Okay, I hope you have a nice long list of questions with short
answers. I hope so myself, so just for those who
may be watching us I am Jonathan Wilson. I am an ABD (PhD) student at the University
of Iowa, music composition major and also Associate Director of the Electronic Music
Studios, which is headed by Lawrence Fritts. I am here today on May 9th 2017
with Peter Elsea and Veronica Voss Elsea who I believe still live in the Santa Cruz
area in California, and it's a little past 1:10. The goal today is to get a
little bit more acquainted with Peter and Veronica and also learn a little bit
more about the ongoing developments that happened in the Electronic Music Studios...
I grew up in Sioux City and came to spend a year as an
undergraduate at Ames thinking I would be interested in physics, but my musical
instincts overwhelmed me there, so I transferred to you know U of I in
1966 as an undergraduate and took the standard band director curriculum with
the idea of one day I would be waving my hand in front of a bunch of eager
high school seniors. At that time there was a war going on, and I was threatened
enough with the draft that I joined the army, and I spent three years in the
army and then returned to finish -- I had one semester left of undergraduate,
just my student teaching. It was the only thing between me and the
undergraduate degree, which --
Do you remember where you did your student teaching?
At University High School,
Okay.
which is long gone, but I'm sure some
people will still remember it.
When I was an undergraduate in '66 through '69, a lot of my teachers were
involved in the electronic music program -- Robert Shallenberg, I took
theory with him -- and I wrote him a paper. I was interested in electronics because
of a high school crush I had, and I wrote him a paper on the design of a synthesizer,
which he gave me a B on, but he was you know intrigued enough by the fact
that I liked the idea and that I did enough research to find out about oscillator
circuits and whatnot, that he at least showed me the Studios. This
was the early studio. The Moog had just arrived, and he showed me around, so I got
to know the studio that was that year in the Quonset hut and the following year
in Eastlawn and got to watch some of the some of the graduate students.
Of course, I was an undergraduate. I wasn't allowed to touch anything,
but a few times I went in there with various people, a couple of times to
play for people -- I was a bassoonist -- and just sometimes just sort of snuck in and
had a chat with somebody like like Cleve Scott while they were taking a break and
they had to open the door, so I kind of got to know some of those folks, and that
encouraged my interest in electronics, so, when I was in the army,
I was assigned to a band in Hampton, Virginia called the Continental Army
Band, which is kind of a not-to-beat-the-army band but the other army band,
and that band...they had a -- every band in the Army had a
recording kit, the recording kit which consisted of: Ampex tape recorder A-440,
one each; Neumann microphones Neumann U-87, four each;
and an Ampex mixer, and I went to the army band, which was up in
Arlington, to learn how to use this gear. I had persuaded the folks that "Hey, I
know that stuff!" I fiddled around with it enough that I was persuaded the CO that
I would be the good guy to take over the recording activities for the band,
and so they sent me for a week to study with a recording engineer at the
first army -- the army band in Arlington, so I spent a week there
working with that guy who's giving seminars to a whole lot of people like
me who just come in from various units and learned the basics of just field
recording. Primarily, that's what the band was doing, not really studio, and what
you could do with for U-87's and one Ampex tape recorder, which is quite a
lot, it turns out, and he gave me a very good basic background in PA, as well as recording.
When I returned from the Army in the spring of 1972, I had to finish my
student teaching. I did that, and then I decided to continue on to get a graduate
degree because I didn't have much else going at that time, so I stayed
to do graduate work and got involved in the electronic music program at that
time as a as a graduate student.
And that's when I met Peter, and I was a student in the regular program for two
years and learned tons of things from Peter. Of course, he was a very
inspirational and methodical teacher. He saw to it that... Although he did not have
the kind of understanding that I do and many of us in electronic music do in
which we really know the waveforms, we really know impedances, and things like
that, Peter had an intuitive connection with the studio that was about as good
as a violinist has with her violin, and so with that he made some really
beautiful music, moments of beautiful music here and there amongst long
stretches of raw source material, of course, but he was good at editing and
taught all the editing skills and all those basic music concrete skills that
were the way it was done then.
Yeah he got on very well with it. One of his favorite things to do...his approach to
using the Moog was to start patching things. You'd think he was patching at
random. Basically, he'd patch a couple of cords, so he could get a basic sound and then
he'd start modifying that sound by moving the cords around and patching and
patching, and pretty soon he got to the point where you couldn't see the
instrument because of the patch cords. And at that point he would listen to it
for a while because it always involved the sequencers and things were cooking
along like crazy, and then he would start to look at it and listen to it for a
while, and then he'd stare at it, and then he'd begin to remove patch cords. His goal was
to remove it in such a way that the sound did not shut off till he removed
the last patch cord.
Hmm, interesting.
They're very carefully disassembling these patches,
which is a great way to learn what's going on in the patch.
In my last quarter we lost the technician that was a graduate student
research assistant job. The technician disappeared. I'm not exactly
sure what the circumstances were. I knew that Peter was very unpleased with his
work. I saw him one morning, and he was in a fret and he says,
"I've lost Paul, and now I've got to
figure out. I got to find myself somebody, and I'm just tired of working with these
engineering types who don't really understand music, and I've got to find
myself a music major who knows electronics," and I just mentioned, "Hey, Peter!
I'm a music major who knows electronics." I was, to be truthful, I was
pushing the envelope a little bit on the electronics 'cause, yes, I knew some
electronics, I played with electronics, I read an electronics textbook once, but that's
a long way from a double E degree, but I was willing to learn on the job, but I
did have the skills because of my army work of making cables. I could do a very
good soldering, but also working at West Music company as a flute technician
building and repairing musical instruments -- flutes, oboes, bassoons,
those were my specialties there -- and that gave me a lot of
machining skills and great skill with a soldering iron, and so I was able to repair
some of the standing issues in the Studio very quickly. And frankly most of
the issues that came come up in a studio of this sort are cables.
Of course.
The wires, they get tripped on, they get yanked, and they get broken, so, for
my first year, basically all I was doing was rewiring things
that other technicians had put in and been kind of slipshod on, and when I got
it done the Studio no longer hummed, and I had built the patch cord racks
that would hold the patch cords on a thing like a hat stand that were quite
comfortable rather than the -- they were hanging on the wall -- things you can buy
that really don't do the job very well for what we need. Did little things
like that that I could do because I was still working in the music repair shop.
Heck, I could go over there build a patch cord rack, and they wouldn't care.
