Institute for Studies In American Music
Conservatory of Music, Brooklyn College of the City University of New York
NEWSLETTER


Volume XXXVII

 


No. 2    Spring 2008

Inside This Issue:

Inside         This Issue

 

 

I.S.A.M. Beginnings  by H.W.H.

 

I.S.A.M. Matters [1992] by H.W.H.

Mail from Wiley by Richard Crawford

 

Everbest: Remembering H. Wiley Hitchcock by Susan Feder

 

H.W.H., Cowell, and New Music by David Nicholls

 

H.W.H. Reflections by Ellie Hisama and Nancy Hager

 

Sitting for a Virgil Thomson Portrait by H.W.H.

H.W.H.s Newsletter (1971-92)

by Carol J. Oja

Paging through over twenty years of the I.S.A.M. Newsletter, as I have done in recent days, reveals the emergence of American music as a field of scholarly study.  It has also turned out to be a journey of self-reflection. From the moment the Institute opened its doors in the fall of 1971, its founder, our own H. Wiley Hitchcock, directed his new venture towards the future. Wiley defined I.S.A.M.’s mission pluralistically, and he gamefully challenged entrenched academic assumptions about race, ethnicity, social class, and geography. His zeal for an all-embracing sweep of American traditions was infectious, and he carved out for himself the roles of entrepreneur and activist. 

I.S.A.M. quickly became a kind of Bell Labs for a new area of study. Interlocking programs of Junior and Senior Research Fellowships were devised and funded. Monographs started to be published.  Conferences took shape.  Amidst this activity, the I.S.A.M. Newsletter appeared as a kind of networking hub, striving to bridge an acute “communications gap in our field,” as Wiley articulated it in the first issue.  In an era before the Internet, digitized research resources and communication technologies weren’t even a pipe dream.  Responses to a questionnaire sent by I.S.A.M. to music departments around the country revealed extraordinary interest in teaching and studying American repertories. Yet the most rudimentary tools—whether editions, bibliographies, or full-fledged scholarly studies—were scarce. That first issue of the Newsletter, then, looked plain and thoroughly pragmatic. Four pages. No photos or jazzy headlines.  Simply a sturdy proclamation of an ambitious vision.

Wiley’s plans gained traction rapidly, and over the next few years, the Newsletter chronicled an astonishing pace of activity.  Funding from the Rockefeller Foundation covered stipends for visiting research fellows. Gilbert Chase, then the reigning scholar of American music, held the first such appointment (1972-73). The next year, Richard Crawford became the second Senior Research Fellow.   By the fall of 1974, at the beginning of I.S.A.M.’s fourth year, the Ives Centennial Conference was taking place, and a great deal had been accomplished. The I.S.A.M. Newsletter reported a “Ragtime Jamboree” that brought together the likes of Eubie Blake, William Bolcom, David Jasen, and Eileen Southern. The first monograph appeared (United States Music: Sources of Bibliography and Collective Biography by Richard Jackson).   The Charles Ives Society was formed, and Recent Researches in American Music (through A-R Editions) was announced.  

Simultaneously, I.S.A.M. Newsletters from this inaugural era made it clear that a culture of research and performance in American music was expanding around the country. This was a growth market—a time when idealistic visions yielded long-standing programs. The Newsletter announced “The Perlis Project” at Yale, an early stage of Vivian Perlis’s Oral History,  American Music.  John Kirkpatrick’s edition of Ives’s Memos appeared.  Eileen Southern’s The Black Perspective in Music started up.  Martin Williams’s recording set Smithsonian Collection of Classic Jazz emerged, at the same time as he was appointed to the Smithsonian’s Division of Performing Arts.  And William Brooks, Neely Bruce, Deane Root, and members of the American Music Group at the University of Illinois seemed to be all over the place, giving performances and talks, publishing essays, challenging the academic status quo.

