The Euphoria of Ambiguity

I'm here to tell you that it WAS possible to be an impressionable teenager in the '70s and fall under the sway of both La Monte Young, the godfather of Minimalism, master of drones, creator of magical overtone effects and abstruse theories of music and mathematics; and The Ramones. That was the combination that galvanized Rhys Chatham into action on the Downtown NY scene in the mid 70s, and it worked for me too. Chatham's work, both as a composer and as the curator of the important performance space The Kitchen, helped define the Downtown scene as one that didn't acknowledge boundaries between different musical styles, or between the different art forms. I first found Robert Longo's work through his album covers, especially the brilliant untitled work (from his landmark series 'Men In Cities') that is the cover of Glenn Branca's 'The Ascension.' It was only later that I learned I'd probably already seen him, slinging an electric guitar on stage.

There was a lot to like about the freewheeling collision of rock, avant-garde classical, performance art, visual art, and theater that constituted the Downtown scene during its heyday (or at least, during my heyday) in the late 70s/early 80s. But the thing I loved most about it was the ambiguity - Rhys Chatham's pieces for multiple electric guitars and drums could pin your ears to the wall with its intensity and its sense of approaching ecstasy. I guess what I'm saying is, it felt like rock, but it somehow wasn't rock.

And discovering Longo's work was similarly exciting. Here was a guy who clearly loved music - and the big, epic sweep of rock, apparently... as in the sculpture called 'Die Donnergoetter,' (The Thunder Gods) that adorns the Chatham album of the same name. But he seemed to be using real 'classic' art techniques - a kind of hyper-realism that combined almost photographic representation with a hint of mystery and again, ambiguity. I mean, look at 'Men In Cities,' or recent works like 'Untitled (et in Arcadia ego)' - there's no mistaking what you're seeing. A figure in a forest. A man supporting and dragging another man away. But what does it mean? Has the second man been shot? Fainted? Drugged? That figure in the forest - is it daytime in a very dense forest? Twilight? Is the forest perhaps on fire just beyond that ridge?

Like the best music, this sort of art leaves room for us, the viewers and listeners, to interpret and to fill in the blanks. And New York's Downtown scene seemed to love those blanks.

Tell us: what does 'Downtown' mean to you? Can you summarize it in a single word? That's the challenge we're asking you to take on before we open WNYC's own Downtown performance venue - the Jerome L. Greene Performance Space - next Tuesday.
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