it takes four

In the spring I wrote a Quartet that, unfortunately, never had the opportunity to be performed. From its inception to its current state it has undergone many, many changes (though none of them radical). It began as a rather short prelude-style piece and evolved into some more than double the length and while maybe not more complex, definitely more fleshed out. (I still think the original could stand on its own, but I am quite happy with the "extended version.") I submitted a "completed" version for class in April, but I was on a roll and felt like I could keep on going.

I continued to work on it over the summer, expanded several sections and ideas, tightened up a few areas and ditched some parts that didn't feel right anymore. At a couple of points I sent versions of it to my friend Cameron MacLaine, who is working on his Master's in piano performance at the University of Regina. Eventually he asked if he could perform it in one of his recitals. Of course I was thrilled, and it gave me the extra kick to sit down and work out whatever kinks were left in the quartet. After several rehearsals I've also been able to get some feedback from him on what has and hasn't worked in playing it. It's been somewhat of a surreal experience having someone else play my piece without my direction and inject his own creative ideas into it. It's really quite exciting!

To add to the "woah" factor, the other two pieces that Cameron has billed in the recital are Shostakovich's Piano Trio No.2 and Hatzsis' Old Photographs! The performance was supposed to be tonight, but unfortunately the violinist fell ill and the recital has been postponed for another week. I'm really looking forward to hearing the premiere in their very capable hands.

The piece itself is quite the agglomerate. It took its basic ideas from a Chopin-style prelude, though in the end it almost sounds more like a baroque toccata. It has its roots in modality, and the first bar already announces a Db in an arpeggiation of a C minor chord, hinting at the phrygian mode, which becomes more obvious as the piece unfolds. In fact, I was very careful to avoid typical common practice progressions even though the piece uses many familiar sounding chords--not a single V-i cadence in the whole four and a half minutes! The opening figure in the piano actually generates most of the piece, and I was rather proud of myself for being able to keep it moving for so long, since I'm usually afraid of hanging on to an idea for too long. The first motive that appears in the cello and viola in the third measure also features prominently and undergoes various permutations.

Besides some of its modal characteristics, lots of modern sounds end up creeping in, sometimes quickly taking over the harmony, other times just hinting at another sound world. Amidst all these sounds, I think some of my heavy metal influence has come through, sometimes more just as a feeling than a distinct sound, but it's there nevertheless.

I'm really excited to hear how it turns out (as well as the rest of the recital!). Hopefully I should have my hands on a recording in a couple of weeks.

Mene, mene

In some ways I found this last project to be rather easy. Perhaps "easy" is the wrong word. I certainly put a lot of work into it, but maybe to say it came naturally would be better. There are a lot of reasons for this, I believe.

Firstly, I already had my creative juices flowing after the first project. I didn't do a whole lot over the summer, so sitting down in September and trying to crank a few pieces out was difficult at times. Not only did I have to get myself in the right mode, but I had to settle back into the school routine at the same time. After completing my Three Solitudes I only needed a short break before I felt ready to dive back into composing. In fact, I'd already had some ideas floating around my head well before the project began.

Combining music with poetry was also something new and exciting. And rather than slow me down in the compositional process, I actually found it helped out quite a lot. Not only did the text generate music, but I found the music was self-generative. I've never before told someone else's story in my own words (music). I've used my own text before to write songs, but in doing so I'm almost doubling my work because I have to tell the story through my words as well as through my music. If I get stuck in telling one side of the story, chances are the other side will also get stuck. But with this project the text was already there. I just had to know how retell it.

It helped that the poem is so beautiful anyway. I really felt a connection when I first read it, and knew right away that it was the perfect text to use. I still wish that I'd been the one to have written it first. So in that way, I wasn't even really telling someone else's story. It was already mine.

As I mentioned before, not using a piano in the ensemble also changed my compositional process. Rather than be concerned with my capabilities and limitations as a musician, I could focus more on the music and the sonic landscape. I allowed myself to write exactly what I wanted to hear and worry later about whether or not it could be done.

In a way it would almost appear that the piece has changed in little or subtle ways since its beginning, but it's deceiving. It's true that I changed little once I'd finally committed to a passage, but I probably spent just as long as I usually would have coming up with the right passage in the first place. So from one week to the next it might not look very different, but from day to day, or more likely hour to hour it could go through many changes.

