robert ashley

nice one ian. enjoy.

best part is that it's just a 15 minute walk from my house.

is the song at about 12 mins till 20 mins in this, a robert ashley song? my googling the lyrics suggests it is.

http://soundcloud.com/pluie-noir/pluie-noir-podcast-002-sleeper

Yeah that one's a classic
"sans ice"

ah cool... what record is it from?

(thanks)

private parts.

I listened to that mix. There's a lot of Robert Ashley in there! Reminds me of a mixtape where someone used pretty much the whole of E2E4.

that explains why it was so good maybe

he took himself seriously
motel rooms had lost their punch for him

he opened all his bags
there were two and inside those two there were two more
it's not an easy situation
but there was something like abandon in the air
there was something like the feeling of the idea of silk scarves in the air
there was a kind of madness to it
the kind we read about in magazines
one of the bags contained a bottle of liquor
a surer sign of thoughtfulness if at all there might have been
he poured himself a small drink in a fluted plastic glass sans ice
he thought to himself if i were from the big town i would be called debonaire
the big town doesnt send its riffraff out

he sat on the bed both feet on the floor
he studied the ashtray and tried to rule out preference
preferring over not preferring
but he preferred
gravity over what other state
preferring in that case
earth
the earth as they say
preferring some state over non state

now he grips himself with determination even knowing that it causes sadness
he is determined to be what?
he is determined to be serious
he had determined once to be serious
later he knew that he had made a mistake but too late he had arrived and there were rooms and all rooms were not the same
some better than others he thought
better view
better layout
better shower
softer bed
not so far from noise
more like home etc etc
very abstract

he lifted the telephone from its cradle
his determination got stronger
if not clearer even as he had faded in its force
were it not for our momentum, the inertia of our actions, the constant inspiration of our habits, we could not continue
the will is almost nothing he thought to himself

at the sound of the first ring he hung up
he pushed down the button and listened to the silence of the object in his hand and then he hung up
very dramatic
the phone rang immediately
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
he brings this cloud of conditions with him
he is at the center of a ball of hot stuff that we haven't put our minds to yet
and sitting on the bed in the motel room is no different
somewhere in another room in range
somebody got it and phoned him
it happens all the time
really.

a kind of restlessness at that range
he sat and thought about obedience
he had resolved, that of the two kinds, the kind that takes every message of order, rule, law
has error
that everybody who passes along these messages
that loathes the buildings
that contradicts the inner voice
that resists, in short, was his
the other kind,
how could it be.

he wasn't happy with the world
he worked with the forwardness and the backwardness
he worked with what things are ahead of us and with what things are behind us
i guess the other kind would be to work with things that are alongside,
the attachments.
obedience was impossible for him
at the same time he was cooperative and indeed solicitous
no one in the world would have mistaken him for a real person
(obedience, et cetera)
the other kind works with the things that are the alongside us
the attachments
at the same time he was cooperative
the numbers on the telephone
the parts of the book
the notes of the scale
they are the same, are they not
they come from the sameness of the idea of the outsideness
not the alongside the outsideness
the differentness
it was a problem, being cooperative and refusing obedience, and carrying the load of the idea of differentness

he wants
he handles himself in the morning
it's just like for every other man
the fantasy is the distance, the reluctance, the reticence, the otherness
the fantasy is the uncleanness
so getting up gets to be a problem for a sensitive person like him
the problem is to run that gauntlet again
remove problem
remove gauntlet
remove run
remove is to
remove the
remove that
leave this
make this whatever

he lights the motelroom with the slightly blue body light
when he is along he forgets sometimes to walk
he just moves
sometimes they touch, sometimes they don't
and everything in between
yes, sometimes he forgets to combine talk with thinking
and just thinks
or just talks
especially i think it happens in those rooms, who knows why
the way it disconnects from what's just outside is predictable
is it not so
it never stops being a mystery
we have talked about it

when he says hello you hear a long whining sound which is his voice and the hello
it is as different from whatever
the way one might remember
as the sound a cat might make
he is not unusual in this i think
he is absolutely uninhabitable
a thankless star
remove star
remove thankless
remove a
replace with he has a special way of speaking
but it seems only to make him more like other men
this is one place and here every kid is armed
so where you going
huh
probably sometimes we don't see the guns
sometimes yes
sometimes no
the town and always references to down and out
down from des moines
up from somewhere
missed by chance
didn't even see it
thought it was a threat to house and home
why didn't you come up to the big town
no thanks
looking back
didnt get the up and down part
how could i have missed it

get a grip on yourself he said
working against time was another thing he said
here i am working against time

