Chapter 11

One night at Kissling's I met a strange little man. His name was George Antheil. He was just over five feet three with his hair hanging over his forehead in straight cut bangs. During the evening he sat down at the piano.

The output was a cacophony I'll long remember. It was memorable because it was an unbearable explosion of discord. Occasionally he played 'normal' music to prove he could, but mostly he pounded the keyboard as hard and as quickly as he could, drowning out all conversation. People covered their ears and pleaded with Antheil to stop. But the noise continued.

In a Small Group

Later that night, I found myself in a small group, where George was holding court.

"...of course sixteen pianos would have been best, but all we could find was eight Grands. We wired them together to give the desired effect. Then we augmented with the addition of hammers, saws, bells and... two airplane propellers."

"You can't be serious," someone suggested.

""I'm very serious," Antheil said with a frown, "I call it Ballet Mechanique. I intend to revolutionize concert music."

Recognizing Ezra Pound

I turned to a tall red headed man with a goatee. I recognized Ezra Pound.

"I'm Robert Haas," I said. "Greetings," he smiled. "I'm Ezra Pound, and I'm worth one hundred pence."

We laughed and Ezra asked, "What part of then You-nyted Stayts' d' ye cum frum?'

"I'm a Canadian," I replied, from Montreal.

"C'najan, aye," that's first class. "You a poet?"

"No, I'm a would-be artist."

"Would - be, could be, will be," he replied mysteriously.

"When you come to George's next concert you'll have to carry an umbrella to protect yourself against flying objects."

"When will that be?" I asked. "It should be historic."

"Or hysteric," Ezra whispered smugly.

"Next month. At the Theatre des Champs Elysées. All très chic. You will come, won't you?"

"Yes, I'll try," I hesitated. "When...?"

"It'll be in all the papers," said Ezra. "But get your seat early. There's only room for 2,500."

"Yep, 2,500,"said Antheil, rather proudly. "Eighty five musicians with Vladimir Golschmann conducting." He giggled nervously. There was something wholesome and likeable about the little man.

"I'll try to be there," I smiled. "It certainly sounds interesting."
Antheil raised his eyebrows. "Interesting? I should say it's interesting. It's a breakthrough. Isn't it Ezra?"

Pound Put His Arm around the Little Man

Pound put his arm around the little man. He smiled affectionately, although he had a sparkle in his eyes that looked devilish.
"Yes," he said, "it will change music for all time. There's never been anything like it, here or in America."

He looked directly at me with piercing eyes, "Do you know Sylvia's shop." When I nodded, he added. "The concert posters are in her window. She can sell you a ticket, while they last."

It was dawn when I finally got to bed. I lay there in the grey dawn too tired to remove my trousers. I lay on my back watching a finger of sunlight move across the ceiling. Paris was waking to her bustling activity and I was drifting off out of tune to the city's resurrection. I slept with a smile on my lips and my mind dancing in time to the heartbeat of my adopted city.

When I finally awoke, the sun was going down. I had slept all day.

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