting sun adds
soft pink and blue hues to this matrimonial moment of the Princess and
Wolf, now being chauffeured away in the canoe, accompanied by a
fanfare from brass instruments positioned along the cliff. If you cry at
weddings this is where the water works would be turned on.
I have one more duty as Utanda. The world saved from destruction by our
efforts in the Great Wheel, I send everyone back to the meadow to
dismantle it – until next year. I deliver the line as the alchemical
invocation it seems to be.
As above – so below,
let us return and restore the meadow,
as Wolf and the Princess have restored harmony in the world.
The Ascension
What follows is comparable to an intermission, as there is more to come
in the evening. But first, all the clans gather in the Wildcat kitchen for the
traditional Great Wheel Day feast. Beer and wine flow as does the
conversation – it's the first time all eight clans have had a meal together. A
mountain of burritos is dished out as part of the plot to serve the planet.
Everyone is fed, darkness descends, and the focal point shifts to the
campfire. Flames flash across Murray's face as he speaks passionately
about the work we've done today. It feels fantastic to be in a circle with
such a creative force, a fire blazing in our midst. The Wolf Project
indubitably demonstrates Murray at his most philosophical, if not mindexpanding. It's not hard to feel his faith that this tiny constellation of
people to which the world is oblivious, tucked away in the forest for a
blink of time, is doing something to save the planet. He obviously
believes small acts have large impacts. And now, so do I. In fact, I'm
inspired to change the title of my book again to On the Trail of R. Murray
Schafer and the Plot to Save the Planet: A Biographical Quest.
There is nothing like Patria in the history of Canadian musical
theatre, either in ambition, scope or myth making potency.
William Littler, Toronto Star, September 16, 2002
Even though the mystical marriage, or our "weducation" as I heard
someone call it, has been completed, the show is not over. As part of the
celebrations there is a campfire cabaret where each clan presents
404
something, usually humorous, they prepared during the week. Apart from
a few corny clunkers, the antics evoke howls of laughter. Once all the
skits and assorted nonsense is exhausted, everyone begins to sing TroTro-i-Ri. I have no idea what the words mean but it is a simple, peaceful
melody. I follow as everyone moves to sit at the edge of the cliff again,
now singing in darkness, except for torches floating out on the lake. There
are eight flames, representing the eight-pointed diadem or crown of
Ariadne floating on the water. It's meant to look as if it is in the sky, as it
is surrounded by stars reflected on the lake. It is simple, yet profound. It is
both of this world and out of this world.
A hierophony is an exposition of a sacred mystery. It
need not be elitist, for nature, as Goethe said, is a great
open secret. We must put aside the almighty importance
of human society, its achievements and requirements.
We must find ourselves fast-rooted in the soil and
neighbours to the plants and animals. We must lie on the
hill and turn our gaze to the mountains and the stars, our
ancestors and the royalty of the universe.
Patria pg. 98
Our singing is interrupted by the sound of the Princess' voice off in the
distance. As she unfolds her aria, one can discern her moving away in the
darkness. She is no longer trapped under the water, in the unconscious, as
she has been for so long. Our work has released her and she is now
ascending. The ascension is easy to imagine while her voice echoes off
the rocks, trees and hills lining the lake and the pristine atmospheric
conditions, absolutely breathless as all wind has subsided.
As the Princess moves farther away, we strain with "distant listening,"
source and echo melding into one. We are held in the tension of this space
a long time – until ensconced in nothingness. Is the ascension complete?
Suddenly there is a long howl from the same direction. Wolf sounds
satisfied – the ascension is complete. Apart from the soundless flickering
of flames out on the water, we are left in a velvety darkness and silence.
It's anything but an empty silence. It's eternity's encore to our day's deed.
This is why, as I intimated at the beginning of this book,
all research into sound must conclude with silence – not
the silence of negative vacuum, but the positive silence
of perfection and fulfilment. Thus, just as man strives
for perfection, all sound aspires to the condition of
silence, to the eternal life of the Music of the Spheres.