Of course I say all of this without yet having heard the piece yet (I consider the MIDI file a rather poor representation). I finally have a rehearsal this week with my performers, so I will see what works and what needs work. I do not foresee any radical changes. I think I said what I needed to say and in the proper language too.

of shoes and ships and sealing wax...

On Wednesday I presented the first part of my new composition. I've selected a text in Finnish and have already set the first three lines with an instrumental introduction. The instrumentation is two violas, cello and countertenor. I'm very excited because I have a lot of ideas. I felt really connected to the poem as soon as I read it, and so far ideas have been flowing nicely.

I've separated the poem into three sections, which will allow me to develop particular ideas related to each (artificial) section.

This will be the first project I've written without piano in the ensemble, and already I feel like it's evolving in a new way. Without a piano I can remove myself from the performance aspect. I'm no longer limited to thinking of what my capabilities are. Obviously the capabilities of my performers are important considerations, but that comes about in different ways. In some ways I find this an easier way to compose.

On another note, I finally got my hands on the recordings of the last recital! I'm very impressed with the quality of the recordings. I thought we might lose a lot of the sound in the hall, but the mic managed to pick up some very minor details. I still think that the dream-encrusted window is best suited for a live, chamber music setting--actually, I think the performers are really the ones who are going to feel the piece the best. All in all, though I'm quite happy with how my Solitudes sound.

musicworks

As I read through the article "towards the ineffable" about the soundsinger Paul Dutton, I came across an exchange that caught my attention.

Jay Somerset: In the liner notes to CCMC's Decisive Moments, Michael Snow describes the band's music as "Hot Real-Time Electro-Acoustic Composition." Is that what improvising is, real-time composition?

Paul Dutton: No. Improvising is not composition. Free improvisation is about something forming at the time, in the moment. It has nothing to do with composition, real-time or otherwise [...] and I make no apology about the fact that I'm not composing. [...] Steve Lacey once observed [...] that the difference between composition and improvisation is that in composition you have all the time you need to decide what to say in fifteen seconds, but in improvisation, you have fifteen seconds.

(musicworks #99, Winter 2007, pp. 34-35)

"Improvising is not composition" is what really got me, for two reasons mainly. Firstly, I've always had an interest in semantics and word choice, no doubt fostered by my dad the editor, and certainly encouraged by my brother's involvement in linguistics. I think anyone reading that line should be asking themselves "are improvisation and composition different?"

And regardless of my interest in semantics, I believed that improvisation and composition were part of a greater whole. So this really got me thinking.

I already knew what I thought and why, but I'm curious by nature and want to know how other people form opinions, particularly if they differ from mine. Even when people have the same ideas as me, I'm interested in knowing how they came up with them because they usually did not use the same thought process as I did. With curiosity eating away at me, I decided to hunt down Mr. Dutton and get the answers straight from the source.

To give you perspective on how I entered this situation, let me provide my thoughts on improvisation versus composition.

In music, composition is the most important thing to me. At least, it interests me the most. If I were to dissect composition its two base elements would be Emotion and Creation, each of which comprises several sub-categories. I think for Glenn Gould--one of my musical idols--creation was key, and was the foundation of his philosophy of composer-performers. He wasn't satisfied with playing music; he had to compose the notes that were already written. I whole-heartedly agree. Musicians aren't reproducers or imitators; we are creators.

Everything I do in music I relate back to the composer/creator part of my brain.

I will be careful with my word choice. I don't want to say that improvising and composing are fundamentally different because I don't think they are. But I do recognise that they have their differences, and each have distinct functions and appropriate times to be used. But I do believe they are tied to the act of creation, as well as what we are feeling. Generally with improvisation it is in the moment, and while the same can be true of composition, often it is more likely a recollection of emotion, an imagined situation or otherwise. But it is all intertwined. Composing requires some sort of improvisation, though one might say it is a tempered improvisation. Likewise, in improvisation we are composing for the first time--we might never use it again, or we might temper it slightly for subsequent improv.

Just as I discussed in a previous entry about the intertwining of "silence" and "music" so do I see "composition" and "improvisation" lying on a continuum.

Now, for Mr. Dutton's take on improvisation vs. composition.

"You’re right about the common element of creation shared by improvisation and composition. But sharing a common element doesn’t constitute being identical. Men and women are both human, but still different from each other. Conversation and writing are both language functions but they’re very different operations. And that’s the best analogy I can think of for the difference between musical improvisation and musical composition."

