A p T E R 11

PH ILI P GLASS Born Baltimore, 1937

1 5

W si

H I L E J o H N e A G E may be the first name in new music

that most people know, the music of Philip Glass is more likely to be

the first sound of it they actually hear. Glass's music can be found not

only at the opera, where he reigns supreme as America 's most success­

ful living composer, but at the ballet, on television, in symphony halls,

films , jazz clubs, and even the occasional sports stadium. There are

times in New York when it seems his music is everywhere; one Village

Voice headline called 1992-1993 the "Season of Glass." When he was

named "Musician of the Year" in 1985 by Musical America, joining Igor

Stravinsky and Benjamin Britten (the only other composers so honored

in the magazine's then twenty-five-year history), the citation began,

"Few composers in this century have achieved the sweeping popularity

or influenced the musical sound of their times as much as Philip Glass."

And that was a decade ago. Today, in the post-Cage world of experi·

menta! ~usic, no one has their music heard by more people.

Ph1hp Glass grew up in Baltimore, taking flute lessons as a child at

t~e Peabody ~onservatory. He says he knew he was going to be a musi·

CJa~ by_ the time he was eight. At the age of fifteen, he went to the

Univers,ty of Chicago in a special program for bright kids (Carl Sagan

was ª. ye~r a~ead; Susan Sontag was there the year before). Interested

b'. this time m modem music, Glass was first attracted to the Second V1ennese School-Schoe b B . th . h I f n erg, erg, and Webern- but rejected 1t by

e time e e t Chicago. After five years studying at Juilliard and tw0

more as a Ford Foundat' . :__--- ' F ion composer-m-residence in Pittsburgh Glass

wem to rance to stud · h N . ' needed h . Y wtt adia Boulanger; he says he knew he

more tec nique. ln 1965, while still in p · GI

him prepare his mus· 6 ~ s, ass worked with Ravi Shankar, helping Chap,naqua At th ic or . estern studio musicians to play for his film

l' · e sarne time h 1 . • ate, tabla player Allah R kh ' ~ ª so stud1ed with Shankar's assoet·

ª ª· This combination of experiences gave 318

l

pHILIP GL ASS 319

Philip Glass, New York, 1972. Photo Credit: Richard I.andry

Glass an in-depth look at the rhythmic subtleties of Indian music, and

he carne to see how rhythm could be used to shape his own musical

ideas, developing, in the process, his particular brand of minimalism

based on rhythms with overlapping cycles, something he once

described as "like wheels turning inside of wheels." His earliest music

in this style was composed for an experimental theater company in

Paris, soon to become Mabou Mines. ln 1966, after six months spent in India and North Africa, Glass

returned to New York. Forming his own ensemble in 1968, he began

giving concerts; both formal ones in downtown art galleries, as well as

informal Sunday afternoon ones in his Bleeker Street loft. ~Y the ~ ly

seventies his ensemble was touring both Europe and Amenca, playmg ' · that no one else was

only the music Glass wrote for them, musIC . d . A!f . . d k f om chis peno 1s ustc

allowed to play. His most fully realize wor r . . d 1974 ·t reqU1res three concerts zn 12 Parts. Written between 1971 an ' 1 . C Gl

. 990 ·val at Lincoln enter, ass to perform in its entirety. For tts 1 revi. h en

1ory or anticipa•

·ct !d b h ard w1t out m sai he hoped the work cou e e ' pui·e meclium in t. f d t1· c strucrure, a 10n, as a presence, "freed o rama

sound " • · . . bert Wilson to write Emstem on

ln 1976, Glass collaborat~d with ~o rtrai t" operas, the others being the Beach, the first of his tnlogy of po

1 1

l , 1 1

DUCKWORTH, William. Talking Music... New York: Da Capo Press, 1999.

1

l l l

320 PHILIP GLAss

Satyagraha, from 1980, and Akhnaten, from 1984. Einstein, which was

a joint commission from the governments of France and Ho lland, anct

toured Europe before playing the Metropolitan Opera Ho use in New

[ York, made Glass famous as a minimalist, a style he says he felt hact

10...">.."' ended two years before. Whether true or not, the period around 1975

r- ~• ,,.,,, does mark a mai·or shift in Glass's musical output. From this point his ~ ~,\ . , :, .. ·y{''à ~~ attention turns primarily to theater, film, and ~ance, resultmg over the

,. C1' next decade in addition to more operas, m such film scores as ,.i- ,

, "?i Mishima for Paul Schrader, Koyaanisqatsi for Godfrey Reggio, and The

Thin Blue Line for Erro! Morris. Glass's ninth opera, The Voyage, written with playwright David

Henry Hwang and based on Christopher Columbus, was commissioned

by the Metropolitan Opera, where it was premiered in 1992. That sarne

season in New York also saw the premiere of Glass's Low Symphony,

based on the music of his friends David Bowie and Brian Eno, a reviva!

of Einstein on the Beach, anda new theater work at the Joyce Theater. It was, as the Voice said, the "Season of Glass."

For ali the fame and the demands on his time, Philip Glass maintains

a rather strict schedule. He trys to keep mornings free to compose, and

limits his contact with the press, the telephone, and interviewers like me

to one day a week, a far cry from the first time we met, both leaning

against the back wall at a concert in the old Kitchen, just after Einstein played the Met. Today, Phil tives in a brownstone on the edge of New

York's Lower East Side, sharing the street with the New York chapter of

the Hell's_ Angels anda men's homeless center. It seemed like a Jong way from Baltimore; I wondered how it had ali begun.

DUCKW0RTII: Was your family musical?

GLASS: My father had a record store. I began working in the score

when I was twelve, so I knew a lot about ali kinds of music from a

very early age. But I didn't begin seriously playing until I was eight. Actually, I began playing wh I · · · ·

. ' en was S1){, but at a certam pomt mus1-c1ans b~come dedicated in what chey do, and that happened when 1 was eig~t.-I !ater found out that that was considered late. When I was at Ju1U~ard, I discovered that my friends had ali begun when they were S1){.

DUCKW0 RTH: So k . . you new when you were eight years old that you

weie gomg to be a musician?

pHILIP GLASS 321

GLASS: Yes, I knew. For people for whom that h . life becomes very easy because you ai k appens, m one way

ways now what you're · to do. In another way it becomes very 1.

gomg h h h 'd . comp icated. But you never

go t roug t at , entny or vocational crisis h. h h I

w 1c seems very com-mon t~ ot er peop e. Musicians always seem to know what the are gomg to do, and who they are. Y

DUCKW0 RTH: What influenced you toward music?

