| Stefen Robinson, aka Yea Big, discusses his improvisational work with Tatsu Aoki. The pair's 2nd EP, The Hand and The Moon, Part Two, is out now on FPE Records. |
NT: Hello, Stefen. Thank you for agreeing to this interview. Congratulations on your recent EP with Tatsu Aoki, The Hand and The Moon, Part Two. The work exhibits a captivating fluidity and a sense of organic evolution. Could you elaborate on the conceptual framework of The Hand and The Moon series? Are there underlying thematic motifs that unify these works?
YB: Thanks for taking the time to speak with me, Jay. It means a lot. I don’t want to speak for Tatsu, but I would probably admit I didn’t enter into this project with much of an explicit conceptual framework. I’m kind of at a place currently with my music where I’m trying to create without concepts overtly influencing my creative decisions. I’m interested in whether it is possible to communicate with the ineffable through music without interfering too much, without my own ideas and opinions about things obscuring the moment too much. That said, I know socialization, bias, opinions, prior experiences, accumulated knowledge, and the like, are always influencing us consciously and unconsciously, and are unavoidable. It’s the same quest as meditation in the Zen traditions, practicing being in the reality of this moment without adding to it. Just this. Can we do that musically? Can we be just this? Can we express the thusness of this moment without our minds getting in the way? I don’t know, but I want to try. I have no doubt there are themes and motifs listeners might hear in our music, but I’d say no themes or motifs were intentional. But I guess our intentions are mostly irrelevant. I suppose if there is a concept to be found with this project it is simply, we wanted to communicate with each other through music. And I always want to try to communicate with the divine, whatever it is. Sometimes it happens.
NT: Do you think the only way to potentially express the ineffeable through music is with instrumental music? Are lyrics, spoken word, and poetry distinct from instrumental music in that they are by nature representative of something while music isn't?
YB: Oh wow, that's a good question. My instinct is to say, no, I believe the ineffable can be and is communicated through all kinds of things, all kinds of arts, all types of music, including music with lyrics. Well, considering poetry, as an example, Walt Whitman is someone who I think communicates the ineffable exceptionally well. His words express things far beyond the actual words themselves. All the best writers do that, as far as I'm concerned. As for music with lyrics, that's no different from, say, Song of Myself, for example. Some of Robert Hunter's lyrics are examples of the ineffable being communicated in ways that move me profoundly, whether through something abstract and obviously influenced by LSD or through one of the more story-based lyrics. I've created a lot of music with lyrics myself on a few solo Yea Big albums, and also, of course, through my collaborations with Kid Static. And I'm always hoping that something beyond the words themselves is being communicated by the entire piece of art. But what is communicated isn't for me to say. All that said, I love the ways instrumental, and especially improvised, music so directly gets me tapped into the ineffable.
NT: As a seasoned live improvisor, how do you prepare yourselves, both mentally and physically, for a session? To what extent do fluctuations in mood or mental state influence the trajectory of your improvisations?
YB: Making improvised music with others, or even by myself, is usually the closest I get to what I’m practicing during meditation. Improvised music and seated meditation are really the same thing for me. In fact, improvised music is the most direct path to the state of being for me. At its most immediate and fulfilling, I’m not really thinking very consciously at all. When I notice myself thinking about making decisions with the music I feel somewhat pulled away from the spirit of it temporarily, which admittedly happens often. But when we’re truly in it, so to speak, the oneness of everything is experienced and expressed. That’s the main reason I love so much making improvised music. Its that quest to experience the oneness of everything, which isn’t always so easy moment to moment. As for preparation, I think, just having been people who are pulled toward making music our entire lives is what has prepared us to make music together in this way. I don’t want to speak for Tatsu, but I’m not sure there is anything special about our preparation, we just play a lot. And when we get together we can simply set up the microphones, hit record, and play. Then whatever happens is what happens.
NT: But do you think the performative aspect of improvisational music could be likened to the performative aspect of sport, where an athelete might not perform well because of bad sleep or a bad phone call or whatever reason?
YB: Absolutely! But I wouldn't frame it through the lens of whether something was performed "well" or not. Rather, I'd say everything we experience impacts our performances and the performances will be inherently different, but not necessarily better or worse. With sports, someone is trying to win something or improve a score or whatever, but with music there's nothing to win, no inherent goal, no points, it's just expression. If I'm having a stressful day, or a peaceful day, or a combination of both or anything else, all of it will most definitely impact how I express myself, 100%.
NT: The EP features a striking contrast between pieces like "The Dirt and The Soul," which delves into dissonance, and "The Soul and the Dark," which offers a more consonant sound. Could you discuss your approach to achieving such synchronicity during performance? Are there particular musical gestures or non-verbal cues that you rely on to maintain cohesion?