A valid point. In some ways we are almost arguing the same point. I'm creating a sense of commonality between two different entities, whereas he appears to be drawing a line of distinction between sub-sets.

"What you read in that Musicworks issue was a transcription of me talking, making it up as I go along, however much I might have been thinking ahead as I did that, and however much I maybe changed in my mind some things that I was about to say, and said something different instead. What you’re getting here is me writing, looking at what I’ve put down, going back and clarifying or catching errors in thought and expression, or maybe completely changing my mind. And, of course, both operations (talking and writing; improvising and composing) share more than just the broad general category that comprises them, employing a variety of identical activities and devices as they go about pursuing they’re different methods towards ends that are, in varying degrees, different or similar."

He apparently shares my interest in word choice. I really like his comparison of talking/writing and improvisation/composition.

I admit, however, that sometimes musicians get caught up in verbiage and overcomplicate with labels and categorisations. At best, I believe it to be a necessary evil. But I think it is helpful for a musician to be able to make conscious decisions about terminology, and what it means to him or her because in some ways that gives her a better idea of how she perceives music. Even if you make use of standard terminology and standard definitions, knowing why you use them I think reveals some of your personality and views on music. You can make better sense of things too: "I don't normally like X but for some reason I like y, which is a subset of X." If you can create distinctions in your own mind, not only will it make sense to you, but then you can verbalise your thoughts. "I find y contains elements of Z, something I really like," or even, "Why do people think y is a subset of X? I don't think it fits in with it at all!"

Dutton, ever vigilant, called me out when I asked if our conversation could be quoted.

"Well, Simon, first of all -- and call me picky, but I consider this to be a vitally important distinction -- we didn’t have a conversation (a spoken exchange); we had a correspondence (a written exchange). I detailed the difference between the two when I first wrote back to you. I’m considered pedantic for pointing out this kind of thing, but I consider it equally delusional to think that writing is talking as to think that talking is writing."

He speaks the truth. I should have caught that one before it flew off into cyberspace. At least I know he was paying attention!

Thanks to Paul Dutton for letting me bounce my ideas off him, and sharing his in return.

Musical Inspiration

I was thinking a little bit more on the previous post I made. And based on what I wrote there, as well as what I've thought about before, I've drawn a few more conclusions about those who inspire me, and how it affects me and my music.

I think if there's one thing I've learned from Holopainen beyond being true to your music, it is this: the power of music is greater than the sum of its parts. Simplicity can be more effective than complexity. A piece does not have to be virtuosic and demanding of its performer(s) to be a great piece. In fact, lots of great music has parts that are boring and/or very easy for certain players. But it's the way that the pieces fit together that matters.

I am sometimes apologetic about writing lines that may not be entirely interesting for the performer, but so long as I believe it fits in with the piece and works effectively with the other parts then that is how it must be. Not everyone can be a virtuoso all the time anyway.

I have the following posted elsewhere, but since this is my music journal, I figured I might as well post it here too. It is a list of the ten most influential albums. I think it fairly accurately represents my eclectic tastes in music. Albums are listed alphabetically by band/last name, and the brackets indicate the year I first heard it.

JS Bach - The Goldberg Variations (Glenn Gould's 1981 recording) [2007]

I will never listen to Bach the same way again. I can still remember vividly the day I finally sat down and listened to this. I can only imagine that this is how people felt when they heard the 1955 recording air on the radio more than half a century ago. Having listened to both recordings, I can understand Gould's desire to re-record this particular work. There's nothing wrong with the first version, but he had nearly 30 years of experience and change to put into the piece. Playing on a Yamaha gives it an altogether different feel as well. This version is pensive, it takes its time, the variations in minor are more sombre, the cheerful ones are more so. And nothing sends chills down my spine like the aria.

Children of Bodom - Tokyo Warhearts [2005]

No other live album can compare to this. In some ways this is Bodom's finest work. It truly represents how tight they once were as a band. Listening to the keyboard/guitar solo battle for the first time was incredible. Everything just fit right into place--the music feels improvised and fresh, but cohesive and together. The Stockholm recording of 2006 pales in comparison. I've heard other live CDs that are good, but nothing, nothing like Tokyo Warhearts.

