Terry Riley — Wakarimasen

Wakarimasen

A conversation with Terry Riley
— as appeared in the Identity issue of Whitelies Magazine

Interview Akio Kunisawa & Nami Kunisawa
Photography Stefan Dotter

An apartment of about 50 square metres, with views of a misty mountain ridge in Yamanashi Prefecture, Japan. The neighbourhood is surrounded by sparsely populated houses, and the sounds of the mountain; the rustling of leaves and chirping of birds from the wooded areas fly into the room. A synthesiser, laptop and JBL speakers are lined up on a desk under a lamp with a wind chime hanging from it. On the walls, notes of well-practised Japanese Kanji characters and drawings are displayed.

Ambient natural light streamed in from outside. We were warmly greeted by the legendary contemporary musician Terry Riley who was comfortably seated in an armchair. “Welcome, please come in.” He had a rich white beard, clear eyes behind glasses and a gentle, raspy voice. Aside the fact that he is Californian, and a great man who has been making music history for more than 60 years, he exuded a kind of softness that one might say show the contours of his soul, which gave us greater relief than tension.

What kind of ideas does he have? What is his way of life, and how does he continue to create music? The times he has lived through and the way he relates to the world cannot simply be described from a general music historical perspective, or even the values of others. What is contained in his soul takes the form of music and is in this way embodied in the real world. We listened closely and searched for hints of harmony between this world and ourselves.

Music and Ritual

In February 2020, Riley was invited to Japan for an art festival on Sado Island, in the Niigata Prefecture. The pandemic had spread widely just after his arrival, so he tried to live in Japan until the situation calmed down.

In Sado, there is a traditional performing art called Oni Daiko that has continued since the Edo period. In this ritual, a team of dancers wear masks of Oni and lions, and instrumentalists playing drums and flutes go from house to house in the village, dancing to ward off evil spirits. Each village on the island has more than 100 different styles of Oni Daiko, which are passed down from generation to generation through oral tradition. The Sado Japanese drumming group Kodo, whom Riley performed his 2021 concert with at the Sado gold mine, a historic site, comprises about 50 members who live together like ascetic monks and devote almost all of their time to drumming. All this to say, the music culture that has been passed down from generation to generation on Sado is strongly coloured by rituals.

Human and nature, individual and community, invisible concepts and vibrant physicality, are in some respects, how the various elements of the ritual become a unified whole. Yet, in other respects, the amplification of energy and the pursuit of artistry is based on cumulative objective analysis.

These colours of the ritual are superimposed on Rileyʼs musical activities like multiple exposures. For example, the spiritual practice that Riley acquired through his study of raga (a form of Indian classical music) under Pandit Pran Nath in the 1970s, led to the creation of a large resonant circle. This is palpable in his work “In C”, which makes use of the idiosyncrasies and unique creativity of each individual; despite the fact each has a completely different background, a mysterious affinity can be felt.

As society shifted from a pre-modern time where community identity was once the centre of society, to the modern era where individualism reigns supreme, the nature of music has also departed from its more ritual purposes towards a mode of self-expression. In the present age, musical works have become commodities, and there is a growing trend for them to be incorporated into a uniform cycle of creation, reproduction, and consumption. Rileyʼs music departs from this context; his is not simply a piece to be listened to, but rather invokes other operations, whether those of ritual, discovery or teaching. The spiritual elements, or the source of the energy native to rituals since ancient times, are grasped with a sensitivity but sharpened by practice. This is then reconstructed with musical foundations for the modern age, and it brings about an interaction that forges a connection from deep within both the performer and the listener.

In shaping his music, Riley strips away material and technical elements: Before 1970, I depended heavily on the piano as a means of musical expression, but that all changed when I met Pran Nath, and it was a turning point in my thinking about what to choose and what to eliminate in my life. He developed his voice such that it could be used as an instrument and was able to fully express his musical universe wherever he was, even without any instruments.

Raga remains the centre of Rileyʼs daily practice. It is a musical form closely related to the seasons, such as those of rain and Spring, and to the time of day; as such, raga is said to circulate not only in music, but also within the cycles of nature.

Overlapping with the idea of samsara — an endless cycle of rebirth after death — the end of one suite of shifting rhythms in the raga is the starting point of the next. An exploration of oneʼs inner space and harmony with the outer world, the raga is spun out through deep meditation, and transcends the individual existence of the musician, unfolding a cosmic world that embraces the cycle of all life.In addition to attending to inner and outer worlds, Riley also makes use of the unconscious realm of dreams as inspiration:

For about a year around 1995, I kept a journal with writings about the dreams I had every night. Initially, I didnʼt have any purpose in mind, but when NPR (National Public Radio) asked me to do a 30-minute program, I decided to create music based on this dream record,” he says while picking up the record “Autodreamographical Tales” from the rack. “This is my latest album, with my drawings and texts printed on the inside of the record jacket. It was originally conceived as a studio project, based entirely on images generated in my dreams. I recorded it in New York with a band called “Bang on a Can All-Stars”. The characters in the cover drawings and the text are all by me, and based on my dreams. I also sing and recite its story with the music.

