Written in Response
to a Request for a Manifesto on Music, 1952 (1980)
for acapella chorus [4 min.]
PrePremiered 15 April 1981 by the University Chamber Choir at the University of California at Berkeley.
Opus 6 —A.S.C.A.P. work I.D. 533146695
SCORE
Opus 6 —A.S.C.A.P. work I.D. 533146695
SCORE
NOTES
Written in Response…
This short work for unaccompanied, mixed choir is a setting of the truthful yet peculiar preface written by John Cage for his infamous book, SILENCE. My writing this piece came about when I, myself, was asked for a Manifesto on Music, 1980: The penultimate climax to my formal education, was a grueling comprehensive exam at Cal-Berkeley. It lasted several months, as I prepared for the 3-hour oral exam administered by five Berkeley Professors. (four from music, but one not from music, in order to make sure that the other four didn’t gang up on the candidate, i.e. me.) I prepared with determined concern, because I didn’t think answering a lot of detailed questions, off the cuff, face to face with a bunch of smart guys could ever be my forte. I was petrified, so I prepared meticulously. On top of this, I was a new papa – Baby Julia was born during this preparation, and I would have rather been playing with the baby.
Also, during the preparation for this exam, I was given a composition “assignment.” It was part of the long exam. Each PhD candidate was given a different mock “commission” to compose a piece for a particular instrumentation. Mine was a piece for unaccompanied choir, and I had just one week to have the score and parts ready for performance. (No time to dilly-dally.) Some of the other assignments were for piano, piano and trombone, and one guy got to write a solo ‘cello piece, which sounded like a very cool idea to me. Unfortunately, my assignment seemed contrary to me. I was forced to compose something that I didn’t have any interest in. I think the Professors figured out that a solo choir piece would be tough for me, and they were right! But, not having a choice, I went right to work.
However, in order to begin writing a vocal work, one usually needs a text, some poetry, aka lyrics. When I was first given the assignment, I began to hear the choir in my inner ear, some lines and harmonies, tessituras, etc., but the text? That was the hard part. After grimacing and swearing for a few hours, paging through various poets, authors, even Shakespeare, I made a sandwich and relaxed. Somewhere between sandwich bites, A flash of ditto marks interrupted my chewing. “ “ “ “ “ “ What were they? Why ditto marks? They were somewhere in Cage’s book, SILENCE! I had a copy and grabbed it off the shelf. The infamous preface to John Cage’s infamous book became my salvation:
Written in Response…
This short work for unaccompanied, mixed choir is a setting of the truthful yet peculiar preface written by John Cage for his infamous book, SILENCE. My writing this piece came about when I, myself, was asked for a Manifesto on Music, 1980: The penultimate climax to my formal education, was a grueling comprehensive exam at Cal-Berkeley. It lasted several months, as I prepared for the 3-hour oral exam administered by five Berkeley Professors. (four from music, but one not from music, in order to make sure that the other four didn’t gang up on the candidate, i.e. me.) I prepared with determined concern, because I didn’t think answering a lot of detailed questions, off the cuff, face to face with a bunch of smart guys could ever be my forte. I was petrified, so I prepared meticulously. On top of this, I was a new papa – Baby Julia was born during this preparation, and I would have rather been playing with the baby.
Also, during the preparation for this exam, I was given a composition “assignment.” It was part of the long exam. Each PhD candidate was given a different mock “commission” to compose a piece for a particular instrumentation. Mine was a piece for unaccompanied choir, and I had just one week to have the score and parts ready for performance. (No time to dilly-dally.) Some of the other assignments were for piano, piano and trombone, and one guy got to write a solo ‘cello piece, which sounded like a very cool idea to me. Unfortunately, my assignment seemed contrary to me. I was forced to compose something that I didn’t have any interest in. I think the Professors figured out that a solo choir piece would be tough for me, and they were right! But, not having a choice, I went right to work.
