In the hallowed halls of CUNYs graduate center, I have heard
esteemed professor and well-known Gertrude Steiniac, Wayne Koestenbaum,
refer to Gertrude Stein as his church. I suggest that
she is not only his church, but a church,
and I would like to second that emotion but extend the
metaphor and determine Steins particular religious
denomination. For if Stein is indeed a church, then
she is a revivalist tent. Furthermore, her connections to the oral
traditions of black folk culture, and by extension to the aesthetic
of hip hop, rap, and spoken word today, become apparent in both
her search for a truly American sound and in the rhythms
and cadences, or in what I characterize as the spittin and
backspinnin, of her celebrated libretto Four Saints
in Three Acts. I am not suggesting that Steins opera consciously
anticipates rap music today, but I am suggesting that draping the
hip hop/rap/spoken word aesthetic upon the framework of the piece
is a logical next step in re-visioning Four Saints in
Three Acts and in understanding the unique convergence of poetry,
music, and performance in relation to the black voice that Steins
opera represents.
In a cinematic moment in her article Thinking Back Through
Our Mothers, Professor Jane Marcus remarks upon Virginia Woolfs
unusual way of walking. She writes that Woolfs husband Leonard
Woolf described his wifes peculiar walk, how people stared
at her; it is the same as Hannah Arendts description of Walter
Benjaminsa mixture of advancing and tarrying, one foot
in the past and one in the future. Marcus adds that the
incandescent death which Bertrand Russell found alight
in [Woolfs] novels derives from what Lukacs called transcendental
homelessness in the modern novelist (756). As
is often the case with writers such as Woolf, who reinvent the text
with each piece they write, we must go back to the future
in order to understand the work. Such is the case with Gertrude
Steins Four Saints in Three Acts—we must go
back to the future, to the dominance of spoken word
today, in order to understand and deepen our appreciation of the
piece. For it is only in Steins future, our present, that
Stein readers can discover her vision.
The wide open word landscape of Four Saints
in Three Acts allows us to question not only the authority of
definition, but also to challenge the very nature of definition.
For in Stein, as Wayne Koestenbaum points out in his engaging and
informative Stein is Nice, readers experience a slipping
away from past definitional fixity (318). After reading the
libretto for the first time, which I unintentionally read as a rap
from start to finish, I was left with a question of definition:
what makes an opera an opera? or for that matter, what makes hip
hop, hip hop?
Further blurring the boundaries if not of definition then of convention,
Four Saints in Three Acts, which opened at the Wadsworth
Atheneum in Hartford, Connecticut on February 7, 1934, but premiered
two weeks later in New York City and in Chicago on November 7th,
was performed with an all African-American cast, which led to yet
more questions of definition, ones that both Gertrude Stein and
her composer Virgil Thomson were determined to answer: what makes
an opera, an American opera? Why, for example, would a Jewish lesbian
poet and a midwestern American protestant homosexual composer, whose
clearly defined mission was to set spoken American
language to music (Watson 49), decide to write an opera about
Spanish Catholic saints with an all-Black sound? While a definitive
answer is unlikely (Steins work precludes definition), we
can temporarily take hold of the thread of black folk tradition
in Steins other work and her awareness of and attunement to
the black voice in general.
Steins search for an American spoken language
leads her to what Toni Morrison has referred to as American
Africanisma fabricated brew of darkness, otherness, alarm,
and desire that was uniquely American (38). Though she was
often characterized, usually justly, but also often over simplistically,
as a white elitist, Steins ear, at least, in Four Saints,
a Steinian landscape of many Catholic saints in several acts, is
black. Furthermore, I believe that her instrument in the libretto,
that is, spoken language, creates a more authentic black sound,
even more authentic than in Melanctha, Three Lives,
in which she consciously tried to achieve a black dialect but with
mixed results. Ultimately, what the sounds of the words in Four
Saints reveal is that when Stein thinks of American spoken
word, she thinks in terms of, as I noted just before, Morrisons
American Africanism.