GLASS: _ _ It's ha~d to ~now. Mu_sicians have something Jike a calling, a rehg1ous callmg. It s a vocation. I think it happens before we know

it's going to happen. At a certain point you realize that's the only thing you can take seriously. It occasionally happens when some­one begins Iate, but it's rare. That isn't to say that we're ali Mendelssohns and Schuberts; damn few of us ever get to chat point. They seem to be the oddest creatures of ali; they seem to be quite rare. It seems, though, that it takes much longer to acquire fluency in the language of music, so we begin at an early age. But when you say, "What makes us do that?," I don't know. You get inca very early memories-hearing pieces when you were four or five. Every musician I know can remember the first piece they heard. It may not really be their first piece, but they can remember hearing

a piece that they will cal! their first piece.

DUCKW0RTH: What was your first piece?

GLASS: Mine was a Schubert crio, che E> piano trio. Everyone has one.

I'm sure you have one, right?

DUCKW0RTH: Yes, Rirnsky-Korsakov's Scheherezade.

GLASS: It's funny how those pieces can stick with you chough. b e happen to have the sarne

Schubert is funny in my case, ecause w . birthday In !ater years I resented that, because I real1~ed thhat I

· d e The radio stauons ave would never get the birth ~Y, concer . oin to be Schubert. I've those birthday concerts, and 1t s always g . g got this o ther dude who already beat me to it.

1 pond to the memory of DUCKWORTII: How do you think peop e res

hearing that firs t piece? . . ber where they were s1cung;

GLASS: It 's very emotional. They reme~ h It's a very clear memory, they can remember who they werec wit fi. ve six.

ry early- 1our, 1 , although it can happen ve

322 PH1L1p GLA

""SS

Started taking flute lessons a t the Peab . When you . 0dy

DUCKWORTH. d more or Iess commmed yourself to rnus· , Conservatory, ha you •e.

ld b a little early to say that. I do n ' t think I realiz d . LASS· It wou e . l'k e it

G · . 1 e or thirteen. But I was actmg I e a cornrnittect unul I was twe v

Per.

h h I didn't reflect on it at that moment. son, ale oug

DUCKWORTH: What did you see yourself doing?

GLASS: Well, 1 quickly saw that I wouldn 't be a flutist . The literature

was far too slim. There are people who can make a big career out

of it, but not many. Had I not been ambitious, I woulct not have

noticed that it was a limited repertoire. I wo uld have been happy to

play the Telemann, Vivaldi, the few Mozart pieces, and the handful

of modem works, which of course I tried. At that time there

seemed so few of them . . . I'm talking about the late forties now.

DUCKWORTH: Were you a good flute player?

GLASS: I think I might have been a good flute player. I was certainly

good for my age. Since I began early, I had a good physical endow­

ment in terms of my lips, my dexterity, and so forth. I could pro­

duce a very good tone. And I had a teacher who understood how

to make a good flute sound. But I quit when I was fifteen. It was

noc the time to stop playing if you were going to be a professional flute player.

DUCKWORTH:

classical? Were you interested in modem music then, or mostly

GLASS: By fifteen I was interested in modem music.

DUCKWORTH· Wh h d . ere a you ever heard any of it?

GLASs: I hadn't' I ct·ct '

was interested.in ic'. n t even know what it was! I just knew that I

DUCKWORTH:

music? When you Were growing up, did you listen to popular

GLASs: Of course I did Th '

to moctern rnu • · at s what Was in the store And I listened s1c, too I 1· · .

the store, so I he d · ,st~nect to all kinds o f music. I worked 10 1

remember ope~ everyching from "Ghostride rs in the Sky" to · · · rung the fi b h

carne to the store • h ,rst ox of Elvis Presley records. T ey mt e m · af

noon. ln a funny wa I' orning anct they disappeared that ter-

porary Pop music siny, vle been monitoring the his tory o f contem·

ce was tw I h late e ve, so that makes it since t e

\

pHIL IP GLAS S

323

forties. Some of it I liked, some of it I didn't l'k

aged .to like o nly classical music. 1 e. 1 was not encour-

My fathe r was a self-educated man H .

1 b . e carne mto that bus· more o r ess Y acci?ent. He lovect music anct he b mess

ho me reco rds that d1dn't sell in the store H lde&ai:1 to take

J' h · e wou bnng them ho me to 1stenfto t em, because when he woulct order he didn't

know Wagner rom Shostakovich. He brought h h

·ct , li b orne t e records that d1 n t se ecause he wamed to hear wh t .

, h • a was wrong wnh them. Isn t t at cunous? There was a Shostakovich cello sonata that

someone recorded on 78s. He wanted to know h 1 ]d , b . h 1 . w y peop e

wou n t uy 1t, so e wou d take 1t home and listen to it. And h 'd

liste~ to it again and again to discover what was wrong with ~e

mus1c . . . and he ended up loving it. lt's very funny! His record col­

Iection was very odd. It had no Beethoven symphonies, because

those were the ones you sold. The standard literature wasn't what

we had at home. We had ali the odd stuff-American composers

like Foote. There was even an early recording of Gottschalk. He

had Debussy piano music, which didn't sei] well in the forties. Then

we switched over to the LPs and there was just a flood of music.

DUCKWORTH: It sounds like you had a good introduction to twentieth-century music.

GLASS: New music was well served in the early fifties. ln those days,

record companies felt a kind of morality about it; they felt that they

had to represem new music. Of course, one hardly runs across that

idea these days. Record companies are run, strictly speaking, by

accountants who don't really care about music. But in those days

there was definitely a missionary quality to it. They felt they were

obliged to play new music, and to produce records of new music,

and if you were a young guy-fourteen, fifteen, sixteen- you could

listen to it. That's the first lot of music that I heard, though I don't

think it made much of an impressi0n on me. It didn't mean any­

thing to me personally until I really began to study it.

DucKWORTH: Can you identify one or two records, though, from

that early period, as being influential?

GLAss: The importam company for me was Dia! records, because

they were the ones that recorded Webern and Berg. They were ali

78s. I was attracted to the music that we thought was advanced at

h . S h berg Webern and Berg. . t e ttme, which meant of course e oen ' '

1 n Dial

The Symphony, Op. 21 of Webern was recorded very ear Y o

'1

1'

1 i'

324 PHILIP GLAss

h Lyric Suite of Berg. Apart from that you hact ecords as was t e , . to r ' . h s I Jearned Charles Ives s music by score. Th manage w1t score • . ere , rdings in the old days. Now can you imagine a b weren t any reco l . oy . to make sense of Three P aces m New England? 1 of fifteen trymg · t was impossible.

DUCKWORTH: Were you in Chicago then?

GLASS: Yes. DUCKWORTH: I'm under the impression that you went to the

University of Chicago at the age of fifteen as a math and philosophy major.

GLASS: Well, there were no real majors there. I took elective courses in those fields. At that moment it did not have a very developed music department, though it has that now. When I was there it was basically musicology.