However, in order to begin writing a vocal work, one usually needs a text, some poetry, aka lyrics. When I was first given the assignment, I began to hear the choir in my inner ear, some lines and harmonies, tessituras, etc., but the text? That was the hard part. After grimacing and swearing for a few hours, paging through various poets, authors, even Shakespeare, I made a sandwich and relaxed. Somewhere between sandwich bites, A flash of ditto marks interrupted my chewing. “ “ “ “ “ “ What were they? Why ditto marks? They were somewhere in Cage’s book, SILENCE! I had a copy and grabbed it off the shelf. The infamous preface to John Cage’s infamous book became my salvation:
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above — SILENCE, by JOHN CAGE — L. front cover. M. preface. R. back cover (retrograde inversion)
By using this text for this “commission” I was being a wise-ass, know-it-all grad student. And after all, I was a product of the 1960s – my revolutionary knee-jerk disposition was firmly in tact. But How dare the powers in the Cal-Berkeley Music Dept. tell ME how to compose! (ME being a snot-nosed hippy.) It was disrespectful, I suppose, but once I had the notion to use this as the text for this unwanted choral piece, I, as usual, never looked back. I wrote the piece, submitted it by the deadline, and never heard another thing about it – from the faculty. In retrospect, I only regret one detail — not of my wise-guy upstart disrespectable action of using this dumb text as part of my PhD examination, thus telling my committee to go fuck themselves. No, my regret was that I didn’t somehow incorporate the ditto marks within the music, i.e. somehow aurally expressing those ditto marks with sound from the choir. I merely took the ditto marks as they were meant to function, and repeated the text. Forty-some years later, as I write these notes, I am imagining all kinds of possibilities for the ditto marks, and having a grand time thinking about them. Perhaps I need to revisit this piece, revise it, rewrite it. I’d like to.
Epilogue
I did make it through my orals, despite coming down with a bad case of the flu the day before the exam and then taking the three-hour exam with a 101° fever. (No way I was going to postpone the exam. I wanted to play with Baby Julia.) And although my PhD committee never said a word about the choice of text for my “composition” assignment, I did hear about my decision to use Cage’s text from two external sources.
Immediately after passing the exams, I started applying A.B.D. (All But Dissertation) for teaching positions. After all, I was a family man. I needed to make some dough. When I did so, I needed to get recommendations from my teachers. One of my main guys was theorist David Lewin, who was still teaching at Stony Brook and Yale. He was one of my main mentors, and he also was an august, brilliant, down to earth guy. I wrote to him asking for a rec. for a job at UWM. I must have also told him of my choice of text for WRITTEN IN RESPONSE FOR A MANIFESTO ON MUSIC, 1952. Instead of replying to me about the recommendation, he replied to my wife, Nancy:
Epilogue
I did make it through my orals, despite coming down with a bad case of the flu the day before the exam and then taking the three-hour exam with a 101° fever. (No way I was going to postpone the exam. I wanted to play with Baby Julia.) And although my PhD committee never said a word about the choice of text for my “composition” assignment, I did hear about my decision to use Cage’s text from two external sources.
Immediately after passing the exams, I started applying A.B.D. (All But Dissertation) for teaching positions. After all, I was a family man. I needed to make some dough. When I did so, I needed to get recommendations from my teachers. One of my main guys was theorist David Lewin, who was still teaching at Stony Brook and Yale. He was one of my main mentors, and he also was an august, brilliant, down to earth guy. I wrote to him asking for a rec. for a job at UWM. I must have also told him of my choice of text for WRITTEN IN RESPONSE FOR A MANIFESTO ON MUSIC, 1952. Instead of replying to me about the recommendation, he replied to my wife, Nancy:
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Also, after my exams, I decided to write to John Cage, to tell him that I set his Preface to SILENCE for mixed choir. To my surprise, and honor, Mr. Cage relied to me. He sent me a very strange Note-O-Gram, an original and three attached carbon copies. Below is my letter and John Cage’s reply-O-gram.
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Both of these are cherished mementos from two famous guys, both getting my humor and participating by adding their own dry humor.