The Tuning of the World pg. 262
I then see the silhouette of R. Murray Schafer get up and slip away into
the darkness, retiring to his tent. No doubt to savour the reverberations
sent out into the universe. There is nothing one could add to this
unparalleled moment. Tears well up in me from the mix of exaltation and
405
emotional exhaustion. As myth-ritualists our work is completed for this
year. It is finished.
Inheriting the Moon
Before going back to the tent I decide to stop at the kybo. I don't want to
get all cozy and quiet then have to listen to my bladder complaining. I sit
and rest myself on my woodsy throne. In the silence I hear the Princess'
aria still echoing ... sound after the sound ... soundlessly sounding.
Let me speak a moment about what I call phantom
sounds – sounds that seem to linger after the singer or
instrumentalist has performed them so it is impossible
for the listener to decide whether they are present in
reality or only in the imagination. Of course, the
phenomenon only works in places of great stillness.
Patria pg. 228
The Princess sounds contented – back where she belongs. Wolf should
feel good about himself too – compassion takes courage. Everyone and
everything should be satisfied tonight – duality merged in unity. The
tension of opposites resolved.
My thoughts turn to what is waiting for me in my tent. I hear the echo of
giggles – my giggling princess. It both warms me and scares me – I don't
want to scuttle my experience at the eleventh hour. This is an opportunity
for me to cross the return threshold of the hero's journey to bring back a
boon for others – a bountiful experience to tell in the book. I don't want to
undermine my hero's journey and mini-apotheosis by going up the wrong
leg in the labyrinth. I need a vision to guide me through this last night
with my princess.
Where are we in our story? Are we at the beginning of something – the
prologue of our own personal Patria cycle? Or is this the epilogue of our
time together?
I look to my counsellors, the old-forest trees and wonder what age-old
wisdom they might have for me.
My tent mate isn't my princess any more than Murray is. That would be
giving away my power – projecting onto her my inner princess. Realizing
that is reclaiming my power, reclaiming my inner princess. That's not to
say we couldn't have a good time playing Wolf and Princess this last
night, but I need to know where it's coming from – and where it's going.
I scan the forest for moving shadows, anything lurking, looking for a late
night bite.
Right now she's easy pickings, like a white stag tethered in my tent,
stretched out as an offertory for the pyre of my desire. Or perhaps she is a
wicked temptress who has been strategically waiting all week until this
406
last night – while I slumber at her breast – to cut off my hair, castrating
Wolf's wildness.
I look up beyond the darkened leaves of the trees to the starry script,
wondering what perspective the Princess of the Stars has now. What does
she see? What does she say? Can she throw me a line, or even a thread, to
help me through this part of the labyrinth?
She's serving as my anima – she's meant to bring out my wildness, my
animal, my wolf, my inner creep, the whole animal kingdom clawing at
my insides, clamouring to get out, yet ultimately giving me an opportunity
to express it in a dignified manner.
Was that a shooting star I just saw?
It's no secret the circle of life is made up of predators and prey. One
moment you're the predator – the next you're the prey. Which one will I
be tonight?
Mosquitoes have discovered me and are starting to swarm. Hungry
women looking for a late night bite – just a little something to help the
species survive. A girl mosquito has to do what a girl mosquito has to do.
I start swatting. I'm not about to become someone's prey. I'm neither
predator nor prey tonight! I, Utanda, a human, am here to call forth
something new – understanding and compassion – to take evolution to
another level!
I start making my way to the tent, the tension of the opposites as
unrelenting in my mind as the mosquitoes attacking on the outside.
I'm still feeling hungry. What is it? What feels unfulfilled? Maybe it's the
human's lot to never feel completely fulfilled. If we stop yearning, we
stop learning? Or maybe I just need to get laid – the universal panacea for
some. Tonight would be an opportune night. Tonight would be a special
night for it, a night to remember. It wouldn't be a one-night stand, it would
be celebrating the wedding night of Wolf and the Princess. I