One of the things that was going on at that time was the first wave of
do-it-yourself synthesizers. The synthesizer, as you well know, the
synthesizer was pioneered by Bob Moog, Don Buchla, and a few other people
as commercial products, and people were buying them, putting them in studios,
but the price of these machines was awesome. The Moog, even in 1972, a Moog price list listed an
oscillator at $600. You could buy a Volkswagen for $600, a brand new
Volkswagen.
Wow, that's that's quite a comparison when I think that
because thinking back to -- prior to the
inflation in the 1970s it's hard for me to really understand at times unless I
go to like an inflation calculator and put in that price. Those prices, it's harder to make those comparisons.
When you're comparing it with those days, just add a zero.
Well, a couple.
Well yeah, I guess nowadays pretty much that is true.
So there was because of this and because the electronics was building very fast --
I mean this was the NASA days, right? We're going to the moon, we're going to do
stuff, Van Allen was doing fantastic things over on Iowa Avenue, and --
there was a group of hobbyist electronics guys who maybe had done ham
radio before but were interested in synthesis, and there was a newsletter, and
this is back in the day when newsletters were actually printed on paper, and
somebody had a mimeograph machine, and they sent these mailed these things out
to people by putting stamps on them. And there was one run by a guy out
of New England. It was called Electronotes, and Electronotes was full of schematics,
tips, things how to build, and most importantly ads for people who were
selling kits to build your own modules that were one-tenth the price
of what the Moog system was, so I got it in my head very quickly that building a
synthesizer was something that I really needed to do. In fact, I decided at that
time that instead of going into the doctoral program, which frankly I
didn't find very interesting because I'm not a pencil and paper composer. I'm
only audio, and I'm certainly not a theoretician. I'm just -- tone rows, no,
not my thing, and I said, you know, I look at the amount of money that it would
cost to get a PhD versus the amount of money it would cost to build the
synthesizer. The synthesizer would be a better deal.
So you went with the synthesizer.
So yes, since I had an office there in the Music Building --
I was given an office, that was the technicians office -- which I noticed in
this plant you don't have, which I find disturbing.
Yeah, it's a little interesting how that works for us, yet
the other technician, Carlos Toro,
does have an office shared with other TA's in composition/theory, but
he's never used it. I mean, we've always found the Studios our own
kind of little office in itself.
Well, you need to have a workshop in
a room like this where you can have a horrible mess that you come back to
everyday and fix things and build things and that the general students
don't have access to. It's just a vital part of the program because you've
got to keep it going.
Yes, we do.
And it's a messy process. It's even a dangerous process sometimes.
Yes, I've noticed that myself.
Yeah, right. I once set fire -- you know, we used to have you know the Macintosh
amplifier, we used to have two of them? Okay, I set fire to one once.
Oh!
I was learning that stuff, a lot of that on the job, and spent a lot of time
just studying the electronics and tinkering and building on my own
synthesizer, and then I got something working, then I would go into the Studio.
My crowning achievement was a set of sequencers: 16 by 4 sequencers,
but the original design came from Tom Mintner, who had built one, and it
actually designed it and sent it off to Electrnotes and had it published there,
and it was a very simple design based on discrete logic chips. Well,
nothing based on discrete logic is really simple, but it was not as complex
as a computer. I think it was about as complex as say an adding machine. There's
probably 25 chips in it, a lot of wiring though, because of all those knobs and all
those switches and jacks, and I built myself a couple of those according to
Tom's plans, and then I built Tom a set. He wanted his own, and then I finally
got funding to build one for the Studio, so I built at least five of those -- oh, I
built a couple more because there was another student here named Michael
Babcock, who felt that he should have a synthesizer original, but
he did not have the skills to build it, and so he made a deal with me that if I
built him one, he would buy the parts for mine, so everything we ordered, we ordered
two of, and he paid for most of the parts and my synthesizer because he put it...
we've just got two. We got E-mu modules, submodules for a lot of the parts, which
were themselves fairly pricey but very very high quality, and so Michael helped
me finance that deal, and Peter was perfectly happy with me sitting there
building synthesizers in the lab because, hey, it was electronic music, right? He
didn't care that I was you know doing deals and getting things in there.
I wasn't making any profit. I was learning on the job.
Right, which I'm sure, you know, continued on.
It continued on.
I built many many projects for the lab. They were generally
small things although I built a a mixer, one of our first mixing console with
linear faders I built. I built a computer interface, our first computer interface
that actually worked. You make reference in one of your web
pages to Don Hall's computer interface, which was cool, but what it
really was was an oscilloscope output on a PDP-8 that they had over in the
physics building, so you had to pick up the ARP and take it over there and plug
it in, and so it wasn't so much that he built it -- I mean I guess he built it
because even oscilloscope outputs were a new thing in computers -- so it was
drawing, and it was using just the elementary graphics is what it was used for
most of the time, but he figured out a way to connect it up to a synthesizer
and control the synthesizer but in one channel. You could play a tune on it.
And what I did is I built a 16 channel board, 16 control voltage coming out of Ohio
Scientifics personal computer, which was sort of a clone of the Apple 2,
or imitation Apple 2, something like that. It was cheaper, so we were able to buy it.
We couldn't afford an Apple 2. The budget wouldn't go to an Apple 2, but we
could get the Ohio Scientific one. That's a few hundred dollars cheaper.
And I built a lot of little things like that, and of course the Studios themselves
required ongoing maintenance, so I learned how to repair everything, and if
you look inside the Moog, you will find modifications that I made.
Yeah, there's an oscillator that I recall that you did a little tweaking with.
Well, I didn't tweak it. I completely replaced it with an E-mu oscillator.
Peter wanted a pure sine wave, and one thing the Moogs do not do is pure sine wave.
Yes, we've noticed that because we did a an experiment recording -- it was last year,
actually. Joe Norman and I, we did some recording comparing a sine
wave, or cycle~ object, with what was supposed to be a sine wave from the Moog and
Oh, it's nothing like it.
Yeah, it's nothing like it.
All of the Moog waveforms have a big glitch in the middle because
of the switching time of the transistor he uses on his waveform, which converts
the sawtooth to a ramp, has to flip polarity in the middle to make it into a
triangle, and that is very slow, so there's always just a little glitch
right there, and that glitch is perceived, continues on into the sine wave, and you
can take that out, but it doesn't sound like a Moog anymore. Purity of sound
is not what makes the Moog sound like it does. In fact, it's impurity. There is a
lot of distortion in the amplifiers, particularly when they're changing gain,
and so when you change the gain, when you've got your envelope, the envelope generator
fires, the amplifier goes on, the gain changes, you are throwing in many many
many octaves of harmonic distortion on the attack. Bang!
