Bang on a Can

When I was seventeen years old, I was the assistant conductor of the Philadelphia Youth Orchestra. In one concert--it was Beethoven's eighth symphony, the last movement--I had one of those visions. My head faltered while I was conducting. Just a split second. I thought, 'What the hell are you doing up here? Waving your arms around? In order to be a fine conductor, you should be a composer.' In 1942, I went into the army. We were all yakking away in the barracks one day: If you get out of this mess with your mind and body intact, what are you going to do? They all said to me, "Oh, you'll probably go back to playing the violin." I had been performing on stage since I was nine. I said, "You know, I might still play the violin, but I have to compose music--good, better or indifferent. I think I have to become a composer." After the war, I moved from Philadelphia to New York, earned my living as a violinist and concentrated on composition and conducting. Constellations was commissioned by Bang On A Can for the All-Stars. I tried to expose the stardom of the musicians. I spoke to each of them individually and they all said, "Make it as hard as possible. Make us sweat." Ok, you're going to sweat. I hope they won't curse me now. People talk about difficult, that word doesn't exist for me. Go home and practice, that's all. That's my answer. People say, "Oh, you're challenging the musicians." No, I'm challenging myself. First and foremost, I challenge Ralph Shapey.