DUCKWORTH: Why did you go there if you thought of yourself as a musician?

GLASS: I was a musician who needed an education. It didn't occur to me at that moment to go to a trade school, which is what I eventu­ally did. By trade school I mean Juilliard or any number of places. But at fifteen I was interested in a general education, and I got that at Chicago. I was in a special program for youngsters like myself. You could go to school there and be very young. There were a number of other people-Susan Sontag was there a year before me; I knew Carl Sagan, he was a year ahead of me. It was ali these young, bright kids from ali over; I was just taken in with them. But that's when I began to write music.

D UCKWORTH: What was your first music like? . h~ GLASS: The first p1ece I wrote was a rwelve-tone piece because t ª

what modem music was. It's funny now isn't it? I was one of the people who began the great rebellion in 'the mid-sixties. But in the early fúties that was the music I wrote because that's what modero music was. The only American compo~er I knew was Charles Ives.

1 think I did find a William Schuman score at the University of ch·

se icago. I do know that we had plenty of the Second Vienne S~hool there. So that's what I studied. There was no one to studY w1th, so I just studied with myself.

pHILIP GLASS

325

oucJ<WORTH: Were you drawn to it?

GLASS: I was, though it's hard for me to reme b h . · B I m er t e feelmg of being drawn to 1t. ut must have been because th , h

b . ' at s w at I stud-ied It was at a out that time that the Juilliard Quart d d · . et recor e the Schoenberg quartets. Th1s was about 1954 and th . ' ' e mus1c was becomi_ng availabl_e. The earlier works of Schoenberg, like the curreheder, I sh1ed away from. I was more interested in the advanced pieces. Stravinsky's work I didn't really know until I was in music school. I considered the mark of modem music to be the atonal school. I was not alone in thinking that at the time; that was che general perception of contemporaty music. The fact is that as e:-- • we look at twentieth-century music now we see it quite differently: l It now seems to me that the mainstream was tonal music, if you think about Shostakovich, Sibelius, Strauss, and Copland. When we Iook at the major literature from the perspective of the nimh decade in the twentieth-century, it seems that twentieth-century music is tonal music. But there were moments when it didn't appear that way. That's why the perspective of years is crucial.

D UCKWORTH: Were you playing any music in Chicago? GLASS: Yes, I took my first piano lessons there with a guy named

Marcus Raskin. He was a pianist from Juilliard, and that's where 1 first got the idea of going to Juilliard. Eventually 1 became good enough to play my own music, but not good enough to play_ veÁ much else. ln other words, I became a kind of w mposer-p1an1s\ composer plays his musíc like no one else plays tt. -~e may not P ay

h he meant in a d1fterent way: it as accurately, but he knows w at

Juilliard what were you DUCKWORTH: When you decided to go to ' . o~~th~ gomg to be? Were you a comp _ d do I went there foi a very GLASS: Oh, yes. That's what I wante to·Id . l1ere ali che composers li ·ng in a wo• w funny reason. See, I was vt d

were dead . Even the living ones were dea ·

D UCKWORTH: Líke Ives? ·tcen b)' dead . t I knew was wn . GLASs: Yes. Ali the modero rnus1c t~~en I discovered the mus1c of men. There was no one around. ht at Juilliarcl , but actuaHy h~ William Schuman. I thought he caug JuiJliard with the iclea rbac_ was the head of the school. I wentl tonian I finalJy got to shake h1s . w·1ram Se 1U . ' was going to scudy w1th 1 1

' " l ' r !

1

i

PHILIP GLAss

326 .

1 ,a five years !ater, but that was as cio

hand when I got my d1p ohn 1·n1portant part is that he was the fi se Y

But t e . . 1rst as I got to the gu . of the European trad tt1on. Whatever ho wasn't part . 1 fi we compo~er w . work now is not so important; m t 1e _1fties, he was may thtnk of hts temporaiy American symphonic tradition 1 . o write in a con k b . . crymg t

I uld think of that wor now, ut tt was inter

d 't know what wo I h I f · on . He represented a who e se ao o rnusic that sting at the ume. d . . . e I

d d Harris. Juilliar as an mstttut1o n represented included Cop an an I d b . So that when J went t 1ere, an y then I was that mamstream. . 1 b h ' d . I t the rwelve-rone mus1c firm y e m me. My twelve-mneteen, pu . . d was over by the time I was mne teen , for better or tone peno 1 worse. Had I gone to another school, per 1aps I would have .. . 1 never met the people who might have changed that for me. And it didn't really matter. A lot of these things are happenstance. I think that ultimately it didn't really matter, because in the end I gave up ali of it and went in a completely different direction.

OUCKWORTH: Why don't you think it matters? GLASS: ln a certain way, until a composer finds his own voice, it

doesn't much matterwhat he does. I think we ali tend to sound like the people that we study with. My teachers at J uilliard were Vincent Persichetti and William Bergsma. I was fortunate with bo th Bergsma and Persichetti to have people with a broad culture, in terms of con­temporary music. I could have gane in there with anything and it wouldn't have surprised Vincent. He could have handled a twelve­tone piece, a ~erial piece, or a tonal piece. Both men were capable of that. I fanc1ed my music after him and I admired him, as we ali dtd. There were some Darmstadt composers at Juilliard at the time who survived_on shock effect, but they weren't snubbed. We consid­ered them sltghtly mad D • e · on t 1orget that this was just about me year when Stockhausen carne out with th b' . . Gesang der ]ün lin e

1 , . at 1g electromc p1ece,

effect that pieceg h ~ S t 5 unportant to remember what a powerful get updated. Sudd a j _uddenly the twelve-tone music was going to quaced and old . en Y tt went from something that was kind of anti-mto something hands of Stockha very contemporary again, in the usen and a little b. l There was a very stron ltali' 1t ater, Berio and Maderna. and a very strong Fre g h an school, a very strong German school, littJe bit later. But we't:ctal~hool. The American school developed a

D UCKWORTH· ng now about 1959- 1960. d . . How do you reme b at,on composer in p· b m er your two years as a Ford Foun-ttts urgh?

:■

j 1

1

' 1

J._

pHILIP GLASS 327

, ,ss· lt was a good pe riod. I wrote over twenty . d GLI' · 1

f p1eces an as a rnatte r of fact, a ot o them gor published It was li h 1 ' . · J bl · a se oo mus1c but it was quite p aya e. And, you know some of 1't's t 'll . . ' · · 1 b ' s I m pnnt. Jt 'S no thing speoa , ut to a you~g composer those are important things. Fo r two years I wrote mus1c that was played almost immedi­ately. After that I went to study with Nadia Boulanger.

o ucJ<W0RTH: What caused you togo to Paris and study with her? GLASS: Very simply, I became convinced that the technique that 1

had acquired up to that point-remember I was about twenty­four-was inadequate for what I wanted to do .

oucKW0RTH: How did you know that?

