
My past ten days were spent in Nebraska and Wyoming, with Mark Sheridan-Rabideau’s home in Laramie as my base. I flew down to Omaha via Chicago on February 16th, to perform and lecture at the University of Nebraska, hosted by Pete Madsen of the Continental Quartet. The music making was great fun, including the world premier of All The one Eyed Boys in Town by Rusty Banks, which I performed with a quartet of Pete’s most advanced students – they did a great job on a tough new piece. But the highlight of my time in Omaha was a visit to a superb exhibition at the Joslyn Museum of 19th Century American art, featuring the work of Alfred Jacob Miller (1810-1874). Famous today for his images of the American West, the period of time he actually spent there (approximately six months) and the number of works he produced while in the West — probably less than 100 — is relatively small. For most of his career, he lived and worked in Baltimore, where he found success producing and reproducing nearly 1,000 works in the western genre. Sentimental Journey focuses on how Miller, in the face of keen competition from other painters of the American West, succeeded in making a limited repertoire of western subjects compelling and relevant to audiences, especially the merchant class in Baltimore, for more than 30 years. I was already aware of Miller’s work, since his patron was the Scottish aristocrat and adventurer Sir William Drummond Stewart, who hired the artist to document his adventures and explorations. Utterly captivating, unlike anything being painted in Europe at that time, Miller’s work still retains a shock of the new to my European eyes.
At 8am on February 18th I began the first of a series of long drives through the open vastness of Nebraska, nine hours to Laramie, climbing steadily to one of the highest plateaus in the USA. Pete had hired a new VW Beetle for me, so I drove in style, but soon became impatient with the monotony of Interstate 80, which is just a long straight corridor of concrete with giant trucks and very few cars once past Lincoln. So, I took off north and took far more interesting by-ways, eventually arriving at the tiny rail-road halt of Paxton – mainly a grain store, but boasting an extraordinary diner called Ole’s, famed for hundreds of miles around. The eponymous Ole was a big game hunter in the ‘50’s & ‘60’s, and the restaurant he founded in this unlikely spot is literally stuffed with mounted animals, game trophies from Alaska, Africa, Europe, and all over the USA. After the initial shock of being greeted by a full sized polar bear in the vestibule, you settle into cosy nooks beneath the head of some noble and imposing ruminant and order from a variety of sumptuous steaks (buffalo for me!).
I arrived at Laramie at 9pm, and went immediately into my only rehearsal of Buxton Orr’s trombone concerto with the Wyoming University Symphonic Wind Orchestra conducted by Bob Belser. Now, I had expected to be tired and stiff – but I had NOT calculated on the difficulty of playing trombone at an elevation of over 7,000 feet. Not only did I find myself gasping for air in phrases that normally flow easily, but the dryness of the air interferes with the normal salivation process, and left my tongue literally sticking to the roof of my mouth! It was a sobering experience – nonetheless, Bob and the band were a model of support, and the following evening they gave a stunning performance of the Orr. I was still working hard to deal with the unaccustomed physiological conditions, but a packed audience gave us a wonderful reception.
Thus began the first of a packed conference week of events at Laramie masterminded by Mark Sheridan-Rabideau under the title Teaching Creativity. Bringing together scholars, artists, poets, teachers and educationalists from across the USA and internationally the aim was to discuss the current crisis of values and beliefs in society and particularly in the teaching of creative disciplines. My own role was to talk about cross disciplinary stimulus, and in particular to present new works combining spoken poetry and music. Of course, I also presented the carnyx and spoke at length about the collaborative process of reconstruction and building a repertoire for this re-discovered instrument. Once again, I performed music by Etienne Rolin and myself with flautist Rod Garnett, and also gave the US premier of Edward McGuire’s Zephyr with UWY string quartet in residence.
Among the many new colleagues and friendships I have made so far in the USA, special mention must go to the young poet Meaghan Elliott, who not only offered to become the narrator in Annie Guzzo’s Timelines but also stepped in to drive with me to Hastings, Nebraska, when my flights were grounded by snow and ice on February 20th. Meaghan is the proud owner of a 4×4 jeep which she calls alternatively Penelope or “The Beast” – and where no plane can land, Penelope made light work of the snowy wastes of Nebraska. We made it to Hastings after a 9 hour drive through some truly magnificent, austere scenery, and next day we incorporated one of Meaghan’s poems, Grand Manan Dulce into the my recital as a music & poetry collaboration. It’s a beautiful piece, and with Meaghan’s permission I will quote it in full:
Grand Manan Dulse
Deep purple seaweed
stretched over rocks
like elastic
dried in the sun,
their misshapen strips
like shredded ribbons of skin.
Collected
in brown bags,
an easy way
to draw money
from the sea.
I bought a bagful,
gnawed on my Dark Harbour Dulse
and drove the coastline road to Wendy’s house,
my cousin’s wife with island-green eyes
and salt-water skin:
how I imagined all islanders.
They belonged to water.
Archetypical fisherman:
white hair, white beard,
chipped-front-tooth grin,
and a slightly wandering left eye.
He smelled faintly of fish, Wendy’s father,
wore a woolen sweater in August,
beamed at me.
I offered him the bag.
We chewed large raw flakes,
sort of salty, not fishy on my tongue.
It came apart like stale pastry, like paper.
Not filling, but satisfying.
Aquatic vegetable,
possessed of a coated shine—
didn’t rub off
when I yanked it from my teeth,
They say the sea parsley
makes them grow stronger.
One of a score of secret cures
in a handful of dim red grass.
I thought if I ate enough
I might finally look like an islander.
Meaghan Elliot
Meaghan and I decided to take a long detour on the way back to Laramie, following the Oregon Trail through the Nebraska highlands, eventually coming upon a most extraordinary art work: Carhenge, created by artist Jim Reinders in 1987 consists of 38 cars set in a circle 96 feet in diameter, to nearly the exact proportions of Stonehenge! It may sound tasteless, but what a fitting comment on the sanctification of the automobile that is America’s “gift” to culture – and it is actually extremely imposing at dusk on the vast open plains of Nebraska!