For My Pain... - Fallen [2005]

What happens when you take some of the biggest names in Finnish metal and get them to record a CD? Pure, unadulterated gothic metal. Featuring members from Nightwish, Eternal Tears of Sorrow, Charon and Reflexion, For My Pain... is what Tuomas Holopainen calls a "therapy group." A place where they can go when they need a break from their regular projects and let off some steam. It is indeed therapeutic for the listener too: the steady rhythms, the sorrowful melodies, the atmospheric keys (that could only come from the Nightwish mastermind) the words of love, lust and loss. Works great on sunny and overcast days.

Fort Minor - The Rising Tied [2006]

While I'd certainly been exposed to rap and hip hop before through bands like Linkin Park and Kazzer, The Rising Tied is straight up rap. It surprised me because I finally realised that I actually like rap. This was a big eye opener for me because I knew that I liked rapping in the context of rock, and I didn't mind rap parodies. But I realise now that it's all about context. I don't like gangsta rap, but rapping itself is very impressive. There's something almost trancelike too, with the minimalist steady beats and repetitious harmony/melody (if any). Mike Shinoda tells it like it is, without coming off as condescending, or purposefully trying to be really deep.

Nightwish - Once [2004]

I'll never forget the day I heard Once. When I put it in my CD player back in the spring of 2004, I honestly thought I'd either put the wrong CD in or that they'd burned the wrong music to the disc. It was mind blowing. I'd never heard anything quite like it, and I've never had that same feeling since. Once changed heavy metal for me. I can't pinpoint what it is, but Nightwish really nailed it on this one. It was their first CD recording with the LSO, and in some ways I think it's their most diverse album. Ranging from classic metal songs like Dark Chest of Wonders, to techno-infused metal in Wish I Had An Angel, to the Eastern sounds of The Siren, classic Nightwish sound in Nemo, the Native American influence on Creek Mary's Blood, the epic symphony Ghost Love Score, and the chilling farewell to Marc Brueland in Higher Than Hope. In an interview they were asked why the CD is called Once and Marco Hietala jokingly answered "because we can't do it twice." This CD represents something big. What it is, I don't know, but it's big.

Norther - Death Unlimited [2006]

Children of Bodom's Hatecrew Deathroll was the first melodic death metal album I got hooked on, but when I heard Death Unlimited I knew it wasn't an anomaly. I'm still very selective when it comes to harsh vocals in music--in fact, Bodom and Norther are really the only two I'll listen to--but this CD really opened up a new world to me. I admittedly was not impressed on the first few listens, but then again I was studying for exams. When I gave it a chance I was drawn in by the heavy breakdowns and surprised by how dark the music is. At times just straight up heavy metal, like the title track, and other times depressingly deep, like the tracks Beneath, and Nothing. The band has long been compared to Bodom, but after their first CD (and even then it's a stretch) Norther really developed its own identity.

Poets of the Fall - Signs of Life [2006]

It was the summer of 2006, and I was listening to internet radio at work. It was a neat site (which has since become a paid site, or possibly defunct) that selected your subsequent playlist based on your initial song search. I found some really good music this way. When Lift, the first track from this CD came on, I knew I had to buy it. I hadn't heard any of the other songs, but I was convinced that it would be an amazing CD. I was quite surprised when I heard the full album. Lift sounds like good ol' Finnish metal (perhaps somewhere between HIM and Sonata Arctica), but the rest of it is totally different. The only other two rock and roll songs are tracks 3 and 4 and beyond that it's mostly acoustic or light rock. But it's difficult to put Poets in a specific category. Across the album, discography, and in the songs individually there's a strong synthesis of styles that is really quite effective. It's like metal meets rock, meets acoustic, meets country, meets lounge. Or something.

J Sibelius - Symphony No. 2 in D major [2009]

I've never been one for the symphony. I love concerti and metal that uses symphonic elements, but I never cared for symphonies themselves. Even when we studied the Eroica in second year, I was unimpressed. However, Sibelius has made me seriously reconsider the symphonic form. Maybe it's because he has such a different approach to writing music--after all his symphonies (in fact, most of his large scale music) is not constructed on sonata-allegro form--even his so-called Sonatines, op 67 don't have much to do with sonatas. But I was taken aback by the level of depth and emotion that Sibelius reached, though admittedly it's mostly the opening movement that really catches me. I would later go on to listen through the rest of his numbered symphonies and other symphonic pieces, which are just as powerful. Though the 2nd caught my interest, it was his 3rd that really got me hooked. Sublime from beginning to end. What will those Finns do next?

