Listening To North Carolina
An artist residency at Appalachian State University
Last month, I had the opportunity to spend a week in Boone, North Carolina. It was for an artist residency at Appalachian State University. I loved my time there, and wanted to share some of the highlights.
Driving to western North Carolina from Columbus, Ohio is fascinating: the most direct route is to take Route 23 due south nearly all of the way. 23 is also our High Street in Columbus, and cuts through the center of town. If you were to take it traveling north, it leads close to Lake Erie, and continues on into Michigan. If you continue to take it south, it goes all the way to Jacksonville, Florida. Route 23 is also one of those older roads that remind me of my childhood — with roadside stops and mom-and-pop stores, small towns, industrial plants, and run-down buildings. I love taking it out of Columbus to watch the landscape change, becoming both hillier and more rural.
The residency was originally scheduled for last fall, but was delayed due to Hurricane Helene. As I drove through Kentucky, I saw the remnants of recent flooding and the recovery efforts to return things to normal; in some towns, the streets were neatly lined with debris and bags of trash waiting to be hauled away. And as I approached and entered North Carolina, the tell-tale signs of last fall’s Hurricane Helene were everywhere — more debris and dirt, and large swaths of trees bent over like toothpicks across the hills. It is a testament to the communities that live there that the towns otherwise looked like they had mostly gone back to normal. I can only imagine the work that had gone into their recovery, and know that the hurricane still looms large in residents’ minds.
I carried these images with me as I began my residency at Appalachian State. On my first day, I visited my friend Tom Hansell and his family on their farm just outside of Boone, along the New River. We walked around his property, and Tom showed me the damage the river wrought on his Civil War-era barn. He also pointed out the massive amounts of silt and sand the river deposited as it receded. Tom and his family were lucky, but I got the sense that the experience profoundly shook them.
The next day, I led students on a soundwalk and listening session in Boone. A variation on my Forest Listening Rooms project, this time we decided to walk through the Junaluska neighborhood to listen to this historically Black part of town (you could say we made a “Neighborhood Listening Room”). Situated on a hill overlooking Boone, we climbed and moved through the streets, took time to sit in the Junaluska City park, and then later, had a discussion to describe the things we saw and heard, and reflect on the history of the place. It was fascinating to hear the students’ experiences, which invariably turned toward the recent flood. In fact, it hung over us, and it became an important part of our conversation. The walking, listening, and discussion process offered a space for students to reflect and tell stories, and to convey some of the fears and trauma that they experienced.
On the second day, a group of students had an informal performance of The Workbench, a chamber piece that is a sonic portrait of my father, Paul. The students’ performance moved me very much, and I loved talking with them about the project, and offering some context to it.
Then, in the evening I gave an hour-long public lecture, as part of the American Musicological Society’s “Many Musics of America” series. It was such an honor to be a part of this series. I covered a lot of ground, focusing on several of the archival projects I’ve done over the years and the places that have become so important to me, from Berea, Kentucky, to Shawnee, Ohio. I also loved interacting with the audience after, and fielding their thoughtful and insightful questions and comments.
Sadly, the funding for this series (from the National Endowment for the Humanities) was just terminated by the federal government. While I was grateful that I managed to squeak in my lecture just before this happened, I am deeply saddened and angered by this and all of the other thoughtless cuts to so many worthwhile programs.
The next day, I did a workshop with students in the library’s archives and special collections. Here, I was indebted to the librarians and archivists, who graciously produced all kinds of materials to work with — images, videos, newspapers, books, sheet music, and recordings — all related to the last major flood in Boone, in 1940. Again, the curiosity of the students struck me, as they worked with these objects and sounds from the past that directly related to their experiences today. This was one of my favorite moments of the residency.
In the evening, I gave a solo performance of Words and Silences, based on the archival tapes of monk and writer Thomas Merton, with a Q&A session after. The solo version of the piece (the original version is with a brass and woodwind quartet alongside piano) has its own special energy, and my being alone on the stage seemed to directly reflect Merton’s solitude. Right from the beginning, I was able to slip into the world of Merton, and I disappeared into the materials and the sounds of his voice. The performance hall was beautiful, and its darkened lights and the contemplative video that accompanies the music helped to create a quiet, reflective space.
Afterwards, I talked with Jacob Kopcienski and Cuong Mai, both professors at Appalachian State (in Music and Religious Studies, respectively). I loved their insights about the piece, and on Merton, and on the larger traditions of contemplative practices around the world.
Throughout the week, I stayed alone in a small cabin in the woods. There, I was grateful for the space and time to be quiet after so many interactions with others. When I left Boone, there were still small patches of snow up on the hills, and spring was just beginning to show. And finally, here is one brief recommendation: just before I left town, I picked up a local sandwich called a “chick-fill-ain’t” from the Wildwood Community Market — and I am convinced it is the best tofu sandwich I’ve ever had. (I wish I had bought two!)
Many thanks to the Hayes School of Music, the Center for Appalachian Studies, and the High Country Humanities at Appalachian State, along with the American Musicological Society. And a special thanks to Jacob Kopcienski, who was a wonderful host and who did so much work to make this residency happen.
Brian
I absolutely love following your work.