After agreeing to collaborate with Virgil Thomson on an opera,
wherein she would write the text and he the music, Stein begins
Four Saints in a notebook called Avia in March
1927. Together, they agree on the theme of the working artists
life (Watson 42) which Stein interprets in terms of religion
and spirituality. According to Steven Watson, in his indispensable
Prepare for Saints, Stein believed that the purity
of the artists devotion to art reflected the immaculate conditions
of the religious life, that genius was analogous to sainthood, and
that artists and writers expressed contemporary spirituality before
it appeared in the society at large (42). The collaborators
earlier abandon the idea of George Washington and American history
when Stein decides on Spanish Catholic saints, which she associates
with a happy time spent in Spain with Alice B. Toklas in the summer
of 1912. The first line of the opera introduces the central figure
of Saint Therese, To know to know to love her so, but
is an invocation of both Stein and Toklas as well. (N. B. Stein
used the French pronunciation Saint Therese and one of her nicknames
for Alice in the text, but Thomson needed the third syllable of
Teresa for the score). Stein also establishes the figure of Saint
Ignatius Loyola to play opposite Saint Therese even though there
was no historical relationship between the two saints whatsoever.
Stein refers to her saints and to the opera as a whole always in
terms of landscape. In 1934 in Plays, Lectures in
America, Stein writes that in Four Saints I made
the Saints the landscape. All the saints that I made and I made
a number of them because after all a great many pieces of things
are in a landscape all these saints together made up my landscape
(112). In her letters and notebooks, Stein refers to her work on
the opera that later becomes Four Saints as Beginning
of Studies for an opera to be sung and in an early draft as
a Narrative of Prepare for Saints even though
there is no narrative, no plot, and no recognizable meaning to the
words, beyond their significance to Gertrude Stein and her inner
circle. In Four Saints, Stein asks us Remain to narrate
to prepare two saints for saints (FSITA 581), or in other
words, stay for the story even though there is none. Yet she declares
What happened to-day, a narrative (581), but this melts
into another promise, We had intended if it were a pleasant
day to go to the country it was a very beautiful day and we carried
out our intention (581-582). The reader must decide if she
has indeed carried out [her] intention as we move through
her landscape of words without moving, at least not in any sequential
order until we land upon the last words of the opera Last
Act./Which is a fact (612).
The avant-garde musician, John Cage, whose microtonalist pieces
have been directly influenced by Stein, once said that he was trying
to do with the piano keys what Stein had done with words, that is
take all the keys off of the piano, shake them up in a sack and
strew them across a landscape that we do not so much move through,
as jump about on or step on in order to create sound (Four American
Composers). With no sequential plot or narrative thread, what we
are left with are two elements that happen to be crucial to hip
hop and spoken word todaysound that jumps about and signifiers.
Hip hop culture was originally comprised of three essential componentsgraffiti
artists, break dancers, and rap musicians. According to Tricia Rose
in her chapter All Aboard the Night Train: Flow,
Layering, and Rupture in Postindustrial New York, in Black
Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America,
hip hop emerges from the deindustrialization meltdown where
social alienation, prophetic imagination, and yearning intersect.
Hip hop is a cultural form that attempts to negotiate the experiences
of marginalization, brutally truncated opportunity, and oppression
within the cultural imperatives of African American and Caribbean
history, identity, and community (21). For the purposes of
this paper, what I mean when I refer to a hip hop/rap/spoken word
aesthetic is the use of words and sounds within the cultural intersection
described by Rose.
According to Kelefa Sanneh in Gettin Paid, her
article on corporate raps influence on the quality and eloquence
of rap lyrics, rap was invented not by rappers but by disk
jockeys. In 1973, a Jamaican immigrant in the Bronx who called himself
DJ Kool Herc popularized the art of manipulating two turntables
at once, so he could repeat his favorite drum patterns over and
over. The jumpy music that resulted was given the name hip hop
(63). Collaging and sampling, scratching, and backspinning are all
components of the rap aesthetic that have surprising parallels in
Stein. Collaging is the practice of extending obscure instrumental
breaks that create [. . .] an endless collage of peak dance beats
named b-beats or break-beats; sampling is a strategy of intertextuality
that uses samples from other music genres or other rap songs and
reimbeds or layers them into the rap; scratching is
a turntable technique that involves playing the record back
and forth with your hand by scratching the needle against and then
with the groove; backspinning is rapidly spinning [the
album] backwards which creates the effect of a record
skipping irregularly or a controlled stutter effect (Rose
51 53). Obviously, Gertrude Stein did not enjoy the technology
rap artists and DJs do today, yet she achieves a similar effect
throughout Four Saints using words and the placement and
timing of words to collage, scratch, sample, and backspin just like
the rappers of today.
