STEVE REICH – DIFFERENT TRAINS –
2004
The title piece, in fact three successive pieces evoke not
only trains, travelling from New York To Los Angeles by train, but also three
periods in history, 1- America before the war, 2- Europe During the war and 3- After
the war, hence the period from 1939 to 1946. From the train itself Steve Reich
keeps the rhythmic harassing, terrorizing lullaby of the shocks of the wheels
on the rails, on every juncture between the rails, not to speak of the noise in
the train that is trembling, vibrating in all possible way, percolating death
at any moment in this living running snake of a train, not to speak of the whistle,
and later the noises of the war, of the sirens and other bombings and dramatic
yelling, howling. The words now and then tell us something historical, like “Germans
invaded Hungary,” and other events of the type, and the fearful and frightened reactions
of the child at the time and of the older vampirized man who remembers,
recreates, reverberates the past forever in the future. No future, man, no
future whatsoever.
To evoke this war in 2004 or any other period decades after
it is both nostalgic and enslaving. To commemorate the past dramas, the
historic catastrophes is nothing but locking ourselves in some kind of
fatality, fate, lot that can only be dramatic again, as if the whole history of
the human species was nothing but the deed of some devil in the disguise of
some president, priest, pope, general, rabbi, you name it you have it. The man
in black of Stephen King, the Dark Man of the same. You must not look back or
you will lose your love forever and your wife will be turned into a statue of
salt. Any man in a uniform, be it only a suit and a tie is the embodiment and
the impersonation of that monster from beyond the limits of sanity. And that’s
exactly what this music expresses obsessively and without any possible
remission. You are on this train and you have to go on with it. The train is
taking you into who knows what and where. The sacrificial millions in Auschwitz
arrived on trains. The vacationers after 1936 in France and Germany went on
vacation for the first time on trains. Underground trains and subway trains are
performing their dictatorship in our lives day after day.
You do not have the train any more to believe that after the
war the sirens may have stopped yelling and whistling, but the same obsessive
rolling up and rolling down, herd-driving to the slaughterhouse is going on. At
the end of the train rhythmic compulsion there is only one issue, one exit, one
end: everyone will be put to death by life itself. Is it better to be
slaughtered by life than by some weapons and armed guards or soldiers in
uniforms or dressed as terrorists or bank robbers? This train metaphor leads to
death and that is frightening, sickening, disheartening, insane. Don’t let
yourself be attracted, charmed, fascinated, mesmerized by the landscape you can
see from the train window. No matter what, no matter when, that train of life
will lead you to death. I found the same despairing gloom in many songs by Leonard
Cohen but here we have no empathy, no compensation, no escape, no black star,
or in fact no star at all. Hallelujah!
First
movement: From Chicago to New York. One of the fastest trains.
The crack train from New York. From New York to Los Angeles. Different
trains every time. From Chicago to New York. In 1939.(Virginia)
1939(Lawrence Davis). 1940. 1941. 1941 I guess it must
have been.
Second
movement: 1940. On my birthday The Germans walked-walked
into Holland Germans invaded Hungary I was in 2nd grade I
had a teacher A very tall man, his head was completely plastered smooth
He said, "Black Crows- Black Crows invaded our country many years
ago" And he pointed right at me No more school You
must go away And she said, "Quick, go!" And he said,
"Don't breathe" Into the cattle wagons And for four
days and four nights And then we went through these strange sounding names
Polish-Polish names Lots of cattle wagons there They were loaded
with people They shaved us They tattooed a number on our arm
Flames going up in the sky It was smokey
Third
movement: Then the war was over Are you sure The war is
over Going to America To Los Angeles To New York From
New York to Los Angeles One of the fastest trains But today
they're all gone There was one girl who had a beautiful voice And
they loved to listen to the singing, The Germans And when she
stopped singing they said, "More more," and they applauded
There is some submissive acceptance of no future, no
salvation, no resurrection, no redemption at all in this music and their
lyrics. There is no possible compassion for the show that we could pass by and
won’t. We are totally enchained in this drama and the drama is drowning us.
But the next piece, a triple piece again, the Triple Quartet
is not in any way softened or made more bearable, acceptable, pacifying. The same
obsessive compulsive rhythm that will drown us, made us drunk with insane
unconsciousness and we will be able to pass to the other side of life, that is
death, as if it were just going to sleep for ever and ever. Here and there a
more harmonious musical phrase will play the loincloth of horror, the loincloth
that will hide the horror of this life. There is nothing but horror in this
life and like in Jacques Brel’s song about the “Flat Country of Flanders” ducks
have to hang themselves to the clouds and we are these flocks of ducks herded
to the hanging cloud cemetery and slaughterhouse. We will all end up dead in
this forest of OCD autistic ghost haunted world. Let us die before the end to
maybe get out of it and find silence, but we know it will be the silence of
death because there cannot be silence in life since life is haunted by the ghosts
of all the monsters who have fed their hunger on human flesh.
And the last quadruple piece, the Four Sections, are not
worse at all. Just some xylophone player is using his hammer on our bones and
ribs to produce a music that is so rhythmically oppressive that we submit and
we go to death under the hammering of this lullaby of no hope.
I hate to say it but I feel trumped by this music, trumped
and defeated. The game is over. The show is finished and yet it has to go on,
so I will be the ghost that will haunt the world and the life of surviving
innocent and unconscious virginal minds that can only be blind to the impossible
escape and imagine there is some better world beyond the horrific setting of
this life.
Dr. Jacques COULARDEAU
# posted by Dr. Jacques COULARDEAU @ 6:26 AM