Program

Program

Nothing is Real (1990)

Alvin Lucier, composer

Silver Streetcar for the Orchestra (1988)

Alvin Lucier, composer

Othello A (1991)

Butch Morris, composer

Dream (1948)

John Cage, composer

The Blue Notebooks (2004) VI. "Vladimir's Blues"

Max Richter, composer

Having Never Written a Note for Percussion (1971)

James Tenney, composer

Jonathan Hepfer, piano/percussion

The Frame

The Golden Thread Concert Series is an exploration of how we might approach our experience of art, music in particular, as a spiritual practice. While I make no guarantees that those attending the concert will experience any particular epiphany or divine revelation, I hope this is a space in which we can excite our curiosity and ask questions.

For me, the central question of this concert is this: to what are you listening?

The late Alvin Lucier, one of the more highly celebrated avant-garde composers and educators of the later 20th century, once said: "I'm not interested in your opinion, I'm interested in your perception."

I love how this statement cuts to the heart of the deep listening practice cultivated by artists like Lucier, Pauline Oliveros (who codified the term), and John Cage. How much of our energy is put into our thoughts ABOUT an experience, our opinions, ideas, and moralizing, rather than the experience itself? What might shift for us if we could put those thoughts aside for a moment and instead devote ourselves more completely to the experience?

I’d guess that Lucier was not only interested in our perception, but how our perception changes through the experience of these pieces, and consequently how that change in perception affects who we are. To put it another way: when we are willing to give our deep attention in this way, how might the experience of these objects change and expand our perception? I believe such listening can be a transformative experience.

Many years ago, during my undergraduate studies, I experienced John Cage’s seminal work 4’33” for the first time in a live setting. I had, of course, learned about the piece before as a prime example of early experimental music. And like so many pieces of that era, I had learned ABOUT the concepts surrounding the piece and the ideas that it represented, but not about the experience of the piece itself. Many of my friends considered the piece a joke or a prank of sorts on the seriousness of academia. Others ironically considered it the height of ‘academic’ music: all intellectual thought with literally no musical substance.

Yet no one had ever described to me their personal experience of the piece. For instance, did you know the piece is made up of three movements? This surprised me during the performance, but made the experience completely different than sitting in silence for 4 and 1/2 minutes. It’s funny to say but each movement had its own distinct character. I remember during the first movement, which was only 30 seconds long, the audience sat respectfully and, at least on my part, a little smugly; being in the know about the piece and waiting to see how those who weren’t familiar with it might react.

The second movement, just under 2 and 1/2 minutes, is where things got interesting. The audience got a little restless. There was nervous shifting, giggles, and coughs. I spent a good amount of energy resisting the urge to start screaming “the Emperor has no clothes!”

But then, like the perfect absurdity of a zen koan, I heard someone shushing someone else. The irony was exquisite. Shushing someone for a piece that is all silence! To what were we listening? I had in my mind that 4’33” was nominally about allowing the random noises of the performance space to be the ‘composition’. Yet I was spending so much time on my inner dialogue and my thoughts ABOUT the piece and ABOUT what was happening that I hadn’t really asked myself this simple question: to what am I listening?

During the last movement, just over a minute and a half in length, I finally let go of all that internal dialogue and just listened. I listened to the rustling and creaking and giggling, the sounds of the people, the room, the world both large and small. Suddenly it was a delight; an intricate dance of sounds simultaneously mundane and wonderfully elegant. As far as I’m concerned, the real title for 4’33” is “Pay Attention”. Actually, that wouldn’t be such a bad title for this concert. Composers like Cage, Lucier, Oliveros, and Tenney came to the world of sound as a physical experience and approached it with the curiosity of a scientist and the delight of an artist. Their joy came directly from the experience of the sound itself, unhindered by their own inner monologue and running commentary.

For me, for this concert, this is the heart of deep listening. It is about moving outside of ourselves and towards the world; cultivating our curiosity, enthusiasm, and loving attention. When we approach the world in such a way, we run the risk of uncovering and rediscovering the whole thing anew, finding something deeper and more fundamental. The world is no longer so humble, but suddenly marvelous.

Through care, deep attention, and disciplined practice, these composers unearthed the inner potential of these objects, these humble vessels, until they find new depth and greater significance. These composers give us listeners the same opportunity if we are willing to follow them on that journey. And this is just with inanimate objects!