Even when discussing the opera, Stein uses these techniques. In
one example, in a radio interview she gave on November 12, 1934,
Stein responds to a reporters question about one of the operas
most famous lines pigeons on the grass alas. Her answer
resonates with the same cadences, rhythms, and repetitions hip hop
artists use today to explain the signifiers in their own music depicting
the urban landscape of the ghetto. Stein replied to the reporter:
That is simple I was walking in the gardens of the Luxembourg
in Paris it was the end of summer the grass was yellow I was
sorry that it was the end of summer and I saw the big fat
pigeons in the yellow grass and I said to myself, pigeons on the
yellow grass, alas, and I kept on writing pigeons on the grass,
alas, short longer grass short longer longer shorter yellow grass
pigeons on the grass pigeons large pigeons on the shorter
longer yellow grass, alas pigeons on the grass, and I kept on
writing until I had emptied myself of the emotion. (A Radio
Interview 95)
Like many of the rap artists today who cant help but speak
in rhyme, Stein often cant help talkin, testifyin,
and signifyin verbally in the same way she writes on the page.
When another reporter asked her, unfairly, I think, because she
often spoke in public the way she wrote, Why dont you
speak the way you write? Stein replied, Why dont
you read the way I write? Sanneh, reporting for The New
Yorker, takes note of this phenomenon of American spoken word
and rhyme finding its way into ordinary exchanges when she encounters
one of the most famous rappers of the moment, Jay-Zs protégé
Beanie Sigel. She writes that Beanie Sigel is a slick talker
whose style emphasizes wordplay over plain speech. (He even answered
some of my questions in rhyme) (76).
Compare, too, Sigels verse passage below from his first album
The Reason with Steins pigeons on the grass
alas:
Crack topic: back block it, thirty-one long blacktop it, you
cant
stop it, Gat top it, black Mack, black Glock it, blast rocket
(76)
The syllabic repetition and intertwining of sound build from word
to word until Sigel, like Stein, is rapping to empty [himself]
of emotion. In Sigels case, however, his specific signifiers
are not from Paris or Spain or even from Baltimore, Maryland (as
we shall see later on, much of Steins original contact with
a Black sound takes place there) but from the crack houses of South
Philly because, as Sigel explains, Thats where most
of my life was written (75). Jay-Zs signifiers derive
from the Marcy housing projects in the Bed-Stuy section of Brooklyn
and the white rapper Eminems from a trailer park at the end
of 8 Mile Road.
Coded language is critical to understanding both a Stein text
and most rap songs. As Rose writes referring to rap, Alternative
local identities were forged in fashions and language, street names,
and [. . .] in neighborhood crews or posses [. . .] the crew, a
local source of identity, group affiliation, and support system
appears repeatedly [. . .] identity in hip hop is deeply rooted
in the specific, the local experience, and ones attachment
to and status in a local group or alternative family (34).
In addition to Stein, herself, and the central figure of Alice B.
Toklas, Steins posse consisted of the many now famous artists,
writers, and musicians of Steins inner circle in Paris, and
her references and signifiers deal with often ordinary events that
only Stein or members of her crew would be privy to.
While Gertrude Stein most likely would not be characterized as
a microphone controller, an early epithet for skilled
rap artists, she would certainly qualify as a rhyme animal
(76), yet another term for a rapper with chops. As I have stated,
rap and hip hop employ much of the same rhyming, repetition, spittin,
backspinnin, scratchin, collaging, and layering as the
modernist text. In Four Saints, Stein both rhymes and creates
a rising and falling action throughout her libretto as in the building
and climax of the following passage, which comes in between two
more prose-like sections about the importance of winter in remembering
other seasons:
To mount it up.
Up hill.
Four Saints are never three.
Three saints are never four.
For saints are never left altogether.
Three saints are never idle.
Four Saints are leave it to me.
Three saints when this you see.
Begin three saints.
Begin Four Saints.
Two and two saints.
One and three saints.
In place.
One should it.
Easily saints.
Very well saints.
Have saints.
Said saints.
As said saints.
And not annoy.
Anoint.
