Symphony No. 9
(Orb of Life and Death)
Listen on YouTube…
A multitudinous dramatic life affirmation driven by an exceptionally long mantra…
The basis of this work, and the sole text for the choir and soloists, is the Hundred Syllable Mantra (in Tibetan Buddhism, associated with the buddha Vajrasattva). In Tibetan Buddhism all sorts of bizarre claims are made for what positive things can be achieved for you by seemingly endless repetitions of this mantra, but according to my understanding gained in 2007, its primary effects, as with extended repetitions of any mantra, are actually insidiously and seriously harmful*.
* As you can read in Affirmations & declarations of intent for healing & self-actualization, the chanting or extended repetition of mantras is effectively a 'dark' practice (as indeed is the case for all religious chants, in any tradition) — that is, it's a practice that strengthens the hold upon you of the garbage, which cultivates ego-power, control agendas, fear and negativity.
I therefore nowadays distance myself totally from all mantras or indeed religious chants of any sort, and, as far as I can see at the moment, I'd never use mantras again in any music or other artistic composition.
Indeed, I've recognised that from one viewpoint there's quite a strong case for my suppressing and discarding all my mantra based works. However, if all music works that were based on religious words or texts (such as the Roman Catholic Mass in its various forms) were discarded, we would have lost an absolutely huge body of actually very beautiful, life affirming and awareness enhancing music. (ALL religion is effectively 'of the dark side', as I explain in Exit Spirituality — Enter Clear-Mindedness.)
So, on balance, I'm not suppressing any of my music, but I just caution that listeners let go of any religious, 'spiritual' or devotional associations of the mantras and think of them simply as musical building blocks. If they are performed and listened to with that clear understanding, they would cause little or no harm.
Indeed, more than that, my works using mantras are actually religion and 'dark side' busting works, because they break open the standard mantra-chanting straitjacket and use the mantras in ways that take you right outside the arena of endless monotonous repetitions that unground and 'blinker' your awareness, and instead of using them for 'devotion' I use them as building blocks for producing organic structures and musical arguments that are grounding and Nature-connecting, so furthering the opening up of your healthy deeper awareness, which all religions in different ways seek to divert you away from.
Since I composed this symphony I distanced myself from Buddhism altogether, and I recognise that this work is of very universal intent and its elements are sourced from a deep and ancient source that I feel greatly pre-dates Buddhism as we know it, and indeed looks to have very likely long pre-dated the very existence of Earth.
On the musical level, my starting point was a transcription of the chant of this mantra by the late Chagdud Tulku, regarded as one of the great Tibetan Buddhist 'masters' (unfortunately, I'd now regard such individuals as seriously deceived by the garbage into being effectively inadvertent gurus of 'the dark side'). His chant, as recorded, is mostly on one note, with only occasional minor excursions up or down, but it has a strange and powerful energy. The sense of rhythmic drive has much to do with 'vajra' always being pronounced 'banzara' with the bounce of a dotted rhythm at that point.
What I really liked about this particular mantra was nothing to do with any religious or 'spiritual' connotation, but the way that it gave scope for variety of colour and emotional quality within a single repetition, so that, unlike so many mantras, I could actually make an extended and very singable tune out of it, which could be really interesting for performers and listeners alike, and could encompass compelling lyricism and high drama and produce captivating polyphonic and antiphonal effects — so producing out of the original 'straitjacket' of a mantra something organic, vibrant and life-affirming.
So, after an initial flash of light (or thunderclap, depending how you perceive it), the work starts with the bass soloist singing the chant in mumbling fashion much as Chagdud Tulku did, and this is then taken up by the choir basses. Then very quietly, out of this emerge in the orchestra the first intimations of the new melody that the choir will be singing, like a beautiful shimmering mist enwrapping the chanting bass singers.
What follows from that is a series of variants of the melodious rendering of the mantra, sometimes accompanied by the original chant or slight variants thereof. In keeping with the nature of mantra chanting, the melody itself is hardly varied apart from an inverted version sometimes being used, but the variation is more in the form of different arrangements, which range from peaceful and plaintive to wild and intense, sometimes with strange chordal harmonization and usually with various canonic treatments, and the sometimes quite dramatic use of different keys.
Whereas the main melody has a rather plaintive folk-song quality about it, the inverted version of it has a dramatically different quality, with an almost gaudy fanfare-like brilliance in its tonal colours.
I could hardly believe my ears when I first produced that inverted version and played it back — at first doubting whether it would fit at all workably with the basic version, but quickly discovering that it did indeed 'fit', but in most exquisitely challenging and outlandish manner, bringing a whole new level of exuberant power and brilliance to the work.
Towards the end the music subsides back into the chant of the beginning, leading to the final flash of light or thunderclap.
For this reason, the symphony has turned out effectively to make a sort of pro-self-actualization and anti-religion statement, in that the original, chanted, straitjacketed version of the mantra, as it's used for its religious purpose, could be seen as a representation of non-life, out of which life emerges, finally to dissolve back into the non-life of the religious chant.
Although the work could be seen as basically a set of variations — which wouldn't usually be thought of as the sort of structure that could be called a symphony, in practice this work shows a strong sense of direction and musical argument that runs through it, taking the listener on a powerful and uplifting journey — so in 2004 I decided to reclassify it as a symphony, particularly as it fits into the special category of symphonies that I had introduced with my Symphony 7 (Ancient Cry for Freedom).
(Dashes have been inserted to indicate the musical phrases)
om vajra sattva samaya — manupalaya —
vajra sattva tenopa — tishtha dri dho me bhawa —
suto khayo me bhawa — supo khayo me bhawa —
anurakto me bhawa — sarwa siddhi me prayatsa —
sarwa karma sutsa me — tsittam shriyam kuru hum —
ha ha ha ha ho — bhagawan — sarwa tathagata —
vajra mame muntsa — vajri bhawa maha —
samaya sattva ah