Showing posts with label Ren Guang-yi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ren Guang-yi. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Lou Reed on Tai Chi, Meditation Music and Care of the Knees

Photo Credit:  LA Yoga



Sitting Down With:
Lou Reed
On Tai Chi, Meditation Music and Care of the Knees.

By: BOB BELINOFF

Lou Reed is a singer, songwriter and poet, the other man in black.

He is a denizen of the ’60s; Andy Warhol’s Factory scene and groundbreaking albums beginning with the legendary Velvet Underground.

Alive, kicking and exploring, Reed still inhabits the avant-garde fringes in this, the first decade of the new century. Lou Reed is a Grammy winner and a member of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. A long-time pioneer in experimental music, this year Lou has broken new ground in what has long been a somewhat familiar meditation music scene. His new album, Hudson River Wind Meditations, with spare, hypnotic techno-harmonics is a change of pace for him, anyone who listens to meditation music and anyone who is a Lou Reed fan.

Until the album’s release, one would little suspect that for the past twenty years, as well as the dark part of the city and the heart, Lou Reed has also been investigating the heart space of the breath arts.

Specifically, Lou has been studying with Master Ren Guang Yi who also accompanies him occasionally on stage at Reed concert performances. Master Ren’s Chen-style Taijiquan (Tai Chi Chuan) is both soft and hard with occasional sharp bursts of staccato-like thrusts – somewhat like Mr. Reed. Lou Reed seems both quick and even-handed, calm and impulsive. He is scheduled to leave in a few weeks for a European tour. Before leaving for the recording studio in New York, he sat down, manager and personal assistant at his side, to talk to us about something other than Andy Warhol or a walk on the wild side.

His love is Tai Chi. Mine has always been Aikido. We talked about those arts, and music and knees.


Bob: You’ve been practicing Tai Chi for a while I believe?

Lou: For about twenty-four, twenty-five years.

Bob: I remember when I first discovered Aikido. When did you first discover Tai Chi and what was it at that time that you related to?

Lou: In the early ’80s. I was studying a hard style martial art and I was taken aside and told that I would really enjoy this, this other method, discipline. And it started from there.

Bob: Did that turn you on to meditation as well?

Lou: Well, eventually, but certainly not then. Then it was kind of along the lines of ahhh… knocking me across the room to show me what it was.

Bob: Was this when you discovered Master Ren?

Lou: No, Master Ren entered the picture four-and-a-half years ago.

Bob: What was it about um the Chen Taijiquan, made you say “wait a minute here…”

Lou: The power. The power of it was astonishing. This, uh, sudden release, this explosive, exploding power, internal power, exploding power.

Bob: And did this…

Lou: Anybody who’s ever seen it is in our class now (laughter). It’s uh you know it’s a martial art that also happens to be a health system; it’s kind of nice…

Bob: And it…

Lou: …works out to your advantage. You know Aikido and Aikido people, you can only keep that Aikido going so long then it’s probably not a great idea to get thrown down. You know, I mean I don’t know whether you still practice with the throw downs…

Bob: Well my knees are, after two surgeries, uh…

Lou: Aha!

Bob: Yeah.

Lou: There you have it!

Bob: There you have it.

Lou: Yeah. You know, one of the great things, if I may say, about Master Ren is that I was very impressed by the fact he is always watching out for peoples’ knees. Very important. Because in yoga and Tai Chi…I mean I’ve had people try Tai Chi where the teacher doesn’t pay attention put it that way. And it doesn’t even matter what style. But uh where they came back (he laughs) and they can’t walk or they say their knee is…you know…

Bob: …gone

Lou: …if you can get the fundamental stance and get into your body the correct alignment is, it becomes a non-issue. Especially if you have a teacher who corrects that stance of stretch periodically. But if he doesn’t, I mean if you’re like in a big class where no one pays attention to you…

Bob: Yes…

Lou: …and you just follow. You can’t just follow. You know what I mean? Our eyes can fool us. I’ve had this happen to me so many times that I’m not surprised by it anymore. Where I think I’m doing it right and then he comes over and corrects you and you suddenly go from a position of weakness to strength…and you we’re talking about a blade of grass.