Choice. (FSITA 583)
The climactic building up of sound depends on repetition, rhyme,
momentum, and spittin especially the s sounds
in the repeated saints. These as well as the seemingly
nonsensical words further combine to give the effect of speaking
in tongues in the revivalist tradition—were not sure what
the words mean, but were feeling the spirit. As Michelle Wallace,
author of the feminist classic Black Macho and the Myth of Superwoman,
wrote to me in an email dated 21 November 2002, rap is the
present incarnation of the oral tradition and rap, hip
hop and spoken word are consistent features of Afro-American culture
and perhaps diasporic culture in general. She continues, one
of the great things about folk culture is that it isnt as
obsessed with newness as dominant culture so the same wonderful
features can continue endlessly from decade to decade and generation
to generation. In other words, despite recent trends
in gospel, there are still old churches in the South who are singing
it as it was sung 100 years ago, more or less. Wallaces
points suggest to me, that gospel, then, and the black oral tradition,
in general, provide foundational, fertile ground for those who are
obsessed with the new, such as Gertrude Stein and rap musicians
today.
One of the characteristics of gospel that has carried over from
generation to generation into rap today is the congregational call
and response technique when one person, usually a preacher, calls
out a question and the audience or another single individual responds
in kind. Gertrude Stein also employs a call and response technique
in Four Saints in Three Acts. Confirming Wallace,
Geneva Smitherman points out in Talkin and Testifyin: The Language
of Black America, Both in slavery times and now, the black
community places high value on the spoken word (76). She gives
an example of the language of call and response in the following
preacher-and-congregation exchange:
Preacher: How many yall wanna live to a old age?
Congregation: Hallelujah!
Preacher: Or is yall ready to die and go to Heaven?
Congregation (uncomfortable; some self conscious laughter) Well,
no Lord, not yet, suh!
Preacher: Yall wanna stay here awhile?
Congregation: Praise the Lord!
Preacher: Well, yall better quit all this drankin, smokin,
and runnin around. Cause, see, for me, I got a home in Heaven,
but I aint homesick! (77)
Here is an example of the call and response technique in a rap
track entitled Youthful Expression by A Tribe Called
Quest:
Voice1: The Economy, Phuhh!
Voice 2: Yeah, I know
.Voice 1: Politics, Phuffh!
Voice 2: Yeah, say that also.
Voice 1: The police. . .
Voice 2: Guilty, guilty. . .
Voice1: Everything!
Voice2: Uhuh. Wait a, wait wait wait
Voice 1: Except for the youth.
Voice 2: Yeah, yeah, wait wait. (Rose 125)
And here is Stein writing in Four Saints in Three Acts:
Nobody visits more than they do visits them.
Saint Threse.
Nobody visits more than they do visits them
Saint Therese.
As loud as that as allowed as that.
Saint Therese.
Nobody visits more than they do visits them.
Who settles a private life.
Saint Therese.
Who settles a private life.
Saint Therese.
Saint Therese. Who settles a private life. (587)
Not only does Stein use call and response here in the black oral
tradition, for example, with the call who settles a private
life and the response Saint Therese, she also
comes very close to replicating black dialect in Nobody visits
more than they do visits and in Nobody visits more than
they do visits them. Had Stein opted for a conscious try at
dialect, writing something like, Nobody visits more than dey
do visits dem, I think she would have missed her mark, which
is always for Stein, authenticity, creating an authentic American
voice. By trimming the direct hit of dialect and opting for the
grammatical error, she suggests rather than overstates and is ultimately
more successful in retaining the integrity of sound and its authenticity.
I also think she does so on purpose because there is not one word
on a page of Stein that she doesnt play with. One can almost
hear Stein trying the line both ways with dey and dem
and they and them and deciding to let the
reader read her the way she writes, that is in American
spoken language, letting the words and their grouping on the page
speak for themselves. A rapper would call the above call and response
exchange dropping science, that is achieving something
meaningful and profound via wordplay. As the poet Sonia Sanchez
writes in her foreward to Bum Rush the Page, rappers and
spoken word artists look at the word, splice it, look up at
the word and jazz it up, look backwards at the word and decide to
disconnect and reconnect it at the end, stretch it, moan it, groan
it, peel it, and then finally, redress the world and say, See,
this is a poem (xv).
