Episode 046: Chess Players

In which we discuss lost causes, obsessions, and Iceland

I have spent entirely too much time in my life playing chess. 

I don’t say that because chess is a waste of time. Or because I've had better or more important things to do. Not even because anyone requested I stop spending so much time playing.

It's because I stink at chess.

Now don't get me wrong, I’m not that bad. But I've always wanted to be really good at chess. My dad taught me to play when I was little and I was hooked. 

Hooked I tell you!

I'm fascinated by the history of it all. The tournaments, the lore, the players…I can reel off the name of every World Chess Champion in order since Wilhelm Steinitz. 

It’s like a drug. Countless hours studying. Books of tactics and strategy. Lifetime memberships to Chess.com. Lines of the French Defense memorized a dozen moves deep. 

But, alas. I stink.

I can write some music about chess, though! 

The outstanding piece of chess art that inspired today’s beat comes from every artist’s favorite chess lunatic, Marcel Duchamp, who in 1911 painted the beautiful Portrait of Chess Players.

Portrait of Chess Players, Marcel Duchamp, 1911

Now, my fixation with chess is real, but it pales in comparison with Duchamp. The man was as obsessed with chess as anyone could be about anything. At the height of his powers, as one of the most famous artists in the world, he moved to Buenos Aries, played chess for a year, and came back and essentially retired from art and dedicated the rest of his life to chess. Chess playing, chess journalism, chess problems. Everything chess. 

Guess what? He wasn’t that good at it either!

Oh, he was solid, certainly better than me, probably what today would amount to around a 2000-rated player. A strong club player. 

But to dedicate your every waking moment to it when you aren’t all that great?

Yikes. 

Yet, this painting of the artist’s two brothers playing is exquisite. So all is forgiven. 

I positively adore the colors, and its cubist feel just screamed for one of my grids. As much as any of my reductions, this one truly helped me understand what this painting was all about.

Portrait of Chess Players - Reduction

When I started writing this beat, everything was undefined and ethereal and misty sounding. To me, everything about the game of chess is mysterious—as is this painting—so I wanted to get right at that.

However, the age-old argument about the game of chess is whether it is an art or a science. I've always kind of felt it was both, so I felt I needed to add some more well-defined, stringent, scientific-ness to this piece to accompany its artistic fuzziness.

Drumline. Not sure I could come up with a type of music that is more rigid and militaristic sounding than marching percussion. Unfortunately, I'm about as good of a drummer as I am a chess player – i.e., not as good as I’d like to be. And while I have played live drums on some of these beats in the past, I don't have the technical chops to pull off this type of snare drum work. 

Chopped-up sample loops to the rescue!

Once I found some great sounds and cut them up a little, I still wasn't sure how they would sound when I dropped them into the beat. But somehow, magically, it sounded like they were there the whole time. I think it gives the whole piece a perfect balance of artsy dreaminess and rigid thought.

I talk about traveling a lot here…we do like to travel. One of our favorite vacations we've been on was a July week the three of us spent in Iceland. The perfect weather, the spa baths, the volcanic rock, the friendly people, it was all delightful.

But as you might imagine, my favorite thing was visiting the Bobby Fischer Center about an hour's drive outside of the capital. The most famous chess match in history was played in Reykjavik in 1972 between the impossibly brilliant but deeply troubled Bobby Fischer and the then-champion Boris Spassky. East versus West, USA versus Russia. The height of the Cold War. It was front-page news and every game was broadcast live on national television.

Among other things, the museum had a beautiful replica of the chessboard and pieces used during the match. I stood over the board, picked up the c4 pawn, and pushed through the first half dozen moves of Fischer’s legendary game 6 win. Electrifying.

And then I found myself thinking, just for a second, “Maybe if I spend more time studying my openings…”

---

Until next week, thanks for reading Polyester City. If you have any thoughts, please leave a comment by clicking the link above. If you know anyone who likes Music and Art and Stories [and the Queen's Gambit Declined: Tartakower Variation], which is pretty much everyone, please consider sharing by clicking the link below.