RZA Reveals How Debussy, Leonard Bernstein and Bill Evans Inspired His Classical Music Album ‘A Ballet Through Mud’

Todd Gilchrist
·10 min read

Over his almost 40-year career, RZA has proven himself a renaissance man a few times over: as a rapper, producer, songwriter, actor, filmmaker and author.

On Aug. 30, the artist born Robert Diggs added “classical composer” with “A Ballet Through Mud,” his first orchestral score. It’s an achievement that he views as an act of pure creation, and yet one that wouldn’t have been possible without all of those earlier experiences. After rediscovering a notebook of lyrics he’d written as a teenager, Diggs spent the Covid-19 pandemic creating a project that synthesized decades of firsthand musical knowledge with an education in orchestral composition that, though largely self-taught, was no less rigorous for its informality. The resulting ten pieces transport listeners through a musical landscape that’s alternately mournful and menacing, contemplative and playful, but altogether emotionally evocative in a way that’s unique to his expansive body of work.

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Two days ahead of the release of “A Ballet Through Mud,” RZA sat with Variety at his studio in Woodland Hills, California for a lengthy conversation about what initially drove the project, how it connected to his earlier work, and how it is already shaping what he hopes to do with his career in the future.

How much did you look at this experience, even subconsciously, as an opportunity to sample classical melodies, and approaches, and styles that you had heard?

Subconsciously, the sky is the limit. But in the conscious sense, [Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s] “Principles of Orchestration” was my nightstand book in understanding what the masters did. But I engaged with Beethoven, Mozart, Bach, [Alfred] Newman, [John] Williams, and [Leonard] Bernstein, so it’s a lot of accumulation of knowledge. When I came to Hollywood, Jim Jarmusch sent me out here [to compose music for] “Ghost Dog.” He was my entrance into this world, and that led to [working with] Quentin [on “Kill Bill” volumes 1 and 2], and that led to… whatever, right? The accumulation of that knowledge —of the records that I look for and sampled, of the movies I’ve watched — manifested itself here.

“Good Night,” I wrote the whole piece for piano with strings, but then, that flute comes in. That was the first thing I wrote, [with] this kind of a Debussy, Bill Evans and Thelonious Monk [influence]. I sampled Thelonious [on Wu-Tang Clan’s “Shame on a Nigga”]. At Howard University — I didn’t go to college, I cut class and hung out and tried to talk to chicks — all of the dudes there at that time were into Thelonious Monk. I had [“Monk: The Complete Riverside Recordings”], but they had a Bill Evans Riverside collection, too, so I was like, “I’m going to get this guy, too,” even though nobody was talking about him. I think Bill was “the White guy,” and I think that the Black guys overlooked the White guy. But not me. And his doubling of voices resonated with me. Then I looked at Debussy, and you could see that there’s a correlation between those two guys. I can’t prove it, but, sonically, it’s there.

How difficult was it to break the habit of a creating more traditional song structure?

Definitely that book helped, but also, by the time I got to my third film, I’m with Hans Zimmer, and Ramin [Djawadi] or Richard Gibbs — and they’ve all got something to say. One thing that they said that I disagreed with was, “Don’t resolve it,” because in film, it can just leave you in suspense, but in hip-hop, even if it’s a 16-bar statement, it completely resolves. One of the best examples is “The Night Dances When You Least Expect It,” which is seven minutes. And with that one, I just kept thinking linear… it goes into a waltz out of nowhere. Then, the theme comes back. Why? Because, in “Principles of Orchestration,” you’ve got to bring the theme back, right? When you’re writing a symphony, even though this is a ballet, you’ve got movements, and every movement has a technical reason, then you have what they call the recapitalization. So I follow what the masters are saying you do.

You’ve explained that this was inspired by the notebooks you kept as a teenager that you rediscovered during the pandemic. To what extent did you write out a narrative for these pieces to adhere to?

It’s an original story. We named all the characters using the Greek musical modes: Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, Locrian. And those became my characters, inspired by my book of lyrics where one song was called “Joe Was a Nerd,” with six teenagers hanging out and drinking and smoking. I advanced the story as I was writing the music, I made it into six college kids, and they go on this journey.

How tough was it to combine this musical vocabulary with the one you already developed, and then the philosophies you study?