GLASS: I knew it because I knew one or two people who were better than me, frankly. They had a technique that I didn't have. One was a guy named Albert Fine, who's not well known at ali, who was a student at Juilliard. He had a phenomenal grasp of the musical lan­guage. I quickly found out that he knew more than anyone else knew. Now Vincent knew a lot about composition, but Albert knew something about technique that no one else knew. I found out that he had studied with Naclia Boulanger, so ar one point I said, "Well, I guess I'll have to go and study with your teacher." I had always meant to do that. My two years in Pittsburgh were a detour really.

DUCKW0RTH: What impressed you abouc Albert Fine? GLASS: He just represented in his person a technical understanding

of music that no one I knew had, with the exception of someone like Vincent. Persichetti is one of these raw talents-"raw" is not quite fair-a sophisticated talent. But he seemed to have been bom with it! He didn't have to acquire it the way the rest of us do. My impression was simply that he was an extraordinaiily gifted man for whom things carne very easily. But for those of us for whom things come with great difficulty, he can't help ve1y much. I needed a teacher who would be able to work with more common kinds of talent, which mine was as I perceived it.

DUCKWORTH: Can you characterize che way Boulanger taught? GLAss: Oh, it was very simple. What I did with her-and it amounted

to something dose to three years-was spend six hours a day doing counterpoint, solfege, and analysis, ali day long. When I began studying with her, she decided chat I had to start from the

1

PHILIP GLAss

. b n with first species counte rpoint. Now at very beginning. 50 1 efiga years old with a master 's degree, and the . I was cwenty- ive S . k chat ume h younger than me. o tt ta es a certain

h dents were muc . b ot er seu d to submit to that. You 1ust egan early in the ge I woul say, d • coura_ ' k d ali day. It was the only way to o It. She ser mormng and wor e d f

d h. h and what she expecte o you was so unrea-che standar s so ig ' . k II h h nly way to get dose to tt was to wor a the time sonable, t at t e o . . I h d b ..

h • t here I aJmost stopped wntmg. a een wntmg to t e pom w . . . ti. · · so to aJmost stop was quite a maior thmg for me to or ten years, . do. And the second year I almost stopped because I s1mply had no time. There was so much work to do. But at the end of that time I had acquired a very different grasp of music than I had before I carne.

DUCKWORTII: Did you have daily contact with her?

GLASS: I saw her three times a week. I saw her once privately; I had a private lesson which was a small class that I went to with four or five other people; and then there was a larger class that she gave. Besides that, I had another teacher, her assistam Mlle Dieudonne, with whom we did other kinds of musicianship having to do mainly with solfege. And as you probably know, solfege for these birds meant reading in seven clefs. There was nothing easy that they couldn't make more difficult without a little imagination! One stan­dard exercise of Boulanger's was that from any note you had to smg ali the inversions of ali the cadences in every key: It takes about ten or twelve minutes to do, and you go through about thirty or forcy ~ormulae. So you become a technician in a certain way: Most Amhen

1ca~s don 't have that. What you learn in most schools even a

se oo ltke J uilliard at th t • ' . · d f . ª time, are the rules of counterpomt mstea o learnmg counterp . d d of lear • h omt, an the rules of harmony instea not kn::r ~mony. But that's like reading a book on driving and sarne thingngTcecohw to ge~ into a car. Technique and rules are not the

· nique 1s a kill d on analysis of past . s , an rules are a formulation based skill. music. She taught technique as an acquirable

D UCKWORTH· Wh . at do you th. k . h taught you? 10 is t e most importam thing she

GLASS: Ultimately, ali h . . he .· ' er trammg I b li d aung. The great eh· ' e eve, was directed towar s dence of hearing. No:~;:;:c she was involved with was indepen-

' pendence wasn 't a poli ti cal slogan for

l

pHI LIP GLA SS 329

her; it's being able to hear one voice independently of another, being able to play one voice independently of another. A Boulanger stude nt began the day by playing a Bach chorale- playing three parts and singing the fourth. You did that four times, so that you sang ali four parts and played the other three. And that was never dane in a piano score. That was done in the open score with four ciefs. So the day began with that.

DUCKWORTH: Were you a good student?

GLASS: I wasn 't a particularly good student. But she bludgeoned you into ... The dullest of us acquired some technique, I think. That is, if you did what she told you to do-if you actually did the exercises. rf you proceeded intelligently and energetically in the direction that you were set on, you definitely acquired something. There were people that were marvelous at this and other people that weren't so good. To be marvelous at it did not mean that you were going to be the best composer. ln fact, very few of the students were actually composers. And she didn't actually look at your music. You could show it to her, but she was more interested in your counterpoint. If you wanted to show her a piece, she would look at it, but her com­ments were much more careful. She had a great reverence for the creative spirit, even with her students. She would take anyone's work seriously, which was a great thing in a certain way. But you also learned very quickly that you would get more out of her by working with her on technique. A Iesson spent on a piece was less valuable than ones dane on harmony or counterpoint.

DUCKWORTH: Did you show her much ofyour music?

GLASS: No.

DUCKWORTH: Nane at ali?

GLASS: Not after the first day: r discovered I had more to leam from her. I had had composition teachers before; I wasn'_t inte~ested _in opinions. Also, during che Iast year that I was sc,udymg ':"1th her, I began writing the music that I'm writing now: I m convm~ed _chat she would have thought it was crazy: I was ternfied of showmg tt c_o her. r was doing repetitive pieces that were basically about_ rhythmIC construction. It had almost no harmony or cou?terpomt at ali, Which is what I had been studying with her. It wasn t long after that that r carne back to play in Paris. My personal nightmare was that I would come out to do a concert and there would be Mlle Boulanger

1 '

330 PHILIP GLAss

. She never was, but I was always afraid she woutct 10 the first row. · s show up. I was told that she knew ~ y •~usic. homeone asked her

h .d that she had heard Einstein on t e Beach. But she and s e sai , would never make comments about a composer s work.

DUCKW0RTH: Do you know why not?

GLASS: 1 think she was reluctant. As I said, she had such a reverence

for the creative urgings and instincts that I think she was not

inclined to put a damper on it. Though as a young composer 1 knew heras a teacher, I was not, on my side, inclined to show it to

her. Also, you have to remember that in 1965 this work was in a

very fragile state. I had not developed a body of work to support it,

or the body of ideas that I knew it would evemually fit into. I was

very much in the dark and very much working alone. I was very

sensitive to criticisms in those first few years. There were few peo­

ple that I could show it to. lt was years before I really understood what I was doing.

DUCKWORTH: I know you had contact with Ravi Shankar while you

were in Paris. Was he your first encounter with non-Western music?

