I met Jeff a couple of years ago. I met him in Kürten, a small German village in the hills between Cologne and Wipperfürth. Both of us have been visiting Kürten every summer since, attending Stockhausen’s summer courses. To learn about music, to learn about Light, learn about numbers and learn about sounds.
He’s got some answers, he does, master Stockhausen.
He makes things look pretty simple.
First, there’s the music.
And then there is Sirius, the Dog Star.
That’s where the music comes from.
That’s where musicians come from.
They all come from Sirius.
Must have been birds in a former life as well, but originally they’re from Sirius.
And that’s where they will end up eventually.
Master Stockhausen was trained on Sirius.
He used to be a bird.
My grandpa was a musician.
I don’t think grandpa was from Sirius.
I’m a musician, ain’t I?
I never felt much of a bird.
But maybe it doesn’t matter.
Maybe we should have asked Sun Ra.
It’s just so bloody mysterious. It should scare you. It really should. So give it a name. Call it god. Call it Sirius.
But no matter where they come from, there’s the sounds.
Every summer they’re all over Kürten.
He does have amazing sounds, master Stockhausen, he has.
The first time we met, Jeff and I both had just arrived in Kürten. Jeff’s about my age. He flew in from L.A., with a rucksack, scores and a keyboard. Wearing brown leather boots.
It was bloody hot, that’s what it was.
We were sitting on the terrace of some Bierstube and ordered a big glass of cold German beer.
Jeff lit up a cigarette.
“You’re here for the courses?” he asked.
“Yep, that’s right,” I said.
He nodded.
“Man, I’m looking forward to that! He’s the greatest, he is, Stockhausen. You’re going to…