the pencil fairly flew as he made out his simple requests for breakfast
room service courtesy of the company
this is a record
i am sitting on a bench next to myself
inside of me the words form
come down out of the tree and fight like a man
two cheese and eggs
this is not a record
this is a story
i want to say something about myself
i am not sitting on a bench next to myself
whatever that means
i am a city of habits
i am completely knowable in every way
i recognize superstition in every form
an anger of the words makes me in the vein of myself
i imagine there are two men on the bench
the exchange between them will not be seen
they will not put it forth to be seen
and if i make something of the situation
to show a difference between the two men
the difference will distract the true onlooker
but the film fogs you know
one scene fogs
and add a dish of prunes if they are in season

i met her in the park in the small midwestern town
that is, the bench is in the park
we know from what is past that the men are on the bench
they are old by doctor's standards
the park graces the courthouse of the county
the courthouse has about it the simple air of failure
an abandoned outpost
the park has sidewalks, fences, trees, grass, and a statue of a man and horse at war
or ready for war
they are alone with their intentions
the sculptor has made the horse look stupid
the man's jaw is firm
the time is late morning in early summer
the sun shines

in this scene there are two shots
the park in all its details
frozen
broken on the right edge
sometimes up to two thirds across the framce
by the body of a person
very close
blurred, moving almost rhythmically
we have just begun and already we are stuck
working against time as they say
the camera is obsessed with what it sees
the park
the ragged edge
nothing moves
except the edge
the edge moves
it's as if there is no other place
his mind races
one gee in fogs
two gees in eggs

when the two men spoke
they spoke about permanence and impermanence
they noted that there were certain things that were impermanent, and other things to which impermanence did not apply
thus they came to make a great division between that which is impermanent and that which is permanent
everything in this transitory category turned out to be the particulars of our existence
and these were divided into physical, mental, and others which were neither physical nor mental
among those particulars which were neither physical nor mental
they listed attainment, aging, and coincidence
on the permanent side of this great division of reality was a notion they referred to as space
and by that term they meant neither conceptual space
nor space as given by our senses
they meant connections
they decided that such space is irreduceable and not transitory
and that it exists as long as one is alive.
they wondered
naturally
what becomes of it.
this impasse is no help at all
consider his situation:
for instance
he is expected to be positive and helpful about breakfast
in the order of things, it is more important that she know about the prunes then that the shot should change
and what about the problems we have seen
he is still seated on the bed both feet on the floor
the small drink in the fluted plastic glass sans ice is hardly touched
the phone has just stopped ringing
in his mind the two men are frozen on the bench
the horse looks stupid
the warrior's jaw is firm
incredibly slowly our view begins to slide
his idea is that death always takes one by surprise
always.
there is no way to prepare
he imagines absolute awareness on the other side
he wonders as we all do how it comes to you that you are dead
we were distracted by the fluid right edge
there is an absoluteness to surprise, he thinks
he applies this simple thought to the problem of how to move the shot
incredibly slowly our view begins to slide
begins is a problem
we are enchanted by the park and all its details
frozen, broken on the right edge by the body of the person, very close
the blur, moving rhythmically
how can it begin to change
how can the beginning go unnoticed
how can we pass from one state to another
is it possible, if one already has a certain experience of life, to start directly on the path
or is there danger involved in trying to do advanced practices without having the proper foundation
they came to believe that, unless one has actually gone through the preliminary experiences, conclusions may be drawn on the basis of insufficient information
and that these conclusions may produce effects just the opposite of the one which is intended
in other words, one never knows
and so the view begins to slide, anyway as they say
slide eastward
turning eastward
the particulars moving left or right across the frame
a parade of sorts
and it comes to rest, finally,
on the road
the street that holds the park
we are still obsessed
we are not relieved

this view is no different
how could it be
except that we have moved off the body of the person very close and blurred
and every edge is raw
and there is some machine approaching
wider than it is high
as they say
a pack of motorcycles
a herd of elephants
a tribe of bedouins
something from the east
barely moving in a cloud of haze and heat and dust
in utmost telephoto
gold and green and flat
the idea of the slit
the eye of the needle

--The Park, Robert Ashley

there are some mistakes there, but still.
good to see it written down.
i didn't write it.

there are quite a lot of mistakes.
the pencil fairly flew as he made his corrections.
(which maybe i will do at some point)

He's in London next month.

i did a transcription of 'the backyard' one night

he is? so am xyzzzz_, what are the dates?

donna, post it!

http://www.cafeoto.co.uk/robert-ashley-alex-waterman-vidas-perfectas.shtm

28/29/30. i am so there if teaching doesn't ruin it for me. i only listened to 'private parts' from ian's poll a short while back and it killed me, and has spiralled out into obsession.

it does that!!!!

it makes for an incredibly strange running soundtrack. i use it for that probably far too often.

ok!

