Harold Budd ~ And He Slipped Away
How Dark The Response To Our Slipping Away
The press release for Harold Budd’s latest cd, Avalon Sutra, states
that it is to be his last recorded work. Asked for his reasons, Budd says
only that “he feels that he has said what he has to say.” However,
Richard Henderson’s review in the Wire of Budd’s recent concert
at California Institute Of The Arts affirms that although he has ceased
performing, he will continue to compose. Harold Budd proves reluctant to
resolve the contradiction. When asked by email whether he intends to continue
to be musically active, he fails to answer. Upon further prompting he playfully
declares that “yes (but not tomorrow)”. If, as it appears, he
has decided to cease performing his own music, the 68 year old Californian
will be lapsing into a personal silence that his music has frequently implied
in a musical career spanning more than four decades. Those years have seen
periods of jazz drumming, rigorous Minimalism and, latterly, the development
of a signature style that at its best is lambent, meditative and haiku-like.
You And Me Against The Sky
Many of those previously unfamiliar with Harold Budd may have encountered
his resonant, rich and strange piano music through one of a host of collaborations
and working associations. The past two and a half decades have seen partnerships
with The Cocteau Twins’ Robin Guthrie, XTC’s Andy Partridge
and Hector Zazou amongst many others. Although Budd’s solo work far
outnumbers these recordings, he may still be best known for the two recordings
he made with Brian Eno, 1980’s The Plateaux Of Mirror and 1984’s
The Pearl in which Eno trailed and teased lustrous penumbra around Budd’s
impressionistic compositions. The Plateaux Of Mirror was the second release
on Eno’s short-lived Ambient series and probably as a result of this
association, Budd is frequently referred to as an ambient pianist. When
asked whether he’s happy with the designation, he doesn’t mince
words: “I think it's a preposterous and juvenile term.” Such
frustration, although unusual in light of the relaxed character revealed
in interviews, can be attributed both to an unwillingness to be so lazily
categorised and for the term’s pejorative undertones. Although his
music is most likely to be found in the Ambient, Electronic or New Age sections
of record stores, it is more accurately located at the nexus of a number
of musical paths that includes minimalism, improvisation, sonic portraiture
and an exploration of the studio as creative tool. Whatever the setting
however, Budd’s oeuvre is remarkable for its consistent willingness
to engage both with beauty and with the shadows that edge it.
Their Memories
Born in Los Angeles, Harold Budd began playing jazz drums in his teens and
dreamed of playing with John Coltrane. At 21, while working for Douglas
Aircraft, he enrolled in architectural drawing and basic harmony classes.
In the latter, despite ignorance of musical theory before that point, he
discovered a natural aptitude which his teachers advised him not to ignore.
This gift, although requiring a significant amount of concentration because
of its abstraction, would later become the architecture of Budd’s
music. Without it, he has said, “the building would fall down”.
Allied to a natural enthusiasm that developed into a love of Renaissance
music, he saw this as an escape route from the mundanity of office life
and took his teachers’ advice. Although his ambition to play with
Coltrane wasn’t to materialise, he did by chance play with Albert
Ayler while drafted in the army. By this time, however, Budd was pursuing
a different trajectory initiated by a love of abstract expressionist painting
and the music of John Cage and Morton Feldman. This resulted in a period
of minimalist composition that lasted for much of the ‘60s. The only
extant work from this period is gathered on The Oak Of The Golden Dreams
(New World Records). Alongside pieces by the late Richard Maxfield, the
disc features two Budd compositions Coeur D'Orr and the title piece, from
1969 and 1970 respectively. Against a synthetic drone, Budd traces a series
of squiggles using the Buchla Electronic Music System that are cumulatively
somewhat reminiscent of Terry Riley’s music of the time. Of greater
interest is Coeur D’Orr which features long drawn out notes played
on the saxophone which weave and mingle against a single, ululating organ
chord. These pieces, representative of the tail end of Budd’s minimalism,
provide fascinating insights into a substantially different music than that
by which he would later come to be known. He ascribes his ultimate dissatisfaction
with Minimalism to a realisation that he was painting himself into a corner:
the conceptual score for his 1970 composition ‘The Candy Apple Revision’
consisted only of the instruction “D-flat major”. Before he
reached this compositional ground zero, he had also begun to grow frustrated
at the inability of performers to play what he wanted. With characteristic
humility, he ascribes this to his own lack of notational skill, but the
experience also prompted him to learn to play the piano, in order to better
control his music. Budd has noted that he lacks the skill necessary to be
a great player, calling himself “a keyboard player by default”,
but he also quotes Ralph Waldo Emerson to great effect: “If you can’t
be free, be as free as you can”. His limited technique has undoubtedly
prompted much experimentation in other areas, most notably in terms of settings
and a willingness to collaborate with others.
