John Zorn’s Shoes
What does it feel like to be “John Zorn at 70?” Well, I got a taste of it — on Thursday, Sept. 21 — when I attended “Music for Strings” at Columbia’s Miller Theater. It was part of Zorn’s multi-part birthday bash, with two more concerts planned for October and November.
In his eighth decade, Zorn could easily be resting on his laurels. But the avant-garde saxophonist and composer — who is also editor of Arcana and owner of the Tzadik record label — doesn’t appear to be resting at all.
In fact, on Thursday night, Zorn quite literally jumped offstage after introducing each piece on the program.
First was “Circe” for two trumpets. It was unintelligible in the best way (sort of like Zorn’s introduction). You could almost hear the trumpeters’ (Peter Evans and Sam Jones) spittle as it reached fever pitch.
Next was “Sigil Magick: A Curious and Detailed Exposition of Sigils, Signs, and Hieroglyphs Peculiar to the Occult Orders, Hermetic Brotherhoods, and Dark Mystery Schools of the Late Middle Ages” for cello quintet.
Joining the Jack Quartet — made up of violinists Christopher Otto and David Fulmer (who was replacing Austin Wulliman), violist John Pickford Richards, and cellist Jay Campbell — was cellist Michael Nicolas. Still, it was all Jacks, no Jills.
“Sigil Magick” was a technically devilish piece that required the musicians’ rapt attention. With high-pitched tremolos that sounded like knife-sharpening (there would be actual knife-sharpening later in the program), there were plenty of broken bowhairs throughout.
The whole time, however, I couldn’t stop staring at Zorn’s sneakers. They looked almost like quilted slippers crossed with climbing shoes. Lace-less and futuristic. I’d never seen anything like them.
They looked comfortable, and clearly had a nice spring to them, considering how Zorn leapt through the air. He had paired them — quite fashionably, I thought —with camo pants and a black hoodie.
Later, I found the shoes — with one pair left in my size, nonetheless — on Amazon. Turns out, they are Teva men’s “Reember Moccasin” in “Earth Multi.”
Shoes aside, the high point of was “Gas Heart,” a “mini opera.” Like “Sigil Magick,” it was written during lockdown. Based on Dadaist play by Tristan Tzara, it is scored for two cellists (Campbell and Nicholas) and two percussionists (Sae Hashimoto and Ches Smith) all of whom “sing.”
In front of the musicians, a stand with an 8½-by-11 piece of paper that read: “THE GAS HEART.” A page turn announced each act, to great comedic effect.
“ACT 1” began with a Purim grogger and a scream. The surrealist libretto listed inanimate objects: “Cigar, pimple, nose.”
This was complemented with all manner of sounds. Including, but not limited to: pouring water, flagellating a sandbag, rustling film tape, cutting with scissors, sawing wood, rattling chains, hammering a nail, and maniacal laughter. The opposite of ASMR — in the most glorious way.
To make it even more of a sensory nightmare, in my pre-concert rush, I’d only brought one pencil — a rookie mistake — that had decided to break during “ACT 2”. I tried desperately, hands smeared with graphite, to write with the dulled nub.
At one point in “ACT 3,” the percussionists were clapping, tap dancing, blowing a whistle, and spinning a whirligig all at the same time. It was no surprise they were sweaty by the end.
Everything came to a halting finish when, with the words “Go to sleep,” a door (which I somehow hadn’t noticed before) loudly slammed shut.
The last piece on the program was “Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics That Will Be Able to Present Itself As a Science.” For this, the Jacks were joined by violist Yura Lee.
It may be “the greatest string sextet yet written,” said Zorn humbly. Though I would, personally, have to give that honor to Arnold Schoenberg’s “Verklarte Nacht,” I did enjoy the linked movements.
“Prolegomena” was full of extended techniques —strumming, bowing the fingerboard (essentially inverting the instrument) — and cosmic-sounding chords. At times, I was worried something would break. But that only added to the drama.
Afterwards, across the street at Shake Shack, you could tell who had just come from the concert as, with greying ponytails and wearing Birkenstocks, they ordered their chocolate concretes and crinkle fries.
I went home and bought the shoes.