"Talking about the all night concerts, I did some of the first all night concerts back in the 60's with this little harmonium, and I also had saxophone taped delays"
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There is a casual swagger in how Riley drops “back in the 60’s” like a timestamp and a credential. He’s not just reminiscing; he’s quietly staking a claim in a lineage of musical extremity that later got branded as immersive, ambient, rave-adjacent, or “experience” culture. “All night concerts” signals stamina as aesthetic: music not as a set, but as an altered state you enter and don’t easily exit. The intent is plainspoken, almost offhand, which is precisely how it asserts authority. No manifesto, no self-mythologizing speechifying, just gear and time.
The subtext is innovation framed as necessity. A “little harmonium” reads humble, portable, slightly archaic - the opposite of the gleaming futurism we associate with electronic experimentation. Riley’s point is that the future didn’t arrive via expensive machines; it came through stubbornness, repetition, and making do. Then he slips in the real flex: “saxophone taped delays.” Tape delay is pre-digital looping, laborious and physical, the sound literally running through time on magnetic ribbon. By pairing saxophone with taped delay, he’s hinting at the proto-loop aesthetics that would later feel inevitable in minimalism and electronic music, but were, in the moment, duct-tape radical.
Context matters: the 1960s American avant-garde was breaking concert etiquette, duration, and authorship. Riley’s sentence carries that anti-institutional energy. The all-night format isn’t just long; it’s a refusal of the tidy, ticketed night out. It dares the listener to commit, and it dares “serious music” to become communal, bodily, and a little unruly.
The subtext is innovation framed as necessity. A “little harmonium” reads humble, portable, slightly archaic - the opposite of the gleaming futurism we associate with electronic experimentation. Riley’s point is that the future didn’t arrive via expensive machines; it came through stubbornness, repetition, and making do. Then he slips in the real flex: “saxophone taped delays.” Tape delay is pre-digital looping, laborious and physical, the sound literally running through time on magnetic ribbon. By pairing saxophone with taped delay, he’s hinting at the proto-loop aesthetics that would later feel inevitable in minimalism and electronic music, but were, in the moment, duct-tape radical.
Context matters: the 1960s American avant-garde was breaking concert etiquette, duration, and authorship. Riley’s sentence carries that anti-institutional energy. The all-night format isn’t just long; it’s a refusal of the tidy, ticketed night out. It dares the listener to commit, and it dares “serious music” to become communal, bodily, and a little unruly.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
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