I hope my efforts will help keep their composer in your mind and begin to erase the sins of time.Composer-performer Julius Eastman (1940-90) was an enigma, both comfortable and uncomfortable in the many worlds he inhabited: black, white, gay, straight, classical music, disco, academia, and downtown New York. They are as incredible as they are rewarding. I can’t recommend strongly enough that you set a few hours aside and delve in. I’ve included links to audio as well as images of their scores. These works are neither simple nor reductive. Each is a piano work which uses Minimalism as starting point, but brings to it an unprecedented range and emotion. In a small step toward rectifying this, I’ve decided to highlight three of my favorites among his works – Gay Guerrilla, Evil Nigger, and Crazy Nigger. Eastman was one of the most brilliant minds of his generation, and unquestionably its most neglected. The fact that they are not know by more people, and do not hold their rightful place in history, fills me with rage. It is as beautiful as it is brilliant, bringing tears to my eyes and anger to my heart. What survives is worth its weight in gold – leaving you wishing for more. Because so much of his work was lost with his eviction from his home, there is little that remains of him. I’m often haunted by what might have been – of the music we will never hear. Sometime between 19 he quietly made his way to to Buffalo where he died alone at the age of 49.Īny creative force who dies young is a tragic loss. From this point, the last seven years of his tale are blank. By early 80’s, after a decade of failed attempts and neglect, he suffered the consequence by succumbing to addiction – the most dire result of which was the evicted from his home, and subsequent loss of his scores. Sadly Eastman was one of those delicate souls who rightly saw his job as a challenge to status-quo, and as an instigator of progress, but bore the weight of rejection heavily. With titles incorporating the words nigger and faggot, though it far from forgiving it, you can see why a culture weened on the good manners of Steve Reich, Phillip Glass, and all those who proceeded them, dragged its heals. He was one of the most exciting members of the generation of composers who followed the legacy laid by Minimalism. It seems he saw fear in the eyes of the establishment and (rightly) rubbed their faces it in.Īddressing Eastman’s music is simple. Though many narratives surrounding the composer mention his “difficult” personality, and “self-sabotage”, I suspect that race and sexual orientation had a far greater role in the neglect he suffered (and continues to) than people care to admit. He was as vocal about being Black as he was Gay. Two roles that Eastman had no interest in playing. Classical music, not matter how progressive, has always had an orthodoxy – a set of rules, behaviors, and practices, which could ultimately be defined as White and heteronormative. Though details of Eastman’s life are difficult to stitch together, it seems that during the 1970’s he maintained a balancing act as a darling of avant-garde music, and an uncompromising thorn in its side. Though he is historically regarded as a composer, and began his creative life as a member of Creative Associates, a group of experimental composers that included Morton Feldman, Lukas Foss, and Pauline Oliveros, during his lifetime he was considered a stronger pianist and vocalist – performing in multiple ensembles, most notably S.E.M (which he helped found), as well as with Pierre Boulez, Meredith Monk, and Arthur Russell, among others. There’s every indication that he was a child prodigy – taking up the piano young and excelling at a rapid pace. Most of Eastman’s life was spent between Upstate New York (where he was born and died), and New York City. His absence from our collective memory seems to rest in vile predictability with his race, and his unwillingness to play “the game”. With such narrative stacked in his favor, you’d think he’d be history’s darling – a musical Van Gogh. He was also one of his generation’s the brightest minds. He was a flamboyant, drug addled genius, plumbing depths that few have known – all eventually leading to his becoming homeless and forgotten. The case Julius Eastman defies history’s normal paths. As a result, history’s brightest minds are often those who suffer its greatest neglect. Stories of self-destruction are easier to understand than the mundanity that usually accompanies true creative genius – let alone its ideas. It often becomes impossible to separate the antics from the artifacts. Art History is held afloat by the dramatic tales of its contributors. Everybody loves a story – sometimes to a fault.
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