Sonata Arctica - Reckoning Night [2005]

Reckoning Night holds the record for most initial plays, hands down. Maybe even most plays total. By no exaggeration, when I first got it, I listened to it every day, at least twice, for about three weeks. And then I slowed down to probably once a day after that for a while. No other CD has even come close to this much play time. I don't think I've even listened to another CD once a day three weeks in a row. With Reckoning Night I really believe Sonata Arctica was reborn. They had a very distinctive style and sound, and they were uncharacteristically upbeat for the Finnish metal scene (Stratovarius takes the cake for happiest metal band). With Winterheart's Guild I think they hit a plateau--if they'd kept on doing the same thing it wouldn't have worked anymore. But Reckoning Night is edgy, it's dark, it's heavier. Tony Kakko took his vocal harmonisations to the next level, and all the songs are so much more involved. It was heavy (emotionally and in terms of sound), but light enough to not be too drained after listening to it (one reason I couldn't have listened to Once twice a day for three weeks). It really spoke to me at the time, and still stands as an inspiration.

Tiësto - In Search of Sunrise 4: Latin America [2005]

I had been exposed to trance before, with Tiësto's Summerbreeze mix, but it seems that it didn't hit home until heard this Sunrise mix. My (much) later realisation that I love minimalism could have stemmed from all the trance I absorbed. The two disc set covers a wide range of moods and emotions. Tiësto has quite the knack for picking songs that work well and flow so seamlessly. I could just put this mix on and float away in a trance. I knew after this that it was the right kind of music for me. This is the first two-CD Sunrise mix that Tiësto made and he once said that "there's always a surprise on the second disc." I think it stands truest with Latin America.

Re: Musical Influences

It's an interesting question, with many angles. My first reaction would be to name my favourite artists/composers, but they don't always necessarily match up with the list of influences.

How does one accurately track influence? I think it can be a very tricky business, and often influence presents itself in subtle ways, or is essentially invisible. I don't usually think about influences when I'm composing unless I'm consciously looking to model a particular section or sound based off something else. I might start a piece trying to affect something I've heard before just to see if I can do it, and it might morph itself, and/or the music that develops around it. Strangely enough, I find the less I think about it, and the more I write freely, somehow, the more the influence creeps in. Particularly when I look back at some of first compositional scraps (before I really had any musical training), I'm amazed at what my ear had detected in the music I was listening to at the time, and how it had decided to emulate it.

I would say I consider my music more "inspired by," rather than "influenced by." These people make me want to create, not in emulation but in my spirit, just as they did for themselves. It is the spirit of their music that moves me.

I know it seems cliche to list JS Bach as a great influence, but I think it's a testament to the power of his music, 300 years later. And not just Bach, but all the other masters of Renaissance and Baroque polyphony. The music of these eras really transcend the mathematical nature of the composition. I don't want to sound like a snob, but there's a certain "purity" to the music that is somewhat hard to describe.

In Chopin I find a kindred spirit. I admire the Romantics for their expanding harmonic vocabulary and new ideas, but too much of it sounds sugar-coated to me. Chopin keeps things very real, which is something I try to stick to. Don't waste 16 bars when you really only need 12, or 8 or 4. Write what needs to be written; nothing more or less. Virtuosity has a time and place, and Chopin thankfully steers clear of the bombastic approach taken by some of his contemporaries.

Sibelius has been a recent discovery of mine, and it is thanks to him that I have reconsidered the symphony. I truly admire Sibelius for the sounds he created and his uncompromising attitude towards his music, when you consider the time he was writing. His 3rd Symphony in C major premiered in 1912 (or thereabouts), and while he does use many rich sonorities, including 9th chords in inversion and added fourths in the bass, he was most definitely using tonality and modality. A far cry from what was developing in the world, but that's the music he wanted to write. He may have had very low self esteem, but he stuck to his guns. Thank goodness for that!

Arguably my greatest musical influence is Tuomas Holopainen. The mastermind of Finnish metal act Nightwish is one of the top reasons I got myself back into music. His commitment to writing truthful music is what really motivates me to become a better composer. He's one of those rare people wherein you're just as interested in him as you are in his music. And I think that's because there's no dividing line. It's unmistakably his music, and you can always find him in it. The passion with which he writes, and the power of his music is truly amazing.

