Discussion:

Further thoughts on the Malcolm Lowry Connection

The inspiration for this discussion was Swinging the Maelstrom: New Perspectives on Malcolm Lowry, edited by Sherrill Grace (McGill-Queen's University Press 1992). That book also includes 'Lowry, Jazz and "The Day of the Dead"', reprinted elsewhere in this Section, which was part of a presentation of my music and ideas at the Malcolm Lowry Symposium, Vancouver 1987.

'I am capable of conceiving a writer today, even intrinsically a first-rate writer, who simply cannot understand, and never has been able to understand, what his fellow writers are driving at, and who's always been afraid to ask.'

It can easily be seen from my list of works, as well as the many comments and articles elsewhere in this project, that I have been heavily influenced by Malcolm Lowry. Certainly more so than any other writer (although William Faulkner comes close) and probably equal to the influences I have felt from art, painters such as Jackson Pollock and Barnett Newman, and critics such as Clement Greenberg. The quote above, from one of his short stories Through the Panama, is one of many examples, from his works and from the writings of those analysing his work and life, where I see a definite resonance to my own life and creative efforts.

parallels in language

Malcolm Lowry's direct influence can be seen in two of my major compositions, 'Symphony of Scorpions' and 'The Day of the Dead', both inspired by Lowry's methods, with the latter also incorporating his words. In the article on 'Lowry and Jazz' I discuss the parallels I see between Lowry's language, in particular his stream of consciousness approach with the resultant long spiralling sentences, and that of contemporary jazz soloing. (These 'languages' were not of course contemporaneous. The jazz that Lowry knew was of an older style and it was only later [post Kind of Blue] that jazz became capable of going down the same path.)

Undoubtedly my immersion in Lowry's writings and the resultant examination of his methods led to an ephiphany when I discovered, and started to explore in musical terms, the co-existing levels (both horizontal and vertical) of Lowry's work, what have been called 'levels and layers of meaning' and what he refers to as 'the technique of divided attention'. These ideas, which will be discussed further in Part Three, are still very important in my work and will be the underpinning of The Vonetta Factor, a commission by Birmingham Jazz for performance in late 2004. The title alludes to the Miles Davis tune 'Vonetta' where the interplay between drums and melody provides independent levels, and, in a very real sense, divides one's attention.

What follows are the original liner notes to the recording of The Day of the Dead (first released in 1978 and reissued on CD in 2000). They will show my thinking at that time about Lowry and how my writing was affected by his ideas and techniques.

the day of the dead

'The Day of the Dead, All Souls Day, is a festival which, in Mexico, has happy as well as sad connotations. It is the day when "the dead are supposed to commune with the living". That day in 1938 was the setting for Malcolm Lowry's novel Under the Volcano, and it is this work and other related writings of Lowry from which the words used here are drawn.

'Lowry was born in Cheshire, England, in 1909, and though he did not, as his self-composed epitaph had it, die "playing the ukulele", he had a great interest in music, and particularly jazz, throughout his life. Hugh refers to a "day like a good Joe Venuti record" in Under the Volcano, and in 'Forest Path to the Spring', where the protagonist is a jazz composer, Lowry writes "One evening on the way back from the spring for some reason I suddenly thought of a break by Bix in Frankie Trumbauer's record of 'Singing the Blues' that had always seemed to express a moment of the most pure spontaneous happiness."

'When I decided to capture the unsentimental lyricism of the 'Forest Path' novella in a composition I used that phrase from Bix, though much transformed, for the initial motif. That motif recurs throughout The Day of the Dead and the composition is heard complete in Part VII.

new levels, new layers

'Such musical legerdemain is, of course, grist to any composer's mill, but my interest in Lowry goes much deeper than that. I have always been interested in literature and my discovery of Under the Volcano was, for me, as for may other people, an overwhelming experience. I have constantly re-read it and have always discovered new levels, new layers of meaning. These levels, layers, were thickened and enriched the more I read of Lowry. His Dark as the Grave Wherein my Friend is Laid is a gloss on the Mexican aspects of Volcano and 'Forest Path to the Spring' is a refining of the British Columbia dream of Yvonne and the Consul. Linking them all of course are the events in Lowry's own life as shown through writings about him, and the Selected Letters.

'This fascination with Lowry as literature is, however, a long way from an application of it in musical terms and although I have often worked in music and words situations, I had been very wary of contemplating the use of Lowry's words in such a way. However, a commission in 1976 from the Ilkley Literature Festival for a new literary-based piece coincided with the realisation that I had achieved a breakthrough in my compositional thinking. I had found a way of controlling jazz improvisation within a compositional framework - of utilising levels and layers, ranging from completely improvised passages to completely written ones with finely controlled gradations between. The result is a blurring of the normal divisions between composed and improvised sections and between melody and background. New Conditions and Symphony of Scorpions are examples of this work. (The latter, incidentally, being a work directly influenced by Lowry, the title coming from the marvellously evocative phrase in Ultramarine "a symphony of scorpions, a procession of flying grand pianos and cathedrals...")

