Update:
When we first hear that a loved one or friend or colleague has died, the world skips a beat, then retraces its steps, turns about, lost, bewildered. Everything’s the same, but more hollow. I’ll miss you, sir.
Sitting in brand-new Alfalfa’s in Boulder, just learned that he passed away. I’m a bit heartbroken, though I haven’t seen him now in 15 years—he was so sharp, uplifted, classy, brilliant and bright. Here’s the NY Times article, which has some amazing quotes about love and music and his time with the Buddhist sangha/community.
Tribute via Joel Wachbrit, from the Shambhala Buddhist sangha/community:
I remember several years ago many of us who were then in the Los Angeles Ashe Society went en masse to hear Esa-Pekka Salonen conduct one of Peter’s orchestral works, perhaps it was Drala. And later, in 2005 my wife and I were fortunate to hear the world premiere of Neruda Songs with the same great orchestra and conductor, as well as hear the transcendent voice of his wife Lorraine. I was excited that there was an emissary of enlightened society in the world of classical music – as a musician and Shambhalian that always gave me hope. And that he was so highly regarded, as well.
The world has lost not just a great voice in his wife Lorraine but now a great voice in modern classical music. May all of us in the arts aspire to be able to bring such sanity to the world as Peter and his music did. And may he be smiling in the bardo to the painfully beautiful and out of tune voice of the Dorje Dradul singing the Shambhala Anthem.
Thanks for the music, Mr. Lieberson.
Joel Wachbrit {Reprinted with permission}
Now, I don’t know anything about classical music, or opera, despite my father’s lifelong passion and efforts. But I appreciate what little I’ve been exposed to.
When I lived in Boston, I’d attend a few performances at the Boston Symphony Hall, you could get cheap tickets through some program and it was amazing alone or with friends. The Hall was beautiful, the music stultifyingly awesome. It never failed to inspire me with a sense of Western lineage or history—for once, in a good way, an evocative, sublime and emotionally raw way.
One year I even wrote into some classical magazine [CD Review] about how they ought to be connecting with my generation, and it got published in the letters section. It’s still googleable, somewhere.
In any case, the below represent what little I could find on youtube under the name of Peter Lieberson (photo above), a well-known and talented composer who I know, or knew (he led my Warrior Assembly at Karme Choling in Vermont back when I was 16).
The videos below all feature his extremely famous, well-loved, late, great wife Lorraine Hunt Lieberson. The New Yorker:
It felt wrong to call her “great” and “extraordinary,” or to throw around diva-worship words like “goddess” and “immortal,” because those words placed her on a pedestal, whereas the warmth in her voice always brought her close. Nonetheless, empty superlatives will have to do. She was the most remarkable singer I ever heard. She was incapable of giving a routine performance—I saw her twelve times, and each appearance had something explosively distinctive about it—and her career took the form of a continuous ascent. New Yorkers saw her for the final time last November, when she came to town with the Boston Symphony to perform “Neruda Songs,” composed by her husband, Peter Lieberson. She sang that night with such undiminished power that it seemed as though she would be around forever. Then she was gone, leaving the apex vacant.
Anyways. I’m still friends, though I never see her anymore (she’s Director of the New York City Shambhala Center) with Peter Lieberson’s eldest daughter, and for some reason have been thinking of Peter these last weeks.
So, from an ignoramus, I hope some of you—particularly those of us whose connection with classical music doesn’t go far beyond a little Handel, Mozart, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky…”the greatest hits”—will take this humble post as an opportunity to do nothing for a few minutes, but listen to that foreign yet visceral language we call music.
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