The next two years of the Newsletter, leading up to the U.S. Bicentennial, bore witness to continuing growth in the study of American traditions. New World Records, the iconic set of 100 recordings that chronicled a diverse spectrum of American repertories, was announced in a lead article in May 1975, and the American Musicological Society began supporting an edition of the music of William Billings, prompting a wry comment in that same issue: “[This] is a welcome change from the lack of American orientation in the Society’s publications in the past.”  During that period, a string of other major initiatives appeared, including the formation by Joel Sachs and Cheryl Seltzer of “Continuum,” a performance series in New York dedicated to new American music, and the inception of “A Bibliography of Works by and about Women in American Music” by Adrienne Fried Block and Carol Neuls-Bates, with funding from the NEH.  During the Bicentennial, the Newsletter chronicled every American event at the AMS conference, as though marveling at a remarkable phenomenon (November 1976). This conference included the first panel ever devoted to women composers, chaired by Judith Tick.  Equally as exceptional, the AMS’s prestigious Kinkeldey Prize went to two Americanists in a row: Vivian Perlis in 1975, then Richard Crawford and David McKay in 1976.

Meanwhile, the Newsletter grew from four to six pages (May 1973), then eight (Fall 1975).  It gained a new masthead designed by Roland Hoover (husband of the Smithsonian’s Cynthia Hoover), which included a droll epigram: “‘Truth is precious, and should be used sparingly’—Mark Twain.” That was the fall of 1976. By the next issue, the size reached twelve pages (May 1977), then fourteen (November 1980). The current length of sixteen pages was set in May 1981.  Perhaps most important of all, the late Rita Mead had been appointed as Research Assistant in the fall of 1973, and a collaborative synergy developed between her and Wiley.  Not only did the Newsletters get longer but they became more stylish.  Like the New Yorker’s “Talk of the Town,” which in those days delivered clever but unsigned vignettes, the early Newsletters did not attribute authorship.  But then Wiley and Rita wrote the whole thing. Headlines, which had been conventionally used from the beginning, became a site for playful creativity after Rita arrived.   Integrated nests of headlines became an I.S.A.M. specialty, such as this cluster in May 1977, for which each line introduced a paragraph or two of prose on a divergent array of topics:

News and Information . . . .

. . . . about People . . .

Playing

Studying

Speaking

Teaching

Publishing

And winning awards 

. . . and Places

Here

There

And everywhere

All this happened before my time.  I first met Wiley in December 1977—not long after I.S.A.M. had turned six—when I attended his conference on “The Phonograph in Our Musical Life.”  I was a newly-registered student at the CUNY Graduate Center, and after struggling to locate Brooklyn College, I walked in on a “happening” of sorts: the performance of John Cage’s 33-1/3 and Cassette. The concert hall bustled as the audience roamed around, popping records onto turntables placed here and there. As Cage’s anarchic version of a keynote, the event placed high value on randomized choreography—on bodies-in-motion—and on collective involvement. When today’s scholars in the burgeoning area of Media Studies trace their history, they will recognize this conference as a signal moment.  It quietly (actually noisily!) countered the reigning academic prejudice that privileged documents on paper, and it did so by posing sound recordings as valid primary sources and crucial forces in contemporary culture.

In November 1979, I made my debut in the Newsletter in excerpts from a public interview with Aaron Copland and Minna Lederman Daniel, and this began a long and gratifying association with the publication.  A year later, failing health forced the talented Rita Mead to retire, and I joined Wiley as Research Assistant of I.S.A.M. and Associate Editor of the Newsletter.  Over the next seventeen years, I remained linked to I.S.A.M. and its publications in various capacities, even while moving on to teach at Brooklyn College and the Graduate Center.  When Wiley approached retirement in 1992, I stepped in as his successor, and I stayed in that position for five years.  In the meantime, a series of Research Assistants contributed to the Newsletter as well: R. Allen Lott, Emily Good, and K. Robert Schwarz. 

Producing the Newsletter with Wiley was loads of fun yet demanding, a high-pressured blast. Our collaboration provided me with a strong model of efficient work habits, for Wiley wrote with enviable ease and discipline.  In the early 1980s, when most folks still crafted prose with pen and paper, Wiley would often return from lunch during Newsletter season and sit down to write.  There were few strike-overs.  The  prose simply flowed, and it had a distinctive style: elegant, compact (even synoptic), punctuated with wit.  Only adjectives that made their point with laser-beam precision were permitted.  I.S.A.M. could easily have posted a banner over its door bearing Strunk and White’s dictum, “Omit needless words.” 