-------

she makes a double life
she makes two from one and one
she makes a perfect system every day
she makes it work
she stands there in the doorway of her mother's house
looking at the grass and sky and at where they meet
never thinking thoughts like
"that's so like a line"
or
"the difference is so powerful"
or
"which way shall i take to leave?"

my mind turns to my breath
one
my mind watches my breath
two
my mind turns and watches my breath
three
my mind turns and faces my breath
four
my mind faces my breath
five
my mind studies my breath
six
my mind sees every aspect of the beauty of my breath
seven
my mind watches my breath soothing itself
eight
my mind sees every part of my breath
nine
my breath is not indifferent to itself
ten

she never thinks of possibility
or of how probably it is that they have come together
those thoughts never enter her mind
nor do thoughts of sports
she has no desire to improve her muscles
for her piano playing is the only mystery
it's so beautiful and how they do it no one knows

she gets catalogs of every sort in the mail
everything imaginable is pictured
she finds her way among the pictures without hesitation
she is not afraid of happiness
she is entirely without shame
the numbers are made of rubber or something like that
they stretch
they never lose their shape
they are ageless
they don't need repair
they need attention and respect

she thinks about two things that i know of
one is elevation and that comes clothed in light so to speak
she loathes the dark
she sleeps in light
she likes highness
four thousand one hundred twenty-eight feet here
four thousand two hundred eighteen feet there
and the body of the house itself
fourteen dollars and twenty-eight cents here
forty-eight dollars and twelve cents there

the other is proportions
coincidence isn't a mystery to her
the margin is always wide enough
forty-two or forty with twenty is always sixty-two or sixty
and i mean forty-two with twenty can be sixty as well as sixty-two
and the other way around
just as ten and twenty can be twenty-two or thirty
or twelve and twenty can be thirty

she stands there in the doorway of her mother's house and thinks these thoughts
that fourteen dollars and twenty-eight cents is more attractive than fourteen dollars
because of the twenty-eight
no one likes or dislikes zeroes
and that forty-two or forty is fixed in some way

she thinks about her father's age
she does the calculations one more time
she remembers sixty-two
thirty and some number is sixty-two
and that number with ten is forty-two
she remembers forty-two
remembers is the wrong word
she dwells on forty-two
she turns and faces it
she watches it
she studies it
it is the key
the mystery of the balances is there
the masonic secret lies there
the church forbids its angels entry there
the gypsies camp there
blood is exchanged there
mothers weep there
it is night there

thirty and some number is sixty-two
and that number with ten is forty-two
that number translates now to then
that number is the answer
in the way that numbers answer
that simple notion
a coincidence among coincidences
is all one needs to know

my mind turns to my breath
my mind watches my breath
my mind turns and watches my breath
my mind turns and faces my breath
my mind faces my breath
my mind studies my breath
my mind sees every aspect of the beauty of my breath
my mind watches my breath soothing itself
my mind sees every part of my breath
my breath is not indifferent to itself

she waked at ten
she remembers ten
she left the dark at ten
she waked in light
so forty-two or forty or forty-four is fixed
fourteen dollars and twenty-eight cents is more attractive than fourteen dollars
it's just that way
the firmness of it is a consolation

three men have loved her
one a decade on the average
uncertainties are wrong
in this scene there is one shot
giordano bruno comes to mind
whoever he is

she is in the doorway of her mother's house
she faces south
we see it two ways
first is the house behind her
and the great northern constellations
she looks away from difference and discrepancy
magnetic north
true north
the north star path
it's too like the calculations
except that ten and forty-two are fixed together
we are looking west
she is on the right edge of the shot
she is earth
we are the sun

people are gathered in the backyard
this is the celebration of the changing of the light
they do it as often as they can in summer
they come to talk
they pass the time
they soothe their thoughts with lemonade
they say things like
she never had a stitch that she could call her own, poor thing
and
harold's still president over at the bank, ain't he?
and
now if i was doing it
and
she didn't cook much, never really had the time, you know
and
i wouldn't say that, not at all
they are the planets in the scheme of things
giordano bruno shot

the problem is the arc
the changing angle of the shot
it defies geometry
drawings of geocentric solar systems
when you meet them in the books
make us avert our eyes
heresy is heresy
we make one great weird curve
from the east edge of the backyard
looking west
she is on the right edge of the shot
across
following the equator of the backyard
to the west edge
looking east

now she is on the left edge
at some point midway we face
both looking at the center
the center is between us
except that for the purpose of the shot
or the interests of economy
she doesn't move

she is standing in the doorway of her mother's house
the doorway to the back porch
the backyard is the south
behind her the great northern constellation
rises in the majesty of its architecture
well, maybe that's a little too much
let's just say that
contradictions are behind her
and in the backyard
god
this set of circumstances
that is indescribable
with our geometry

a picnic of sorts
a celebration of the changing of the light
and we glide through that chaos facing her
watching her
studying her
not circling her, remember
circling, but not circling her
she is circling
we are circling

now she is on the left edge
caught still in her accounting of those three decades silently
she is so beautiful
a "pre-industrial" equation

god, this is sentimental

this is the hour of the mystery of the barnswallows
one
where do they go in daytime?
two
do they never rest?
three
when you buy them in the store, made in china
on the end of strings
they do exactly what they do alive
four
how is that possible?