So you're getting a very rich attack waveform. You're not getting that very
bland loop you get when you do that in Max. It's a very rich, really
marvelous sound that's very percussive, and they're full of stuff like that,
but Peter said, "Okay, somebody managed to blow up an oscillator," and we
couldn't repair it. We couldn't get Moog to repair it at the
time. In fact, that was right about the time
the board was on the rocks, so we couldn't get Moog, and he says, "Can you do
something about this? We have a dead module basically." Basically, we
were left with the panel but no working circuitry, so I took the circuit card out
and I preserved it. I put it somewhere. It should be in your files.
You should have a Moog 901 circuit card somewhere,
which is blown. There are various people who can repair that now.
'Cause now they have the knowledge and know how to do it.
Well, it's the parts are available, and it's not so much
quirky, not quirky anymore. It's pretty pretty mainstream stuff, but I put an E-mu
oscillator in that because E-mu had an oscillator that was so pure that
NASA was using them, and Peter wanted that, and he used it a lot because what
Peter wanted was modulation, but he wanted us a modulation to be very clean.
He wanted a pure sine wave as the modulator, so that he was predictably
generating really interesting and rich sounds from his other inputs on the
other side, and there was the Bode modulator, which was his favorite toy and
mine too. It's a very difficult thing to duplicate unless you actually do that
circuitry, but now you can get it as a stompbox,
Yes, yes.
so they should be
everywhere, and that was the kind of thing I was doing in the Studios, was
just tinkering here and there building stuff. I also built stuff for Lowell for his
laser system.
Right, you and interacted with him on a number of projects.
I did. I also took his courses. I was in his art and technology course. I was in his
recording course and his summer recording course. We brought in engineer
from -- well, I cannot remember the name. It's the fellow who founded Gotham Audio and
was a big recording engineer for Columbia. He came over from Germany
bringing a lot of interesting little toys with him, but he came in for summer
workshop and taught recording engineering at a very high level, and I
took that course three different summers because I got to sit in for free of course.
Other people were paying a lot of money to go to that course, but I got to
sit in for free. That was a good benefit.
My duties gradually expanded to include teaching. First off, there was the
famous semester when Peter went off to France and we brought in a
whole lot of famous folks. That was just a wonderful wonderful year
because I got to meet people like Marton Subotnick, but they were coming in
for two weeks at a time here and there, and we had to keep a curriculum going,
and the other course that Peter taught, and so I started teaching. I was their
teaching assistants, which meant I was teaching the courses when they weren't --
actually, when we were between visitors or they weren't here, I had to keep
the course on some kind of reasonable syllabus, so I got my feet wet
teaching there and then a few years later, around '77 or '78, I began teaching
Studio One, first as a TA, and then they actually hired me to be an adjunct to
teach Studio One and of course on band instrument repair. Now in the course of all
of that, as the TA, Peter came to me one day and says, "Well, I've got a student I
want you to tutor," and that was Veronica, who was a composition student and never
had been in an electronic music studio before and had needed to
take the course, but we needed to make adjustments for her.
I came from Southern California, did my undergraduate at Occidental College, and
I was primarily interested in composition, orchestral composition, and I
was a violist, so I was in Orchestra things like that, and came here to
graduate school, and I discovered that one of the requirements for composition
major was to take a course in the electronic music studio, so I signed up
and I waltzed upstairs and introduced myself to Peter Lewis and said, "Hi, just
letting you know I'm gonna be up here taking your course," and he went, "Blah! A blind girl, what do I do?" and
"I know. I'll pawn her off on the TA," and I met the TA and went, "Thank you very much,"
and so did my guide dog at the time. And so one of the first things that I did
with Peter is we put lines on the ARP 2600 so I could quickly find one module
from another, so we just had -- what did you make those out of?
Artist's tape, drafting tape.
Yeah, it was just tape.
I found on your website I found a picture, an old picture of the
ARP where those things were shown.
Yeah, I think that's from the 70s.
Yeah, 'cause I came
in 75, and so we we put the lines on the ARP 2600. We put some Braille labels on
the tape recorders, things that happened in class like splicing tape, so I would
then go in with Peter, and he would show me how to splice a tape and then a lot
of things -- you know you talked earlier about Peter Lewis's patching style -- most
classes with Peter Lewis were: well, to do this, you patch this into this and then
you patch this into that and that goes on over here and this goes into that, so I'd
sit there for an hour and listen to patch cords go in.
You really had to sit in the front row.
You did. You did.
Was it just, was he perhaps
soft-spoken and you couldn't hear him as well?
Well no, it was just all he was doing.
He was just saying, "Here to here."
"Here to here and this into that and this into that," and so all I did was listen
to the sound of patch cords go in, so I was like, well, this is exciting, and so,
so then Peter would -- we would kind of deconstruct them and try to figure out
what he was doing, and you know every once in a while -- one of my favorite
sessions in class this was really famous at the time that Peter Lewis was really
known for was the chair, and he had this piece based on a squeaky chair that was
in Studio One that got so much play, and everybody was trying to recreate it, and
nobody could do what Peter Lewis could do with that chair, and that is probably one of
my fondest memories of him is that stupid chair because it was beautiful
music. It was gorgeous. It's probably in those archives somewhere, but I'd highly
recommend it. So basically, Peter's job was to kind of help me with
various things and then I would go in and sign up for long sessions in the
Studio, and I was pretty good. I really didn't even have to run out and go bug
him and say, "Wait, what did you do?" Once I was in there, I was in there,
and I even had one piece that I did in one day when I went in the Studio at
8:00 in the morning and I discovered something was busted and everything was
like half voltage -- I mean it was weird -- and I decided the sounds were so good I
wasn't going to tell Peter it was busted until I finished my piece, so I stood up
a couple other dates and missed a picnic and stayed in there and worked and
finally because I knew he'd fix it as soon as I reported it, but spent a lot of
hours in there, and then by 1977 we actually had two
marriages in the Studio that summer because Tom Mintner, Lowell Cross's
assistant, married another graduate student, and one time I actually got a
bunch of people to come to one of our concerts by saying, "No, honest. We really
do music up there."
