By Terry Hong
A. Magazine
March/April 1998

In his bold multimedia performance pieces, saxophonist and composer Fred Ho combines politics, prose, and a dash of revolutionary fervor

FRED HO TELLS ME he philosophically doesn't believe in monogamy ("although I'm capable of practicing it") or the nuclear family. He's never had kids...that he knows of. "My projects are my kids," he adds after a pause. "They take just as long to birth and to raise, and cause as much heartbreak." And just before I rush off to get home to my waiting toddler, he tells me, "Most arts writers are not politically equipped to write about me. They're too reductionist and oversimplify my politics."

Ah, well. Quite the challenge to present a lifetime of evolution -- or should that be revolution? -- in a mere page and a half. Even more challenging is capturing the strong opinions of this baritone saxophonist, composer, writer, political activist, leader of The Afro Asian Music Ensemble and The Monkey Orchestra, and creator of interdisciplinary musical theater extravaganzas. In creating his work, he says he "utilize[s] everything in creating an arsenal to explode people's consciousness." His words and versatility invite comparison to another self-styled revolutionary, Frank Chin. But Ho claims absolutely no ideological resemblance. "He's a misogynist. I'm not. He's an embittered, aging Bohemian. I'm a revolutionary romantic," Ho says, and adds that he "would love to debate Frank Chin."

But that's for another time. February is going to be one Ho-focused month. He's travelling to the University of Wisconsin at Madison to provide the music for Ki-ache: Stories from the Belly, an interdisciplinary performance about four "women warriors" of African and Asian origin, envisioned by choreographer/dancer Peggy Choy. The same month at the Asian American Studies Institute of the University of Connecticut at Storrs, he will officially christen The Fred Ho Collection -- made up of a lifetime of private papers, including articles, books, poetry, music, critical reviews, speeches, commentaries, video and audio recordings. In conjunction, the school is sponsoring the Fred Ho Prize in Asian American History and Culture, awarding $500 to the best undergraduate essay based on Ho's papers.

The collection represents a culmination of Ho's life-long activism, which includes founding the Asian American Resource Workshop in Boston and the first East Coast Asian Student Union. "I'm trying to lead a clutter-free life," says Ho of his gift. "I'm not on any American Joe accumulation trip. I want my life to be filled with new music, new loves and lovers, new creative energy directed to changing society."

Harvard-educated with a degree in sociology, second-generation Chinese American Ho is a self-taught musician. "I was spared the cultural indoctrination of a conservatory music training," he says. He began playing the saxophone at age 14, and by 16 decided that he was going to make music with a social consciousness. "I wanted music to be a part of making revolution. I wanted music that resounded with the oppressed that terrified the oppressor, that sent chills up the spines of the cultural establishment."

After college, Ho kept himself afloat with construction jobs and temp work. In 1981 he moved to New York, where he honed his talents as a musician and composer. In 1987, he began work on A Chinaman's Chance, credited as being the first Chinese American opera. Transforming the Chinese god of war and literature, Gwang Gung, into an early Chinese American immigrant laborer, A Chinaman's Chance was performed at the Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM) in April 1989.

Ho's next work was a San Francisco production of A Song for Manong: Part II of Bamboo That Snaps Back. This musical tribute to the Filipino migrant laborers combined indigenous kulintang music and dance with contemporary "jazz." (Although Ho always uses the word "jazz" in quotes, he makes it clear that he believes the word is "a racial slur." Ironically, he's most conveniently listed as a "jazz musician," but he insists," I'm always trying to go beyond so-called 'jazz."')

Ho's latest piece, which is currently making the theater rounds, is The Journey Beyond: the West The New Adventures of Monkey!, based on the 16th-century Chinese epic about Monkey, a trickster on his way to retrieve Buddhist scriptures. Referred to as a "visual comic book," the piece debuted at the Public Theater, then moved to the Guggenheim Museum and most recently, over last Thanksgiving weekend, was mounted at BAM.

Despite a list of credentials that includes two N.E.A. fellowships, two New York Foundation for the Arts composition fellowships, and a visiting artist fellowship at Harvard, Ho insists that his original goal of promoting revolutionary consciousness through music hasn't changed. "That's why I don't get presented at Lincoln Center or Carnegie Hall," he claims. "What are they afraid of? That you don't see my work [in those mainstream venues] is indicative of the oppression and exclusion artists like me face. That's why you will see David Henry Hwang and Yo Yo Ma. They're safe; they're palatable to the Eurocentric establishment. I'm not and I'm proud of it. There are those who want to play the model minority tip, and then there are those who are about the Asian American liberation. I'm the latter."

But ask Ho to describe his work and he'll tell you he can't. "It's like asking 'what arc you like as a lover?"' he says. "Ask someone else."

So a quick call into Joseph V. Melillo, producing director at BAH brings a very concise description: "What Fred Ho has conceptualized [in Journey to the West] will break new barriers artistically," Melillo says. "The synthesis of his music, the Asian myth of the Monkey King, martial arts movement, and modern dance results in a dynamic musical theater experience."

What Ho will tell you is that he's "working in the realm of revolutionary fantasy." He explains, "I rely on nothing from the past, instead seeking to carve out an identity for new social and cultural possibilities." His prime focus is on defining Chinese America. "Is it simply a chop suey culture? Just adding Chinese American lyrics to an otherwise American pop song? Or is it so revolutionary that it cannot be categorized, cannot be distilled intosimple terms? I never look at existing paradigms for my identity. Instead I try to create a unique Chinese American identity. It's not like that trite cliche -- I eat hamburgers for lunch and sweet and sour pork for dinner therefore I'm Chinese American. I want to figure out how to come up with a new food." This, as we sit in a Chinese Cuban diner.

But such coalescing of diverse new ideas is not something all "revolutionaries" are necessarily good at. However, collaboration is an important process for Ho, and artists concur that Ho passes muster. "Not only is Fred very innovative in doing his own creative work, but he is also able to work with others, including myself," says Choy about their collaborative effort Ki-ache: Stories from the Belly. "It's been a very important working process for me, that Fred can work with and follow the directives of a woman's voice. There is a high degree of commitment to each other that stems from great mutual respect, something that is crucial between Asian American women and men. It's also crucial that our relationship is not based on any sort of colonial stereotypes of each other as Asian Americans. It's a difficult process but empowering."

In Choy, Ho has certainly found a kindred spirit. "In the course of pioneering a radical new concept, you attract people who share that vision and want to be a part of it," he says. He hopes that more Asian American artists will eschew the mainstream to find their own voices. "Why accept the margins? The mainstream is a polluted pond of racism, sexism, and classicism. Why should we accept a 'stream' when there can be an ocean of possibilities? It's not about getting accepted by PBS, it's about transforming the cultural landscape. It's about becoming a force to be reckoned with. It's about not assimilating. If you're working for generic acceptance at the level of the least common denominator, to be culturally self-effacing, then you've given up your creativity, your identity. You might as well be a politician."