1960: The record producer
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Background as Student and Producer (1959-1963) After World War II, Detroit became a boomtown, fueled by the auto industry. In that era of prosperity, the economy generously trickled down and funded the arts, especially where local, inner-city jazz was making headway. By the mid-1950s, a group of genius jazz musicians had sprung up and had developed styles that brought them recognition in New York City and beyond. New Yorkers, in jazz circles, described this period as the “Detroit onslaught.” The list of talented Detroit musicians and their accomplishments is history: Tommy Flannagan, Paul Chambers, Curtis Fuller (Miles Davis’ sidemen), as well as Barry Harris, the Jones brothers (Hank, Thad and Elvin), Kenney Burrell, and many others. The music was great, gigs were plentiful, and the whole period deserves five stars. Nineteen years old, I arrived in the late 1950s, at approximately the “tail end” of the culture explosion. I lived in a suburb outside Detroit, but I gradually found myself drawn to obscure places the city, becoming aware of the jazz movement that still flourished there. I was especially drawn the music of saxophonist Yusef Lateef, who was the soul of that movement. The timeline began one evening in 1959, when I caught Lateef in person, performing for a small audience at the West End Hotel, playing his world-music styled composition, “Before Dawn.” I was just a young white guy from the suburbs, sobering up from a round of partying, and I didn’t realize how much of an impression that musical encounter would make on me, for the rest of my creative life -- but it did! Top Return |
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Early 1960s (Music theory at Wayne State University) I studied music theory and composition at WSU, culminating in the composition classes of Dr. Ruth Wiley, and the lectures of Dr. Arnold Salop. Dr. Salop taught medieval and renaissance music from the standpoint of energy cycles, which I later understood to mean prana. This was my introduction to the possibility of underlying depth in music. Top Return |
Elvin Jones
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Early 1960s (Elvin Jones and Eric Dolphy) In the early 1960s, in the company of five-star jazz musicians such as Elvin Ray Jones and Eric Dolphy, I didn’t suffer from lack of music mentors. I have a number of memories of Elvin, who was always ready to talk about anything at the drop of a hat — philosophy, Hindu music theory, you name it. I did a radio interview with ERJ in Detroit, talking about subjects that only he and John Coltrane had discussed privately (e.g., Coltrane's emulation of Ravi Shankar). Then, I visited Elvin in New York, and he took me to his club date with Coltrane in Brooklyn, where I met Eric Dolphy. Some time later, during another engagement with Coltrane in Detroit, Eric became the first person (outside of music class) to encourage me to compose music — Eric’s final words to me were, “You should challenge the saxophone!” A few months later, Eric was dead. Top Return |
1961: The student directing the teachers. Left to right: James Semark, Gwen McKinney, Delores Ousley, Aaron Hicks, Harold McKinney
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Early 1960s (Harold McKinney) The late Harold McKinney deserves special attention. Harold was well acclaimed as a father to many jazz musicians in Detroit, but it’s a little-known fact that he was my mentor, piano teacher, friend, collaborator, and business partner. An outstanding memory of Harold is his breaking the color barrier as a piano player in suburban cocktail lounges. Often, Harold would drop over to my house after gigs and we'd talk, or he'd invite me to an after hours jam with Terry Pollard, or I'd take him down to WJR (where he recorded his Piano Sonata on Carl Haas' piano).
Other memories: picketing the Musician's Union with Harold and friends, for resolution of civil rights issues; Harold trying to get me to play “time,” in the basement of the Northwestern School of Music (along with Cecil MacBee, Freddy Waits and Benny Maupin — world class musicians in themselves).