I think it's also worth mentioning the influence of Glenn Gould, moreso in his role as performer-composer. His ideas of turning performance into composition are, I think, just as important for performers as they are for composers.

As I mentioned at the beginning, I don't think it's always obvious how influences/inspirations make their way through to the end product. Or, to look at it another way, influences that do come through don't necessarily embody the original. Chopin, for instance, had a great love for Italian opera and its florid style. While it's quite obvious how the lyrical voices had an effect on his works, it doesn't sound like Italian opera anymore (thank goodness). Chopin took what he needed and used it as he saw fit. On the other hand, Holopainen has a lot of respect for Metallica and Pantera (neither of which I care for), and they undoubtedly had some influence on his path to metal, but I don't think that we can hear it in his music. His film score influences, on the other hand, are quite obvious.

When I wrote my first atonal piece last semester, my brother (who is not a musician, though he did take piano lessons when he was younger) commented that he could hear some influence of video game music on me--particularly Nobuo Uematsu and Yasunori Mitsuda. I hadn't thought of it, but when he pointed it out, I had to agree. Just so long as I don't unintentionally replicate someone else' music.

And while he may not have much an influence on the music I do right now, I certainly admire the spirit of Tiësto, and he's the one who taught me how to dance. That's got to be worth something!

Second presentation

As great as notation software is, it will never tell you how a performance will really sound. I learn so much from every presentation (both my own and others), and as a result I can fine tune the things I hear in my head in terms of how realistic they are.

I tend to conceptualise big sounds, so I'm usually surprised by the sparseness of the sound with small ensembles.

The second piece I wrote for piano and viola, Power Breeds Madness actually turned out better than I expected in many spots. I'm still learning a lot about the capabilities of the viola, specific notation, and the different sounds it can create. But what I was looking for was realised more or less.

There is a falling ostinato figure that I need to take another look at. The piano carries it for a few measures before dropping it to imitate the viola, while it picks up a tremolo before picking up where the piano left off. I'm going to see if there are other ways of handling it, altering it, and seeing if it can last that long or if it needs to be interrupted.

I'm wondering too about the last section. I want to keep the viola's role of and undulating "pedal," for lack of a better term. But perhaps it's just too long.

Overall there's a lot of tweaking that needs to be done, but for now it's time to move on and get some other ideas out and then coming back and taking a fresh look at this, and 2006 again.

First Presentation

As usual, the music surprises me. I set off in one direction determined to stay my course, but I was soon distracted by the scenery and started working on a different piece instead. It took on a life of its own before long and I'm mostly happy with how it turned out.

With Megan's help, 2006 was performed in class today. The score is devoid of any dynamics, articulations or the like, save for a few general ideas I marked on Megan's part. I have a general idea of the layout, and will probably sit down this weekend to tinker with it, once I have a good start on another piece.

As always, I'm torn when it comes to revising a score. Public opinion must be weighed quite carefully against my own. It's difficult when I have such a personal relationship with it, though I do consider what others say because they will see it in ways I never can. With regards to the final measure, it was suggested that I leave out the top voices, while others commented that the added chord helped give it a sense of restfulness. I want to end with this chord, but I will play around with different voicings and rhythms to see what other effects can be achieved.

It was noted that the piece contains several ideas in a short space (40 measures). One person did say that they felt it made sense together, despite the contrasting sections; this was my intention. I was aiming for a unified piece through contrast. I will look over it some more to see if there are spots that can be lengthened/elaborated or shortened, or if cross-referencing/foreshadowing would make any more sense.

For now it's time to move onto the next one, and get what I can out. Sometimes a break from a piece is just what is needed to find a new perspective.

Back to the Basics

So, here we are again.

I anticipated this project over the summer, so I had already been thinking about it, but didn't make it much beyond early conceptualisation, for a variety of reasons. Now that it's come time to actually write the music, I find my feet surprisingly cold.

I settled on the character of two of the pieces early on, and already decided on certain passages and overall shape. Now comes my least favourite part of composition: notation. Beyond being frustrated when I'm having difficulty notating unusual rhythms or passages that make way more sense in my head, I still feel like the paper is a huge block between myself and the finished product. I know there is no easy way around this, and I've at least gotten better at quickly writing thoughts out by hand before having to fight with notation software. Still, there are some times when I would rather keep a lot of ideas in my head, at the risk of forgetting it later--until I actually forget it.