That’s a real big deal. It is a really serious issue and one of the guys in our class is a doctor which is kind of interesting and he was in the class uh because his brother had told him about some of the medical benefits accrued from it. And there was a real problem with an area of the body and after doing this that – you know he was heading for surgery and now he’s not. Bob: Well this is interesting because I’ve had to stop practicing Aikido, which is like breaking up a love affair, and I haven’t been able to transfer that love completely because for some reason I go like Tai Chi, the energy just seems too slow I can’t slow down.

Lou: Yeah well…

Bob: Not like me.

Lou: Well its different if you’re talking about Chen Taijiquan. Chen Taijiquan is not that slow one in the park. Put it that way.

Bob: Mm-hmm.

Lou: It’s slow fast. Slow fast. Slow fast power. I mean its fast, there are some forms in there that are so fast you can’t learn it. You know it’s like he won’t even…You know, he shows it to me once in a while, I go, “no” I know like the first eleven moves (laughter).

Bob: That’s enough…

Lou: And that’s exhausting because it’s fast, I mean really fast. And the meditative quality in Chen. I mean seriously. But again it’s like anything else it depends on the teacher. They say Tai Chi is a working meditation. But this is also, you know, the Chen as taught by Ren GuangYi is based around power.

Bob: Is this type of Tai Chi helpful in treating an injury once you have it? I’ve got a knee that the guys want to operate on again.

Lou: It depends what it is and what the teacher would say. The knees are really tricky. One of the guys in our class um was doing a thing called push hands?

Bob: Sure.

Lou: And he did it with someone who was not careful and that person put his knee out. Just like that. He had to have knee surgery. Not because he was negligent but because the other guy pulled a move that you just don’t pull. You know what I mean? As seemingly as gentle as pushing seems to be, this is not gentle.

Bob: Looks gentle, when you see it in the park, but it’s not…

Lou: This push hands is anything but gentle. You know, it just looks that way initially but once you get going it’s not that. But anyway, this guy knocked him down with push hands and this is a very advanced guy that had this done to him – so it’s really a very bad thing. And he had knee surgery. Now he’s back and he’s been doing the practice you know, you’d never even know it. You know, and he’s doing all of it.

But he’s a knowledgeable guy. I can’t answer your question about treating a knee injury, I can’t answer a question like that because I don’t know enough…to recommend. But like I said people come in with shoulder injuries neck injuries and now they don’t exist anymore from practicing the form. I mean it’s an energy-based form that’s very, that has healing properties too. That’s why it’s a health system it’s just also a fighting system. We get a lot of musicians in there like you know violinist with a shoulder problem this kind of stuff… and you know um but they don’t have the problem anymore.

Bob: I should ask you for readers here, is there, uh, is this Chen style available in Los Angeles are there teachers do you know of?

Lou: Uh, um I don’t. You know my teacher Ren GuangYi his teacher is Master Chen Xiao-Wang as in Chen Village Chen Taijiquan and I would go to their web page to see if any of, any of their people are in LA. [ymaa.com]

Bob: What’s your practice like? Do you…

Lou: Every day two hours.

Bob: No shit.

Lou: Really. I mean as best as I can within reason you know like sometimes I can’t start the full two but I’m doing it every day. But it’s not because I’m highly disciplined it’s because it makes me feel good.

Bob: When you go on the road, like you’re about to do for an extended trip, you still practice every day?

Lou: I bring my weapons and my stuff and I try to make arrangements somehow to practice.

Bob: Really.

Lou: If I don’t I’m going to be hurting. I’ve crossed – you know what I mean? – I’ve crossed over the line.

Bob: Yeah.

Lou: It used to be it hurt from doing it. And now it hurts if I don’t. So what I do is I go I go into a hotel and I ask them is anybody using this business conference room…and if they’re not, I ask them gee do you mind if I move the chairs? Or, is there a backyard or can is anyone in the parking lot? You know because gyms usually aren’t big enough.

Bob: And this is something you’ll do by yourself…

Lou: Yeah.

Bob: …without music?

Lou: Well I compose my own music…All I need is me and some space. And if I can’t do that I do it in my head.

Bob: Ah, tell me about that.

Lou: I do the form in my head. Like, when if I can’t possibly do it I do it in my head so I don’t forget the moves.

Bob: While you’re sitting or walking or just…

Lou: Doesn’t matter.

