Tony Conrad - The Theory of Eternal Return

Tony Conrad (born in 1940 in Concord, New Hampshire; USA) is one of the leading figures of historic minimalism as well as one of the most elusive yet decisive figures in 20th-century music. A violinist, composer and visual artist, he introduced the idea of “eternal music” tied to a notion of indefinitely stretched time, while in the visual arts he directed his research toward filmmaking and video art, making a unique contribution to experimental film. In 2008, at the invitation of curator Mark Webber, he exhibited in the prestigious space of the Turbine Hall at the Tate Gallery in London. OndaRock interviewed him exclusively.

What were the first influences that shaped your interest in the repetitive aspects or the architectural elements that would go on to define the coordinates of so-called “minimal” music?

Rather than talk about influences, I think it would be more accurate to say that I was interested in sound and, in particular, its musical core. I find that people treat listening to sounds and intonations, and observing how they can combine with one another, as a kind of magic; ever since I started devoting myself to the violin, for instance, I've understood that the more you focus on sound, on its energy and on the energy of its many combinations, the more your capacity for listening develops. This sort of discipline was decisive for my training.

Another important influence was my experience with “new music”—that is, when, as a young man, I studied avant-garde music. I remember discussing with my friend Henry Flynt the idea that nothing needed to be “new,” and that this concept, in the way Henry outlined it, amounted to something artificial and corrupted. That spurred in me the need to approach listening in a very simple and direct way, accepting without sophistry the pure pleasure aroused by that moment. Was that a satisfactory answer?

Absolutely! All of this suggests that your artistic work is grounded in “intuition” rather than “concept.” For instance, when we say “architectural” we generally mean an ideal notion of a building, whereas the core of the idea itself—as you said—is mostly related to an inner discipline that requires concentration. Do you agree?

I think the combination of “intuition” and “concept” lies at the heart of my work on the repetition of sounds; the way this interaction has been conceptually and directly tied to an idea reveals how much “progressive” culture is not really a vehicle for expression, and that there's something wrong at the core of it, exposing further contradictions. I also think it was useful to spend time with John Cage, whom I identified at the time as someone who managed to give the composer a new role, one in which scores are secondary to the listener's desire and interest. In that sense, I believe the next step will be to articulate new musical proposals aimed at completely excluding the composer from the work! Now that would be a truly conceptual orientation for an essential project.

(Setting aside the well-documented legal issues over authorship rights) what has stayed with you from your early musical experiences alongside La Monte Young, Marian Zazeela, Angus MacLise and John Cale?

I learned an enormous amount from La Monte, just as he did from me. From La Monte I learned how to practice with music, since he was the one most concerned with preserving the unity, the cohesion of our collective's sound. That's no small thing! Nowadays, that role is generally governed by money; that means people are increasingly tied to commercial strategies and market logic, whereas back then the only bond was the generosity of someone willing to fund the project. At the start we were all devoted to a goal that stemmed from an ideal, and that mattered a great deal to me: when you're young, you feel you can reach your goals, but you need your ambitions to be backed up by constant practice. I also think it was very important to focus attention on the concept of “long duration” and, more generally, to conceive of “duration over time” as a genuine artistic structure I could relate to; it was decisive to become aware of long or short spans of time and of how these new kinds of approach could relate to one another within a cultural context (a bit like what happened when people began to think about historical evolution in a way that was completely different from how we were used to before reading Foucault). There are lots of small things I picked up from each of the names you mentioned, as well as several very important ones. Especially from John Cale, whose contribution to my development was particularly significant.

Do you feel like sharing these “little things” with us, or perhaps some anecdote, some curious detail about your relationship with these people?

