The Devil Made Him Do It
By ANTHONY TOMMASINI
NYTimes September 30, 2001
WE all sometimes say things that come out in ways we did not intend.
This is how defenders of the German composer Karlheinz Stockhausen
are trying to explain away the grotesque remarks he made during a
press conference in Hamburg on Sept. 17, when asked for his reactions
to the terrorist attack on the United States.
Mr. Stockhausen, who emerged in the 1950's as one of a reigning trio
of avant-garde composers that included Pierre Boulez and Luigi Nono,
was taking questions before a four- day festival of his works in
Hamburg. In disjointed comments that were taped by a German radio
station and reported internationally, Mr. Stockhausen, 73, called
the attack on the World Trade Center "the greatest work of art that
is possible in the whole cosmos." Extending the analogy, he spoke of
human minds achieving "something in one act" that "we couldn't even
dream of in music," in which "people practice like crazy for 10 years,
totally fanatically, for a concert, and then die." Just imagine, he
added: "You have people who are so concentrated on one performance,
and then 5,000 people are dispatched into eternity, in a single
moment. I couldn't do that. In comparison with that, we're nothing
as composers."
When he realized how the reporters were reacting, he backtracked and
asked that his words not be quoted. "Where has he brought me, that
Lucifer?" he asked, referring to one of three invented characters,
along with Eve and Michael, who regularly figure in his works.
It was too late. The Hamburg concerts were abruptly canceled. Mr.
Stockhausen left town, refusing further comment. On his Web site
(www.stockhausen.org) he protested that his words had been distorted,
that he had been speaking metaphorically, that Lucifer, the "cosmic
spirit" of anarchy who uses his intelligence "to destroy creation,"
was the creator of the "satanic composition," that is, the attack.
German media and cultural figures continued to condemn him.
For Mr. Stockhausen's many admirers, the easiest recourse would be
to dismiss his comments as the outpourings of an egomaniac who, sadly,
has long been losing touch with reality. During the 1960's, he blended
elements of serialism, an uncanny ear for sonority, a visionary
conception of the parameters of pitch and sound, and a mastery of
electronic resources in works that reached beyond modern music circles
into pop culture. You can find him among the eclectic gathering on
the cover of the Beatles album "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club
Band."
In the 1970's, as he was increasingly enthralled with spirituality
and visions of extraterrestrial life, his works grew larger, longer
and stranger. Instructions like "Play a vibration in the rhythm of
the universe" were common. Soon whole stadiums were needed to
accommodate his "pieces," like the string quartet from 1993 with
four helicopters. Outdoing Wagner's "Ring," Mr. Stockhausen has been
engaged since 1977 in 25-year project to complete "Licht" ("Light"),
a series of seven operas, each based on a day of the week. In one,
the performers engage in quasi-military operations, racing through
the audience, wearing transmitters to coordinate their actions.
Even if you concede that Mr. Stockhausen meant to say that Lucifer
was the creator behind the terrorist "work of art," his words are
still an affront. Art may be hard to define, but whatever art is,
it's a step removed from reality. A theatrical depiction of suffering
may be art; real suffering is not. Because the art of photography
often blurs this distinction, it can make us uncomfortable. Real
people, sometimes suffering people, have been photography's unwitting
subjects. That's why we have photojournalism, to keep things clearer.
The image of a naked, fleeing, napalm- burned Vietnamese girl is
truth, not art. Images of the blazing twin towers, however horrifically
compelling, are not art.
Perhaps the most disturbing element of Mr. Stockhausen's muddled
comments is the touch of envy that comes through in his awe over this
crazed satanic attack. Mr. Stockhausen has long been fired by the
idea that art should transform us "out of life" itself, as he said
at the press conference; otherwise "it's nothing."
Obviously, any artwork, from a short Schubert song to a long
Dostoyevsky novel, can have a transforming effect. But Mr. Stockhausen
has dangerously overblown ambitions for art. Even Wagner, another
egomaniac who controlled every aspect of his opera productions, was
mostly trying to provide audiences with an absorbing evening in the
theater. He did not necessarily expect you to walk out a better
person. Writing the operas certainly didn't make him a better person.
Messiaen, an early mentor to Mr. Stockhausen who also dealt with
themes of eternity and faith, had nothing like Mr. Stockhausen's
pretensions. Once, asked by a music student during a preconcert talk
in Boston whether it was essential to have had a spiritual experience
to appreciate his music, Messiaen answered, "No, not at all." But,
he added, "it would be my greatest reward as a composer if you had
a spiritual experience while listening to one of my works."
Perhaps Mr. Stockhausen is a raving has-been, whose words are best
ignored. Still, it is important for artists to reclaim art from such
reckless commentary, as Gyorgy Ligeti did recently in suggesting that
Mr. Stockhausen be confined to a psychiatric clinic.
His career may be unsalvageable. He had better not count on the final
"Licht" opera's being produced on schedule in 2002. Stockhausen's
daughter Mariella, a pianist who has had no contact with her father
for more than two years, told a Berlin newspaper that she would no
longer appear under the name Stockhausen.
Yet assuming that the Cooper Arts series goes ahead with its Nov. 7
presentation of the Ossia Ensemble in "Stimmung," Mr. Stockhausen's
trance-inducing 1968 vocal work, I will be there, if only to remind
myself that he has written some extraordinary music.
Scott Morrison,
Prairie Village, KS
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