Here are some photos from our night of filming for the Telarc DVD!

Above L to R: Bob Woods (President of Telarc and producer of the album); Bruce Thigpen (inventor of the Thigpen Rotary Woofer), Susan Slaymaker, Richard Torrence.

Control room, L to R: Bob Woods, Richard Torrence, Susan Slaymaker, me, Robert Friedrich (Telarc engineer).

No, it’s not the new organ at Middle Collegiate (though I did pull for lucite). Too bad I didn’t see this before I started designing it…

I’ve gotten a great deal of input from many people, mostly privately, and I’m very grateful; it’s encouraging. I’m getting a lot of ideas about how this forum might be used as more of a roundtable discussion (at times) than just a touch-point for what I’m doing. Certainly there will be an increase of activity here and in other publicity when the Telarc album comes out this fall, and also around another major event here in New York which hasn’t yet been officially announced, so I have a little time to prepare this space. I’ll continue to be grateful for input of any sort from readers who feel inclined to write privately (Susan@SlaymakerSpecialProjects.com).

Meanwhile I have a few hints, in pictorial form, about something monumental which arrived in lower Manhattan yesterday.

Ever since I got back from France, I’ve been in a malaise about what Fearless should be, and how to go about it. There are a lot of “blogs” - I can’t help but use quotation marks, as I think the very word is aesthetically sinfuller (sic. yeah.) than any profanity - focused entirely on one thing, idea, happening, etc., but I want this to be different. I think it can be, given that I have many strange ideas and interests (and may have, starting this fall, probably greater exposure than I’ve had before, because of the Telarc album and some other things on the way).

So because there are a lot of subscribers already, I’d like some input. I rarely ask for advice, so don’t miss the opportunity. (Actually, more instructive than any advice would be an answer to the question: what led you to subscribe)? One of my big watchwords is sustainability: it’s what I try to cultivate artistically, and it’s what the organ world (I believe) doesn’t have, for the most part. I face an interesting balancing act, too, because initially I wanted never to write about the organ here; now I find that I’m actually driven to. I’m passionate about addressing a lot of things I see as being out-of-whack about the way people view the organ (and no one more so than the people who play and present it, by and large), but how to strike a balance with the audience in whom I’m really interested (for instance and among others, the people Richard Florida considers the “Creative Class”)?

Emails sent to Susan@SlaymakerSpecialProjects.com are usually forwarded to me, so if you have a suggestion or anything which you’d rather not put in a comment, that’s a good way. I’m grateful for the input.

I’m in Ithaca, New York, a place I relish from time to time. My close friend Meredith is a comparative literature scholar at Cornell, and visits are inevitably an intellectual recharge, as well as a reminder that should I ever go back to school I’ll study anything but the organ. My long love of air sirens is closely tied to Ithaca, but I didn’t bring the piddling plug necessary for camera to PenetratePowerBook, so story & pictures must wait (Update 3/29 - added some pics). I’m reading Vladimir Nabokov’s Strong Opinions (as well as re-reading George Orwell’s Why I Write and Craig Thompson’s marvelous, strangely moving Blankets) as I prepare to do some critical writing of my own on topics previously mentioned (in posts from Paris). Of course, Nabokov taught here for seventeen years, and I had a lively cell phone discussion yesterday outside Goldwin Smith Hall, wherein VN gave his infamous literature lectures. Snooping around a bit I discover VN’s description of teaching at Cornell, in an interview published in Playboy for January, 1964:

Playboy: Do you feel that Lolita’s twofold success has affected your life for the better or for the worse?