Once, Angus (MacLise, drummer of the first incarnation of the Velvet Underground; he left the group, however, before their celebrated debut album was released: he couldn't conceive of earning money by making music, ed.) asked me if he could play the violin; his question brought to mind those times when someone asks: “can you play the violin?” and you hear the answer “I don't know, I've never tried!”. I found his request strange and replied “of course, certainly!”, handing him the instrument. Angus picked up the violin and began drawing sounds from it that had never been heard before! I was so amazed that I clearly understood the importance and completeness of the percussive approach to any kind of musical performance. Sometimes I wonder why I myself never thought of learning to play percussive instruments like keyboard or drums…

More than forty years have now passed since “minimalism” began to be considered an important musical movement. If we were to take into account what Philip Glass claims, we should consider “minimalism” a closed, superseded experience. Although your career has often taken you outside of that current, in what way do you think it can still be valid today?

We began to sketch out this approach to music between '62 and '63: the word “minimalism” had never been heard before and, as you know, these terms have their own dynamics. The notion of “minimal” can be applied to a multitude of things and underwent an important rediscovery during the Nineties. Above all, I believe it represents part of a musical phenomenon, a kind of “eternal return” whereby music goes back to its roots in one form or another. In this way culture becomes more complex, people more competitive, and at a certain point there will be a revolution that brings about a “reset,” whereby everyone will have to look back and start again from where they began, conceiving music, sound and melody through new forms. As you know, the phenomenon of rock'n'roll exploded as a reaction to the complexity of the popular music offered by Broadway musicals, to the compositional style in vogue at the time, to the Beat Generation and to the imposing sound of earlier eras. Similarly, minimalism is to be understood as a reaction to the complexity of modern serial music and… You ask me if it's still valid? Well, know that it crosses into a territory of expression that includes certain aspects of simplicity but has never been fully developed, fully explored; given that I was one of the promoters of the entire movement, I can tell you that I'm interested in working through the further opportunities that this return to simplicity is offering. There are quite a few things other people haven't done yet that I'd be interested in pursuing…

Your contribution to the world of rock, including your solo work and collaborations, has been deeply significant throughout all these years. What is your relationship with “popular music”? Have you ever thought of your own work in those terms?

During the period my first minimalist works belong to, I listened to a lot of pop music, and it was right around then that my friends John Cale, Lou Reed and Angus MacLise gave birth to the Velvet Underground, a band that had quite a lot to do with tearing down the barriers between art music and popular music. I was fascinated by the idea that the most esoteric qualities of so-called “art music” could be broken apart, and that the possibilities for listening to pop music could expand qualitatively. So when I allowed Caroline Records to release “Outside The Dream Syndicate” (made in collaboration with some members of Faust, ed.), I insisted they promote it as a pop record: that was the kind of approach I felt anyone listening to it should have, as opposed to the one typically reserved for most classical records.

Would you agree that the Dream Syndicate experience, beyond its many merits, narrowed the gap between a properly “rock” audience and minimalist music, or broke down cultural and musical barriers? Are you still interested in breaking down such barriers, now that music technology and the climate of the information age have changed compared to back then?

Yes. That's an interesting question, since I'm convinced that today's cultural barriers aren't the same as they were forty years ago. Today, rather than a qualitative separation between different artistic expressions, there's a kind of commercial domination aimed at consumers and local cultures. Giant corporations that aim to marginalize minority voices or, worse, to align themselves with them for the sole purpose of strengthening themselves and extending their own principles across a wider cultural spectrum. This is the most dangerous threat posed to independent communities, one that prevents them from focusing on their goals, from exploring and defending their own values.

Your answer offers another point for discussion: the internet doesn't just get musicians and listeners used to “managing” music more easily than before, it also creates communities that disregard the geographical origin of their members, thereby breaking down other barriers…

An important part of this larger design lies precisely in the fact that, as the boundaries of a given audience expand, the very concept of a niche gets lost along the way. This process involves music, television, mobile phones, poetry, theatre, etc. In each of these fields, the new way of communicating imposed by the internet has given individuals numerous opportunities to form new communities, to develop a new sense of individuality no longer based on geographical belonging to a particular place but on a new form of kinship spanning multiple spheres of interest. I believe all of this is very important, both culturally and in corporate terms.