Stein, like rap artists today, also frequently employs the use
of homonyms and quasi homonyms. For example, in the excerpt above
in As loud as that as allowed as that, she interchanges
the use of the words for and four with saints
repeatedly throughout the piece, keeping us off balance and in backspin.
She achieves a stutter, sputter effect in this is where to
be at at water at snow snow show show one one sun and sun snow show
and no water no water. And she equivocates, where the word
habit shifts in meaning or at least the image of habit
shifts, from habit something you do regularly and habit
a part of a nuns attire, when she writes, Habits not
hourly habits habits not hourly at the time that they made their
habits not hourly they made their habits (584). Stein also
collages and uses samples from other texts that she reimbeds
or layers like rappers into the lyric. In Four Saints, for
example, she includes a line from the patriotic anthem America,
America out of the blue as if the Spirit of St. Louis, the
Enola Gay, flew by and dropped it from above onto her Spanish Catholic
landscape. Stein writes:
Four Saints born in separate places.
Saint saint saint saint.
Four Saints an opera in three acts.
My country tis of thee sweet land of liberty of thee I
sing.
Saint Therese something like that.
Saint Therese something like that. (585)
In scanning, or attempting to scan, a Stein text, we alternate
between a cakewalk and a long walk off a short pier. Four Saints
opens with To know to know to love her so/Four Saints
prepare for saints, an easy iambic tetrameter that is akin
to the line length of the strict metric conventions of rap in the
early 1980s. As Sanneh writes of rap each line had four
beats, with the stress on the second and fourth and each verse was
a series of couplets [. . .but] by 1988 the rhyme virtuoso Rakim
had stretched the rules with tricky alliteration and run-on lines.
Jay-Zs lyrics, on the other hand, sound like everyday speech.
He throws in conversational ticsa little laugh in the middle
of a line, or a pause, as if he were thinking something throughto
heighten the effect (73). Stein, like Jay-Z, does not stay
wedded to iambs for long, and pauses, stutter steps, uses conversational
tics, and flat out spondees of every day speech perhaps to heighten
the effect but also to capture American spoken word.
Naming is also significant in Four Saints and further ties
the opera into a hip hop/rap/spoken word aesthetic. In Black
Noise, Rose writes that as in many African and Afrodiasporic
cultural forms, hip hops prolific self-naming is a form of
reinvention and self definition. Koestenbaum likewise argues,
In Stein, the central amusement or beauty is often the name,
the proper noun that arrives unexplained, uncontextualized [. .
.] we are free [. . .] to meditate without the narrator moderating
the debate. In Stein the proper name offers respite from dry diction
and nonreferentiality [. . .] the context never appears and the
name sits solitary on our plate [. . .] in Stein, names canonize,
just to be named is to become part of a Parnassian dramatis personae
(313). Koestenbaums use of the religious context in terms
of naming in Stein is appropriate and uncanny, when applied to Four
Saints in Three Acts, a text that was not specifically his
topic of discussion. Names in Four Saints function just as
Koestenbaum suggests in order to deify and canonize.
The proper names in Steins libretto are all canonical or meant
to convey ecclesiastical authority by being accompanied by the honorific
Saint as in the following list of both historical and
invented saints:
Saint Therese
Saint Martyr
Saint Settlement
Saint Thomasine
Saint Electra
Saint Wilhelmina
Saint Evelyn
Saint Pilar
Saint Hillaire
Saint Bernadine
|
Saint Ignatius
Saint Paul
Saint William
Saint Gilbert
Saint Settle
Saint Arthur
Saint Selmer
Saint Paul Seize
Saint Cardinal
Saint Plan
Saint Giuseppe
|
Steins work has been associated with black oral tradition
and folk culture before, but usually in terms of criticism for exploitation
and racism. Aldon L. Nielsen wonders in Steins portrait Melanctha
in Three Lives if Steins reinscription of white
imaginings of black speech, her orthographic display of racial difference,
simply fall back upon itself, othering itself while
at the same time further immuring black speaking subjectivities
in the tar baby of white discourse (7). The African-American
poet Melvin B. Tolson noted that Gertrude Steins judgment
that the Negro suffers from Nothingness revealed her profound ignorance
of African cultures (qtd. in Nielsen). Nielsen also argues
that African American authors have attended carefully to the
revolutions marked in American poetics by William Carlos Williams
and Gertrude Stein, but [have] also learned from black American
music in ways that they [Stein and Williams] never could, for they
never really listened (212).