VN: I gave up teaching - that’s about all in the way of change. Mind you, I loved teaching, I loved Cornell, I loved composing and delivering my lectures on Russian writers and European great books. But around 60, and especially in winter, one begins to find hard the physical process of teaching, the getting up at a fixed hour every other morning, the struggle with the snow in the driveway, the march through long corridors to the classroom, the effort of drawing on the blackboard a map of James Joyce’s Dublin or the arrangement of the semi-sleeping car of the St. Petersburg-Moscow express in the early 1870s - without an understanding of which neither Ulysees nor Anna Karenin, respectively, makes sense. For some reason my most vivid memories concern examinations. Big amphitheatre in Goldwin Smith. Exam from 8 A.M. to 10:30. About 150 students - unwashed, unshaven young males and reasonably well-groomed young females. A general sense of tedium and disaster. Half-past eight. Little coughs, the clearing of nervous throats, coming in clusters of sound, rustling of pages. Some of the martyrs plunged in meditation, their arms locked behind their heads. I meet a dull gaze directed at me, seeing in me with hope and hate the source of forbidden knowledge. Girl in glasses comes up to my desk to ask: “Professor Kafka, do you want us to say that…? Or do you want us to answer only the first part of the question?” The great fraternity of C-minus, backbone of the nation, steadily scribbling on. A rustle arising simultaneously, the majority turning a page in their bluebooks, good teamwork. The shaking of a cramped wrist, the failing ink, the deodorant that breaks down. When I catch eyes directed at me, they are forthwith raised to the ceiling in pious meditation. Windowpanes getting misty. Boys peeling off sweaters. Girls chewing gum in rapid cadence. Ten minutes, five, three, time’s up.

Times have changed, I would assume, as “the great fraternity of C-minus” would today probably more likely describe the more athletic but academically undistinguished Ithaca College. Last night I Sibelius’d a bit on my new score for the Bach Toccata & Fugue in D Minor for a few hours, while surrounded by some of the more scandalous Comp Lit crowd who gathered at my friend’s apartment around 1 AM. It was great boring fun to attend the fine points of how, if you’re grad or post-grad comp lit, Cornell trumps Harvard (IF you’re looking for an environment wherein critical inquiry and literary theory aren’t necessarily treated as equals), but that the classroom environment at Harvard is much more rigorous, so it’s a trade-off. Meredith should know, having gone to Harvard, MIT, and Cornell.

Hal Holbrook as Deep Throat in All the President’s Men (1976)

A couple of days ago I had lunch with one of the key figures in the French organ establishment, whom we will call Mr. X. He’s one of the leading organists and organ teachers in Paris, and performs internationally. When I grilled him about the French organ scene, Mr. X was refreshingly candid, and I was surprised by what he told me. First, this scene is totally controlled by priests; while the main French cathedral and church organs are owned by the state, their day-to-day use is at the behest of whatever priest is in charge at the moment. Islam is thriving in France as never before, and the priests are increasingly threatened by this; since the (Catholic) church in France has been perceived as lax in the last decade or so, they’re now trying to crack down on secularity - which now has implications for what organists (& yours truly) are allowed to play in some of the traditional organ venues.

And Mr. X doesn’t hold much hope for the future. While he has more than 30 gifted organ students, he tells me that only 5 of them are willing to seriously consider a career in organ-playing. The pay is poor, even as there is stiff competition for the few available posts with organs in decent working order. There is apparently little solidarity among French organists, and much back-biting and ill will. Attendance at the major organ venues is slipping, even at one major venue well-known for its groundbreaking artist-in-residence. The organ gets almost no airtime on French radio or television, and there is no organ in any Parisian concert hall (nor any longer in the main studio of RadioFrance, where I played in the early 90’s as a wide-eyed pre-teen). Furthermore, he feels that the organ has no discernible resonance among French audiences, and that most young people are totally unaware of it. In a sad parallel, most French organists seem to be totally unaware of (or have rejected piecemeal) popular music as a source of inspiration, source material or influence.

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This gets me thinking still more intensely about a lot of the same old topics: supply and demand, what’s being done wrong, and what’s not being done that should - and I’m getting closer to a position statement, but I don’t want to release it before it’s really ready.

I spent hours in a number of the ateliers on Avenue de Montaigne today, as well as George V and rue François, taking notes and seeing what the great designers are doing. There is much here right now that isn’t that visible in the US yet.

In fashion, as in all things, I remain a child before the prospect of color. Nothing could amuse me more in music, fashion, cinema, people, dance. I do my best to hold onto this childish way.

Of course these things lead me back to the organ sooner or later. I think those who resist change/experimentation/questioning of tradition in what “organ” and “playing the organ” can mean are analogous to the naysayers of fashion. Every so often a pundit shows up with something like the following: fashion is shallow, because it is concerned with surface-level (image) issues, and (especially) because it changes every season. Both naysayers have in common a latent obsession: DEATH. By objecting to the outpouring of creative action and continual (seasonal) renewal, they are demonstrating that they prefer the static, the motionless, the changeless. Death is the ultimate manifestation of stasis, motionlessness, changelessness.