Bob: And that’s a form of, well the practice itself is a form of moving meditation.

Lou: Well sure, sure.

Bob: And do you have a meditation practice as well?

Lou: Yeah, I studied with uh… he’s got a book out called The Joy of Living and you can look it up Mingyur M-I-N-G-Y-U-R Rinpoche, you know Rinpoche…? He’s my teacher for flat out meditation and the why’s and when’s of everything.

Bob: David Lynch has a book out about meditation and the creative process…

Lou: Really? No kidding.

Bob: Well he’s a big-time meditator, a part of the TM movement with Maharishi…

Lou: You mean the original Maharishi all the way back in when?

Bob: Yes, he’s now based in Iowa…

Lou: Transcendental Meditation?

Bob: Yes.

Lou: Okay, so that’s the Beatle guy.

Bob: David Lynch has started a foundation called the Lynch Foundation to bring meditation into schools.

Lou: That is so great. You know I was, I forget where the hell we were but we were running into a lot of people from Bali and they get taught this in school…and you know typically, we’re not even given a clue.

Bob: Right.

Lou: Very, very shameful that that part of our education is completely ignored. It’s just really tragic. I think that’s why our foreign policy is what it is but that’s a whole other story. Anyway, good for David Lynch, isn’t that great?

Lou: Well I’m pleased you know my little CD out there…

Bob: Yeah, at some point take a look at his website too because it might be inspirational for you as well. Um let me ask you about your new CD, Hudson River Wind Meditations. What’s the genesis of that?

Lou: I had made it for myself. Just for um a number of different uses, and meditation bodywork Tai Chi and I also would just leave it on all day…because um it absorbs the outside sounds that might be irritating otherwise.

It blends it into whatever’s going on for some reason. I don’t know why that worked but it did. So I just have it on all day, and it’s just filling things in and making it nice. And, I use it for the meditation. People started saying to me “can I have a copy of that,” you know, “can you put that music on?” So I did that enough and then after a while I thought this is really great, you know. We put just the music out on the theory that you probably have your own meditation you’re doing and this is a great music to do it to rather than me putting the voice on it.

Bob: Hmmmm. I have in my notes, and I don’t know if it’s something that I wrote or that you wrote but the sound of radar or sonar…

Lou: That’s not me.

Bob: That’s not you, okay.

Lou: No, I don’t know from radar or sonar, it has nothing to do with me.

Bob: The “Find Your Note” piece there’s the sound of a glass bowl almost…

Lou: Well, it could be a lot of things…but a glass bowl is good enough.

Bob: So you did this essentially did this music for yourself?

Lou: I did it a hundred percent for myself.

Bob: And what kind of reaction have you gotten so far from it being out there?

Lou: People seem to respond to it in the spirit in which it was put out. I mean it is what it is. What I like about it is that it’s not traditional and it’s very modern and contemporary.

And it has certain goals in mind I think it accomplishes them.

Bob: I’m sure it does.

Lou: I’m not different from you or any other people. If it works for me it works for you.

Bob: And the goal being…

Lou: To help you meditate. Or to work at anything where you know the music can be meditative or energizing depending how you’re listening to it. And, like I said it can be an overall aural blanket.

Bob: Your music has always been for me, and I think for many people, part of an edge in the cultural milieu, it’s been on the edge.

Lou: Well, there’s no edge on this, although people would say me even putting it out is on the edge…

Bob: Yes absolutely.

Lou: …to my own career I mean.

Bob: Well that’s true, are you concerned with what people think?

Lou: If I ever listened to what other people think about anything…I would grind to a halt. I don’t have any interest in that side of it or view of it at all.

Bob: That’s never been a part of your craft?

Lou: Yep. Yep. I’m very hard core. I follow the bouncing ball wherever it goes, and I don’t care.

Bob: And when you first started to practice Tai Chi twenty years ago, twenty-five years ago…Did that change your uh the kind of work you were doing in music, really, your approach to what you were creating?

Lou: Learning the fundamentals of foundational strength and alignment is a real big deal…and you can’t lose for knowing that. I wish I’d been a little smarter then than I was, but it’s taken a long time for me to realize the, you know, complexity and simplicity of what I’ve been taught and the ramifications it has on just things like walking and breathing, more or less doing something. And at that point I think I’d have to say good-bye because I have to get to the studio, okay?

