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140 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1959
R.C. You often speak of the weight of an interval. What do you mean?
I.S. I lack words and have no gift for this sort of thing anyway, but perhaps it will help if I say that when I compose an interval I am aware of it as an object (when I think about it in that way at all, that is), as something outside me, the contrary of an impression.
Let me tell you about a dream that came to me while I was composing Threni . . . After working late one night I retired to bed still troubled by an interval. I dreamed about this interval. It had become an elastic substance stretching exactly between the two notes I had composed, but underneath these notes at either end was an egg, a large testicular egg. The eggs were gelatinous to the touch (I touched them ) and warm, and they were protected by nests. I woke up knowing that my interval was right. ( For those who want more of the dream, it was pink— I often dream in color. Also, I was so surprised to see the eggs I immediately understood them to be symbols. Still in the dream, I went to my library of dictionaries and looked up "interval," but found only a confusing explanation which I checked the next morning in reality and found to be the same.)
Some people achieve a kind of immortality just by the totality with which they do or do not possess some quality or characteristic. Rachmaninov's immortalizing totality was his scowl. He was a six-and-a-half-foot-tall scowl.
I suppose my conversations with him, or rather with his wife, for he was always silent, were typical:
Mme. Rachmaninov: What is the first thing you do when you rise in the morning? (This could have been indiscreet, but not if you had seen how it was asked.)
Myself: For fifteen minutes I do exercises taught me by a Hungarian gymnast and Kneipp Kur maniac, or rather I did them until I learned that the Hungarian had died very young and very suddenly, then I stand on my head, then I take a shower.
Mme. Rachmaninov: You see, Serge, Stravinsky takes showers. How extraordinary. Do you still say you are afraid of them? And you heard Stravinsky say that he exercises? What do you think of that? Shame on you who will hardly take a walk.
Rachmaninov: (silence)
Ravel came to Clarens to live with me, and we worked together there in March-April 1913. At that same time also, I composed my Japanese Lyrics and Ravel his Trois Poemes de Mallarmé which I still prefer to any other music of his. I remember an excursion I made with Ravel from Clarens to Varese, near Lago Maggiore, to buy Varese paper. The town was very crowded and we could not find two hotel rooms or even two beds, so we slept together in one.
R.C. Will you make any prediction about the "music of the future ?
I.S. There may be add-a-part electronic sonatas, of course, and precomposed symphonies ("Symphonies for the Imagination"— you buy a tone row, complete with slide rules for duration, pitch, timbre, rhythm, and calculus tables to chart what happens in bar 12 or 73 or 200) , and certainly all music will be mood-classified (kaleidoscopic montages for contortuplicate personalities, simultaneous concerts binaurally disaligned to soothe both men in the schizophrenic, etc.), but mostly it will very much resemble "the music of the present": for the man in the satellite— super-hi-fi Rachmaninov.