Anyway, a series of shoes & buttons at Chanel is a blast (note the rhinestones).

Pucci is reliable (though never predictable) for outpourings of patterned joys. Like Etro, the sheer volume of data basically precludes the possibility of clashing, because it would just get lost in the noise.

Finally I ended up at Courrèges.

For those not familiar with Andre Courrèges, his name is synonymous in France with forwardness and inventiveness in style, but also with a sort of mythic vision - probably because unlike Balenciaga and Dior, and even Chanel, who were tied in one way or another to the continuance of style traditions formed in the 19th century, he seemingly sprang into the 20th century fully-formed.

Among other things, Courrèges invented the miniskirt; the thigh-high boot; and the idea of “space-age” in clothing, particularly in the use of plastics and alternative materials, so you can imagine how influential he’s been. Without Courrèges neither the 1960’s nor the 1980’s would have looked like they did, and our understanding of “mod” - if any - would not be the beautifully consistent zaniness that it is (as in this all-Courrèges photo from the mid-1960’s):

The Courrèges boutique is a strange, but refreshing place to go, because it is a highly rarified environment; one is immediately aware of stepping into a design-world which eliminates the mundane (indeed often by elevating it to a rare level, as with functional items like umbrellas and raincoats, etc.).

I adore settings like this for the same reason that I adore very far-out modern art: even when it seems to make no sense, and even when it may seem obvious, pointless, unintelligible or even offensive, I can’t get away from the fact that it has been made, and as a creator there are few things as empowering as reminded that the possibility to MAKE is unlimited, even by the objections of others.

Courrèges’ boutique is an example of this, particularly because one instantly understands that this is not a place that needs to sell anything to stay open. It’s certainly a store, but it feels more like a museum, which is also cool in a sense similar to the above idea of possibility: isn’t it fantastic that Courrèges, as a creator, has risen to the level where it is not compulsory that he sell, only that he make his work available, so he’s able to do so exactly according to his vision. I’m assuming that this is the case, but I’m pretty sure it is; my sad little photos can hardly show it, but this is a consummately unified environment.

It’s badly tasteless to take photographs inside high street shops, but in this case I risked it and did. I think it captures a bit of the absurdity of the place; boots, dog collars, Lucite jewelry, see-through rain coats, fluorescent colors. I’m not interested in any one of the items and wasn’t turned on by any of the actual design. But the sum total, again the fact that such a freak place exists, is a major charge.

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I’ve been thinking a lot about my work, how it fits into the world around me, and about what could be called the “organ world question” - which is itself a whole swirling load of topics, some of them confusing and painful. I’m getting out of bed in the morning and riding my bike & the Metro around Paris for hours thinking about “the issues”, and speaking to no one in English, so I’m able to keep a sort of mental passacaglia going, which I think will be productive. Since I established this website to create a platform, and that not only in a promotional way, this is timely.

At the moment there are two areas of thought. The bigger is the whole body of issues themselves; the smaller is simply how to go about dealing with them. Because I do care terribly, both are important; in the short term, the second is more pressing because it’s critical that whatever I do with this platform be not only sustainable, but expandable. There are a few points I keep pondering.

- Even though the population of organists is notoriously polar and divided, there is has been for some time a vague consensus that, as far as public awareness of organ music and organists go, “things” are in a bad way and “something needs to be done”.

- Art is irreconcilable with authority. The historical role of the mâitre - the ‘artistic authority figure’ - is an anachronism, just as ‘artistic authority figure’ is itself an oxymoron.

- Whether or not a leader of some kind is needed, another authority figure in the form thus far seen is not. (Out of which at least three inquiries: what is the form thus seen; what are the points which that figure has {usually} not been able to address; why not?)

- My past experiences and current opportunities might be used to help others.

- It should be possible to construct a position in
which one could be artistically helpful and empowering to others without enabling the construct of ‘artistic authority figure’.