Learning to shape the Newsletter’s nuggets presented a challenge.  But I loved it.  This was an opportunity to pose as a journalist, to keep up with the newest books and recordings—to cut loose!  Feature essays by guest authors (or as Wiley put it, “the centerfold”) entered the scene in May 1978 and they broadened the coverage to include not only news and reviews but also articles on broad-ranging topics.  This eclectic range was not just a founding principle of I.S.A.M., but one which held firm over time.  Wiley’s only noticeable predilection had to do with contemporary composers.  He avidly kept up with new music, as did Rita and I.  Milton Babbitt, Aaron Copland, Elliott Carter, Ross Lee Finney, Roy Harris, Charles Ives, Ned Rorem, Nicolas Slonimsky, Virgil Thomson, and William Schuman all were featured in the Newsletter, as did more experimental figures like Robert Ashley, John Cage, Henry Cowell, Noah Creshevsky, Conrad Cummings, Charles Dodge, Peter Garland, Malcolm Goldstein, Lou Harrison, Meredith Monk, Conlon Nancarrow, Pauline Oliveros, and Roger Reynolds. And then there were the columns, including Mark Tucker’s “Behind the Beat” on jazz and popular music, which began in 1982, and Charles Wolfe’s “Country and Gospel Notes,” which appeared six years later. In fact, Mark’s contributions deserve to be singled out, for they extended far beyond that column.  His byline first appeared in November 1981 with “The Wolverines Go for SPAM,” an article about a student-led American-music initiative at the University of Michigan.  Over the years, he brainstormed constantly with Wiley and me, forming part of a conceptual team so thoroughly interconnected that individual agency became irrelevant.

In closing, I want to share a couple of Newsletter items that were especially delectable. Wiley enjoyed locating odd bits of Americana, and in the issue of May 1981, he got a huge kick out of reproducing photos from Thaddeus Wronski’s The Singer and His Art, Including Articles on Anatomy and Vocal Hygiene (New York: D. Appleton, 1921).  With bizarre facial contortions, Wronski illustrated the physical posture needed for a singer to convey “horror” or “hypocrisy” or “arrogance.”  Belly laughs rolled regularly out of Wiley’s office as that issue came together.  Yet he also took Wronski seriously, tracking down his path from Poland (b. 1888) to the U.S., where he sang with the Boston Opera Company.  Eventually, Wronski settled in Detroit—by chance, Wiley’s hometown—where this little-known émigré set up a vocal studio and became a major figure in local opera productions.

We also got a kick out of compiling a “centerfold” titled “American Musicians at Home on the Range,” with favorite recipes of American musicians (May 1984).  This included John Cage’s “Baked Rutabaga,” Louis Armstrong’s “Red Beans and Rice,” Colin McPhee’s “Nasi goreng,” Sidney Cowell’s “Simply Extraordinary/Extraordinarily Simple Green Beans,” and “The Sonneck Society Elixir: Benjamin Franklin’s Orange Shrub Punch.”  Singer-songwriter Ned Sublette, who happened to be free-lancing as I.S.A.M.’s typesetter at the time, contributed the final recipe, “Elvis Presley’s Judgment Day Pancakes.”  It called for garnishing the pancakes with “some red pills, some blue pills, some black pills, some yellow pills, and some white pills”—a bit of grisly humor about Presley’s premature death seven years earlier, spurred by addiction.  How many publications emanating from a distinguished research institute would include that?

Wiley adored his Newsletter and took great pride in it.  As with all of I.S.A.M.’s endeavors, he anchored it in collaborative exchange and a strong sense of community.  His colleagues and students were featured, and as the years passed, their bylines appeared with increasing frequency.  Lively imaginations had a chance to take flight, and in the process, a “communications gap” disappeared.

Harvard University

 

 

 


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