I am still in Stockhausen airspace as I write this, the afternoon after “Inside Light,” an immersive analog light accompaniment to Karlheinz Stockhausen’s series of musical compositions, LICHT, happening at the Park Avenue Armory. It premiered in its original format at La Scala in 1981. The history of Stockhausen and his compositions is infinitely complex and well-documented. Having no background in music theory, I will spare you my version of an explanation, especially since the manifesto is eloquently presented in the Park Avenue Armory catalogue, which you will receive if you decide to subject yourself to the catharsis that is Karlheinz and the team of masterminds who took it upon themselves to gift us this experience.
Having lived in Cologne for many years, Stockhausen’s regional birthplace, I was no stranger to his legendary madness. I had experienced quite a few evenings dedicated to his compositions in churches and museums, but nothing of this spatial scale. I opted for the six-hour marathon and some California edibles, knowing that with my temperament and wandering mind, there was no way I could have raw dogged this.
With knowledge of Stockhausen’s childhood, it was impossible to avoid the panic that occasionally set in during the mental acrobatics of dread and euphoria I experienced in those hours. Stockhausen’s mother was killed in a gas chamber by the Nazis, deemed “a useless eater” in a psychiatric facility, which he manifests in “Donnerstag aus Licht” in the first set.
The quantum field projection by Urs Schönebaum and Robi Voigt at times led the experience into a divine state. At other times, I found myself deeply isolated, examining my relationship with not only my mother but also my dead grandmother, whom I have not seen since I was five years old. Not even my Spanish teacher was spared; I spoke to her too, she is undoubtedly of the LICHT, which is what Stockhausen wants to engulf us in.
During the intermission, a big and tall man collapsed on the floor some ten feet away from me and could not get up. At first, I thought he was old and had tripped; there were quite a few elders sitting in reclining floor seats. But that did not seem to be the cause. I then thought he might be drunk, but after watching the crowd trying to determine what happened, I think he may have just fallen over from being Stockhausen-ed. He finally regained composure and took his seat. I could not have gotten up to help if I wanted to. I myself was Stockhausen-ed to the floor.
This program is not for the faint of heart or the intellectually uncurious. I had great compassion and respect for all those who surrounded me. We were all enduring our own heaven and hell, or as the “Montag-Gruss” set entails, our own Eve and Lucifer.
I failed to take a pen and paper with me and knew instantly it was a mistake. I borrowed one from a friend who was clearly on her own trip, which was evident when I looked into her eyes. “Do you feel those jabbing pivots?” she asked with dramatic but frozen eyes.
When I looked at my field notes this morning, this is what I read:
- Kabbalah Graffiti
Not since the ten-day Vipassana retreat and the potential Ayahuasca ceremony I will one day partake in did I expect to have an existential exorcism of this caliber. As a friend said this afternoon, c’mon, it was the edibles. To which I say, no. That was being Stockhuasend in middle age. The edible was just for lubrication.