And because we have these two marriages into one summer, and, so mostly,
my part up there, I was more interested in making the music, and I actually did a
couple of, you know, learned how to do viola plus tape and really keep track of
what I was doing and find funny ways of writing scores for myself in Braille and
just doing them, performing along with my other work and a lot of my music, and so
eventually I think I got Peter Lewis past his initial trepidation, and we
had quite a good time together, and that's how by the time we got married I
wrote my Bridal music. I did that in the Studio, and we did the music after we
were married. We wrote that together on Peter's synthesizer, and so the big joke
when we did get married was that well I married a synthesizer. He married me for
my music typewriter, but he had the synthesizer and the tape recorders, and
so we were kind of able to continue, but I was really just very much
and I enjoyed that year with all of the the guests there and had fun and cost a
fair amount of trouble myself and you know kind of asked a lot of questions
about, well, how do you turn this from sounding like a construction site into
music, and so I was very much involved in trying to figure -- because I'm a stream
player -- and so despite my best efforts I often was doing my best to
make all these electronics behave like string instruments, and so kind of after
that I went on and I continued on as a violist and taught ear training. I was an ear
training TA here under Thostonsen, and so I kind of went on to do that and I
used my music typewriter to do lead sheet copying for some of the local rock
bands for a while, and when Peter got the job in
Santa Cruz, which we'll come back to in a minute, I continued on and worked as a
symphony musician for a long time, and then after an accident put the kibosh on
that I went back to playing with Peter's studio again for a while and kind of got
back into recording and electronics, and pretty soon I had my own studio and was
just doing my own music and trying to satisfy that musical need and the needs
of my string player self, and so I then created the Guide Dog Glee Club, which I
still play with and and am pretty much now just making music for my own...
I'll sell things for a while. I did music for other companies and other people and
just whatever interesting things that I can grab so I never, other than the ear
training, I never really taught much in California but went on to use the skills
that I had picked up both in recording and musicality, and then Peter
actually wrote all the software that I use in my studio now. We kind of design
things together, and then he does the programming and all the soldering and
all that stuff, so that's kind of where I ended up as a result of my time here, so
I got my Master's in '77, and I too thought I was going to go on a little bit
further, and then they -- I was going to go for the DMA --
kind of redesigned it so that it was a whole lot less composition and a whole
lot more theory, and I went, "No, I want the experience. I'm a composer." I didn't
want to sit around and write papers about music. I wanted to make music, and
so I did a lot of chamber music playing, and we we both played in a little fun
group called F.O.P. (Friends of Parsons), and so we'd go off and do concerts
in Warrensburg, Missouri and get toilet paper unrolled at us,
and that kind of stuff, and here we are almost forty years
later still married.
Peter did a good thing.
Basically, I was working in the my office, and Lowell came to me and says, "Gordon
Mumma's on the phone and wants to talk to you," and I had not met Gordon at that
time, and I was kind of surprised, and we talked on the phone a bit, and Gordon
asked me about my experiences doing electronics and other things, and then he
offered me a job as his technician and teacher. This is a technician/teacher
or teacher/technician, whichever you want, at UCSC where they
were just getting a program going. They'd had a cooperative
where students had just organized it on their own, and he had had a technician
there who was a volunteer and finally got a job went away, and he'd been
looking around for somebody, and he just being Gordon he envisioned what he
wanted and then started looking for it, and he realized very quickly that he and I
spoke the same language: that building instruments, building those
circuitry, designing compositions based on interesting circuitry -- all those
things resonated well together, so at the end of that phone call I was hired
at the University of California, so we packed up everything we owned into a U-Haul and went.
And still to this day you live there.
And I still live there.
I retired in 19 in 2013, not because I was tired of it but because my
hearing had gone south. My hearing was not damaged by being in electronic music --
I always make this clear. My hearing was damaged by my more ordinary career of
being a bassoonist and contrabassoonist. I sat in front of too many trombone
sections during too many performances of Shostakovich's 5th Symphony, and that has
made me deaf now, and so I had to retire from that job because students were
giving me pieces that I couldn't hear all the notes in.
Remember I originally came into school with the idea I'd be a band director, and the
music I wrote at that time was band music. I wrote some in the army. I wrote
some for various classes, and so I was very much in that particular vein, and then
of course at that time Iowa was not only a big thing in electronic music but very
big in symphonic band. It still is, I suppose, but we had people like Karel
Husa were coming to us to do their premieres, so that was the Piersol days,
really, a very very powerful band music, and Davis, Jim Davis, was his first
name? The percussion teacher, band director?
What was his first name?
I'm working on it.
Okay, we'll come up with that later. You can
look it up. Anyway, we did fabulous arrangements and taught arranging, so I
took courses as the graduate student before. In addition to
working with Peter, I worked with those folks in doing band music, and I realized pretty
soon that the thing I liked most about the band music was the tone colors you
could get out of the band. The really great sounds of the
the deep clarinets and the baritone saxophone, and
those combinations, and I brought that kind of sensibility over to the
electronic music. I mean, I was making where I was very interested at that
time in just expanding the sound palette, finding great new sounds.
Once, an Armenian poet accused me. He said, "You know, if you heard the voice of God,
you would be more interested in what He sounded like than what He had to say.
Was it Ohannes?
No, remember the fellow Ohannes brought in?
Oh, yeah.
He was a guest
at one of our concerts. I can't remember I could never pronounce his name, so I
don't remember his name. In any case that was kind of my
feeling at the time. I felt that, okay, I'm comfortable with all the traditional
compositional issues of section A, section B,
Sonata form, all those things have been drilled into me like crazy,
but the real experimental exploratory research edge of music was making sounds,
so that's why I was building circuits. I was building circuits that would make
interesting sounds, and then I recorded these sounds on tape and reassembled
them. Most of the time I was doing...I was -- well, I have to tell a lie. It wasn't my
favorite way of working on tape. It was just what we had. We didn't even
really have multitrack yet. Okay, we had a four-channel tape recorder, so I was working with
my synthesizer. A major part of my synthesizer was a control system.
The sequencers were just part of a very elaborate digital logic system, which was
inspired by Sal Mar. Sal Martirano brought the Sal-Mar Construction here. He
loaned me a set of the plans. Actually, he gave them to Tom Mintner, or Tom
had the copy, and I looked at 'em. I studied them. I learned exactly how that thing worked,
and I took a lot of the ideas out of that into this, and the idea of it was you push -- it's
titled up into the title I give to almost all of my performance pieces,
which is: it's supposed to be automatic, but you have to push this button.