It starts with “Aeolian Beauty,” and it tells you about the sixth century South Indian monk named Bodhidharma, who sojourned from India to China to spread his teachings, known as Chan Buddhism — which is commonly known as Zen, when the Japanese got it. Although he was of princely descent, the journey disfigured his appearance, and he arrived downtrodden and muddy. He came to a local group of Buddhist monks, proclaiming enlightenment, who were adorned in white garments that bore the lotus symbol of Buddha. The monks disregarded him as a derelict. And they said to him, “A monk should never be defiled by mud.” And Bodhidharma just smiled and responded, “A lotus grows out of the mud,” referring to the symbol of their faith. And they were so touched by him so deeply, they became his disciples.

Now, that’s a paraphrasing of the story of how Shaolin kung fu started. If he doesn’t have this moment, Shaolin kung fu don’t start, and I’m never going to be on Staten Island making Wu-Tang Clan. And so the story starts like that, and it goes through the six young friends, college freshmen. But now, the story goes and the music lives. And hopefully the listener can hear the journey I’m trying to give, but even more importantly, go on their own journey.

Evolution. I think it’s evolution of the artist, of the musician, of his knowledge, of his ability. Daft Punk, who are known for their electronic music, probably for years have been playing with their equipment, seeing more, knowing more, but had no reason to express more because it wasn’t the business they was in. Because one thing about this album is that this was not done for business. I think you’re finding artists that are now comfortable enough and successful enough that they could be like, “I’m going to do what I want to do, and this is my level of where I’ve evolved to.” Like, I’ve been playing guitar for years. I might always keep that to myself, but next year I might be like, “there’s my guitar album.”

Air’s JB Dunckel recently composed a ballet, as did Daft Punk’s Thomas Bangalter. What do you think it is that is drawing people from these very well-defined and successful paths in one genre into these more classical forms of composition.

But Jazzy Jeff said it best recently. I’m not going to quote him verbatim, but he said “die empty.” What I mean by that is that a lot of artists are scared to put stuff out because they’re worried about [their careers] but they’ve got all this art they’ve been creating. What are you painting for? You could Van Gogh it, maybe, and they’ll find it when you’re gone and cut your ear off. But nah, give it out now. So, this album is a gift. I honestly got to say that I haven’t done nothing like this professionally, I think, since [performing the live score to] “The 36th Chamber of Shaolin.” What I mean by that is that I didn’t get money to do “36th Chamber.” I lost money to do it.

How much, if at all, did that experience inspire or shape this project?

I don’t know if you know this part of the story. Tony Pierce was just starting the Imagination Artist Series. He was bringing in artists from different fields, somebody from Broadway, somebody from maybe pop or rock. And he was like, “Would you be the third guy?” Which helped bring more awareness to the orchestra, and you could use the orchestra to do whatever you want. I said, “Yeah, anything to help the children.” And he eventually said, “can you perform the ‘36 Chambers’ live score with the movie that you’ve been doing?” And I said, “I’ll do that if you let me perform the ballet as well.” He’s like, “Perfect, but let’s do both, because I don’t know if I’m going to be able to sell tickets to the ballet.” But we got standing ovation both nights to the ballet. And then he was like, “keep composing,” and a year later, we recorded it. And here we are sharing it.

Has this replaced the creative inspiration that you once had in hip-hop?

Passionately, yes. I make hip-hop beats all the time, though. I probably made at least 12 in this last month. But I probably sketched 20 more orchestra pieces. That’s what I want to do. I wake up and I want to sit by the piano. Before, I woke up and I wanted to sit by the drum machine or sit by the turntables. Now I’m not even interested in a record that’s made. As an artist on the musical side of my life, I have to digest now, not ingest. This is one of my digestions.

I’m glad that I chose to look into my old books. The pandemic was sad for so many people. We lost people in our family. But as an artist, it gave me a chance to sit still. Now, here I am sitting down, and then all that knowledge just drained out. Look, I’ve got some privileges here. I could pull out $150,000 and go get an orchestra. Some people probably can’t do that. But it still starts with me and how much talent and knowledge and accumulation of skill that I was able to acquire. And I sat by my piano for years, but I never would’ve played and showed that to somebody. But I realized that whole time I was actually composing. And one thing about this album that we hope it does is inspire people to pick up an instrument. Because once they pick up the instrument, they’re going to find self-expression.

You’ve directed films, you’ve written books. How much do all of these different creative avenues work together for you? Do they feed one another?

I say it in the best respect to myself, but I’m probably artistically schizophrenic. There’s multiple things in me that yearn to get out. I’m working on a new film right now. I’m leaving this press day and I’m going to my editing room. And what we’re editing has nowhere near the compassion, beauty, and elegance of what this is. But it’s pretty fucking dope! But then, I’ll go back and look at myself and go, wait a minute. While I was platinum with Wu-Tang Clan, I was running around as a Gravedigga. I’m just that type of artist.

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