Carla L. Peterson, head of Black Studies at the University of Maryland,
however, suggests otherwise and warns against reductionist tendencies
in evaluating Stein whether in terms of her literary contributions
or in terms of race. She writes that we need to avoid the
caricaturing of Stein as a white supremacist guilty
of offensive racial stereotyping (145). Peterson explains
that race can no longer be viewed as a biological construct,
since human genetic variability between races is no
greater than that within a given race, and [that. .
.] the term race is often used to describe what are
in fact ethnic experienceshistorically acquiredof blacks
in the United States. Rather, she continues race
must be seen as an ideological construct conditioned by social,
cultural, and historical factors (144).
According to Raymond Williams in The Politics of Modernism,
Stein created a deliberate running-together, cross-fertilization,
even integration of what had been hitherto seen as different arts,
aspir[ing] to develop language towards the condition of music, or
towards the immediacy and presence of visual imagery or performance
(9). In other words, though Stein is appropriating a black sound,
especially in Three Lives, she is not doing so in a vacuum
or for the purposes of exploitation, even though she no doubt harbored
and expressed the racist views of the times. I would further suggest
that in Four Saints, Stein has come even closer to her goal
as described by Williams above of achieving a deliberate running-together
and a cross-fertilization of sound, visual imagery
and performance. As Peterson explains, the symbolic
value that Americans place on blackness points
to a complex racial borderland where blood lines are often
blurred and cultural traditions merged, and she suggests that
African American critics need [. . .] to analyze the ways
in which this borderland gestures toward a shared culture but also
reaffirms existing hierarchies and power relations (144).
Though Stein as a white elitist and political conservative
undoubtedly occupies a dominant position in the existing hierarchy,
she also exists along the edges of a complex racial borderland
as she single mindedly, one might say even relentlessly, focuses
on words and how they sound on the page.
Peterson specifically locates Steins knowledge and appreciation
of the black oral tradition in her early years in Baltimore, Maryland.
Peterson points out the diverse immigrant populations in the neighborhoods
of Baltimore, Maryland, where Gertrude Stein lived from 1892 to
1893 with her aunt and uncle and later with her brother Leo and
friend Emma Lootz, from 1897 to early 1902 while she attended Johns
Hopkins Medical School. As Peterson notes, These residences
were not far from the black middle-class neighborhood of West Biddle
Street beyond which lay the Biddle alley district; and the Hopkins
medical school was located in the middle of another poor black area
through which Stein was obliged to pass in order to reach the hospital
(142). She further points out that [m]usical history indicates
that Baltimore was a central site for the development of African-American
musical culture at the turn of the century. Although Stein nowhere
makes specific reference to this music, both the external evidence
provided by her proximity to black neighborhoods and the internal
evidence of her prose suggest her acute awareness of it (145).
She is, of course, writing in reference to Melanctha,
but it is an insight that I extend to Four Saints.
I am arguing further that Thomsons revelation
to use an all-Black cast in Four Saints is more than mere
coincidence or simply a byproduct of the times in which a disaffected
generation, a lost generation, turns to typical racial
stereotypes or even updated racial stereotypes for solace. Thomsons
journey begins with Steins text and the black sound and tradition
built into her words. The goal in writing Four Saints was
to set spoken American language to music, but by the time decisions
are being made in the early 1930s for casting, Stein is in
agreement regarding an all-black voice, but wary of exploiting the
black body. She writes to Thomson:
I suppose they have good reasons for using negro singers instead
of white, there are certain obvious ones, but I do not care for
the idea of showing the negro bodies, it is too much what the
English in what they call modernistic novels calls
futuristic and do not accord with the words and music to my mind.
(qtd. in Watson 207)
But Thomson reassures her that the performers would be covered
and properly attired by avant-garde artist Florine Stettheimers
long, flowing cellophane robes, cowl necks, hats and gloves. In
the course of the production, Stettheimer became concerned
that the actors varying shades of brown skin might prove distracting.
She initially suggested that the faces in the chorus be painted
white or silver to create greater uniformity of color (Bloemink
193). Stettheimers idea, however, is vetoed although eventually
the choristers consented to cover their faces with a tannish-brown
stage makeup (193).