GLASS: Yes, he was. That was also in 1965-66. And I think you have

to place that in perspective. Ravi Shankar was not the big star that

he became soon after the Beatles discovered him • they went to

locii~ _in l968-ó9. ln the early days, you could hear inctian music­

trnciiuonal music from other countries-in Paris but not in the big

~o; c,er~ halls._ Ravi was the closest thing to a bi~ star but even he 1

n t ave ?18 audiences. The big audiences carne with his discov-ery by Amencan and Eng)· h . . . Playing 1 . . is pop mus1C1ans. Not that it changed h1s

. n my opm1on he was d before He . . . ' as won erful a player afterwards as

· was cnt1c1zed by m h' concens over th any people, but I've lis tened to 1s whole time. e years, aoct he's been a consumate artist the

DUCKWORTH: D'd . 1 you immediatel

mus1c and your own work? Y see connectio ns between his

GLASs: Yes. The thin I 1 • ture coulct become g earned from Ravi is that the rhythmic scruc-

!

d. . an overaJI mu . 1 Ition that's simpl sica structure. ln our Western tra·

. Y not the case N . ' . has

(

m ª sense, serializect m . · ow, 1t s true that serial mus1c ' structuraJ use of rh th us1c structures. But I would hardly call that a

bre anct pitch anct ; th m. There, rhythm is used in the way that tirn·

~ er aspects are used. ln the West, we have an

-h-~h rnt~¼ ~s fl(Í + lo fà r ~ -

0 1,1~,, ~ ,- Q¼

pHILIP GLASS 331

alliance between harmony anct melody Th , h · at s t e basic alliance·

rhythm comes along to liven things up Let' '

fo r the moment. That's a whole other s~b1·ecst pasds overhStravinsky . d . . an one t at I didn 't

unde1stan well at that time m my life Had I I · h h • · I • · , m1g t ave looked

at 1t d1ffe rent y; I m1ght have come to that realization through a dif-ferent route. But the non-Western music I kn .

h k , · h ew was Rav1 S an ar s mus1c:-t e music of northern India, and later the music

of southe rn Ind1a. There, the tension is between the melody and

the rhythm, not between the melody and the harmony. I think

that's a fairly accurate analogy to make. Toe moment that the tala

or the rhythmic structure, comes up and meets against the melodi~

structure at the sum-when the beats come together-that's the

re~olution in Indian music. The complications that that cyclic rhyth­

m1c structure can create, anq the effects to the melodie develop­

ment, open up a whole different way of thinking about music. And

that's basically what I heard. I knew nothing like that in my own

personal experience, or in any Western music that I knew.

DUCKW0RTH: Well, you did mention Stravinsky a moment ago.

GLASS: Let me put it this way: with the music of northern India you

could hear it immediately; it didn't require an analysis to under­

stand it. To unlock the secrets of Stravinsky took more of an intel­

lectual effort than I was prepared to make at that point in my life.

DUCKWORTH: Did you immediately start working with rhythmic strµcture?

GLASS: Oh, yes. I began in 1965, when I was still in Paris.

DUCKWORTH: What were those very early pieces like?

GLAss: They were very much like the pieces that you hear now, in a

certain way.

DUCKWORTH: Can you describe one of them?

GLAss: One of the very first pieces was for a Beckett pl~y. It was ~ piece

for two saxophones. A guy named Jack Kripl, who still plays wtth me

today, was in Paris on a Fulbright scholarship, and I hired him. I

recorded him playing both parts. The first part alternated betw~e~

two notes in a specific 7 /8 rhythmic pattern. The second part was m ,1

different pattern with a different two notes. The result ~ s two over­

lapping rhythmic cycles that kept creating new rhythm1c pa~~ei~s as

You listened to it. Of course, after a while they carne together ,igam. lf

j

1

·l ! l J

1 1 ! I' ,,

332 PHILIP GLAss

. fi d one was in seven, eve1y thirty-five times you ca one was 10 bve ~ ·ng So r began to disç_over ali of those ch;n~- tmh e back to the egmrn · ~ . -. . . . ~ ~ ""'ªt

1. sic of this k.ind mterestmg. l d1scove1ed there w make cyc 1c mu . . b' ere two kinds of cydic music: the kind whe1e you com me cycles of an 1 th and the kind where one overall cycle can contain ali f even eng , . ct· o the other cycles. That's the way it happens m ln ta. What happens in

Africa is different. There you can take three or four cycles anct the may never, for ali practical purposes, come out together. ln the end, i became interested in Indian music, because those were the guys I was working with. But I didn't really understand it until 1967 when 1 began studying with Allah Rakha. However, that didn't prevent me from writing quite a lot of pieces between 1965 and 1967, when I was more or less stumbling along trying to figure this out for myself

DUCKW0RTH: Do you remember how you structured those very first reductive, repetitive works?

GLASS: I did those pieces in parts. There would be a sound recurring because of the overlapping rhythmic patterns. Then there would be a pause, and I would start a new one. Then a pause, and then a ~ew one. _I built the pieces out of these smaller sections. They were hke a senes of non sequiturs. And yet, what they had in common was_ that the overall structural thinking was the sarne. lt formed the bas1s of this music for me lt . . . . . . . • was an 1magmat1ve begmnmg, constd· enng I hardly knew what I was doing.

DUCKWORTH: teaching?

How did your music at this point relate to Boulanger's

GLASS: It seemed at that was studying s· moment that none of it was useful. Here I ' IX-pare counterpo· d point at ali Th fi mt, an I wasn't writing counter-. e trst appearance ld b work with Boulang d . wou e that I had taken my er an s1mply th . b . with what I Jearned fi h rown lt aside. I did not egtn . rom er· I bega I b m the end that was th b ' . n comp etely differe ntly. May e tried to apply what he keSc thmg that could have happe ned. Had I s e new tom . as a somewhat acade . Y mus1c, I would have ended up totally different that . mie composer. What I did was something b k ' in my expe · ..êf__to New York I ct· nence , had no model. When I carne ing h- - - , iscovered th k ...!.J!t way, which wãs-a r - _ere were other composers wor ·

DUCKWORTH· D'd g eat reltefTmust say. - -----. t you think that o .

GLASS: Totally orig· l' y u were domg som e thing . . . tna rYes.

l

ptHLIP GLASS 333

o u cKWORTH: ... significam? Something you telt . was importam? GLASS: Yes. I knew it was; that was a great hei 1 k . .