“Outside The Dream Syndicate”, besides being a legendary record, has been considered a sublime blend of different ways of conceiving music; Julian Cope, in his book on kraut-rock (“Krautrocksampler”, first published in 1995, ed.), calls it a “heavenly marriage”. Looking back, how do you regard your experience with Faust?

With Faust it was like going back to my roots, both for me and for them.

During the Nineties, numerous rock musicians (or, as Simon Reynolds would put it, “post-rock” musicians), including Jim O'Rourke and David Grubbs, cited your work as a major source of inspiration. You later collaborated with some of them; what do you think of their work? Have you noticed elements in their output that are shared with yours?

As for my collaboration with Jim O'Rourke and David Grubbs, I can say they're both excellent musicians, gifted with phenomenal inventiveness and great talent; each of them has been important to me. Jim is gifted both as a musician and as a composer and producer; he throws himself fully into whatever he does and pursues his interests with great tenacity. In that sense, he's certainly been a source of inspiration. David, who at the time was collaborating with important poets and has always been as interested in literature as in music, has a unique and exceptional way of exploring his own inclinations.

Do you find your own ideas, your own view of things, reflected in the new generations of musicians you've worked with? Do you think there are substantial differences in musical approach between young American musicians and their European counterparts?

There's such a diversity of approaches within European borders that it's hard for me to draw a comparison between Americans and Europeans; if anything, there may be more differences between the various peoples of Europe than between Europe and the United States. Just think of the proposal put forward by a Finnish group like Paavoharju (with whom I recently collaborated), who are touring a new form of experimental folk… If you compare them to bands from southern Italy, you'll notice an incredible diversity of sound. The same goes for Irish music versus Celtic music, or German avant-garde versus Eastern European jazz. These are truly separate universes. These are important, extremely interesting differences, especially when you consider that with the internet we have the chance to discover and explore them with discretion. Suddenly, then, you find yourself in possession of a precious portfolio of different cultures, exactly as happens here in the United States… When I was young and living in poverty somewhere in New York, I used to think of what we did as a kind of urban ethnic music…

As for my ideas and my work that may have influenced other musicians, I believe much of it stems from the direction I pursued many, many years ago, and which still today sparks lively interest among younger listeners. But there's also a lot of work I've done over the past thirty years that needs to be pushed further and expressed the way a professional composer would… On the other hand, I've never chased a career, and I chose to become a teacher instead (Tony teaches Communication at the University of Buffalo, and among his students were several future members of Mercury Rev, ed.); so I can't really consider myself a full-time composer or a pop musician. Let me be clear that I respect anyone who chooses that path, but I've preferred other routes rather than turning composition into a career. All of this, however, means I don't get the chance to have my work performed by an orchestra or a group in front of a large audience.

We've recently enjoyed the album you made together with Charlemagne Palestine, titled "An Aural Symbiotic Mystery." In the liner notes, Palestine asks (and answers, in keeping with the album's title): "…How is it possible that Tony and I managed to play together so magically without ever having discussed or planned what we were going to do? I have no idea!" Would you be able to answer his question and tell us about your relationship with Palestine (who, like you, has been rediscovered by many young musicians, often the very same ones who love your music)?

When several musicians share the same interests, they do so with great intensity; Charlemagne and I have similar ways of listening to music: that's why he loves the piano (he now owns a Bösendorfer modified to extend the low-frequency range) and is interested in the pursuit of sound. That's it, "sound." That's what unites us most… Along with something that goes beyond our own awareness. People sometimes wonder how an artistic meeting between Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie could ever have happened. Well, it's simple: they had very similar ways of listening. The same thing happens with rap, with pop, with classical music. And it happened with Charlemagne and me.

Looking at your entire body of musical work, both solo and otherwise, which achievements do you consider most significant, and why?

