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the harold budd interview #3


HAROLD BUDD INTERVIEW PART 3. COPYRIGHT 1987 GREGORY TAYLOR
____
No, although the acoustic space in this album is still  con-
sistent with the dense, thick sound of the other work.  It's
only that  what  fills  that  space  has  changed.   Longer,
slower, stretched out and a good deal darker.

    The flower has a knife in it, as the title  to  one  of  the
    pieces  says.  I'll be totally frank.  This is absolutely my
    best recording.

You're just saying  that  because  it's  your  most  recent,
right?

    No, not at all.  I'd confess to you in a second if there was
    something  else  I  liked  better.  I'll tell you why I feel
    that strongly: If I had to do another album  tomorrow-for  a
    contract's  sake or money's sake or whatever, it would be so
    near what that album that it would embarass me to have  any-
    one  hear  it.   I am still really close to this one and the
    things wrapped up in it.

That's kind of an embarassing experience to have with  one's
own work.

    Oh yes, because it makes you sound like a damned  egomaniac.
    But  look-I've  finished  the thing and now it goes out into
    the world and it has a life of its own.  It simply turns out
    that  a part of that is that it has had a real effect on me-
    the person who made it.  I don't see the  point  of  putting
    out  something  that's  merely  competent, unless you're out
    trying to get it together to put out another  one  and  make
    yourself  a whole lot of money or whatever.  But when you do
    have that kind of experience with your own work, it's a most
    frightening feeling.  You don't know where it came from, but
    the sonofabitch has got you hooked, so hooked that you don't
    even think about what you'll do next.

I think that's how music is supposed  to  function,  though.
I'm  reminded of a statement that Eno made once about making
music that allows one to recover their own sense of wonder.

    Wow.  Never heard that one.   Hold  on-this  is  the  oddest
    thing  I've  ever  heard-I never heard that before, but I've
    got something here to read for you.  I  kept  this  notebook
    during the last trip to London, in which I jotted down ideas
    coming home from the pub so that I could  think  about  them
    later.  Here it is-one of those "notes to myself"....

    "One of my goals is to reacquaint you with  emotions  you've
    forgotten  with  hallucinating clarity." I can't believe how
    close those are!.

Well, if we wanted to broaden the circle a  little  bit,  we
could also throw in Proust and Henri Bergson; they spent the
better part of their lives in search of  a  literature  that
would do just that.  But let's get back to those more worka-
day questions and speculations-how  did  the  equipment  you
were using on "Lovely Thunder" vary from the things you nor-
mally use-I'm assuming that most of that recording  is  done
on a Synclavier.

    Yes, that what you're hearing.  But actually, there's a hell
    of  a  lot  of  stuff  on  that  recording.   I wouldn't get
    snowballed by the technology.  Whatever it  is  that  I  did
    use-and  I  don't  really  mind doing things like going down
    equipment inventories, the important thing  to  remember  is
    that  it  was being used at the most primitive level you can
    possibly imagine-very intuitive in terms  of  being  a  tool
    nothing is programmed, in that sense of using the technology
    to tidy up; nothing is moved over here  because  it  doesn't
    fit or jacked up later.  Every sound there is a performance.
    It's me.  I'm using this very sophisticated  studio  in  the
    same way that I'd be working if this were being recorded out
    in the garage.

Since, as you've said before, you've committed  yourself  to
making  public  documents of private performances, the place
in which you do that and the circumstances under  which  you
do  that  are,  in  a  sense, subordinate to the business of
maing music-transparent, in that sense.

    Oh, yes-in fact, it's not really there, except for the  fact
    that you have to remember to turn the damned thing on.

I was listening to a recording of  a  live  performance  you
gave  in  Chicago a couple of years ago, and I was surprised
to hear you improvising on "Children on the Hill," which I'd
always  thought  of  as a finished piece.  The improvisation
(from a performance given at New Music America in Chicago in
1982)  was  quite  long,  and it was interesting to hear you
improvise.  What was also surprising  about  that  recording
was something that appears quite strongly in recordings like
The Serpent; the notion of your use of the acoustic piano as
a  box  full  of  strings-your  interest in the sound of the
inside of a piano-those strings vibrating and affecting  the
other  strings  in  the  box.   Your  pianistic technique-or
skill, for that matter-is secondary to the  changes  in  the
way that the piano strings vibrate.