That comes from a John Brunner novel, and my idea of a good synthesizer piece at
that time was that I would set up something complex on the patch, and I'd
turn it on, and the piece would evolve through section A, section B, Sonata form,
or whatever I wanted, and it would actually be a composition, not just a
random bunch of very slowly mutating sounds. We made jokes about a lot of the pieces there --
Yeah, we did.
We did because, for instance, there were
pieces that were coming out of NYU
that came out in a record where there was a Buchla synthesizer going <Buchla sounds>,
and I swear it sounded -- well, Morton Subotnick was there for a year,
and he didn't take his patch down because Michael Czajkowski was doing
exactly the same kinds of sounds in exactly the same kinds of ways for the
next three years. It was a...there was a piece called
"In Tropical Paradise" that was recorded, and it was very clearly a usage of random
voltage sources on the Buchlas, and basically it's just sounds sweeping in and
out and interesting, trance-inducing, even. There's a whole genre based
on that, but it never went anywhere. It never even left. It was just this interesting
of all these sounds. A lot of people love those, and I've done them my share of
those, but what I really wanted was to marry hundreds of years of musical tradition
to electronic music, so that we had, without being Switched-on Bach. We weren't
just picking up new timbres and playing the same old notes, but we were taking
sound, raw sound, and reimagining music based on the qualities of the sound with
forms that are reminiscent of what was the music but which appropriate to the
kinds of things we were playing, and that required circuitry. In the '70s
that required circuitry. When I got to Santa Cruz, I continued to
build synthesizers. I built some several synthesizers for Santa Cruz, one of which
I have reclaimed. They were going to throw it away, so I says, "Hey, I can use that,"
and I will fix all of the broken pieces and get it working any day now.
It is working. I call it the Zombie Tron because I brought it back to life after
20 years in a closet, and that was connected to a very early computer
system that Don Buchla put out, so I began learning to program,
and I took in the interfaces. As I said, the last thing I did
before I left here was the interface between the Ohio...
Ohio Scientific computer and the Moog, and so I built another one right away.
They had to walk by Buchla, and I built another to do experiments in computer-
controlled synthesis, and I worked in that for many years, and Max came along.
It wasn't MSP yet. It was just Max, and Max came along, but it turned out to
be a perfect controller language and for the MIDI world and then invested in many many
synthesizers of the DX7s and things of that sort that were very programmable
and could be controlled in a very detailed way if you knew how to write the software,
knew the internal codes, the system exclusive codes that would make them do what they do,
so I spent half the '80s and half the '90s doing that, and then when MSP
happened and -- I should own up to the fact that I am a sometime employee of Cycling '74
in that one of my students was first hired to write the manual for the very
first release, and then in recent years I began writing for them myself, so I've
written a lot of the tutorials that are distributed with the program, and I've
written a set of Lobjects to go with it that are pretty well known. In the early
days of Max it came with a set of 40-50 objects, most of which were very basic math,
and that was not enough to do music. There's no serious music. You could do
tricks with it, yes, but not serious music, so I developed -- I had been
programming in LISP, so I developed a whole set of objects that would do LISPy
kinds of things. I didn't try to make LISP work in Max. I took the
core of what was useful and made Max object work, most of them working with lists, and
they became a set of objects called Lobjects, which are still in circulation, are still very popular.
Are you still creating more of these objects?
Well, in the last years, as my job got more and more complicated, because I
would go from being one technician to having a studio complex of five studios,
to going to having an entire music building to going to have two buildings
that I had to deal with, my life has become much more complex, and it was all
I could do to keep up with the system upgrades, so all I would have been able to do
for a decade there or more is upgrade them to match the latest 64-bit system,
and I'm very tardy on that, to tell you the truth, but they're out there now. I've got
that, and I just finished redoing all of the help files that go
with them because there's 128 of them. That's 128 help files I had to revise for
the new look, which happened in system 7. I'm sure you're aware about Max 7.
Yes, yes.
And David and I have words about that.
I heard a few of them.
Yeah, David lives in Santa Cruz,
David Zicarelli, we're talking about. He lives in Santa Cruz.
We've communicated from time to time and talked.
We run into each other you know at random places, but you know it's a very very powerful language now,
and another aspect of my work in Iowa was working with
Lowell on the laser, and I built a lot of circuitry for Lowell to power the laser.
I didn't actually touch the laser myself. That was Lowell's job or either Tom or Steve,
but what I did was I built front ends for it. I did the front end for the
installation that he did in the Shedd Aquarium, or not the Shedd Aquarium, next
door to it, the Adler Planetarium.
I built a keyboard used for a performance of Scriabin's "Prometheus of Fire," and other
little odds and ends as I built these circuits. I was the guy into
building circuits, so if you came, you wanted circuits, come to me. I'll
build you one, right? So a lot of things happen, but then when I went to
Santa Cruz there was no way we were going to do lasers there. I looked into
it and said, "Whoa!" There's no budget for this, so I put that whole thing, and it
just went to a halt for two decades.
He was a professor here before he went, I guess, San Diego. Went to work on CARL,
and it was pretty straightforward classroom experience. He'd
lecture. I'd take notes. I'd do tests. The only thing is that when it came time to do
what he wanted -- he wanted a theory paper from everybody -- and my reaction to theory
is about the same as my reaction to poison ivy. I stay as far away from it as
I possibly can. Although my later work it puts the lie
to that, but it's not something that I enjoyed particularly out in those
days when everybody was into very fine and set analysis and all this stuff that was
just being developed, and it was going off in a direction that I knew enough
math to know that's totally wrong.
And he had also his course, which used
SNOBOL and a computer language --
Yes, he was famous for using SNOBOL,
but I did not get into that. It was a graduate course, and I wasn't there, and he got
SNOBOL written, and he was using it to write out pencil-and-paper music basically.
It would spit out a chart of numbers, which he would transcribe. The whole computer
music thing at Iowa was very very primitive. In fact, it was not existent,
I have to say, that even in the 70's, when Tuck Howe came, he tried to set up MUSIC IV, and
frankly, in those days, the computer community was so insular. There was a
famous book written called "Computer Lib" in those days in which it described the
keepers of the computers as a religious sect. You had to go through an
alkaline ship in order to get into the room, or you could get into the room
where the computer was, and that was very much what was going on
here. There was a building. I guess the building's still there, but
the idea of a personal computer was way in the future. There was a building.
