An Open Letter to Philip Glass

Dear Philip Glass,

Years ago, on Friday, October 2, 1998, I saw you perform at Hill Auditorium in Ann Arbor at the Allen Ginsberg Memorial Concert. 

My poem had won first place in the poetry contest associated with the concert and I sat up front with my good friend, James. Although I don't remember much about the concert, I do remember enjoying the music. Your music, with its endless, cascading arpeggios (blog friends, leave this playing as you read!), was definitely the high point. That night, you shared the stage with Michael Stipe, Patti Smith, and Ziggy Marley. And with the person who had won the grand prize in the poetry contest, who got to read her poem, an homage to some other famous poet. Mine was about hanging out around town on a Sunday. 

James and I were sitting in the front row. We were so close to the stage that Patti Smith almost spit her bottled water on us. Then, she crumpled the bottle and threw across the stage in disgust.

I think she was trying to evoke her punk roots.

The concert also featured REM's Michael Stipe in a rare acoustic performance. A lot of women cried out when, halfway through his show, he took off his V-neck sweater revealing a simple white T. He was totally bald at that point, but baldness really suits certain people. Jeans, t-shirt, and a bald head. And if the audience reaction was any indication, this is a look that really suits Michael Stipe.

Very casual but owning every moment of it.

You on the other hand have always had a very good head of hair. And it suits you. I like how fluffy it is now. Has been for years. Some of the pictures on Google Images showed how you used to slick it in your youth. That was a good look too, but I'm glad you let it do its thing.

Later, I saw Ziggy Marley and his dreadlocked entourage wandering the streets looking a little bewildered. I'm not sure where they ended up. Didn't see him again.

Ziggy Marley also has an excellent head of hair. He wears his in dreads and had it up inside a knit cap much larger than the ones usually found in stores.

That night as we wandered the streets of Ann Arbor, we found you sitting outdoors at a cafe with friends.

And I think James and I had had this planned from the beginning.

We approached you and handed you a copy of our slim book: The Principles of Theory: A Systematic Approach to Ideas. Really it was just a bunch of emails we had written each other, telling the story of the former professor and infamous cult leader, Carlton Farthington. As we explained it, you listened to us like we were the only people in the world. Thanks for that.

You took the manuscript, which had absolutely no contact information on it. When we saw you later that night, striding down the sidewalk flanked by two female companions, I have to confess, we ran.

We booked. 

I'm not sure if you saw us then, but I've never seen you again since. And I'm pretty sure you've never seen us.

So, I want to cut to the chase, because I know you're a busy man. 

I want to know what you thought about The Principles of Theory. And if you liked it or even dimly remember that night, I thought we might strike up some kind of creative relationship. I would be content with a mentor-mentee type relationship, but I'd prefer to involve you more substantively in the project we are working on right now, The Concert for Iceland. 

It's really a long story and I don't want to get into it, but we'll have plenty of time to Skype or talk on the phone at some later point if you decide this is an opportunity you just can't pass up.

Sincerely, 

Arthur