Making Introductions

A musical project with roots in Americana and the Wex has just been released: Bill Frisell's Disfarmer. The work was commissioned by the Wexner Center and Frisell notes that Charles Helm, our director of performing arts, first introduced him to the photographs that inspired the work. NPR tells the story here.

Read on for notes from Frisell and Helm on the project (written on the occasion of the world premiere in 2007)

A Note from Bill Frisell

A few years ago, Chuck Helm (Director of Performing Arts at the Wexner Center) came to me with the idea to do a musical project based on Mike Disfarmer. I knew nothing of Disfarmer—and of course was blown away when I saw his photos for the first time and started to learn a little about his life. What a fantastic story. The idea floated around for quite a while until, in the fall of 2005, Chuck suggested working with Jenny Scheinman and Greg Leisz. They were first on my list too. We were on the same wavelength and things started to happen.

The photos alone would inspire music, but the mystery surrounding Disfarmer's bizarre life really adds another dimension. I thought it would be important to actually visit Heber Springs, Arkansas, smell the air, talk to some people, taste the food, so that the music wouldn't be coming only from what I had seen or read in a book. My wife and I decided to take a drive. We started in North Carolina, went through South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, stopped in Clarksdale (home of Muddy Waters, Robert Johnson, Son House, etc., etc.), and crossed the Mississippi River into Helena, Arkansas, and on up to Heber Springs. Driving through this part of the country gives you a lot to think about—where we've been, where we're going.

After lunch at the Rustic Inn, I was so fortunate to meet and talk with Tom Olmstead, who was very generous with his time and information. Tom is the funeral director in Heber Springs and has lived there his whole life. As a young boy, he had his photo taken by Disfarmer and described his gruff, impatient way with his subjects. "Made you feel uncomfortable." Tom said. He talked about how Disfarmer always wore a black suit, black hat, and heavy mohair overcoat in any kind of weather. He wandered the streets all night long. Disfarmer would appear seemingly out of nowhere, a big dark shape, scaring the kids to death. He never talked to anybody. Everybody was afraid of him.

Years later, as a young man, Tom Olmstead and his father buried Disfarmer. They found his body days after he had died—alone in the photo studio where he had lived—covered with mice and surrounded with cans of Spam. Tom's father said, "You never know, someday this man might be famous." They gave him a proper burial and even donated a head stone monument. I kept thinking about the many other misunderstood, unsung artists who never had the recognition they deserved during their own time—Vermeer, Van Gogh, Charles Ives, Henry Darger, etc. etc. I wonder who is here now?

I try to picture what went on in Disfarmer's mind. How did he really feel about the people in this town? What was he thinking? What did he see? We'll never know—but, as I write the music, I'd like to imagine it coming from his point of view. The sound of him looking through the lens.

As I write these words I haven't yet started to compose any music. I don't know what will come out. I never do. Luckily I'll have the luxury to be with my friends, Jenny Scheinman and Greg Leisz. To say I "compose" this music is maybe too high falutin' a term. I count on Jenny and Greg to transform any little idea I bring to them into something magical and beautiful. They always do.

A Note from Charles Helm

Most of our commissioning projects come about because an artist tells us about an ambitious idea of their's and we seek to help realize their aims with our resources of research, space or financial support. However, there are instances where I've had a longstanding relationship with an artist, like this project, where I've suggested the starting point. Some of these projects are naturals and others take a fair amount of time to evolve. This one has been a bit of both.

Several years ago, I was browsing in the Wexner Center Store and was struck by the first volume published of the haunting portraits of everyday citizens of Heber Springs, Arkansas taken by Disfarmer, issued by Twin Palms. Looking at these quintessentially American images, I had the feeling that they might serve as the foundation for a theatre or dance piece, but, in the end, they seemed best suited as potential inspiration for the music of Bill Frisell, who I've known and presented for over 20 years.

To me, Bill Frisell is a uniquely American artist with a distinctive profoundly singular musical vision and voice, like that of Thelonious Monk or Aaron Copland. At the time that I came upon Disfarmer's body of work, Bill was in the midst of tapping rich veins of Americana themes in his great recordings like Nashville and Good Dog, Happy Man. In his probing yet atmospheric musical evocations of American vistas I could hear similarities to the emotional truths of Disfarmer's compelling photographs. So I gave Bill a copy of the Disfarmer book, told him about Disfarmer's bizarre life story , told him I thought that the pictures reminded me of the feeling I heard in the music he was working on with Greg Leisz, and asked if he thought there might be something in all of this for him. There was. Bill was instantly as enthused as I was about the material and felt the idea was very promising.

However, it did take some time for the project to come together. Some potential collaborators didn't pan out due to everyone involved living at distances and being involved in multiple recording and touring projects. Several years transpired until the spring of 2005 when Bill and I were at a dinner to celebrate the expansion and reopening of Walker Art Center in Minneapolis where I first presented Bill in the 1980s. While catching up, Bill said he was still quite fascinated in Disfarmer and couldn't we find a way to make this project happen. I said, "sure."

A few months later I was in New York City and happened to see a new book on Disfarmer that turned out to be a catalog for the first show of his original photographs (earlier exhibitions and the Twin Palms book relied on new prints made from the trove of glass negatives discovered in his studio after Disfarmer's death). The new exhibition was in a gallery a block away from the bookstore, so I hurried over to see these amazing photos. At that gallery I learned that there was a second concurrent exhibition of Disfarmer originals at another gallery in Chelsea that had also published its own catalogue. As I was looking at these extensive collections of Disfarmer's original portraits, I knew I had to let Bill know ASAP about the two gallery shows, new books, and new facts about Disfarmer and his work that had unearthed by the collectors who had amassed these original photos.

Looking at the exhibitions, it also immediately hit me that perhaps Bill should compose music for a trio with violinist Jenny Scheinman—since Disfarmer was a fiddler and Jenny and Bill have a longstanding musical connection—as well as Greg Leisz. When I got in touch with Bill to run this all by him, he said "that sounds great....so, you knew I was just about to go on a tour in Europe in a couple of weeks with just Jenny and Greg?" I hadn't known anything about these plans for their first outing as a trio, but, for both Bill and I, this seemed to make the idea even more perfect.

So, although it's been a while in development, Bill Frisell's Disfarmer Project has been a very natural fit all along, as well as a project that has taken its time to evolve. I hope you enjoy this occasion to discover Disfarmer and hear the results of Bill and his talented collaborators' musical suite inspired by these captivating and timeless photographic portraits.