Imagine what might be possible if we took that same practice and put such conscious attention towards the living beings around us; our friends, family, the people sitting to either side of us. It is perhaps an intimidating, overly intimate, proposition. The simple, inanimate objects are an emotionally easier place to begin; an entry point to such a practice.

Consider this: how might we be changed by giving such deep listening, such curiosity, enthusiasm, and loving attention to each other? And the deeper proposition still: what might happen if we turn that same listening inward? What might be uncovered when we pay attention to ourselves, to this humble vessel? What deep well of potential is forged in the crucible of our most inner being when we put it to the flame? When properly harnessed, what can we do? What might we become?

So I ask again: to what are you listening?

May this question lead us in our spiritual practice.

Program

Program

Nothing is Real (1990)	Alvin Lucier
Silver Streetcar for the Orchestra (1988)	Alvin Lucier
Othello A (1991)	Butch Morris
Dream (1948)	John Cage
The Blue Notebooks (2004) VI. "Vladimir's Blues"	Max Richter
Having Never Written a Note for Percussion (1971)	James Tenney
Jonathan Hepfer, piano/percussion

The Frame

The Golden Thread Concert Series is an exploration of how we might approach our experience of art, music in particular, as a spiritual practice. While I make no guarantees that those attending the concert will experience any particular epiphany or divine revelation, I hope this is a space in which we can excite our curiosity and ask questions.

For me, the central question of this concert is this: to what are you listening?

The late Alvin Lucier, one of the more highly celebrated avant-garde composers and educators of the later 20th century, once said: "I'm not interested in your opinion, I'm interested in your perception."

I love how this statement cuts to the heart of the deep listening practice cultivated by artists like Lucier, Pauline Oliveros (who codified the term), and John Cage. How much of our energy is put into our thoughts ABOUT an experience, our opinions, ideas, and moralizing, rather than the experience itself? What might shift for us if we could put those thoughts aside for a moment and instead devote ourselves more completely to the experience?

I’d guess that Lucier was not only interested in our perception, but how our perception changes through the experience of these pieces, and consequently how that change in perception affects who we are. To put it another way: when we are willing to give our deep attention in this way, how might the experience of these objects change and expand our perception? I believe such listening can be a transformative experience.

Many years ago, during my undergraduate studies, I experienced John Cage’s seminal work 4’33” for the first time in a live setting. I had, of course, learned about the piece before as a prime example of early experimental music. And like so many pieces of that era, I had learned ABOUT the concepts surrounding the piece and the ideas that it represented, but not about the experience of the piece itself. Many of my friends considered the piece a joke or a prank of sorts on the seriousness of academia. Others ironically considered it the height of ‘academic’ music: all intellectual thought with literally no musical substance.

Yet no one had ever described to me their personal experience of the piece. For instance, did you know the piece is made up of three movements? This surprised me during the performance, but made the experience completely different than sitting in silence for 4 and 1/2 minutes. It’s funny to say but each movement had its own distinct character. I remember during the first movement, which was only 30 seconds long, the audience sat respectfully and, at least on my part, a little smugly; being in the know about the piece and waiting to see how those who weren’t familiar with it might react.

The second movement, just under 2 and 1/2 minutes, is where things got interesting. The audience got a little restless. There was nervous shifting, giggles, and coughs. I spent a good amount of energy resisting the urge to start screaming “the Emperor has no clothes!”

But then, like the perfect absurdity of a zen koan, I heard someone shushing someone else. The irony was exquisite. Shushing someone for a piece that is all silence! To what were we listening? I had in my mind that 4’33” was nominally about allowing the random noises of the performance space to be the ‘composition’. Yet I was spending so much time on my inner dialogue and my thoughts ABOUT the piece and ABOUT what was happening that I hadn’t really asked myself this simple question: to what am I listening?

During the last movement, just over a minute and a half in length, I finally let go of all that internal dialogue and just listened. I listened to the rustling and creaking and giggling, the sounds of the people, the room, the world both large and small. Suddenly it was a delight; an intricate dance of sounds simultaneously mundane and wonderfully elegant. As far as I’m concerned, the real title for 4’33” is “Pay Attention”. Actually, that wouldn’t be such a bad title for this concert. Composers like Cage, Lucier, Oliveros, and Tenney came to the world of sound as a physical experience and approached it with the curiosity of a scientist and the delight of an artist. Their joy came directly from the experience of the sound itself, unhindered by their own inner monologue and running commentary.