There was a window. You would do your work on a deck of cards. You would hand
the deck of cards through the window. You'd come back next day and get a
readout with all of your error messages. You would sit down. You would correct
your deck of cards. You would hand it through the window again, and
next day you'd come back. You'd get another list of error messages. This was not for
me, and it wasn't for all of the other musicians either.
Yeah, I can imagine.
And Howe, he was just here for a couple of weeks, and he had the tapes. He had the
things to install it. We had the same kind of computer because
in those days you couldn't even trust a program to run on one brand of computer if
it wouldn't run on another, but he did have the correct type of tapes for the
computers they had, but he ran into so many administrative hang-ups that he
couldn't get the program up and running, so it kind of died off again, and the
next thing that happened was a couple years later I got the personal Ohio
Scientific, and we started programming in BASIC and Assembly language, and
from then on I was all-personal computer guy, and I kept a distance from IT
people in general. Salt of the earth, and so my best friend is married to one.
They're great kinds of folks, but I have to say that in those days the attitude
of the IT people was very different. They were very difficult.
His death came as a shock to us. We did not know, and it was very sad. It was way too
soon for him. He deserved another two decades at least because he was just
coming into his prime as a composer. He kind of had, like all of
us as composers, we have difficult times. We have times when we are turning out the
music like crazy, and Peter had a period like that in the '60s or so, and he did
a lot of just ordinary string quartets and whatnot, and when he was in Iowa in the
early '70s he was just so busy trying to get things together, getting them working. He had
a teaching load, and he would only get a piece done about once
or one or two a year, and they were mostly experimental. I mean, he was trying to
get...he was working with a video system at the time. We had this color quantizer,
from Southland or Sutherland, and he and a friend who was a filmmaker were putting
together experimental films using this color quantizer and video feedback, and
he was then making soundtracks for those films, so he was both editing
the films and working on the soundtracks. It was a very laborious process in those days,
and he did several of them. There's only a few that have ever
gotten names and got put out there in the world, but he did several, and each one
was amazingly time-consuming, so that really slowed down his composition, I think.
I really feel that the tools of the '80s and '90s would have been
just perfect for him.
Yeah, they really would have.
Lowell's a very interesting guy. To understand Lowell, you have to realize that he
always wore a white lab coat. This is a music department. We're all pretty
laid back. I mean, Professor Luper still wore a suit and a tie. That
was about it. Himie wore polo shirts. We all wore just ordinary
relaxed clothing, but Lowell always came to work wearing a white lab coat, and the
evil scientist jokes were everywhere, and those of them they worked up,
if we were not his assistants, we were his minions, and Lowell's
passion was recording, and he's a great collector of microphones.
He has classic microphones of every ilk.
For years he wrote reviews of microphones. He would get some new microphone.
He would put it on a system he had where he'd compare it with existing microphones.
He'd get somebody to play the violin or something and record them with about
eight different microphones, some of them new, some of them standard, so he could
compare them and he would say, "Well, this is like this, this is like this," and those
were a standard reference. It would have been one of the studio magazines,
Studio Recording Arts, or something like that, one of the magazines of the
era that were...everybody in the industry. He can make or break a microphone
basically by his review of it, and he was always making sure that he had
the finest of audio gear in the Recording Studios, and the recordings that
he made were state of the art, remembering that the art was 1972
to 1980 when I knew him. When he went digital, I'm sure he did the same
thing. It was state of the art, and he was just very very particular
about getting things right. That made him a little difficult, but then now surrounded
with people who were very very particular about getting things right. Next to him,
next to Jim Dixon, Lowell's a pussycat, so it was just part of the
culture at Iowa that you did good work. You got things right, so Lowell fit in
that way. He kind of kept to himself and this
in his little tower, but there was also the issue that...decided the music
building then that there were...most of the rooms, the important rooms, had windows
that Lowell could look out and see what was going on.
Everything.
So you've gotta
got the feeling that he was up there watching you. That was fun,
but with Lowell, I got to meet a lot of really nice people, really great people
People like David Tudor came in to work with Lowell and do things.
The list is very long. You've got the list already.
Oh yes, it's a very long list.
It's a very long list of people he knew from his New York adventures and
really respected him and respected his work, and he did serious
engineering for people, so it was not unusual for somebody who was a main
recording artist to come out and use, sign up Hancher or Clapp and get
recorded by Lowell.
One of my favorite Lowell recording stories actually
happened as part of my viola lesson one day because another graduate composer
had written a piece for viola, and William Preucil was trying to play
this piece, and since it wasn't very playable, so then it became this
challenge for all of us to come in one day, and he was kind of...Mr. Preucil
was kind of daring, "You guys want to play this measure? Do you want to
try this measure?" And he brought us into part of his recording session
when his piece with his graduate student, and, no kidding -- of course, all of the
editing back then was still tape splicing -- there were 142 splices in this
one measure, and we were watching Lowell 'cause Lowell was actually doing it, trying
to do all these splicing, and we were like, "We dare you to try to make this
sound musical when you're done," but it was kind of, for all of us that were
there, as a composer, it was a really good lesson about what not to do to
your performers, and just, you know, here's the havoc you caused, and
Lowell, the whole time that this was going on and he was doing this, was just
laughing, just busting up laughing.
Particularly Dick Hervig's support was very key to the electronic
music program too because of course there's organs that have to be bought
and built, and there's pianos that have to be restored, and there's thousands of other
things that the music budget has got to be spent on, so getting in: you want to spend
how much money on a microphone? You know we could buy two more fiddles for that,
and so those kind of arguments went on all the time, and so Jenni and Hervig
were basically the backbench, keeping, helping keep the electronic
music program going, particularly in the years when the Center for New Music money was drying up.
It was scrounge, scrounge, scrounge. I mean we had no fixed thing. One lesson I took from
Iowa, then when I went to Santa Cruz, I insisted on is I need a yearly line-item budget.
I need to know exactly how much money. I don't care if
it's only $500, but I need a yearly budget number that will go to the electronic
music program, and over the years the number was able to be expanded, of course,
but it really did start at 250 dollars. I knew that first year I'd have 250
dollars to rebuild one studio and open a new one, so tons of scrounging was going on.
That's the name of the business everywhere: scrounge, scrounge, scrounge. It still is, but in those
days the money would come in odd chunks, really surprising chunks, or it would
come in year-end funds, and the year-end-funds scramble was probably the most
interesting because Lowell, for some reason, Lowell was kind of the mediator of this.