A racist discourse is certainly in evidence here, but it is also
important to note that Thomson was one of the first composers to
view the black voice as articulate and that Stein agreed.
As Watson notes, Thomson and Stein offer fairly unsurprising
variations on the tendency of the day to see black Americans as
exotic others (202). However, Thomsons idea
and their decision also exploded racial stereotypes, for he
proposed that black performers sing opera to a white audience in
a white venue, and he wanted them to play roles unrelated to black
life (202).
The musical setting in which Thomson has his epiphany
is in dispute. Thomson claimed he was at the Hot-Cha, a blues club
in Harlem where Billie Holiday was discovered. Carl Van Vechten,
Steins publicist and promoter in America, a well-known supporter
of black music and black causes, and a key player in the operas
production, however, remembers Thomson at a performance of the gospel
musical Run Little Chillun at Broadways Lyric Theater.
In both instances, his reaction is nearly identical. At the Hot-Cha,
Thomson said that the singer was singing so clearly and I
could understand everything he said. He wasnt just vocalizing
and adding a few consonants here and there, he was singing the words
(199). Van Vechten remembers that Thomson said, They alone
possess the dignity and poise, the lack of self-consciousness that
proper interpretation of the opera demands. They have the rich,
resonant voices essential to the singing of my music and the clear
enunciation required to deliver Gertrudes text (200).
Like Stein, Thomson shares an appreciation of black folk and religious
musical traditions, whether blues, gospel, the coon songs of Baltimore
(Peterson 146), or tent revivalist songs. Seven years before his
revelation, as Watson notes, after visiting a Kansas City
Negro tent revival meeting, [Thomson] had written:
I learned more about the rhythm of the English language in a
half-hour than I had ever known before. Also African scales. You
see the sermon was intoned. And fitted into a regular rythmic
scheme. Basic rhythm (clapping, swatting Bible, jumping) very
simple. Complex syncopated rhythms to fill in the spaces. These
determined by language, but sufficiently exaggerated that they
are recognizable as interesting apart from the language. The extraordinary
thing to me, however, was their aptness to the language. (qtd.
in Watson 200)
Words and language are priorities in Thomsons understanding
of musical style, form, and direction. Furthermore, the Stein-Thomson
collaboration and the creative process of the opera in general were
unique. Unlike many collaborations in which the librettist and composer
work together, back and forth, intermittently revising words to
phrases of music and vice versa, in the Stein-Thomson collaboration,
Stein finished the libretto and handed it off to Thomson to write
the music. With the exception of a few minor alterations and the
addition of the third syllable in Theresa, Thomson crafted the sound
to Steins words. Stein did not return to her writing desk
to revise according to Thomsons sound.
When Thomson received the libretto, he was alone with her words
and his own musical traditions in his head. As Watson writes, With
Steins words unmoored from syntactical meaning, Thomsons
compositional architecture [. . .] animated the text and provided
shape, climaxes, and stretches of run-along patterns (50).
However, as we have seen, the climaxes and run-along
patterns were already built into the text and even the word
landscape, though devoid of narrative, has architectural shape in
its proselike lines presenting themselves in between climaxes and
in stage directions such as repeat first act.
I think that Thomson would agree, for in those early days of composing
with Steins text upon his music stand, he saw his job as wanting
to eliminate friction. He wrote, I dont
mean that her writing lacks music; I mean that it likes
music (qtd. in Watson 51) because when Stein is writing she
is hearing a black voice, attempting to capture this truly
American sound. The very fact that Stein might see black words
and rhythms as the most real, the most authentically
American is interesting in itself. No doubt, her status as an expatriot
and a lesbian contributed to her identification with the group Rose
defines as alienated, marginalized, oppressed.
Had hip hop existed when Thomson read Steins libretto for
the first time, I believe he would have been rapping the night away
with perhaps a few bedrock segues into blues and revivalist tent
songs, for he would want to show the entire spectrum of the black
oral folk tradition and performance that Steins opera represents.
Though Steins work is permanently grounded in the continuous
present which she finds sufficiently occupying,
she would have heartily embraced raps new sound
and claimed in her deep, full, velvety voicethe
one Toklas once said sounded like two voices, (Autobiography)—that
raps motto to keep it real is exactly what she
had been writing about all along.
Keep it real, Baby Woojums, keep it real.
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