Tom Constanten Interview – Keyboardist for Grateful Dead and Jefferson Starship.
Tom Constanten Interview
– What’s new in the world of Tom Constanten?
The scenery is changing. Over the past three months I’ve appeared as a solo recitalist, and with a string quartet. I’ve also been performing with Dose Hermanos, a keyboard duo with Bob Bralove, where we explore the frontiers of improvisation. I find all of these projects refreshing and challenging. Over the past few years I’ve been phasing out appearances as a sideman with guitar bands. I’m burned out on the material – to a mind-numbing crisp, and the physical demands just take too much out of me, without putting much of anything back in.
– You have appeared on a great number of albums throughout the years. What are some of your proudest accomplishments?
The past ten years I’ve been touring with Jefferson Starship. In addition to inviting me to join them onstage, they’ve offered me a solo segment, which has been a lot of fun. But most fondly of all I remember the warm reception of the audiences. In New York, London, Hamburg, Tokyo, and elsewhere. There are a few performances that made it on to CD whose sparkle hasn’t been dimmed by time.
– When writing songs, is there a certain instrument you prefer for the creative process? Have you always used the same method?
I’ve long felt I could tell whether a song had been written on a guitar or a keyboard. There are ways that the notes and chords move that are idiomatic to the instrument. There are all kinds of possibilities for overlap, though. Spanish composers like Albeniz and Granados were obviously imitating the guitar in their piano pieces. Baroque lute composer Sylvius Leopold Weiss, championed by Andres Segovia, was noted for how well his playing simulated a harpsichord. In my case, the muse speaks in an idealized form that needs to be translated to fit the instrument. Some sort of stretch is usually necessary, a challenge I gladly accept.
– Being a part of the Grateful Dead you must have collected interesting memorabilia from fans throughout the years. What would be some of your prized possessions?
My favorites are all intangible. The friendship and respect of my colleagues. Precious moments onstage and off. The over the top acts of kindness shown me through the years. Taking my daughter along on a Jefferson Starship tour of Italy. The sights I never would have seen otherwise. Towers in London and Tokyo. Battlefields in Waterloo and Gettysburg. Opera houses in Vienna and Milan. There are even places I visited that aren’t there anymore, like the Chain of Craters Road on the Big Island of Hawai‘i, since partly wiped out by the volcano.
– Do you consider album artwork as important now that music is mostly downloaded?
Today an “Album” is much less the iconic artifact it was in the days of Sergeant Pepper and Surrealistic Pillow. Actually, the first “albums” I knew of were literally albums – as many as a dozen 78 rpm discs in paper sleeves bound together like a book. Before the 1950s three minutes a side was about all the technology would support. “Album” might be an idea whose time has gone. Album artwork wasn’t an issue until the 1960s. Before 1950 it was scarcely an issue at all. Some albums of 78s came with cover art, but far from all of them did. CDs, and their reduced cover area, have made it a different ballgame again. And downloads signal the pulverization of our attention span. Nineteenth century concerts and operas would go on for five hours or more. The cultural anticoagulant is doing its job.
– How many shows do you play per year on average?
Things have simmered down a bit since 2011/2012, when I participated in more than 40 shows each year. Still, it’s usually upward of two dozen shows a year even with cutting back like I’ve been doing.
– What would be some of your main musical influences today?
Over the past twenty years, I’ve enjoyed my practice regimen more than ever. For a while I had all twenty seven of the Chopin Études in my rotation. It’s like exploring a fascinating nineteenth century novel, getting to shuffle the deck and redeal each time through. Examining every aspect of the music from ever varying angles. Putting my hands on the instrument also sheds light on the musical thought in a way not possible otherwise. It also empowers the ability to express it.
– What would we be surprised to find in your music collection at home?
I’ve only recently noticed it, but I do very little recreational listening. Not that I’m complaining – the way I explore and investigate musical sources is fascinating in its own right. Indeed, having shelves full of lps or CDs is less important in these days of the Internet. For me, “music collection” means sheet music, and of that I have plenty. At least a half dozen editions of the aforementioned Chopin Études. Avant-garde scores from my student days in Europe in the 1960s. A copy of a Sequenza of Berio, autographed by the composer. A spiral bound Boulez Sonata (open it to any page and start there). The score of a work by Henri Pousseur for multiple orchestras and electronic sound that I experienced in person, seated next to the composer.
– Where do you see music in general going in 100 years from now?
Invitations to predict even a year or so in advance are usually opportunities to appear like a blithering dunce or else seem uncannily accurate (which happens by coincidence). The influence of technology on the arts is increasing. It’s hard enough already to predict what it will bring, and it’s getting harder.
In the 1950s I enjoyed reading science fiction. We’ve moved past many of these speculative futures already, and some have been shown to be quite ridiculous. All I am certain of accomplishing in making predictions is that they’ll reveal my own mix of prejudices. We’re approaching a time when nearly all the music ever recorded will be instantly available to anyone. I can already look up just about anything I can think of and the chances are good that I’ll find a host of examples that answer my quest. Luciano Berio spoke of the “inner hidden harmony.” I expect more of it to be revealed as we connect more of the dots, like the receding waters revealing the shore. It’s encouraging the way that live performance continues to flourish. The forms will change over the years, but that’s where the creative fire is, to light the torches to pass along.
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