Bob: We’re all set.

Lou: I’m gone.

Bob Belinoff is a documentary filmmaker and public health consultant.
www.publichealthzoom.com bob@digitalworkshop.com


Copied from http://www.layogamagazine.com/.


Rock Legend Lou Reed died at 71 on October 27, 2013

Photo Credit:  KungFuMagazine.com


3 days ago, rock legend Lou Reed passed away at the age of 71. Although the world knew him as an influential rock legend, some people may not know he was a martial artist also... mostly Taiji/Tai Chi with the past few years under Master Ren Guang-yi of Chen Taiji.


RIP Lou Reed





Lou Reed Tai Chi Photos set to original music by Scott Richman (classmate of Reed's)






Tai Chi with Lou Reed and Master Ren -Tai Chi class in the Northern Foyers at Sydney Opera House during Vivid LIVE 2010.






Trailer for Master Ren GuangYi DVD - Power and Serenity






Copied from NY Times:

Lou Reed, 1942-2013
Outsider Whose Dark, Lyrical Vision Helped Shape Rock ’n’ Roll
By BEN RATLIFF
Published: October 27, 2013

Lou Reed, the singer, songwriter and guitarist whose work with the Velvet Underground in the 1960s had a major influence on generations of rock musicians, and who remained a powerful if polarizing force for the rest of his life, died on Sunday at his home in Amagansett, N.Y., on Long Island. He was 71.

The cause was liver disease, said Dr. Charles Miller of the Cleveland Clinic in Ohio, where Mr. Reed had liver transplant surgery this year and was being treated again until a few days ago.

Mr. Reed brought dark themes and a mercurial, sometimes aggressive disposition to rock music. “I’ve always believed that there’s an amazing number of things you can do through a rock ‘n’ roll song,” he once told the journalist Kristine McKenna, “and that you can do serious writing in a rock song if you can somehow do it without losing the beat. The things I’ve written about wouldn’t be considered a big deal if they appeared in a book or movie.”

He played the sport of alienating listeners, defending the right to contradict himself in hostile interviews, to contradict his transgressive image by idealizing sweet or old-fashioned values in word or sound, or to present intuition as blunt logic. But his early work assured him a permanent audience.

The Velvet Underground, which was originally sponsored by Andy Warhol and showcased the songwriting of John Cale as well as Mr. Reed, wrought gradual but profound impact on the high-I.Q., low-virtuosity stratum of punk, alternative and underground rock around the world. Joy Division, Talking Heads, Patti Smith, R.E.M., the Strokes and numerous others were descendants. The composer Brian Eno, in an often-quoted interview from 1982, suggested that if the group’s first album, “The Velvet Underground & Nico,” sold only 30,000 copies during its first five years — a figure probably lower than the reality — “everyone who bought one of those 30,000 copies started a band.”

Many of the group’s themes — among them love, sexual deviance, alienation, addiction, joy and spiritual transfiguration — stayed in Mr. Reed’s work through his long run of solo recordings. Among the most noteworthy of those records were “Transformer” (1972), “Berlin” (1973) and “New York” (1989). The most notorious, without question, was “Metal Machine Music” (1975).

Beloved of Mr. Reed and not too many others, “Metal Machine Music” was four sides of electric-guitar feedback strobing between two amplifiers, with Mr. Reed altering the speed of the tape recorder; no singing, no drums, no stated key. At the time it was mostly understood, if at all, as a riddle about artistic intent. Was it his truest self? Was it a joke? Or was there no difference?

Mr. Reed wrote in the liner notes that “no one I know has listened to it all the way through, including myself,” but he also defended it as the next step after La Monte Young’s early minimalism. “There’s infinite ways of listening to it,” he told the critic Lester Bangs in 1976.

Not too long after his first recordings, made at 16 with a doo-wop band in Freeport, N.Y., Mr. Reed started singing outside of the song’s melody, as if he were giving a speech with a fluctuating drone in a New York accent. That sound, heard with the Velvet Underground on songs like “Heroin” and “Sweet Jane” and in his post-Velvet songs “Walk on the Wild Side,” “Street Hassle” and others, became one of the most familiar frequencies in rock. He played lead guitar the same way, straining against his limitations.

