About This Blog

Composer and pianist Christopher Berg (1949-2026) was the quintessential New York — and Parisian — urban modernist figure of the artist who achieves mastery of their instrument and medium, as well as achieving productivity, publication, and performance in the creation of a life-long catalogue raisonné of new works — without selling out.

He disappeared in the dead of winter:
The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,
And snow disfigured the public statues;
The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.
What instruments we have agree
The day of his death was a dark cold day.

…Instead, Berg lived life lovingly and maintained a community of dear friends around him and contributed accompaniment and collaboration to fellow musicians in the tradition of opera and art song unflaggingly.

The death of the poet was kept from his poems.

But for him it was his last afternoon as himself,
An afternoon of nurses and rumours;
The provinces of his body revolted,
The squares of his mind were empty,
Silence invaded the suburbs,
The current of his feeling failed; he became his admirers.

If you have photos, writings, music or recordings of or on Chris Berg to contribute to the archive of Berg’s life and work that we are working on here, please don’t hesitate to make a folder for your offerings on The Chris Berg Archive Google Drive, and please don’t hesitate to contact me, Johnny Sagan aka Snowy Wilderness, at snowywilderness@gmail.com to let me know what you are sharing or to send links and hopefully, if you’re amenable, to schedule an interview for our ongoing oral history of Chris. You can also call or text me at 646-284-8601.

You were silly like us; your gift survived it all:
The parish of the rich, physical decay,
Yourself. 

Tender Tender was the name of Chris Berg’s own publishing company. And now it will be the name of his friends’ blog dedicated to sharing his sweet and stirring music, in every sense, but beginning and ending with his literal music, with the world.

’Sing, Muse, Of The Man Of Many Wiles!’

In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.

Founded February 2026