'The various levels and layers of Under the Volcano (the basic story, the allegory of the world situation in 1938, the mystic or magical symbols scattered through the book, the parallels with Lowry's own alcoholism) plus the references backwards and forwards in time could then be considered a kind of loose parallel to the way my own work had developed. Such thinking gave me confidence in attacking the problem of dealing with Lowry.

'In writing the piece however, although specific words are used, although the setting is a cantina in Mexico on the Day of the Dead, I wanted to avoid purely descriptive writing. There was also little if any point in recreating Volcano: using a straight narrative line where literary event equals musical happening. There seemed no point either in allowing 'solos all round' between faintly evocative melodies as often seems to happen in literary inspired jazz pieces. I also wished to avoid adding music, at a lower level, to "Selected readings from Lowry".

good art should not yield its secrets all at once

'What I wanted to achieve was the addition of another layer, a utilisation of the voice into the music. This I hope I have done and, in doing so, I have deliberately used what Lowry called "the technique of divided attention". The result will I hope follow Malcolm Lowry's maxim that good art should not yield its secrets all at once but should need more than one hearing or reading.'

Those notes from 25 years ago show how long I have been fascinated by Lowry. I was therefore delighted to read editor Sherrill Grace's introduction to Swinging the Maelstrom, where, writing about the Vancouver performance of The Day of the Dead, she said 'If Lowry was correct in thinking that "jazz isn't music perhaps so much as a form of expressionism" then Collier's extraordinary work would not only have delighted and moved him but also justified this belief.'

That comment, coming as it does from a world-renowned Lowry scholar, and professor of English at the University of British Columbia, is of course very flattering. It supports my growing belief that there is a connection between my approach and that of Lowry, even though our work was at very different times, in very different art forms. This belief has been deepened by reading some of the literary analysis about Lowry in Swinging the Maelstrom and elsewhere.

Lowry's work, particularly of course Under the Volcano, is very densely structured: 'To read Lowry is to enter a world where art and life overlap, a universe full of voices, and a system where the writer is continually reborn within his own story.' Even though my work is much simpler, the bones of that statement resonate strongly with me. I feel that I have a system where 'the writer is continually reborn within his own story'. Certainly my compositions are reborn constantly, part of the great joy of doing them in different places, there is 'a universe full of voices' - the musicians, contributing to the whole, and, in a very real way, 'art and life overlap' - 'art' in what I write and 'life' in the contributions of others.

'In this manner Lowry at once lays to rest the ghosts of his own identifications, does homage to, elegizes, eulogizes, confabulates with others and constitutes himself.... (These) are the means whereby he continued to explore the possibilities of his art and to deepen and refine his vision in the never-ending voyage of creation.' Again I feel that this has a resonance in what I am doing. I am trying to 'lay to rest' my own ghosts - the ghosts of Basie and the 'identifications' of jazz (the baggage that comes with the word) - while 'doing homage' to others such as Duke and Mingus, all while attempting to 'deepen and refine my vision'.

'The fleshing (of Under the Volcano) that ensued was not merely adding to a given base of experience but more truly a discovering of what the experience was... a gradual confronting of the interior... where the artist must discover "the terms of his appeal".'

The parallel is not exact but once again I can see strong connections. Most musicians in jazz have had a big band experience in its traditional, accepted form and are 'merely adding to a given base of experience'. What they usually miss out on in big band work is discovering, or rediscovering, what the jazz experience really is - the creation of something new and fresh for that moment. Again, there is a tremendous resonance in the phrase about the artist 'discovering the terms of his appeal' - for me, the ability to direct a group of musicians into making a creative statement, and one which represents, in the already quoted phrase by Clement Greenberg, 'the real core of the art'.

Frederick Asals, another writer in Swinging the Maelstrom, says that Lowry after his first draft 'could begin the far more arduous process of burrowing his way into the sensibilities of his figures, imagining them from the inside, finding for them a language that would embody convincingly their sense of the world'. Although there is an obvious difference between a writer and his characters and a composer and his musicians, there is a sense in which I am trying to find for them 'a language that would embody their sense of the world' rather than presenting them with a predetermined role in a bebop quintet or a big band. In my music the musicians should 'look inside themselves' and realise that they now have the chance to be themselves, to try something different, rather than simply going through the jazz motions.

Something is starting to emerge here which is very exciting, a new way of articulating what my view on jazz is, and of applying that to what jazz is capable of being. As I have said elsewhere the game needs to be deepened, a concept with which Malcolm Lowry certainly agree.

As always comments and contributions to this Discussion are welcome. Email graham@jazzcontinuum.com

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