Mr. Reed confidently made artistic decisions that other musicians would not have even considered. He was an aesthetic primitivist with high-end audio obsessions. He was an English major who understood his work as a form of literature, though he distrusted overly poetic pop lyrics, and though distorted electric guitars and drums sometimes drowned out his words.

Lewis Allan Reed was born on March 2, 1942, in Brooklyn, the son of Sidney Reed, a tax accountant, and Toby Reed, a homemaker. When he was 11 his family moved to Freeport, on Long Island. His mother survives him, as does his sister, Merrill Weiner, and his wife, the composer and musician Laurie Anderson.

Generally resistant to authority and prone to mood swings, Mr. Reed troubled his parents enough that they assented to a doctor’s recommendation for weeks of electroshock therapy at Creedmoor State Psychiatric Hospital in Queens; in 1959, while beginning his music studies at New York University, he underwent further treatment.

After transferring to Syracuse University, he fell into the circle around the poet and short-story writer Delmore Schwartz, one of his English professors. Mr. Reed would later resist being pigeonholed, but his college profile suggests a distinct type: an early-'60s East Coast hipster, a middle-class suburban rebel in love with pre-Beatles rock ‘n’ roll, jazz and street-life writers: William S. Burroughs, Hubert Selby Jr., Raymond Chandler, Allen Ginsberg.

He clearly absorbed and, at least at times, admired Bob Dylan. (“Dylan gets on my nerves,” he said in 1968. “If you were at a party with him, I think you’d tell him to shut up.” Twenty-one years later he would tell Rolling Stone, “Dylan continuously knocks me out.”)

While in college he wrote “Heroin,” a song that accelerates in waves with only two chords. It treated addiction and narcotic ecstasy both critically and without moralizing, as a poet or novelist at that time might have, but not a popular songwriter:

I don’t know just where I’m going

But I’m gonna try for the kingdom, if I can

‘Cause it makes me feel like I’m a man

When I put a spike into my vein

And I tell you things aren’t quite the same

When I’m rushing on my run

And I feel just like Jesus’ son

And I guess that I just don’t know.

After graduation Mr. Reed found work in New York as a staff songwriter for Pickwick International, a label that capitalized on trends in popular music with budget releases by made-up groups. Among his credits for Pickwick were “Johnny Won’t Surf No More” and “The Ostrich,” written for a nonexistent dance craze and sung by Mr. Reed himself.

When Mr. Reed met Mr. Cale, a musician working with La Monte Young’s Theater of Eternal Music, they wanted to combine early-1960s rock with the drones of classical minimalism. They jammed with the guitarist Sterling Morrison, one of Mr. Reed’s Syracuse friends, and the poet and visual artist Angus MacLise on percussion, who was soon replaced by Maureen Tucker, the sister of a college friend of Mr. Reed’s. With Mr. Cale playing viola, keyboards and electric bass, they named themselves the Velvet Underground after the title of a book by Michael Leigh on practices in nonstandard sexuality in the early 1960s, and played their original music at CafĂ© Bizarre in Greenwich Village; the filmmaker Barbara Rubin came by with Andy Warhol, who quickly incorporated the band into the Exploding Plastic Inevitable, a touring multimedia performance-art happening with dancers, film projections and the German singer Nico.

The group’s association with Warhol lasted from late 1965 to late 1967, and Mr. Reed thereafter was generally full of praise for Warhol, whom he saw as an exemplary modern artist and New Yorker. A proud New Yorker himself, Mr. Reed squared off against West Coast rock and declared his hatred for hippies. In a 1968 interview he characterized the San Francisco bands of the time, the Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane especially, as “tedious, a lie and untalented.”

In mid-1970 Mr. Reed left the Velvet Underground and moved to Long Island, where he worked for two years as a typist in his father’s firm. He made a disappointing solo record toward the end of 1971, but David Bowie, a Velvet Underground fan when there weren’t many, helped advance Mr. Reed’s career: he started playing Velvet Underground songs in concert and helped produce Mr. Reed’s album “Transformer” in London. It rose to No. 29 on Billboard’s Top 200, but as with nearly everything Mr. Reed did, it took time to spread through the culture.

