In printed programs, I am usually credited for “sound mixing and voice processing,” and that covers a lot of my role in a given performance, but I don’t have an easy “elevator description” of what it is that I do in the company.
Bernstein’s Mass is my theme song, my touchstone, my secret garden, my musical Castalia, the song of the inescapably confused but willing to try. Everything I want to do in music, it does better. Everything I hear, it contains. All that I feel, it seems to address in a clear and absolutely beautiful way.
Why do we keep insisting there can be such a thing as American classical music, as opposed to classical music that happens to be made in America?
In any performance, there is an information network that exists between the performer, the instrument, and the audience. By maximizing information exchange between objects in the performer/instrument/audience network and creating interactions between the separate information streams of that network, an electronic composer/performer is more likely to create a compelling performance.
Adventurous new music reaches wide audiences and they applaud it, so this is a good time to sort out rhetorical falsehoods from rhetorical flourishes in the great debate over new music.
While openness has only lately started to trickle slowly through the creative minds of the European musical establishment, it seems to have been a characteristic element of American repertoire from the beginning.
During Parsifal, in a coup de théâtre, virtually the entire libretto of Our Giraffe snapped into my head.
What kind of music could benefit from repeated performance on the same program?
The most predictable, preposterous, despicable absurdity of the “classical” performer, confronted with new work, is to say “Why can’t you just be more like this?” gesturing to Haydn Strinq Quartets, or Beethoven Symphonies, or Debussy Preludes.