My first work with La Monte Young was extremely important to me; it's essentially an examination of the structure of Western music in general. But there are other works that, in my view, carry similar weight: one of them is called "The Mind Of The World"; it consists of five hundred hours of piano music, recorded during the Eighties, but it's never been released… Then there's another piece I care about a great deal, more recent than the others I've mentioned. It was commissioned by Musique Nouvelle, in Belgium, a couple of years ago. It's called, almost as a joke, "HHHH." Of everything I've written, it's the piece that uses the largest ensemble I've ever had at my disposal (ten musicians), and it earned me a solid reputation. It's a work unlike any other I've made, and I consider it important for its simplicity.

We've heard you've been invited to present an installation at the prestigious Turbine Hall at London's Tate Gallery; could you tell us something about that, or what you have planned for the future? Beyond your long musical career, you've also worked in the visual arts; what does your contribution to that field look like at the moment?

I'd rather not talk about the Turbine Hall for now, because there's still a year to go and the project isn't fully defined yet. I'll be in London next month for a concert and to sort out some details with a few people. It's going to be a very important event, though, and I'm devoting a lot of time to it. That said, I'm also working on other equally important things… And that brings us to the last question about my work in the visual arts: let's put it all together, shall we? I've just opened a new exhibition in Los Angeles, at "Overgreen And Kite"; it's a video installation made up of roughly one hundred and fifty scenes from a film I shot in 1980, edited together in random order. This is a new format for presenting visual images, where the structure of the image itself is well organized, unlike the sequences that make it up. There are plenty of other things I'm currently working on, starting with an art gallery; that experience has been important in making me realize just how little support there is for alternative culture from an extremely conservative government, how much the internet is replacing local cultural initiatives, and how much art galleries are gaining in popularity — something unthinkable until not long ago…

What kind of music do you listen to on a regular basis? Would you be willing to name a handful of contemporary musicians you consider among the most significant today?

I'm quite eclectic and I like listening to a bit of everything. After decades spent listening to music, I've come to prefer things I don't immediately like, because I find them far more interesting than the things I enjoy right away. Even though I also love easy listening, I keep looking for stimulation in what I consider to be more challenging approaches. In the end, the payoff is greater!

Don't tell me you're thinking of going back to listening to Schönberg!?

Every now and then I try listening to contemporary classical music… Or rather: not "contemporary" anymore, but 20th-century music… But… I don't find it too complex anymore, and at this point the challenge doesn't really intrigue me that much!

Hahaha! I was joking, anyway… Could you tell us a name or a type of music you're particularly interested in these days, or that you've simply discovered recently and enjoy?

I like Indonesian "Qasidah" music, a genre of popular music that blends traditional Indonesian music with European pop/dance. I also like music from Zaire, especially the pop music of the Seventies, though I haven't listened to it in a while… Right now I'm not listening to much current dance music, but honestly I mostly listen to things I'm somehow involved in myself. I often collaborate with young musicians like MV Carvin, in New York, and of course with Jim O'Rourke. I've done several concerts in Buffalo with the help of Jonathan Golov, and I've worked together with Davies Vavivs, a Welsh musician. I like Karen Waltuch and Leanne Darling, two extraordinary violinists, and so on…

…And you're about to play with Å!

Yes, we'll do an improvisation together. Just like I did with Lau Nau, in Finland, who are another group I like a lot.

Do you like the music of Å?

Yes, absolutely. Although liking it remains only part of the equation… You also need to observe how you behave together and explore the dynamics that will emerge, in real time, in that specific situation. Exactly as I said earlier about my collaboration with Charlemagne. So we'll see! But from what I hear, from what people tell me, and from listening to the material I've downloaded, it seems to me that there's a lot of excitement going on in Italy right now! 

Thanks to Bruno Stucchi, who conducted the interview, Keri Neff and Die Schachtel.

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