PHILIP GLASS AND GANDHI

PHILIP GLASS AND GANDHI

1971:I left the would-be revolutionaries with whom I was associated

when one hailed the murder of Sharon Tate as a sign that times

were achangin'. Never before had I heard such a statement

of such complacency,of such self-righteous stupidity as this.

It made my neck hairs tremble and my toes get cold. I could not find words

for the sensation. But that night I had a dream in which Gandhi appeared, and said nothing,

but had tears in his eyes. And within days, I had packed up and

bid my "cell-group" goodbye.

Why did I not remember this when called upon to review Satyragaha,

Philip Glass' opera about Gandhi? O those theoretical reasons with which

one cloaks imperception, wrongheadness, envy. I intended to say

that the technique was stolen from Bali, more or less, which is untrue.

But that night I once again dreamed of Gandhi; and this time he

said, "Anyone who writes an opera about me is alright,

Phillip." Afterwards, I obtained a tape of Satyaragaha,

which sounded quite beautiful to me.

I told this story a few weeks later to the person who became one

of my closest friends, who worked in the world of foundations.

He laughed and said he was glad, in part because he had hand a

hand in commissioning it.He also told me a story about the Rome

premiere of Satyagraha:the opera house staff was going on

strike ("They're always going on strike," said Howard)

and Glass, whose opera was about to get lost in the fracas

asked why. Because the bathrooms weren't being cleaned

properly. And so he cleaned the bathrooms of the Rome Opera,

averting the strike. Someone said, "but you are the composer! Why

should you clean-up the men's room?" And Glass replied,

" Gandhi would have."

Years after, on returning to North Carolina, I felt need of

psychotherapy. I had lost a large number of people to AIDS

and I could not get out from under it. I went to one new-

age-y fellow who was far too California to me--meaning

that not getting out from under it was not a matter

of finding one's inner child, but of life and death.

I decided on the therapistl when I noticed a quotation

from Gandhi on his wall. A few months later,I told him

the story Howard Klein told me. My shrink

turned out to be Phillip Glass' first cousin.