Himie talked to Lowell about the budget for technical.
I have a hard time imagining talking to Peter Lewis about budgeting.
Yeah, Peter did not --
'Cause he was not a --
Peter was not a budgeter.
He wasn't into the practicalities of the thing that I was aware of.
Not so much, and what would happen is that Lowell would come to me and say,
"Okay, the fiscal year ends on next Friday. (This is Monday, fiscal year ends Friday),
and I've got year-end funds of $8,200," which was a serious piece of change. "You've
got until Friday to get requisitions together for enough equipment to fit
those numbers," and that would be all that you would see, and so I would have to do a
lot of research, and research was not just looking up on the Internet.
Yeah, I mean that's not the same thing. I mean, you've got to have lots of catalogs.
They gave me a phone, a telephone with
long distance privileges, which was hard to wangle.
Our main supplier for gear was in Minneapolis, and Lowell's main suppliers
were in New York, and we knew these companies. We knew reps at these
companies, and we would call them up they would say, "Okay, I've got the funds to get
a new floor channel tape recorder." There goes your $8,000 right there, and
so I'm haggling. I'm talking to 'em. I've got to get competitive bids. I can't just
pick one. I have to look at at least three, so I go and I call up another guy,
a guy in St. Louis, and a guy in Denver, and these people would all give me, "Okay, I can
sell you the Scully 2-84 for six thousand, seven hundred if you don't
mind that it was used and has been in the kitchen of a restaurant." Actually, I
took that one because it wasn't six thousand. It was less than two
thousand dollars, and it turned out that all I had to do was clean the grease out
of it, and it became a beautiful instrument because it hadn't done
anything in that restaurant. It had just been in the kitchen. They set it up to play
music, and then they never did. The heads weren't even worn, but it didn't come in a case.
I had to build the case. I had to build something out of what looked like a
hand truck really to move that around.
You had also local shops too for getting certain kinds of things here and there.
Not so much.
Oh really?
Not so much. No, no, there was nothing local. All of our electronics parts came
from mail order, first from Allied Electronics and then Jane Co. started up.
I began getting things mail order from Jane Co., but frankly the real source of
wire and things like that was...about once a year, I would go up to the surplus
place at Rockwell Collins, and where they would sell the wire by the pound,
very expensive Teflon-insulated wire at four cents a pound, and I would fill
up the trunk of a car.
Wow, that's a lot of wire.
That's what the Firebird was used for.
Yeah, I remember. I remember.
I would fill up the trunk of the car with parts and interesting
stuff that I could get out of Collins, which was primarily nuts and bolts, and the
transition from plug-in telephone switchboards to digital switches were
just beginning, and that was a godsend for us because we went over to Collins,
and they had a whole row of these nice heavy-duty switch...patch bays, and so I got
twice as many plugs as I needed and then mixed and matched, finding ones that were
working and found ones that didn't work so well. I'm pulling them out and building patch
bays out of things I bought for $1.85, and that came out of my own pocket.
That's the way the Studio was funded in those days. We did not
have a dependable source of funds. We just had these spurts of money that
would come up.
The concerts we did, there was a wide range of what we would do. A lot of the
concerts were simply sit down in Harper Hall, listen to a tape recorder.
I found a lot of those rather boring. You'd turn the lights down, but there's nothing
much going on, so I would I would always try to jazz them up a little bit, so one
concert, instead of looking in an empty stage, I set a candlestick out there and lit
the candle so we could all look at the candle while the music was playing,
and of course a lot of the performances were actually instruments plus electronics.
Tape plus trombone was a very popular one, for instance, or trombone --
Would you still
say that there were more pieces for just tape than --
Tape plus instrument would have been in the majority, and then tape
tape alone would have been in second place, and then live performance with
electronics, which was mostly me, occasionally Tom Mintner, would be in
third place.
I see, so it must have been just something that I guess you had a
greater expectation of producing, getting pieces that would have a
performer of some kind or maybe even more than one performer, depending on the situation.
I mean the business of --
Or the performer was the composer.
Yeah, it was very often, but the idea of checking-the-email piece, which is a
cliche of modern days, is nothing compared to watch-the-tape-recorder-reels-turn piece.
Visually, very very unexciting, and I
mean some music can survive that because it's great, but the piece with
percussion and tape is much better. You've got a percussionist. He's
interacting with a tape. It's very difficult to perform. We happened to have
a performer around who was brilliant at that, Steve Schick, and whose recording
of the Stockhausen "Kontakte" is still
the prime recording, the touchstone of every recording around, which Lowell
of course did, but I was really interested in expanding that,
and a couple others were. Also at that time Fluxus was an inter-, ongoing concern,
so there were...a Fluxus-type piece was fairly common on any concert, any of the
composer's concerts. Somebody would do something conceptual or Fluxus-y. I
remember that when I was building my synthesizer, the first thing I built was
the cabinet, and then I put plates into it. I put all the panel pieces in
there that I would later attach electronics to, and when it came
time to put the final panel in place, it just turned out that there was a concert
that night, so I sat down in front of the audience with this blank synthesizer
panel. They were very impressive. They were two big units like this
that are like the Sal-Mar, very much like the Sal-Mar, but just flat
aluminum, and there was one hole where one plate went, and my piece
was to put the plate up, mark where the holes were going to go, take a power
drill, drill the holes, and then take a tap, and tap the screws, and then screw the
plate into place. That was the Fluxus piece. We did the piece called the "Tower
of Babbitt." This was not when Mr. Babbitt was visiting the campus.
No, that was a decade before.
Yeah, we had...one student was up on a ladder reading random pages
of Babbitt's rage, and we had six different musicians around with
different instruments playing from six different Babbitt pieces, all at once, all together.
I'm just trying to imagine this myself, how this would be rehearsed and how you would get all this synchronized.
There's the bridge.
Oh yeah, I would like to do all kinds of impromptu things.
One of the things I did is...there was the nice bridge across the river behind
the music building, which was built with the music building, a nice resonant rail,
and so one afternoon just -- we had four o'clock Friday concerts as part of
the regular series of things that students -- you could get on the four
o'clock and play anything. Maybe you'd get a trombone player, the de gamba player,
all of these things would happen, and so then at the end of one of them I
invited everybody outside for a piece of electronic music, and we went out to the
bridge where I had five percussionists lined up to play the railing, and I had
the railing connected to a sound system and the audio processing gear.