First Light
In 1972, after an 18 month silence Budd produced ‘Madrigals Of The
Rose Angel’, a key work that acted as a healing balm for those pained
by the asceticism of a stringently reductive Minimalism. Of this time he
has said “I wanted to revive an attitude to art which had disappeared
and been compromised by not really terribly interesting artists who were
making hay from the revolutionary ideas of John Cage and Morton Feldman...
including myself... [it was] important to me to break that bond and I found
another world that had been mislaid.” “I liken it to an architect
who is so swept up in the glass boxes of Mies Van Der Rohe that he forgets
how beautiful a space can be and he discovers it in Brunelleschi and Alberti
and things that had fallen by the wayside.”
‘Madrigals Of The Rose Angel’ and three further works were gathered
together by Brian Eno on ‘The Pavilion Of Dreams’. This was
released on the short-lived Obscure label which was also responsible for
issuing Gavin Bryars’ The Sinking Of The Titanic and Eno’s own
Discreet Music. Budd’s measured music is arranged for a rich, predominantly
acoustic palette that includes choir, harp, celeste, glockenspiel and marimbas.
The limpid beauty of the result sounds gently heretical even today. Lynda
Richardson’s soaring mezzo soprano, accompanied by Maggie Thomas’s
harp, candidly declares that here is a composer utterly unafraid of, in
fact fascinated by, sheer loveliness. Significant traces of Budd’s
love of jazz can also be heard on ‘Butterfly Sunday’ and ‘Let
Us Go Into The House Of The Lord’ which are reworkings of compositions
by John Coltrane and Pharaoh Sanders, whilst Bismillahi ‘Rrahmani
‘Rrahim’ was composed for and features the saxophonist Marion
Brown. However, rather than providing any sort of platform for improvisation,
Budd locates and explores the beatific element of Coltrane’s late
music, isolated from its tempestuous struggle. The liner notes explain that
Bismillahi ‘Rrahmani ‘Rrahim is Arabic for ‘In the Name
of God, The Beneficent, The Merciful’, a phrase which precedes each
chapter of the Holy Koran and Budd’s music convincingly evokes the
Koranic vision of a blissful heaven. At the same time, the temporary envisioning
of a paradisiacal idyll that ceases as the music itself inevitably ends
communicates a powerful sense of pathos. The Pavilion Of Dreams closes with
Juno, which while continuing to evince its neighbours’ musical pulchritude
and almost motionless core, is alone in betraying traces of a darkness that
would haunt much of Budd’s subsequent work.
Algebra Of Darkness
In the twenty nine years since then, Harold Budd has produced a remarkable
variety of work. Apart from the two collaborations with Brian Eno, Budd
continued in the ‘80s to compose predominantly solo works such as
Abandoned Cities, Lovely Thunder and The White Arcades which explored the
potential of the studio to enrich his music. 1991’s She Is A Phantom
was a live recording made with the new music quartet, Zeitgeist, which saw
him return to ensemble writing for the first time since The Pavilion Of
Dreams. Indeed the 1990’s generally saw Budd compose using a wider
sonic palette. Releases which benefited from this approach included Music
For Three Pianos with Ruben Garcia and Daniel Lentz, Through The Hill with
Andy Partridge, a poignant exploration of the resonances of ancient history,
and a surprisingly effective collaboration with French producer Hector Zazou
that married his playing to contemporary beats. A number of the decade’s
releases including Glyph, By The Dawn’s Early Light and She Is A Phantom
featured self-penned texts that recalled the surreal juxtapositions of magic
realism and occasionally bore traces of the loneliness of Edward Hopper’s
painting. Perhaps most unexpected was Budd’s electric performance
on Jah Wobble’s Solaris project in which he performed alongside Graham
Haynes, Bill Laswell and Jaki Liebezeit. Much of the aforementioned music
originates with Budd sitting down at the piano, either after some degree
of preparation or none at all and finding that “something happens...