For me, for this concert, this is the heart of deep listening. It is about moving outside of ourselves and towards the world; cultivating our curiosity, enthusiasm, and loving attention. When we approach the world in such a way, we run the risk of uncovering and rediscovering the whole thing anew, finding something deeper and more fundamental. The world is no longer so humble, but suddenly marvelous.

Through care, deep attention, and disciplined practice, these composers unearthed the inner potential of these objects, these humble vessels, until they find new depth and greater significance. These composers give us listeners the same opportunity if we are willing to follow them on that journey. And this is just with inanimate objects!

Imagine what might be possible if we took that same practice and put such conscious attention towards the living beings around us; our friends, family, the people sitting to either side of us. It is perhaps an intimidating, overly intimate, proposition. The simple, inanimate objects are an emotionally easier place to begin; an entry point to such a practice.

Consider this: how might we be changed by giving such deep listening, such curiosity, enthusiasm, and loving attention to each other? And the deeper proposition still: what might happen if we turn that same listening inward? What might be uncovered when we pay attention to ourselves, to this humble vessel? What deep well of potential is forged in the crucible of our most inner being when we put it to the flame? When properly harnessed, what can we do? What might we become?

So I ask again: to what are you listening?

May this question lead us in our spiritual practice.

Performers

Jonathan Hepfer
Piano/Percussion

Jonathan Hepfer is a percussionist, conductor, and concert curator. He began playing classical music at age 17 after discovering the work of John Cage while studying at SUNY Buffalo. Subsequently, Jonathan attended Oberlin Conservatory; UC, San Diego and the Musikhochschule Freiburg (with the support of a two-year DAAD fellowship), where he studied with Michael Rosen (craft), Steven Schick (interpretation) and Bernhard Wulff (metaphysics), respectively. Other major influences have included Hamza Walker (visual art), Margaret Morgan (critical theory), Jan Williams (aesthetics), Lewis Nielson (ethics), Brian Alegant (analysis), and William O’Brien (philosophy). 

Jonathan is the artistic director of Monday Evening Concerts (MEC) in Los Angeles. With MEC, he has directed performances of major works such as Steve Reich's Music for 18 Musicians and Drumming, Pierre Boulez's sur Incises, Samuel Beckett and Morton Feldman’s Words and Music, Philip Glass's Glassworks, Gérard Grisey's Quatre chants pour franchir le seuil, and West Coast premieres of Julius Eastman's Femenine and The Holy Presence of Joan d'Arc. Since 2006, Jonathan has been artistic director of the chamber ensemble ECHOI.  He has collaborated as a soloist, chamber musician and conductor with ensembles such as Talea Ensemble, Ensemble Mosaik, Ensemble SurPlus, asamisimasa, hand werk, PALIMPSEST, ICE and Signal. Formerly, he was a member of the Freiburg Percussion Ensemble and red fish blue fish, which toured extensively in Europe, Asia and Latin America. 

As a soloist, Jonathan has focused extensively on the works of the composers Pierluigi Billone, Walter Zimmermann, Iannis Xenakis, Brian Ferneyhough, Helmut Lachenmann, Giacinto Scelsi, Claus-Steffen Mahnkopf, Georges Aperghis and Vinko Globokar.  He has given solo performances at Walt Disney Concert Hall, the Stone in New York, Harvard University, the Tonhalle Düsseldorf (Germany), the Odessa Philharmonic Theater (Ukraine), and the National History Museum in Ulan Bator (Mongolia).
​
As a writer, Jonathan has produced short texts for Hauser & Wirth, the Getty Museum, Kairos Records and Die Musik von Claus-Steffen Mahnkopf. Additionally, he has recently published interviews with Meredith Monk, Steve Reich and Éliane Radigue in Autre, Kaleidoscope and Purple magazines, respectively. Jonathan has also had the privilege of documenting the oral histories of the pioneering generation of percussion soloists (Jan Williams, Christoph Caskel, Sylvio Gualda, Jean-Pierre Drouet, Gaston Sylvestre, Maurizio Ben-Omar). From 2015-2018, he served on the faculty of CalArts, and in 2018 taught a course entitled MUSIC IMAGE TEXT in the graduate art program at ArtCenter Pasadena. 

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