So where was the electrical plug there because you would have to find some place to --
There in fact was a plug outside of the music building hidden behind a shrub
where they can plug in their grass trimmers and whatnot.
Another piece I did, working at the music store, we got a lot of really odd
instruments came in. It's kind of abandoned or in trade, and at some point
we acquired at the music store -- they acquired a string bass that somebody had
painted red, white, and blue, and they come in and they say, "Well, how much is it going
to cost to repair this bass?", and they give them an estimate, and they say, "Oh Lord, it's
not worth that much. It's red, white, and blue. Here, you keep it. I'm out of here," and so we
wound up with this thing, so I bought the bass from Pearl West for $15.
He's got to make a profit, and I took it home. It was in my apartment for more than a year.
We were tripping over this string bass. It was just sitting in the corner.
It didn't have a bridge. It didn't have strings even. It was just this beatable string
bass, but one day for a concert we did a concert in 1061, which is the band room, and
it had bleacher seating you could pull out,
so the audience would sit on the bleachers. We'd sit down there. We did a lot of
percussion-heavy pieces there. It's like your choral room that you showed the other day.
Or the opera room. It was very much like that opera room, but it also
had a room off to the side that was a percussion storage room, which had a big
glass window, and another thing we had around at that time was a lot of video
systems, very primitive video systems that kind of worked on 1/2 inch tape,
before cassettes, and we had some cameras. We had some cameras and monitors
that Lowell's minions would wheel out for classes because video teaching was a thing,
and so what he did was we set up camera, a camera in the percussion room,
the storage room, and I was sitting outside of it. I got an audio feed from
inside that storage room and a camera feed from inside the storage room, so you
could see what was on the television. You could see
what was going on in there, and four people walked in, first playing the funeral march,
carrying the base on their shoulders like you'd carry a coffin into this
percussion room, storage room, and then they fired up a bunch of power tools:
drills, saws routers, all these things that made these intense screaming sounds,
and they tore that beast, that bass, to pieces. They reduced it to
sawdust while the sounds were being fed out into the sound system by way of
the Moog. I had a couple of other audio processors. The Bode modulator was certainly there,
and so what the audience was hearing was this agonizing sound
for about -- it doesn't take you very long, it was probably been about six minutes long --
this agonizing sound, but it was okay because we were watching it on
television, just like we were watching the Warriors on television at the time,
and it was okay because it was on television, never mind the fact that death
and destruction are happening.
Yes, so the bass part, you weren't seeing that on the stage. It was --
No, it was off stage, deliberately off stage, but shown on
television, which gives you the detachment. There was a social
state but on the detachment of the...
Basically, you'd see it on TV, or you'd become immured to things.
There was a social --
Oh yeah, oh yeah.
I was sometimes kind of snarky.
That was the word I guess you'd say in the things I would do.
I did a lot of that in California, but not so much here. There was one guy in town who
was in a junior high school who had set up a program in what had been the home
economics classroom, where students were basically --
this was the 70s -- but they were doing circuit bending and I went over and
worked with those kids a couple of times.
Was that something that was part of your job that you would do stuff like that?
No, no, it was just a friend asked me to do something, so I did. As far as tours, we did not have formal tours,
and when band camp came around during the summertime the Studios were shut down.
So nobody was really doing any work in the summertime.
No, summertime, I was here. Tom was here. Lowell was here.
Well one summer, I did.
We had keys, and we let people in.
Oh, so I was special. I got the old girlfriend summer special.
You got the girlfriend summer special, and a lot of people did,
a lot of people who had to. Alex came in and did stuff and various people.
The thing I always found out about summers was everybody said they
wanted to work, but they didn't really. I mean, the main studio guy was Dave Olive.
Oh yes, and he actually visited here just this past September and --
The thing about Dave is he wasn't really a student. He was just good at talking his way into stuff, but I
really liked Dave, and I liked working with him.
Well, it was my career. It followed me for the rest of my life. I am, since then,
I have gone on to do work with Max/MSP, including the video elements of it,
which I used to finally gratify those urges that had started up with working
with Lowell and the laser and gone on to develop software in the realms of algorithmic
composition and working with David Koch in his experiments and musical intelligence.
We actually have been teaching a workshop in that for many years.
We just closed. We've decided that, okay, we've taught it for
many years and many years is enough, so we stopped, but we were teaching a
workshop, algorithmic composition based on ideas that some of those I learned
from playing with the Synthi and the Buchlas and the Moogs, and 33 years as
associate and then the only director of the electronic music programs and having
taught nearly 600 students, many of whom are out there. You have heard their work,
I know, because many of them do sound
effects or scoring for major motion pictures, so I know that you've heard these.
I mean, I've got a student who's working on episode 8,
so there's been a very satisfying
career for me, not particularly remunerative,
but satisfying, and I've got a chance to meet and learn to work with a
lot of really fine people. I worked with Morton Subotnick at Santa Cruz several
times after I was there. We premiered "Until Spring" for instance together
and just really made my life happen, so I have Iowa to thank for that.
I always tell people that I got my BA and my MA and my MRS, and they go, "What?"
But really, I think what Iowa did for me is one of the things that was different
about Iowa, compared to a lot of other music schools is, that it it sort of made
music and excellent music at that just part of being normal life. It wasn't so
secluded. It was out there. You got the confidence. You got to play. You got to
experiment, and it didn't feel...it didn't have that stifled thing that so many
music places did, and Iowa really, for me, it really solidified me as a
composer because I got to actually do that, and there were so many
opportunities to perform and such easy access to good performers all the time,
and I don't think as a composer I ever came close to that once we moved out to
California in terms of the performers that we had around to play with
and just that kind of stuff, and now it's like: yeah, everything's available for
everybody, and gosh you can just put GarageBand on your phone and you're a composer,
but you didn't have...there were no degrees. There were no excellence. There
was nothing new, and you know and it was really fun to be here at a time when
stuff really was new and different, and everybody wasn't doing the
same thing, and so it really shaped me as a composer, as a person, and that's how I
approach things that I don't think I'd have gotten anywhere else...that's because of how
they allowed us to do things. Won't they have some of that love now?
Yeah, I hope so too.
Well, it's been a real pleasure. I've really enjoyed having the chance to talk with both of you about how things
came about here in Iowa during the 70's, and, for those of you who have been watching,
thank you very much for being part of our audience, and
I just hope -- wish for the best for you guys, and, again, thank you very much for being a part of this.
It's a pleasure. You're welcome.
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