Machines were mice and men were lions once upon a time; but now that it’s the opposite, it’s twice upon a time. – Moondog
Viking of 6th Avenue
Young Louis Hardin b.1916 (later to call himself Moondog) started playing home-made cardboard drums at the age of five, during his childhood he was exposed to the Native American instruments and rhythms that would shape his music. At one point Hardin’s father took him to a Native American Sun Dance where he sat on the lap of Chief Yellow Calf and played a tomtom drum made form buffalo skin. He also played drums in highschool before losing his sight in a farm accident involving gunpowder, aged 16. Principally self-taught, he learned the skills of ear training and composition. In 1943 he moved from his native mid-west to New York where he met classical luminaries such as Leonard Bernstein and Toscanini aswell as legendary jazz performers like Charlie Parker and Benny Goodman, who would influence Hardin’s work.
Howl at the moondog
In 1947 Hardin adopted the name “Moondog” in honour of a dog “who used to howl at the moon more than any other dog I knew of.” He developed and embraced a worldview that embraced Norse mythology and Viking culture as the pinnacle of human civilisation. From the late 40s until 1974 Moondog lived as a street musician and poet, busking in Manhattan. Because of his proximity to the nightclub strip of 52nd street, he was well known to many jazz musicians and fans. In 1949 he traveled to a Native American gathering at the Blackfoot Sun Dance in Idaho, where he performed percussion and flute, returning to the Native American music he first came into contact with as a child. It was this Native music along with contemporary classical and jazz mixed with ambient sounds of his environment (traffic, ocean waves, babies crying) that created the foundation for Moondog’s music. In a search for new sounds, Moondog also invented several musical instruments, including a small triangular-shaped harp known as the “Oo”, another which he named the “Ooo-ya-tsu”, and (perhaps his most well-known) the “Trimba”, a triangular percussion instrument that the composer invented in the late 40s. His many hours on the street were his way of connecting with the sounds, voices and rhythms of the city. Taking inspiration from these street sounds, Moondog’s music tended to be relatively simple but characterised by what he called “snaketime … a slithery rhythm, in times that are not ordinary … I’m not gonna die in 4/4 time.”
Working in braille and often composing under his cloak and Viking costume (which included a horned helmet) he was prolific and eclectic, writing in an impressively wide range of styles: percussion-driven exotica, avant-garde jazz, folkish madrigals, neo-Baroque rounds and canons for both chamber and symphony orchestras. His layered minimalism went on to influence young collaborators Steve Reich and Philip Glass. In 1989 Glass invited Moondog to conduct the Brooklyn Philharmonic Chamber Orchestra, stimulating a renewed interest in his music. Acceptance as a recognised modern classical composer has always eluded him. The ancient and ancestral streak symbolised by his Viking helmet and garb can be heard in his music which was melodic and tuneful in an age where atonality in classical music often ruled.
In 1974 Moondog was invited to give two concerts in Frankfurt and visited Germany for the first time. He felt comfortable in the land of his music ancestors and despite having little money and knowing no German, he decided to stay until his death in 1999. He was, to the very end of his life, vital, active and creative. It is hard to define musical genius. Is it the quality of their music? Their role in history? Or simply hindsight? In this case it is a combination of Moondog’s unique story, unique mode of composition and unique way of looking at the world. It seems sad that it has taken the world this long to begin appreciating this sensitive musician. His music has recently appeared on Henrik Schwarz DJ-Kicks series and Ame, Dixon and Henrik Schwarz recent Grandfather Paradox album, both of which are highly recommended in their own right. You can download Moondog’s seminal self-titled album here.
Despite his handicap and under difficult circumstances, Moondog stubbornly struggled as a free artist, committed to his own ideas of life and music, regardless and yet as a consequence of the world around him. He was a true artist who wrote a most beautiful and peculiar music that still amazes listeners all over the world to this day. If nothing else who should be exalted for providing a tangible link between the somewhat genteel world of contemporary classical music and those on the margins of society. Moondog, we salute you.