My experience with Harold goes well beyond the early '60s. Another milestone was the 1965 interview I did with him, where he poured out his whole life in two hours of talk (I published it in Change Magazine of the Artists Workshop Press). Top Return |
View of Detroit. Photo by Leni Sinclair
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Motown (1962 - 1963)
Often, I stood on the steps of Hitsville (Motown), on the lookout for lead sheet transcription work from the Motown wannabe set, who were my clientele. My friend, Mike Valvano, was an arranger for the Supremes and other groups, and while they made millions, Mike made a weekly paycheck. Top Return |
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March Down Woodward Ave. (1963)
The most exciting event in my early twenties was Martin Luther King’s march down Woodward Avenue in Detroit, accompanied by a throng of more than 250,000 people. At one point, I stood within fifty feet from Dr. King, who spoke from the steps of the city hall in East Dearborn. While the Reverend stood there and spoke of civil rights, people heckled and threw garbage at him. Disregarding the hecklers, King finished his speech and walked away. Top Return |
1965: John Sinclair and James confer in the original Workshop house on Forest Avenue, Detroit. Photo by Robin Eichele
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My Own Artist (1964-1966)
1964 was a milestone year for my creativity. These were formative years, leading to further understanding of qualitative principles. Tired of supporting other artists and sacrificing my own artistic growth, I joined the Artists Workshop Society, gave up my music business, and decided to become my own poet and music composer. A new group of younger poets, musicians and artists, my peers, settled around the Wayne campus, coming from other Michigan towns and cities such as Flint and Lansing. John Sinclair was the focal point and proponent of this new community. During the Artists Workshop years, I applied the term “rhythm ballad” to my poetry style, which assimilated jazz drumming, as if one could hear drums playing through the language.
Collaborating with organist-extraordinaire Lyman Woodard, I co-directed the Artists Workshop Music Ensemble, which performed several of my extended jazz compositions, some of them featuring trumpeter Charles Moore.
The Workshop period was also significant for my exposure to the poetry of Ezra Pound and Charles Olson, and to Olson’s projective verse principles, such as: field composition (meaning that a page of paper is an imaginary field of energy); that energy becomes the breath, which generates the line, the line actualizes the form, and the form is then an extension of content, etc. These principles gave me keys to the understanding of qualitative art.
The "golden period," from about 1968 to 1974, consisted of writing and performance works that I began in the Artists Workshop, but didn't finalize until some years later (i.e., the Workshop audience never got to hear them in their completed form). Works included: AEIOU (performance poetry with audience participation), The Sun and Collapse of the American Pseudo-Civilization (dramatic-poetry performance works), and The Intergalactic Steamboat Captian (multi-level storytelling for pre-teens as well as adults, first performed at Detroit's Metro Arts Complex in 1970). Top Return
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Joseph Jarman.
Photo by Angela Lee and Joe Banks
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A Tale of Two Cities (1967-1971)
In the late 1960s, my life became a “tale of two cities.” During the week, I worked in the highway department and lived in my own communal home in Highland Park, but on weekends, I drove to Chicago and took part in the exciting free jazz and blues syngery there. Joseph Jarman, Don Moye, and other members of the Chicago Arts Ensemble were my friends.
During that period, there were five individuals who contributed substantially to the forming of qualitative ideas in me, and these persons deserve five stars each -- a total of twenty-five stars!
Michio. I also traveled to Boston for macrobiotic cooking lessons and lectures of Michio Kushi. During his lectures, Michio expressed his idea of transforming civilization, of the present-day yin society transforming into yang society. In later years, when I began forming my world-view of the qualitative information system, Michio’s ideas were well-remembered.
Geraldine. Geraldine Ankrah was my Baha’i spiritual mother, teaching me to meditate on the Most Great Ocean and encouraging me to keep a journal of ideas that came to my mind. The last I heard, Ms. Ankrah was living in Ghana and that she held the office of Treasurer of the Baha’i National Spiritual Assembly in that country.
Charles. On one occasion, Charles Howard drew a number board, claiming that he pulled it out of my consciousness. Although I had very little understanding of it at the time, the design of the number board (with some revisions) eventually became the end-user application of the qualitative information system.