- I will probably have a chance to attempt this, especially given a new venue and dedicated instrument (at Middle Church, NYC) and increased exposure, publicity, and accountability (Telarc et al).

- Words without action are vanity.

As all of this consolidates in my mind, I’m going to try to move toward a clear-language articulation that can be a starting place for action. If that comes out of this trip, I will be extremely pleased.

(In the meantime, I think it’s also clear that content for Fearless be guided by some criteria: 1. sustainability {Can I construct a framework in which I can regularly write material that’s worthy of being read, and worthy of the time of those who have subscribed to it? Would I read it myself if I hadn’t written it?}; 2. cultivation of the potentially greatest readership, including those without prior knowledge of the organ or “classical” music; 3. to maintain a sense of being a student; that is, a hunger for inquiry (probably the best defense against assuming the role of ‘authority’) and a sense of possibility and fun.

Now that the Telarc recording is finally finished, and I no longer am wearing grey sweatsuits every day (seriously - they’re excellent for practice, but look like hell), I’m trying to catch up on what’s going on in the wide world of style, and that’s much of the reason I came here. Today I got some snaps in Place Saint-Sulpice and the dreaded Faubourg Saint-Honoré (I say dreaded, as it’s not much better than Fifth Avenue in the 50’s, anymore; lots of LVMH and chains). I’m saving Montaigne and George V for later, and I’ll save my absolute ultimate fashion destination - the Courrèges atelier, 40 rue François - for last.

I don’t have any hard data on it, but the Pierre Cardin boutique here must be one of the last to actually stock Cardin haute couture; I’ll ask, but I suspect that real Cardin is not available outside of France (certainly in the USA, the name is licensed to the worst merchandise). Cardin was one of the greats, and an early-8o’s three-piece suit, scored at a thrift shop in Chelsea three summers ago, is one of my treasures. The Cardin shop near the Élyseé (France’s presidential palace, currently containing the creeping Sarkozy) is exclusively devoted to outlandish and delightful couture, some of it rather Mondrianesque at the moment. Having dated a milliner I have a particular fondness for this:

And for the whole look:

I don’t think it comes through in the picture, but at Jitrois a flattering but initally unremarkable piece is actually shockingly sensuous, as it’s done in the finest calfskin suede:

Next door (Faubourg) is the Paris Etro, where a densely embroidered veste owes more than a little to my friend Mary McFadden, who at any rate probably never used such garish colors:

Funnily, in Paris the high street shops lovingly display prices right in the window - something unthinkable in New York. (This is from the same window as the above):

Finally, I’ve been eyeing YSL’s latest paint-spattered numbers. They seem to be pulling something of a Damien Hirst with this, although I quite like it:

There are shoes, too:

When I get back, I’m going to have a try at making up a pair or two of these with different colors (one subtler, and probably one much more outré). The paint has the consistency of simple house paint, which I’ve always found useful for jeans.

The lesser versions they’re also offering are terribly half-hearted, and although it’s probably the typical observation, they just look dirty:

I might point out that there are those who will remember my wearing brightly painted clothes, indeed sometimes in fluorescent colors, some five or six years ago, before it went mainstream and YSL could charge €495 ($770.86) a pair.

I’m just sayin’, is all.

I’m collecting bits of evidence - things I pick up on, of whatever kind or at whatever level, that seem to illustrate the more interesting discrepancies between what “popular culture” and “organ culture” seem to regard as desirable (noteworthy, accomplished, praiseworthy, marketable, saleable). I hope people will send me tidbits that seem relevant.

There’s a great campaign for Levi’s running in Paris at the moment which I haven’t seen in the US. It’s witty, and I like the way it plays off of stereotypes of what would seem to be a classical, conservatively-minded audience (though the context is tounge-in-cheek, as it would be pretty difficult to find a conservative audience so young and cute). I think it demonstrates that the concept of an original (performer) being shocking, surprising, unpredictable, is popularly received as desirable. Wake up, organ world!

I can’t help feeling that this scene, especially given the perspective from which it’s taken, is a bit familiar. The guy in the middle of the second row is priceless. There’s a certain former AGO dean who used to look something like that whenever he would hear me play in New York (which seems not to happen anymore - thankfully, given his penchant for petulantly marking time from the front row).