if it’s attractive to me I try to explore some of the ramifications
of it given the boundaries of my technique.” This signature approach
is most nakedly heard on 2003’s La Bella Vista, claimed by its producer,
Daniel Lanois, to have been captured covertly after a chance encounter resulted
in an invitation to try out Lanois’ recently restored turn-of-the-century
Steinway. The two twenty minute sessions, although impromptu, carry all
the measured weight of long-honed compositions and the performance is captured
beautifully in a richly detailed recording.
Steal Away
The title of Budd’s swansong as performer, Avalon Sutra, conflates
a reference to lengthy discourses upon Buddhist teachings with the Celtic
myth of the island paradise to which King Arthur traveled after his death.
The music is a varied set that cumulatively suggests the image of a table
crowded with framed pictures, each a portal to a memory or particular experience.
The sense of Avalon Sutra as memento mori is in part conjured by titular
dedications such as ‘Chrysalis Nu (To Barney's Memory)’ and
‘A Walk In The Park With Nancy (In Memory)’ and in part by the
music itself. Alongside Budd’s pellucid sound, there is a plangent
sense of loss that plays a more emphatic role than the feeling of wonder
and possibility in his previous work. Gone for the most part is the “relaxing,
warm music, like sun on a red tile floor” as Ted Mills described 1996’s
Luxa in the All Music Guide. When it returns on Little Heart there’s
an almost palpable sense of relief, but still Budd’s piano sounds
as though it is disappearing into the distance, perhaps beckoning, pied
piper-like for the listener to join him. At others times, as on ‘Chrysalis
Nu’, the arrangement for strings evokes an unsettled, almost chilling
bleakness. Avalon Sutra sounds like a summation, a farewell and, in its
arrangement for acoustic instrumentation, it appears to close a circle that
in hindsight began to be drawn slowly, but surely, with The Pavilion Of
Dreams. This connection with the composer’s past is further underlined
by the album’s second cd which presents a 69 minute reworking by American
electronica artist Akira Rabelais of the first cd’s final track ‘As
Long As I Can Hold My Breath’. Although not the first time Budd’s
music has been remixed (there was a 12” single from his collaboration
with Hector Zazou), Rabelais’ remix is more a re-envisioning than
the sort of pedestrian work most remixes result in. Budd’s piece is
transformed into a seemingly infinite Escher-like threnody, the experience
of listening to it can feel like being trapped in an endless circular corridor
unable to find an exit. In its ebb, flow and metamorphosis of granular elements
the piece also echoes Budd’s earlier career as minimalist composer.
Still Return
While epitomising the dictum that less is very much more, Budd’s unhurried
tempos create ample space for contemplation. At the same time, the composer’s
attention to beauty, exemplified by his investigations into harmony, have
provided both a crucial humanist balance and a sometimes troubled sense
of wonder within the wider landscape of music. The music at times suggests
both a rosy firelit warmth and the greater, nighttime darkness that surrounds
it. In so doing, it recalls the calmer of Chopin’s Preludes composed
on the deserted island monastery at Valdemossa (“The cloister was
for him full of terrors and phantoms...”, George Sand, History of
My Life). When asked what he intends to do with his time, he answers “The
only thing I'm certain about is to be a full-time daddy for my 4-year-old
son, Hugo.” Having gifted listeners with such a consistently rich
variety of music, it’s impossible to begrudge him his decision. The
possibility that he will continue to compose works to be performed by others
is, however, a hope impossible to resist.