1 p. new tt was 1mpor-tant, at east to me. And I saw right away that ·e . f . 1 was potenuallv an alternate way o workmg. At that point the dom· . r· h - . - . . . . . , mant mu~i::._o t e ttme was _senal muste. L1vmg m Paris I could hardl b - f __ --- . y not e aware o

that. And I was not at ali mterested in continuing in that tract·c· 1 ·ct d . ld t ion. cons1 e re 1t a very o way of looking at things. I was aware of the fact that the people who had created the school were of the age of my grand~ath~r. It never occurred to me that they could be my con­temporanes; 1t seemed obvious to me that they weren' t! But it wasn't obvious to anyone else. At the time that's what people did. ~very European idea though, isn't it? Ancestor worship. You get mo re of this in Europe than in America. We don't go in much for ancestor worship over here.

D UCKWORTH: We don't have many of them to worship before lves.

GLASS: We don't , really. But Ives is such a humdinger. There was so much in his music that it seemed to offer so many possibilities. Toe closest thing to an American composer to me was John Cage, because l knew his work. 1?ut the thing that troubled me with Cage was that there seemed no way to follow hirn. That hardly prevented severa! generations, thousands of people, from following him. But it seemed to me that there was no way for me to follow him. On the other hand, he presented an aesthetic that was interesting, and a way of thinking about music that was extremely helpful. His ideas had to do with other ideas that were ali connected to creative an in a general way-Duchamp, and Jasper Johns, and Rauschenberg. and Merce Cunningharn-which led me eventually to work in the theater. My work in the theater had much more to do with Cage and Cunningham than with any of the musicians I knew.

DUCKWORTH: How were those early Pa1i s works received? Did you get support fo r your music?

GLASs: I was lucky in that I was working with a thea_ter company. lt was the Mabou Mines, the group that I worked wtth for the next twenty years. So the music had a context. I wrote p1eces for them. One was that piece for the Beckett play. Another ,vas_ a concert piece for two of the act resses, one of whom 1 had marrie~ by rbat t ime . A third was a chamber orchestra piece, and a fourth piece was a string q uartet. There may have been a few ºthers.

1 \

PHILIP GLAss

. es still exist? Are they avai lable? oucKWORTH: Do those p1ec d . h .

one that I can lay my han s on is t e s tring quartet. GLASS: The only h se ocher pieces are. There may be a tape of

J don't know where t O

d I'm more careless than most peop) h B ckett piece aroun . h ' e t e e . Now it doesn't matter; t ey re more or less

about manusfc;pts. But I've Jost a Iot of pieces alo ng the way. 1 taken care o ,or me. don't pay much attention to them.

Wh t was your experience writing for the theater? OUCKWORTH: a GLASS· The theater has always been a haven for progressive music.

Y~u can get away with murder in the theater becaus~, first of ali, the music critics don't go there. Then, too, the dramat1c needs of a work can often justify experiments that you could never get away with in a concert hall. I don't doubt that it's for !_hat re<!füJD_t.Qat some Qf the great innovations occurred in the _qpera_h~. You ~Y to think of Monteverdi, Mozart, and Wagner to prove the point. Or Alban Berg, for that matter, though I don't consider his operas that importam, to tel1 the truth.

DUCKWORTI-1: Were you getting performances outside the theater?

GLASS: No. ~ rest of the Paris music world refused to play my ~ Their reaction was simply, "This is madness; we shouldn't do it; you shouldn't write it." And that was the end of it; no one would play it. That's why I carne back to New York in 1967. I couldn't find anyone butJack Kripl and another guy, Daniel Lipton, to play the music. The French wouldn't play it; it made people very angry. It's hard to realize now, but twenty years ago people got angry, and they would lecture me and scold me for writing it. Ali through the first ten years, when I got into concert halls people would throw things at p 1 ' fi us. eop e would start fights. That happened . or yhears! People would get up and start violent confrontations dur­mg t e concerts It doesn't h get angry i th · appen so much anymore. Now people matter So 7 w e nebwskpaper. But I don't read it anyway; it doesn't

· ent ac to New Yo k d I bl I began working-with eo I r an started my ensem e. p P e I had been to music scho ol with. DUCKWORTH· Wh . at was the musical

returned to New York? environment like when you

GLASS: I didn't listen ali that though there were a lot f . much to what other people were doing,

0 mteresting composers at the time. There

pHILIP GLASS

~oS t9W: revo\ +-t. d e ()""'4..

te.r~~ de. compoSi{o r~ Co-vi-\,,~ o ~vi-,Jo c:i.cJdth.<iCO 335

must have been a dozen composers who were wn·t· . . . . mg m mnovat1ve ways The thmg that I find rather distressing 1·s th t • . a m retrospect reopie always talk about the sarne three composers B t · f: · , . . u , m act, 1t really wasn t hke that. If you were in New York in 1967-68 it wasn't clear at ali who the three important composers were. The way peo­ple Jook at that history is very skewed now. What was really going 00 was th~t there was a g~neration of composers who were in open ~ I! ~~mst the academic music wodd

DUCKWORTH: Why do you think some of you became more well known than others?

GLASS: Some of us got singled out more than the others, and some] of us got more famous than the others. To an extent those are acci- " , ~ dents of fate . But those are also a result of personal effort and ~ ambition on the part of those people. I wanted to play for thou- ~ sands of people; I was always interested in a larger audience. I saw ~ ~ that possibility from a very early age and I unswervingly set myself -~ \~ that goal. Andas a result, I have a larger audience. It's very simple! ~ t~ When you write operas, clearly you are thinking about thousands of ~ , p~~e and not hundreds.

DUCKWORTH: When you füst began your ensemble, what were the problems?

GLASS: There was a core of players with whom I began playing in 1968, and in 1969 we did the first ensemble concert. It gelled very quickly. The difficulty was keeping the group together. Now, this is something that any composer will tel1 you: keeping the ensemble together is the hardest thing to do.

DUCKWORTH: How were you able to manage it?

GLASS: r made some shrewd and smart decisions at that time that made it possible . For one thing, I did not take a teaching job, which I never wanted to do. r had other work and I supported the ens~ ble by my jobs. After the first concert, l began paying people. No~, that was very hard to do; it usually meant that I never got pai_d myself. Also , r decided that I would let no one else play the muSte but the ensemble because I felt that if I had a monopoly on the music that as the ~usic became known there would be more work for th~ ensemble. So for the next elev~ the only peoP.le w~9 played my music was the ensemble.

1 1 1

1 o

1 ·1

Q PHILIP GLAss

1 ser a goal for myself of twenty concerts a year-not at ali an arbi­trary number. If you do rwenty concerts a year, you_ can then qualify as an employer who can take out unemployment msurance for his employees. What I could then offer my players was twenty weeks when I would pay them, and twenty-six weeks when they could get the money down at the unemployment office. The beautiful pan of this was that I didn't need grants. I didn't need the approval of any other composer at ali. By 1975 I was doing twenty concerts a year. 1 had discovered a way of living not only independently of the acade­mic world, but also independently of the foundation world.