Juron. Also about 1969, an elderly lady of Lansing, Michigan, lent me a rare book, titled The Great Within, written by Christian Larson. In later years, I realized that Larson’s views on the Within are universal, the same as those of Jose Silva, Jane Roberts, Anthony Robins and Neurolinguistics Programming. Although there are many flavors of this topic, Larson’s poetic imagery stuck with me, throughout my journaling of the qualitative information system.
Jeanette. During 1970-71, I took private astrology lessons from Ms. Jeanette Snyder, also of Lansing, Michigan. Afterward, the horoscope became my first information system model. It gave me a holistic foundation, the how to compose large dramatic works, and simultaneously, it provided the what, the insight into characters and scenes within works. Top Return |
Sunset in Wyoming
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The Quest (1972-1973) I made a (somewhat) counterclockwise trip around the continent, prompted by astrology (my gibbous Moon interpretation), indicating that travel in a counterclockwise route would be optimal for inspiring experiences. During the trip, I kept an astrological journal and moved during Mars transits. Having a sense of astrology throughout the trip, my experiences were very vivid, perhaps moreso than in other periods (without the sense of astrology). At the end of the trip, I wound up back in Detroit, working for the highway department again. Economic and artistic ties in other parts of the country had failed to materialize, and the only lasting result of the trip was that I had incubated the qualitative information system.
The breakthrough, five-star event occurred during the first part of my trip (1972), while returning to Chicago Heights, Illinois, after meditating in a local temple. Sitting in my camper, parked in the driveway of my friends, I realized that the Progressed Moon cycle of the horoscope of my music-drama identified with major characteristics of my work. Reflecting on my recent job as a surveyor, I realized that the sequence of Progressed Moon aspects had a similarity to the stationing in freeway construction. In other words, the aspects became a qualitative sequence, keys to engineering image and character in the work. At that point, I’d crossed the line — I’d begun the quest for (what came to be known as) the qualitative information system. Top Return |
Lake Mead -- ideas and subject matter for the Valley of Syrellia
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The Valley of Syrellia (1974) The period between the end of the continental trip (1974-1978) and my relocation in Virginia Beach included my marriage, graduation from college with a degree in Computer Science, and taking up a career as an information technology programmer. More significantly, I evolved my understanding of how to compose with qualitative sequences. I became an apprentice in the art of depth composition.
By studying Kabbala and Tarot theory, I learned how to generate cyclical numeric patterns, very similar in sequence and relationship to the Fibonacce numeric series. I began composing literature and drama with these patterns, naming my technique the “Talea Pattern,” after the talea and color of medieval composer Guillame deMachaut. I felt I had reconstructed an ancient practice, of composing with patterns of qualitative or esoteric significance.
Note:The Talea principle of Machaut seems to be a distant cousin of the tala of Hindu music, with one important difference: in Ars Nova music, the “ground” was in the tenor rather than the bass (as pointed out by Dane Rhudyar). Therefore, the Talea of Machaut (a theoretic principle associated with the tenor voice) occurred over the bass (i.e., Machaut’s Color and its implications), whereas in Hindu music, the tala is the rhythmic framework that supports the raga, the melodic expression. In a more simplistic way of saying, in Machaut’s music, the Talea is higher voice and the Color is underneath, while in Hindu music, the raga is higher voice and the tala underneath.
My first complete work, utilizing depth composition, was a story titled The Valley of Syrellia (published in Sirius Magazine, 1975). Top Return |
Graudation, Marygrove 1975
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A New Suit of Clothes (1975)
Ah, logic! While studying Computer Science courses at Marygrove College, I wrote my first computerized Talea Pattern generator in procedural Basic (and it ran successfully). My theoretical ideas had become dressed in a new suit of clothes — that of information technology.