the idea of the changing center is not in anything we make
our toy is run down
on the other end of course
the chinese are said to not take pictures
at least not of the outside

six of one
two times three of one
five plus one of one
nine minus three of one
half a dozen of another

it would be perfect if
as we made the great curve
through the heavens of the backyard
providentially or accidentally
depending on your point of view
each of the planets would move exactly in the path
and at the speed
and with the purpose of the expression
of the other idea

maybe that's too much to wish

giordano bruno
i think they burned him
he was too positive
fight fire with fire
in this shot he is wrong about the larger order
whatever that means
there is just the sun and earth
and some center that they share
all other facts in this heaven:
one has climbed the tree
two are eating watermelon
one always says it's getting late
one succeeded at the plant
one works at the bank
the specialists
they are just (dirt lines?) seen wrong

sundown, one
the time it disappears
gloaming, two
the twilight dusk
crepuscule, the twilight, three
the half-light
twilight, four
pale purplish blue to pale violet
lighter than dusk blue
civil twilight
until the sun is up to six degrees below horizon
enough light on clear days for ordinary occupations
nautical twilight
until the sun is up to twelve degrees below horizon
astronomical twilight
until the sun is eighteen degrees down more or less
clair de lune, five
greener and paler than dusk
dusk, six
redder and darker than clair de lune

dear george
what's going on?
i'm not the same person that i used to be.

those closing lines!

thanks!

nb: it is not perfect, there's a few lines i'm not sure of. the above is based on the 'private parts' version, though i consulted both the 'private parts' and 'perfect lives' versions - there's a couple of minor differences between the two.

fucking love this piece of music so fucking much i just can't express it in words. it should be expressed in hugs & smiles and nodding sagely at twilight.

who's this "george"?

i feel the same way ian. i want to share it with everyone i know and don't know.

i once read the entirety of 'the park' aloud to my bf. i was a choked-up mess by the end.

i would totally take that as a marriage proposal.

I put The Backyard on a mix for gf just a few hours ago.

The Park vs The Backyard POLL

(and thanks v much for the lyrics - have looked for them on internet before but to no avail)

Bob Ashley, David Behrman, Chris Mann and Alvin Lucier give a FREE concert in honor of John Cage at The New School on September 7 at 7 pm. 66 West 12th Street.

if only i knew before now i could have taken time off work :(

So, has anyone read the Kyle Gann book on Ashley? Came out in November apparently... wanting to order it from Amazon.

http://www.amazon.com/Robert-Ashley-American-Composers-Kyle/dp/025207887X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1367108789&sr=8-1&keywords=kyle+gann+robert+ashley

The design looks Chinese.

:(

;__;

It would be a thrill to make work at least half as good as he did

so so so so sad. I feel like some of the deepest connections I have made on this website have been over The Record. This record. THE Record! All of his records! Ian, Joe, Plax, others - all in my thoughts now. Robert Ashley, I Love you.

:/

oh man :-/

yah sad faces

Pretty much speechless.

salute!

in the beginning there were rocks and on those rocks with harder rocks we learned to make a million bruises to spell out things like 'we were here' and 'watch your water' -- they only moved it, the idea of bruises adding up to something, from rocks to skin

pale purplish blue to pale violet
lighter than dusk blue
civil twilight

:(

Sad news to wake up to. RIP

:(

:-(

RIP Mr Ashley, you made some amazing music.

didn't wanna open this thread

RIP

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xBU8vLIJbSE

I'm glad someone's finally put this version of 'The Backyard' on youtube so I can share it with everybody and maybe someone can explain to me why it kills me every time.

I know the NYT can take its time for an obit on occasion but this is getting embarrassing for them

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/07/arts/music/robert-ashley-opera-composer-who-painted-outside-the-lines-dies-at-83.html?_r=0

You are slain because of the tabla playing, which is virtuosic and passionate and threatens to explode out of the not-that-simple repetitive pattern but doesn't explode so much as slide around it and through it and into simpler and simultaneously more complicated patterns and because that combined with that text and Ashley's reading of it is just too fucking much.