    That's a great idea.  in some point in the future I'm  going
    to quote you and give you full credit for that-I never found
    that good a way of saying it.  Dead on.  

Listening to that recording, I found myself curious as to how 
you approach recorded pieces.  What's the difference between  
improvising alone in a room and a recorded performance, really?

    There's a world of difference between a recording and a live
    performance.  The recording I'm willing to go up against the
    wall for-it is what I mean.  The live performance is a  kind
    of  hobby that I indulge myself in from time to time because
    I do enjoy it.  but it is not what I do  well.   if  I  were
    Terry  Riley  and  I  were  gifted with the kind of enormous
    skill that he has, I would love live erformance.  The  truth
    is  that I don't have that kind of skill.  In a way, I would
    rather hear him than  hear  me.   I  don't  really  consider
    myself  a  performer.  I do it occasionally, somewhat reluc-
    tantly, but when I do I enjoy myself immensely.  I enjoy the
    people who are there- it's a hell of a good time.  but it is
    not an index of what I consider my work to be  or  what  I'm
    really  up to.  The act of improvising is what comes off the
    top of my head....

If that's the case, then what seems unusual  to  me  is  the
sense   that   there   is   some   structure  to  your  live
performances-the performance of"Children on the  Hill"  bore
quite  a  congruence  to your recorded version of it.  There
must be some curve or structure to  them-how  far  ahead  of
yourself  are you thinking? Also, with the exception of just
the slightest amount of harmonizing,  there  is  no  effects
looping or processing at all-it's just you and this slightly
watery-sounding piano frame ringing away.

    That is a tremendous pleasure to do once you've settled into
    it and found the center of what you're playing.

    "Oh boy, wait until I get to  this  next  chord  here."  I'm
    thinking about 5 or 6 seconds ahead.  As soon as I get here,
    I know what I'll be doing.  I'll really do this and  see  if
    it works.  If it does, I'll be really, really happy." Aaah.

I understand that you've recently  done  some  live  perfor-
mances again.  What was the occasion for them?  

    Practical in a way. I'm associated with Opal music  group.
    Well,  they  had  this  evening-in  fact,  EG records had an
    entire week at Queen Elizabeth hall in  London  in  January.
    One  of  the nights was for their Opal branch, shall we say.
    I went over there to do a thirty minute  performance.   Then
    apparently the minister of culture for the Canary Islands is
    a big fan and he called us  up  sand  said,  "Is  there  any
    chance  that  you could-since Harold Budd is in London-bring
    the whole thing over to the canary  islands  on  very  short
    notice?"  And  everyone  said, "Yes, I think so," and that's
    what happened.  It was that quick.  Who  was  involved  with
    this,  then?  It was me and Michael Brooks and Roger Eno and
    Brian Eno and Laraaji.  Brian provided the sound and he  had
    these light sculptures on stage.  On the spur of the moment,
    Laraaji and I decided to perform  a duet  instead  of  doing
    separate  sets.   We had a great time-we were really playing
    like soul mates there for a while.   We  made  some  initial
    decisions  about what key it was going to be in and just sat
    down and let it all go.  It was so  much  fun-Laraaji  is  a
    very  sensitive  player  who  really  knows how to listen to
    another player and has a lot more experience in live perfor-
    mance  than  I  do.   If  something really untoward happens,
    something that really sounds like a turkey,  he  can  cover.
    That's  a  wonderful  skill  to  have, especiallly if you're
    playing with me (dry laughter).

Any chance that that's going  to  happen  again  here?   

    No.  that's it.

One of the things that comes into your  earlier  work  is  a
kind  of  foreground/background  scheme-like the works you'd
done for  saxophonist  Marion  Brown  for  the  Pavilion  of
Dreams"  album.   Where do you think that goes in your work?
It seems as if "Lovely Thunder" has  a  bit  more  of  that-
particularly on "Gypsy Violin." .

    Without putting too fine a point on it or getting  into  too
    heavy an art trip, I just like very much the idea of concen-
    trating on one thing and  milking it for all it's worth.  It
    interests me to find out how much life there is in something
    that is fundamentally pretty if you leave it alone and don't
    do  anything to interfere with it.  Does that make any sense
    in terms of your question?

It's interesting to find that there are two ways of thinking



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