I first encountered the work of composer and performer Nathaniel Levitan somewhat by accident. In 2014, during a visit to the Bay Area, I stumbled one evening into a performance of Embarcadero, Levitan’s meditation on American myth-making (and Manifest Destiny) as seen through the lens of San Francisco and its built environment. 

Staged at the Yerba Buena Arts Center, it was an unusual production: not quite concert; not quite theatre, helmed by the cult English director Michael Diamond. The songs—if at times a bit “purple” lyrically—were distinctive in their harmonic language, as well as in their raw, emotional earnestness. I was intrigued, and began to follow Nathaniel’s work avidly, keeping up in large part through his output on social media, which was, to say the least, prolific. 

But then, late in 2019, he seemingly disappeared. It wasn’t the kind of thing one noticed immediately. But after a time, his absence from digital spaces became conspicuous, particularly in the spring of 2020, when, with the onset of the pandemic, seemingly every artist had “pivoted to digital,” as the saying went. Was he retreating from music-making? Had he suffered an illness? 

Finally, in the summer of 2021, Levitan resurfaced, revealing that he had embarked on a year-long experiment in living a completely analog life: no smartphone, no email, no social media, no web browsing. Yet he remained somewhat cagey about why it was that he’d decided to drop out of digital spaces, particularly at a moment when his career seemed to have been at an apex. 

This is where The Right to Be Forgotten begins: in this mini-folk opera, I imagine—while taking liberal artistic license—Nathaniel’s creative process, his inner life, his experience during the early months of the pandemic, and what it was like for him to return to our digital status quo after his Walden-esque experiment in leaving the internet behind. 

In a way, Nathaniel’s quest mirrors my own search for gratitude in a world that seems bent on constantly reminding us of what we lack. Perhaps we all have something to learn from Nathaniel’s journey, and might come to discover that what we need most is already within our grasp. 

— Gabriel Kahane, Portland, Oregon, September 2022.