by Craig Brinker
Of the many strange works John Cage
composed during his long and varied career, “How to Get Started”
is not the most experimental, but perhaps one of the most fun to
watch another human endure—a largely
unrehearsed, impromptu spectacle. In fact, during the talkback after the performance, playwright and actor Wallace
Shawn even described it as a “sadistic party game.”
The gist of the
piece is that the performer chooses ten topics to extemporize upon in a
random order. After each topic has been exhausted (this takes about
three minutes), the recording of that topic is played back over the
discussion of the next, building into a chaotic texture of recorded
voices.
The speakers for this performance were composer Allen Shawn and his
brother, Wallace. Allen began with poignant monologue
about his mother's voice before discussing a wide range of
topics: horses, being cast as a ten-year-old boy in Shakespeare's The
Tempest, and his piano teacher's cat. Choosing to mix in musical
selections (something Cage did not do in the original), he played selections from
Schoenberg's Six Piano Pieces, the
opening of Webern's Variations for Piano, and a snippet of
Elliott Carter. Each of the selections was relevant to the anecdotes
that he told, and they created a unique layer in the texture.
One of the unexpected points of the
performance (as well as an overall highlight) was the audience's role in guessing the word or
phrase placed on an index card as either performer spoke, one that set the topic or tone for that segment's discussion. Some of the cards
were revealed during the post show discussion, revealing that Wallace's first speech
was about two mice having a disagreement about a lawn game (yes, it
was exactly as side-splittingly funny as you think it would be), was driven by the
phrase “mice at play” on his card.
Wally's version, it was remarked, was
more theatrical, and his brother's rendition more musical. Wally used
that monologue about the mice—a diatribe about lying—to speak about professionalism, retaliation, and unconditional love.
Because he did not play any music, his performance became more
chaotic towards the end, but did not make it any less serious or moving.
As a whole the piece is a fascinating
experiment revealing the mind's ability to create under pressure.
Each speaker said that the process was very diffucult at the start, but
that they quickly found a place of calm before completely losing themselves in task
of creation.
Allen ended his performance with an anecdote about an
enthusiastic pastor playing Bernstein's Mass. When Allen asked the
pastor what he liked about it, the man's response ultimately reflected both this work and the act of artistic creation in general: “It was worldly, but moves to transcend.”