While studying information theory at Marygrove College, I began identifying my own qualitative theories as an information system. Top Return |
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Big Blue on a Full Moon Night (1977)
. In the summer of 1977, while I was employed as a programmer at a local firm, the operations staff trusted me to run the IBM mainframe alone during evening hours. There, I completed the development of a reporting program to generate a comprehensive set of Talea Patterns. On a full moon night, I loaded the whole deck of cards into the card reader, the lights blinked for a second, and — the machine crashed! In panic, I called the operations supervisor, who calmly told me to contact IBM. I did, and a field engineer arrived about midnight, replacing seven boards in the mainframe. Afterwards, the operations guy thanked me for having it happen on my watch, rather than his. On another night, I cautiously loaded the cards in, one section at a time, and the mainframe was up to the task. It easily produced the report. Top Return |
Sunrise at Virginia Beach
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Tidewater Times (1978 - 1984)
I admit I was idealistic, giving up an opportunity to become a highly paid CICS programmer in Detroit, choosing instead to work on Burroughs junk hardware, in Chesapeake, Virginia. Yet, I had numerous bright moments, living in the Tidewater region, many of them having to do with behind-the-scenes realizations about the qualitative information system. On weekends in Virginia Beach, I studied at the Association for Research and Enlightenment library, following up on my own interests in esoteria. During my earlier visits, I met Hugh Lynn Cayce, who inspired me with his statistics-gathering telepathy experiments (my wife and I participated in a few).
The brightest, five-star moments of all were my association with nature-lover Al Henry, who provided me the key to Elbert Benjamine’s constellational astrology. For all the grunge I went through (with Tidewater IT contracting), those experiences with Al made it worthwhile.
Constellational, sidereal astrology, with its storytelling approach, improved my sense of connectivity with galactic mind. It gave me a sense that I am resonating with greater intelligence, more like the “eonic consciousness” principle described by Dane Rhudyar. Top Return |
Spectral ghosts in the ocean waves at Oregon Inlet
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The Matrix (1980) Still
In Virginia Beach, I found I could plug constellational astrology into the number board. I drew a large model of the board, placed a transparent plastic sheet over it, and began writing operations in it with water-soluble ink pens. The number board suddenly became more than just a concept — it became a living tool. Top Return |
Bird migration, Virginia Beach
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I Believe It's Time To Go (1984)
Toward the end of the Virginia Beach period, I attended belief-orientation workshops at the Poseidia Institute, conducted by experienced psychologists. The study text of those sessions was the Jane Roberts (Seth material) books, which provided a comprehensive understanding of personal core beliefs. During one of my core belief exercises, I decided to relocate from Virginia Beach to Maryland (i.e., my company had a relocation opportunity). Top Return |
1991: Freeman Walker and James discuss an upcoming Federal Poets program.
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Maryland Experience — the Apprenticeship (1984-1989)
One evening after rehearsal, Steve, my dance improv collaborator, wondered why I took an apprentice attitude toward everything in the arts. He believed I should be a leader or teacher, not a student. Steve was right. I took a back seat to anything that put me in the limelight. However, the entire thirteen year period (1984 - 1997) was a learning curve for me, in career, in the arts, and in applying the qualitative information system. When I began circulating in DC poetry and theater communities, I had no doubt about my approach — it was strictly for exposure and experience. Lacking repertoire, I built a new one from scratch. I felt intimidated, alongside more professional poets and actors, but they seemed to tolerate me for the newness of my style and material.
