Why Schafer is not a Canadian artist

While writing an essay one of R. Murray Schafer's works last year, I encountered a rather disturbing quote of his:

I am opposed to [immigration in Canada] since I consider the country already overpopulated. Canada’s most urgent problem is the discovery of an identity, an issue in no way served by the receipt of more strangers. (58)*

"Strangers", said the man, turning up his nose and thumbing the "GENUINE CANADIAN" badge that he had pinned on his lapel that morning.

We are all strangers.

When I encountered that quote, I was willing to cut Schafer a little slack, thinking that he might have good things to say otherwise about Canadian identity. His notes for the piece "North/White" however (which was performed by the Esprit Orchestra last night at Koerner Hall), revived the initial shock and disgust I felt upon reading that quote the first time. A glance through his program notes will likely quell any suspicion that I am wrong when I say that Schafer is not a Canadian artist.

These are the notes for North/White:

I call this piece North/White because, like white light,
which is composed of all visible frequencies, it combines all the producible notes of the symphony orchestra from the deepest to the highest instruments.

The North is not described by the adjective “pretty” and neither is this piece. North/White is inspired by the rape of the Canadian North. This rape is being carried out by the nation’s government in conspiracy with business and industry. The instruments of destruction are pipelines and airstrips, highways and snowmobiles.

But more than the environment is being destroyed by these actions, for, just as the moon excursions destroyed the mythogenic power of the moon (it ceased to be poetry and became property), Canadians are about to be deprived of the “idea of North,” which is at the core of the Canadian identity. The North is a place of austerity, of spaciousness and loneliness; the North is pure; the North is temptationless. These qualities are forged into the mind of the Northerner; his temperament is synonymous with them.

There are few true Canadians and they are not to be found in cities. They do not sweat in discotheques, eat barbecued meat-balls or watch late movies on television. They do not live in high-rise apartments, preferring a clean space to the smell of neighbours’ spaghetti.

But these few remainders from an authentic time are apparently to be sacrificed and the North, like the South and the West and the East, is to be broken by men and machines.

That, at least, is the design which the little technocrats of progress have planned. They seek not only to civilize the North but to civilize the imagination of the North. They do not realize that when they chop into the North they chop up the integrity of their own minds, blocking the awe-inspiring mysteries with gas stations and reducing their legends to plastic dolls.

The idea of North is a Canadian myth.

Without a myth a nation dies.

This piece is dedicated to the splendid and indestructible idea of North.

He goes further to say:

"North and East are the only directions that interest me: the East for sunlight, warmth, history and mythology; the North for purity and austerity. For me the West is just cowboys and chopsticks, and the South symbolizes tropical humidity and laziness. And so, having written East and North/White, I let matters stand."

In lieu of a rant, I have written Mr. Schafer a short letter explaining my feelings. (EDIT 11/18/09: This is of course a hypothetical letter. I have no interest in actually sending it.)

Dear Mr. Schafer:

Snowshoeing your way along a self-prescribed "Canadian" path only serves to cement the impression I had of you through your music, which is self-important and played only because you have managed to trick a sufficiently large group of people into thinking that it has some profound higher meaning. The world has left you and your romantic babble behind, Mr. Schafer, and for the better. There is no threat of losing our myth, for the North will always remain the North - waiting for those who seek it, and seeping into our subconscious on the coldest of winter nights. But our identity transcends mere weather conditions or physical manifestations of isolation. It is often anchored by these realities, but it is as diverse as its people, who are here to stay and who belong here.

And for all your complaints about modern culture, you sure seem to soak up every ounce you can. Wasn't it you I saw at the Grand Opening Festival Dinner, a table at which cost $10 000? Oh, it was. And do the wolves and sled dogs howl out your tunes when you can't find performers or an audience to appreciate them? Oh, you don't have to...because the non-Canadian cities provide you with both. I see...

You are not a Canadian artist, Mr. Schafer. You neither understand, nor care to understand, what that truly means.

Sincerely,

David Lacalamita

*Schafer, R. Murray. Patria and the Theatre of Confluence. Indian River, ON: Arcana Editions, c1991