DUCKWORTH: Why did you want to be independem of foundation support?

GLASS: None of the new-music foundations would support my music. l31?plied eleven_years f~ a GuggenheirrL.and..n.eYeL~ I never got money from the Manha Baird Rockefeller Foundation the Mellon Foundation, or the Koussevitzky Foundation. List the~. Ali the new-music people-zip! From the New York State Council on the ~ts, the amounts I got were so small that I finally gave up applying· ~ ~~n't wonh the time. ln retrospect, though, I think they wer~

hg . After ali, they were there to help people who couldn't help t emselves. ln a way they forced me to . sumve on my own.

DUCKWORTH· How did first staning out? you support yourself when the ensemble was

GLASS: I did it in a variety of w

l furniture moving plu b' ?5· 1 ~orked day jobs. These included I always chose w~rk ~ mg, ong-di5tance moving, and tmti driving. for many years was t

O ª temporary nature. The pattern of my life ;;);:~ or fo~ tour w~th ~nsemble for three weeks, then t r mont s usual! . h .Q!!!:. That cycle went O f, ' Y pa m off the deficits of t e ~~ i~bs untu°1;;8ten or eleven years. As a matter of fact, feller grant plus a 00 ~~-one. Then a Rocke·

mm1ss1on from h - d me to concentrate on w . . t e Netherlands Opera allowe ntmg music

DUCKWORTH · H . b . ow do you feel

a out the buiit-in conflicts f , now that you can look back on it, GLASs: lt's im o a cycle Uke that?

anis portant to rememb h . , I d ts togo through "rites f er t at it s common in New York for mardoev~ for was full of pain~tsass~ge" working like this . The garage

it and so , Wrtters a d h e ' me are Still ther , n ot er musicians. sorn e.

L

pHILIP GLASS 337

o ucKWORTH: By 1979, you were a successful · k opera composer Why did you contmue to eep the group together after that? .

GLASS: By that point the group had been togethe ~ h d b ~-- --- __ r ~ver ten 1~

and t~ey a ecome the best performers of the musiê. So I had a more importam reason for keeping the ensemble together than my initial one. At first, they were the only people who would play it; then they became the best people who could play it. At this point W! ~ 111 do fifty concerts a year, which is a lot. It keeps me on the road ~elve weeks a Y~; I only have forty weeks at home. But I'rn not the only person of my generation who becarne a composer/ performer. We really carne back to the idea that the composer is the performer, and that's very, very valuable. For one thing, we became real people again to audiences. We learned to talk to peo­ple again. As a group we lost our exclusivity, the kind that had been built up- through years of acadernic life. I personally knew that I didn't want to spend my life writing music for a handful of people. I just didn't think it was worth rny time. Now, that's a very different way of looking at things.

DUCKWORTH: Do you have any idea why that change happened in your generation?

GLASS: My generation grew up in the late sixties. We ali went through the cultural crises of the sixties. It was civil rights, pop music, and drugs; ali over the Western world, many things changed. We saw our friends working in the field of popular music, living in a very connected way with their culture, and rnany of us wamed to have the sarne connection in our work. We wanted to be part of that world, too. It didn't mean writing popular music; that wasn't possible for people Jike myself. I have no training in it, and l have no inclination to do it. But it did mean that we saw the role of the artist in a much more traditional way-the artist being part of the culture that he lives in. we saw that happening to our friends, and we asked why they were having ali the fun! It was somethmg very simple like that.

DUCKWORTH: So it was a social and cultural phenomenon rather than a musical one?

G . f eople· some of us had LASs: Very much so. It was eas1er or some P ' . o do it I actuaj!yjllidJQ..form an more skills than others. For me t , - - ,

d e it r was not an accom-ensemble I alone could not have on · . b . -~-a--- -=-· I d'd 't through cham er mus1c. Plished enough keyboard player. 1 1

l

1 1

I•

1

r

338 PHILIP GLAss

DUCKW0RTH: When the ensemble first started, how did you actualf

put your pieces together with it? Did you begin with a finishe~

score?

GLASS: Yes, I always did. I am out of the tradition of notated concen

music. I handed out the parts, and we played them. I rarely made

changes. Now, there could be a lot of changes !ater on, when w

got involved with synthesizers. But in terms of the composition e

such, my apprenticeship with Boulanger really served me well.~

knew better than anyone what it sounded like. I rarely had to make

changes of that kind.

DUCKWORTH: Do you keep up with synthesizer technology today?

GLASS: I d~n't read the technical magazines, but Kurt Munkacsi and

Michael Riesman read them ali the time. They have made available

to me a world of technology that has kept the ensembl with k · . e current

my wor ma certam way. You can't expect a full-time com .

er to do that; you know how much time it takes. pos

DUCKWORTH· When d'd • t you actually begin making a living as a

composer?

GLASS: At a certain point the ens things became econom· ali emble, the operas, and various

before I made a living a/~. /w:~onable, though I was forty-one

got from the Rockefeller Founcta ~lly helped by one major grant I

head there. He gave th h tion when Howard Klein was the

w·1 ree t ree-year g h 1 son, Sam Shepard a d rants to t ree artists: Bob

the self-supporting c~m n me. That pushed me into the world of

that when Howard gave poserh I was just teetering on the edge of

m a different way than me t e grant. As usual I used the money

my bf· h' most people I , pu is mg company. 1 wou d have. I used it to start

copyright · · used half the H, anct to make . money to copy music to

cou~d get the publishing co~ avaiJabJe on tapes. I figured that ,if I

~or again. And it turnect outtanby working, then I wouldn 't have to

mg and you e d O e true I f:

i of a I an o the music th · n act, you can make a liv-

}:. ' store othof different skills. Don't ; t you want; it takes a combination

. ~ I was ki ,or et I be . d

you solct it•"i;~· The fi rst thin an workin in a recor

0 - ' q_ther.~o_rcts, pe~ about music was that

UCKWüRTtt: Th - . e atd for it.

Y . e new Gro ' . ou Amenca's " ve s Dzctiona

account for most Popular se . ry 01 American Music calls

Your Popularity? nous composer." How do you

pHILIP GLASS 339

Philip Glass at his home studio, New York, 1988. Photo Credit: Paula Court

GLASS: There are a number of reasons. For one thing, I'm out there

playing it ali the time. Also, I tend to pick projects that get heard a

lot; Koyaanisqatsi is a film that millions of people saw. I'm a great

advocate of my own music. And don't forget the music: I make it

available in a lot of ways. I would rather write an opera than a string \y' quan et, because I'm interested in the theater. ln the end, it hap-

pens that more people will hear the opera, though, in fact, I actual-

ly like to write string quartets. I've written three string quartets in

the last few years. But I'm attracted to large-scale pieces, which is

fortunate because that's one of the reasons why it's popular. I was

talking to someone recently about this and I said very simply, "If 1

You can w~te _ a piece for two hundred people o~ c_wo thous~_ncl, /

Why not wnce tt for two thousand? I thmk 1t can be 1ust as goocl. ·

DucK\xroRTH: How do you feel about the extent of your popularity

today? Do you have any worries about it?