After awhile, suburbs, such as Rockville, Reston and College Park began having a cultural life of their own, and my focus shifted from DC to those centers. Eventually, another music focus grew up in Baltimore, with other sets of friends and associations, and in time, I grew out of the apprenticeship role. Top Return |
James Semark (amplified symphony chimes) performs "Millenium" with dance improv artist Leslie Sapp at Baltimore Composers Forum concert, 1994
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Vida Danza (1990)
By the 1990’s, I realized I’d spent fifteen years writing literature and drama, but without giving attention to music composition. To fill the void, I gradually renewed my music practice with qualitative techniques. The result was the ability to translate tones and rhythms into Talea positions, creating new music works. The earliest project was an attempt to create a music and dance improv work called Vida Danza, based on the astrology of the dancer. Top Return |
The late Dawn Culbertson posing with a John Cage t-shirt
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John Cage (1991)
The most inspiring, five-star moment of the decade was the 1991 noon lecture of John Cage at Strathmore Hall. In his lecture, he described his first “happening” at Black Mountain College, in the early 1940s, assisted by Buckminister Fuller, Charles Olson, David Tudor, and others. During his lecture, I realized that all the principles I believe in, such as the “chance operations” of Cage, the “form is an extension of content” of Olson, and the “syngery” of Fuller — all these pioneering ideas grew out of the same spirit they shared, together, more than fifty years ago! Top Return |
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Telecom (1996 - 1997) In the late ninetes, I was hooked on the idea that global, wireless telecom could spawn global awareness. In spring of 1997, while walking through the Network Operations Center of Sprint’s Reston campus, I developed a sense of what telecom engineers might be doing, thirty years from that moment, acting as monitors of the planet’s healing consciousness.
In that same period, I discovered Laceweb while surfing the Internet. Things were getting warm.
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Yorkminster, England
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The Vision (1997)
October, 1997: my first time anywhere off the continent. Meditating in Yorkminster Cathedral, the effect was similar to realizations I had in the driveway of my friends, in the summer of 1972. Like 1972, I was on a sabbatical, reflecting on the recent work experience, integrating that experience with my art. Unlike 1972, the vision arrived with a sense of completeness. The overseas trip became the “Omega Point” of the quest that began twenty-five years earlier – all stars were on the table for that event! In this case, I “put it together,” that the qualitative information system could become a global telecommunications network with knowledge database, and that the “screen layout” for the end-user application was my number board. The “product” of this global network would be mass socio-cultural transformation.
While Yorkminster had served its purpose as a consciousness-expanding vehicle for medieval society, the new “cathedral” would become an electronic one, the Internet! Top Return |
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On Demand (1998)
In 1998, I fell in love with Sprint’s ION (Integrated, On-demand Network), an emerging world telecom system, and I became an employee of Sprint Corporation. At the time, Sprint seemed to be an ideal vehicle for my qualitative ideas, and also, an opportunity to do something for the planet — what they call a “win-win” situation.
It didn’t last long. By mid-November of 2001, with workforce reduction, I was on layoff. For the moment, stars had fallen out of the sky in Virginia — I felt I’d lost my vehicle and was at the end of my dream.
Yet, during my five-month out-of-work situation, I thrived, and so did the qualitative information system. Subsequent to the workforce reduction, I witnessed Enron and the unraveling of business America, and realized that rubbing shoulders with the corporate machine was not a good idea.
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Photo by Jack Bodnar
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Roots (2003) I returned to the Detroit area in the summer of 2003. Realizing I was in a "disseminating phase" of my quest, I began thinking of more practical applications of the qualitative information system. Getting involved with my roots and the Detroit Artists Workshop Reunion festival gave me a tremendous boost: for the first time in my life, I'd found my audience! These people would become the recipients of my ideas, whether in the form of discussions, web pages, publications or dramatizations. The Detroit area, in need of urban revitalization, would become a proving ground for the principles of QUIS (the Talea Pattern; the digitized number board), applied to community leadership and social transformation projects. Top Return |
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Summary. However long I may live, the endgame will still hold true. You'll notice that, in my 20s, I was a hot shot in the Artists Workshop and I thought I had it together. In my 30s and 40s, I thought I understood the cosmos. In my 50s I had a vision of world transformation. Now, in my later years, I realize I understand only a milli-fraction of what's going on in the universe -- it's as though I don't understand anything at all! On the other hand, I see no end to the discovery process -- the opportunity to explore greater and greater realms of galactic mind goes on forever. This is the endgame. Top Return |
