Give My Regards to Eighth Street: Collected
Writings of Morton Feldman, by Morton Feldman, et. al.

Morton Feldman’s essays and liner notes are every bit as challenging as his music. In fact, I would like to turn one of Morty’s quotable lines on its ear and say that “Feldman couldn’t write a note unless it was literary.” Of course, I’m inserting Feldman’s name for the orginal Ives (see page 165 of this book), but I have to say that this composer provides in these pages the “narrative dark matter and coherent strange attractors” for his–in the main–disjunctive sounds. With this book Feldman positions himself in the same great tradition of writer-musicians as Berlioz, while all the while disparaging that very tradition! In fact, I would say that of all the recent experimentalists–Cage included–Feldman had to have been the most literary.

What a fine mind, and what a great loss to have only one side of Feldman’s legendary conversational powers in this book, but, until everyone in the world has sense enough to stop what they’re doing and applaud Morton Feldman’s brilliance and the END of TIME COMES and Feldman himself descends from on high seated on a golden bar stool, ready to take on all comers, they will have to be content with this written fossil. And of course the music…but that’s another story.

This book includes an appreciation of Morty and his work by Frank O’Hara, another person I wish I’d met.