YB: I recently had an extremely heavy experience of feeling pure joy and awe at the same time I was feeling complete sadness. It was visceral and profound. I don’t need to get into the details right now. However, my immediate reaction was to wish I could only feel the joy and awe without the sadness. Then while working through the emotions I ended up going outside to pick raspberries, and while enmeshing myself within the raspberries I felt a sudden flood of contentment and realization that the joy and awe cannot be disentangled from the sadness, they are all a part of the entire functioning whole of everything. And that’s ok. It is a lesson I’ve learned and re-learned numerous times, and apparently needed to learn yet again. It’s that way with the music too. Tatsu and I didn’t share cues or plan anything, we didn’t decide to do this bit more dissonant and then this bit more melodic or whatever else. That’s just the way it happened. Our music contains within it the entire spectrum of emotion and possibility simply because it’s all in us. The joy, the awe, the sadness, it’s all there. Cohesion is maintained, when it is maintained at all, simply through us listening very closely to each other.
NT: Do you do think instrumental music can be misinterpreted? Do you ever worry that yours will be?
YB: Man, that's a great question. I'm not sure it is an artist's place to worry about how their art will be interpreted. Though I may have something specific in mind when I create something, what it means to someone experiencing it is for them to feel and create. That's one of the things that makes it all alive, the living nature of the relationship between all of us experiencing this thing together, whatever it is.
NT: Based in Illinois, how would you characterize the experimental music scene in your region? In what ways has the local environment influenced your creative output?
YB: I live about two and half hours southwest of Chicago in Bloomington, IL. The scene for improvised music or experimental music, if we can use that term, is small in central Illinois, but it is nevertheless vibrant. There are folks around central Illinois making super rad art. I’ve been very fortunate to make music with so many creatively thinking musicians and artists of other stripes, both locally and regionally. I’m not sure how to characterize the scene around here, I just know people are always doing really inspiring stuff and I love making music with all of them. I really don’t know how the environment has influenced me. No doubt it has. But I think I’m equally influenced by places I’ve never been and people I’ve never met. This is a difficult question. I’m sorry, I don’t think I have a decent answer. I have often wondered if the flatness of the land all around me has affected the way I make music. The sky seems so huge in the flatlands, so open, so endless in every direction.
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| Artwork for The Hand and The Moon, Part Two by Matt Erikson. |
NT: The album cover, designed by Matt Erickson, is intriguing, with its dual polaroid images possibly reflecting the themes of duality inherent in your music. Was this visual representation a deliberate choice, and how involved were you in the artistic process?
YB: We just let Matt do his thing. This is the image that popped up for him when he listened to the music. I actually didn’t ask him a whole lot about it, it just makes a sort of intuitive sense to me. When Matt showed me what he made I just thought, “yes, that’s it.” Your use of the world “duality” is super interesting to me. I try really hard to not frame things dualistically, but to instead emphasize the non-dualistic nature of everything. But maybe the non-dualistic impulse isn’t apparent in the music?
NT: Perhaps "duality" wasn't the right word. Contrast, perhaps. Maybe my impression was based on the album cover (featuring two photos), the titles (feature two nouns), and the fact that two musicians are playing with and (sometimes) against each other.
YB: Yeah, those are good points. I see what you mean. This speaks to your previous question about interpretation. In my understanding, the hand and the moon are actually parts of the same whole, though the hand may be part of a temporarily dissociated consciousness and the moon may seem distant. And it's all figurative anyway. But your interpretation of Erickson's polaroid art and the dualistic nature, or contrasting nature, of different parts of this work makes total sense to me. I love your interpretation, it might be better than mine! Haha!
NT: Have there been any particular musical works or artists that have inspired or influenced you recently?
YB: Well, first, Tatsu! Tatsu is such an inspiration to me. He’s been making consistently rad art for a long time. I’ve only scratched the surface of Tatsu’s work. For example, I’m not well acquainted with his film work. But the stuff I’ve spent time with I absolutely love. It all resonates with honesty. I want to be like Tatsu.
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| Tatsu Aoki by Ken Carl (CC BY-SA 4.0) |
NT: Can we expect a continuation of The Hand and The Moon series with a Part Three in the future?
YB: Maybe! Last time we were together Tatsu and I discussed doing something with our electric instruments at some point. Tatsu is an amazing electric bass player, and I enjoy playing electric guitar and electric mandolin. So who knows!? A part three could happen. That would be fun.
The Hand and The Moon, Part Two by Yea Big and Tatsu Aoki is out now on FPE Records.