“Walk on the Wild Side,” a quiet, jazzlike single from the album about the hustlers and transvestites around Warhol at the Factory, introduced a new character in each verse and included a reference to fellatio that slipped past the censors; it became an FM radio staple and Mr. Reed’s only Top 40 hit.

In January 1973 he married Bettye Kronstad, whom he had met in 1968 when she was a student; by July of that same year, after the recording of the album “Berlin,” they were divorced. For several years after their relationship ended, Mr. Reed, whose sexual identity seemed to be as fluid as the songs from that time suggested, was romantically involved with a transvestite named Rachel, whose last name has long been uncertain; she was private, but their relationship was public. Rachel, it was assumed, inspired much of his album “Coney Island Baby”; she is also pictured on the cover of “Walk on the Wild Side,” a greatest-hits album.

Mr. Reed’s look toughened in the mid-'70s, toward leather, bleached crew cuts and painted fingernails. He revisited his rickety, strange and vulnerable Velvet Underground songs on the live album “Rock N Roll Animal,” making them hard and slick and ready for a new order of teenage listeners.

By the end of the ‘70s his interviews and songs were full of a drive to change his way of living. In 1980 he married Sylvia Morales, who became his manager and muse. She was the subject of, or at least mentioned in, some of his most forthrightly romantic songs of the 1980s. But their relationship ended toward the end of the decade, and he met Ms. Anderson in the early ‘90s. They lived together in the West Village for more than a decade before marrying in 2008. They continued to live in the West Village as well as in Amagansett.

In middle age Mr. Reed became a kind of cultural elder, acting in films by Wim Wenders and Wayne Wang, befriending the Czech leader Vaclav Havel (who smuggled a copy of a Velvet Underground LP into Prague after a visit to New York in the late 1960s), creating multimedia stage productions with the director Robert Wilson. His own work moved between mature, elegiac singer-songwriter reports on grief, tenderness and age and wilder or more ambitious projects.

“The Raven,” a play and album, was based on writings by Edgar Allan Poe and included the saxophonist Ornette Coleman and the singer Antony Hegarty. For the album “Lulu,” an aggressive collaboration with Metallica based on Frank Wedekind’s play, he found himself in a “Metal Machine Music” redux, once again attacked by critics, once again declaring victory.

He got together with Mr. Cale, Ms. Tucker and Mr. Morrison for a one-off Velvet Underground reunion in 1990 and a tour in 1993. (Mr. Morrison died of lymphoma in 1995.) And he eventually returned to his dark anti-masterpiece: the saxophonist Ulrich Krieger transcribed “Metal Machine Music” for an electroacoustic ensemble in 2002, and in 2009 Mr. Reed performed improvised music inspired by that album with a group, including Mr. Krieger, called Metal Machine Trio.

Sober since the ‘80s and a practitioner of tai chi, Mr. Reed had a liver transplant in April at the Cleveland Clinic. “I am a triumph of modern medicine, physics and chemistry,” he wrote in a public statement upon his release. “I am bigger and stronger than ever.”

But he was back at the clinic for treatment last week. Dr. Miller, who performed the transplant, said Mr. Reed decided to return home after doctors could no longer treat his end-stage liver disease. “We all agreed that we did everything we could,” Dr. Miller said.

Just weeks after his liver transplant, Mr. Reed wrote a review of Kanye West’s album “Yeezus” for the online publication The Talkhouse, celebrating its abrasiveness and returning once more to “Metal Machine Music” to explain an artist’s deepest motives.

“I have never thought of music as a challenge — you always figure the audience is at least as smart as you are,” he wrote. “You do this because you like it, you think what you’re making is beautiful. And if you think it’s beautiful, maybe they think it’s beautiful.”

Emma G. Fitzsimmons contributed reporting.

This article has been revised to reflect the following correction:

Correction: October 28, 2013

An earlier version of this obituary misstated several facts about Mr. Reed’s first wife. Her surname is Kronstad, not Kronstadt; she was a student when they met, not a cocktail waitress; and their relationship ended after, not during, the making of Mr. Reed’s album “Berlin.”

A version of this article appears in print on October 28, 2013, on page A1 of the New York edition with the headline: Outsider Whose Dark, Lyrical Vision Helped Shape Rock ’n’ Roll.





For further info:




ShareThis

 
back to top
Stickgrappler's Sojourn of Septillion Steps