GLAss: None at ali. But you must realize there are clifferent kinds. We

have to be realistic about this. J can play for two thousand people; 1

don't play for twenty thousand. Every time Paul Simon plays a

'1 I

! 1

J

t

·--

340 PHILIP GLAss

concert, he does the stadiums. l don 't play at stadiums; l play in

concert halls. The people you could really compare me to, in terms

of popularity, are, say, Wynton Marsalis or the Canadian Brass. We're

not talking Bruce Springsteen; that's just silly. On the other hanct,

we're so unused to thinking even in terms of thousands, that the

moment someone gets over a thousand we say, "Oh my God, it 's

popular!" And it 's true. It 's far greater than what would fit into

Carnegie Recital Hall. But I'm a whole decimal point away from

mass culture, and a decimal point in this busÍ!_1.ess is ali the differ­

e'nce there is. ln my opinion, l will never play Jor m_Qre than two or

three thousand people. That size audience isn 't there. However,

three thousand people is a good audience. ln fact, my ensemble

can do that regularly in major cities.

DUCKWORTH: What about your opera audiences?

GLASS: With the theater works, it's quite different. There you're talk-

ing about ten or twelve performances in a two-thousand seat

house. But theater is different. lt plays by different rules . I think it's

silly to talk about mass audiences when ali we're talking about is a

couple thousand people. My most popular record has sold 200,000.

If l were really a pop artist, l would havelosf my contract with such

ÍêW ·sales. I can be numberooe on the cíasslcilcharts. But don't

forget that's the class1cal charts; the numbers are very, very d1ffer­

ent. People who worry ãbout mypopularity trulydõn'f unõerstmrd

what mass cúlture is. So l think-we-have-to think-abe>t1t-wl:i~

mean when we say culture. l am not uncomfortable with populari·

ty; it doesn 't bother me. l know that it makes some writers uncom·

fortable. But I enjoy selling out twelve performances of Einstein on

heBeach.

DUCKWORTH: Do you think your music is misunderstood?

GLASS: No. I think it is by a handful of people but in general, the

,.. ) people who go to my performances unders;and the music. Will

• .....__ Dona! Henahan understand it? Who cares? I don 't write for chose

l d. . f years peop e anyway. l 1scovered an mteresting thing a couple O d

ago. I discovered that the reviews did not affect my ticke~ Jes an -

!!!Y record s~les~

DUCKWORTH: What do you think the function of the critic is coday?

GLASS: The critic does have a function in our society. He can be tl: middJeman between the public that thinks Jackson Pollock was

pH I LIP G LASS 341

idiot, and the artist who was pursuing hi·s .. own V1s1on That can be a valuable person. l think the function of .. ·. . person

. COIICJSm IS a sen-ous functton. You have only to read the good e ·r· · . n 1c1sm to realize rhat. l read George Bernard Shaw to Iearn about · · h'

. . smgmg; 1s remarks about v~~al wntmg are something that any composer can

take to he_art. So tt s not a questton of being above criticism. It's just

like anythmg else, there are good composers and not so good com­

posers; there are peopl_e who can make an omelette, and people

who can 't. Some critics have helped me; very few have actually hun

me. A critic can help a composer or an artist by supponing him,

but they rarely destroy a career.

DUCKWORTH: So you don't pay attention to reviews at ali?

GLASS: I don't read them at ali. You know the old saying: "The good

ones are never good enough, and the bad ones just make you

angry"

DUCKWORTH: Do you com pose every day now, or are you too busy?

d h b. I ess r learned them from GLASS· Yes I have very goo a tts. gu h

. ' 1 at six and work until noon, except t e Boulanger. I usual Y get up 1 end at the studio. I

, h d The afternoons sp days when I m on t e roa · le r have one day a

spend every Tuesday afternoon tal~g tod~e~~d i go out. I'll goto

week for that. I listen to music on_ t e ra I k Maybe not that much,

hear new work if I can, once or rwice ª wee ·

actually: work at the piano or away from it?

DUCKWORTH: Do you ·s that you can't hing about operas i

GLASS· I work both ways. The t . the operas as full orcheScra · . ay I wnte I e do

Play them on the piano anyw · d •ons r have someone e s . . • 00 re ucu · 1 d rhe piano

scores and then I wnte pia If some peop e O ·

d fons myse . Since I was that· I never do the re uc 1

0 do it either way. the ' te· you ca k directly 00

score and then orche5tra ' . e . me to wor . . 't's eas1er io1

not 01iginally a p1an1st, 1

orchestration. . about wtiting operas?

h hardest thing . the way

DUCK\VORTH: What's t e . hear rhe score 'º. but . me to do is to . ces in real nn1e,

GLASs: The hardest thing for I like to play ~e p~~ through it in eight

that the time really pass_es. scene and Ili res ·o order to feel ~he minute ·ght o 1 1 hnd

I can take a fourteen· t the time 11 · 1 , it live. I ª 50 I an 't ge to p ai

minutes. You knoW, c r rate l have h Prope '

time unfolding at t e

j 1'

1

2ft:

342 PHILIP GLAss

that 1 enjoy playing it. But then again, I rarely can play ali the pans.

So I'II play some of the important parts, but there are many pans 1

can't play

DUCKWORTI:I: Are you comfortable being known as a minimalist?

GLASS: Well, I haven't written any minimal music in twe~e y~rs. The

difficulty is êhàt the word doesn't describe the music that people

are going to hear. I don't think "minimalism" adequately describes

it. I think it describes a very reductive, quasirepetitive style Qf.J.he

late sixties. But by 1975 or '76, everyone had begun to do some­

thing a little bit different. Actually, the last holdouts are the Eu~o­

peans. There are still minimalists in Europe, but not in America. So

I think the term doesn't describe the music well. And if it doesn't

prepare you at ali for what you're going to hear, it 's not a useful

description.

DUCKWORTI:1: Is there a term you like better?

GLASS: Not particularly Fonunately, it's not needed so much any-

more. Usually people will say it's my music, or they will say, "Did

you hear Koyaanisqatsi?" Toe style is easily described in terms of

the music itself. It is concert music. I don't use bass drums or gui­

tars. And it's in the tradition of notated music. It's basically cham­

ber musi~ that's amplified. I think that the diversity of contempo­

rary music stands on its own in a certain way. I just did a solo

concert-something I rarely do. No one in the audience seemed to

think it needed any particular description.

t ' .. _J

ER ORMANff ARTISTS

t