He remarked upon how analogue methods of representing his subconscious have become more integral to his practice since arriving in Japan:

I want to liberate myself from the technology that is all over the place today and understand what I can do through drawing and other analogue things. For me, writing and drawing are very important processes, as they are acts of determining and embodying the proportions of music. You could say it is the music itself. Both writing and drawing are the source of the same creation, which eventually converge into a musical work.

Considering the times in which I grew up, the possibilities offered by technology have expanded exponentially. But does technology allow us to truly understand ourselves? Have you lost yourself by the development of technology? Are you able to recognize what you are trying to express? For me, I need something more subtle and simple to understand what I am trying to communicate. I play and sing music with acoustic instruments. I do not need anything else. This is something of a personal desire, but I am trying to strip away as much excess as possible and understand what is at the fundamental core of my being, what is there.

Liberation of the Spirit

When I asked Riley about his self-identity, he looked serious for a moment, and said: Iʼm a hippie musician, and then laughed. It was a joke, but I can say that my identity has always been on the fringe of culture, and I have always been rooted in the counterculture side, not in the mainstream. Sometimes you might hear my ideas from so-called commercial music, some of them move into the mainstream and are absorbed. But I have always remained on the outside of the cultural centre, and I developed my music from a position of freedom. I guess you could call them countercultural revolutionaries.

Pran Nath once said, “Fame is the enemy. It is enough to be famous enough to pay for your daily food and rent. Fame is not the goal. When you have an environment where you can focus on your music, you donʼt need anything else.” Hearing this, I deeply sympathised with him and wanted to live my life like that. For artists, creating artwork has always been a fascinating act. However, when they become famous and can have big prices for their work, they are absorbed into the huge pop culture world and pay a huge price themselves. If you stay outside of that world, you can continue to develop creatively. We should only own as much as we need, and then we should support our friends and associates.

Riley does not value himself in terms of self-recognition, but rather in terms of the ways in which he can support and build relationships with others. As such, his creative activities do not begin or end with the void of inner space but continue to evolve in connection with people and society. As Riley asserts, Anything can be a practice, and I think itʼs different for everyone, but for me, the music itself is a practice, and at the same time generosity is a spiritual practice. It is always important to take care of friends and associates; going to church is not necessarily a spiritual practice.

I often visit church during tours. I like to sit inside the cathedral in Florence or elsewhere, appreciate the architecture, and feel the spirit of the many people involved in the design and construction. However, I donʼt take in the religious dogma and practices that are discussed in the churches. What matters fundamentally is how we live our lives and relate to people. This is truly a spiritual practice. It is not about what we are after death, but what we should do now and how we can relate to others. It is important that we all exchange ideas without hurting anyone. Life is a practice. Because you have to continue it. It is not something that can be achieved, it is always a work in progress. Even if we have the right words and actions in mind, we can still make mistakes that unintentionally hurt someone else — so we must continue to practice.

In terms of impermanence and permanence, no one knows whether we will still be here in a million years. Think about that. You can live your life here and right now. It is really important.

After the interview, Riley slowly got up from his chair and went to the desk where the instruments were. He picked up a melodica and then Sara Miyamoto his disciple picked up a drum called frame. When Miyamoto beat the frame drum, a slightly distorted bass sounded. “Itʼs making deep sounds, because of the rain,” she said in surprise.

While exchanging glances, Riley began to play the melodica. Rather than playing music together, the two seemed to be having a spiritual conversation, capturing the same abstract world through each otherʼs sounds. The wind chime tinkled in the background while they performed. It was a birthday gift from Rileyʼs Japanese student. When musician Brian Eno released “Generative Music 1” in 1996, he mentioned Rileyʼs work “In C” and wind chimes. All of Rileyʼs work is based on very simple rules, to which invisible effects and accidental factors are added, such as the chimes played uncontrollably by the wind.

In September 2021, the sculptural monument WAKARIMASEN designed by Riley was completed on Sado. It is made of Indian stone, and stands at about two metres high, with ten stainless steel chimes suspended from the fingers of a two-armed sculpture. When the wind passes through, its bars collide with each other, creating a clear, resonant sound.

Wakarimasen was the first Japanese word Riley learned, and he has gone on to compose a single piece of music of the same name. Wakarimasen translates as “I donʼt understand” which, to Riley, suggests that we still have room to learn.