Of course, I still struggle with actually getting the music out of my head, too. Too often I can visualise (auralise?) music with an idea of the shape/notes/structure, but am unaware of the actual pitches/values/etc. and many hours have been spent at the piano trying to make it sound like what only I can hear, only to leave it in frustration.

I digress. My selections are being composed for piano and viola--a sadly underused and under appreciated instrument. As well as taking advantage of its rich lower register, I plan to exploit its potential for high notes (both through harmonics and regular pitches). Its capability for sustain will also feature prominently in one piece.

I'm actually "close" to finishing one. I have the major sections of it either written down or mentally logged, and a lot of the rest of it can be borrowed from these sections. I just need to force myself to sit down and organise my thoughts with the music and try to make friends with the manuscript paper.

Aha!: Oceanborn

I think the first time I heard Oceanborn was sometime in 2001 or 2002, but it wasn’t until just last year that it finally clicked. Now, I love every Nightwish album, each in its own distinct way, but I love them all. However, Oceanborn always got the fewest plays, by far, and I guess it just never hooked me quite like the others. With a couple of their albums, too, I had specific moments in my life that I connected them to, and I guess Oceanborn missed out on that as well.

The following statement may seem too obvious, especially in hindsight, but I guess I just never thought about it: Oceanborn needs to be listened to at sea. Obvious as at it may be, I never had that opportunity until last year when I took the ferry to Newfoundland. On a whim, I decided to listen to it, and it was like a switch being turned on. Suddenly it all made sense to me. I knew what the CD was really about, and everything fit into place perfectly. I was on the ferry again a few days ago, and I decided to once again test my theory, and the result was the same. Those two times that I’ve listened to Oceanborn have been the most enjoyable by far.

But the great thing about unlocking a secret like that is now I know the meaning, and I can tap into that knowledge and those feelings anytime I listen to Oceanborn now.

Play it for me one more time

I grew up playing video games. We already owned an NES before I was born, and the SNES quickly became a close companion. I started gaming at a younger age than my older brother, Scott, and Alan at a younger age than I. We started off with the classics like Mario and Zelda, of course, but Scott and I quickly developed an affinity towards Role Playing Games. Since then, I’d say 90% of the games I’ve played have been story- or character-driven. More than, that, however, I’ve always been drawn in by games with great soundtracks. Video games really are a multimedia experience, and when one aspect is lacking, it takes away from the whole.

RPGs have typically had soundtracks that go above and beyond the norm. There are some games where music seems to be an extra element, but the great ones have music that is tightly interwoven with the rest of the game. Even back in the days of the SNES when game music had huge limitations, it was the conceptualisation behind the scores that made the music so great. They were conceived on much greater scales than their presentation. The MIDI files would do their darndest to get the message across, and then your imagination could take over and fill in what you knew to be hidden. Theme songs became just as important as the characters themselves because they were inseparable. And at a time when text was either lacking or poorly translated and graphics could not always convey specific emotions or actions, the music gave the extra push to help you feel uplifted, sad, angry or excited.

There is often the notion that video game music is a lesser art form, which is usually accompanied by poor or no reasoning. There is a lot of bad video game music, no doubt, just as there is a lot of bad music elsewhere. That is no reason to dismiss an entire genre. Early generations of video games had extreme disadvantages in terms of delivery of music, as I mentioned earlier. But I think the good composers persevered and did the best with what they had. In many cases those early games have been remade on newer, more powerful systems and the sound has been updated, or reinterpretations of the soundtracks have been made in orchestral or piano form. With these tools it has been shown that the pieces are more than 8-bit sounds. Early recording devices weren’t so hot either—it’s not like an aluminum cylinder can really capture the whole of a Beethoven symphony. So one can hardly blame video game composers for having to use the only technology they had available at the time.

One ubiquitous characteristic of video game music is looping, ranging from barely noticeable, to frequent, to repetitive, to excessive. Generally a piece can do well if it lasts a good 40 seconds before completing the loop, but I’ve heard background tracks that will loop after a mere six or seven seconds. I remember as a kid being asked by my parents why I didn’t get annoyed by the incessant looping. And it’s a funny thing, I really never was bothered by it if it was a good enough track. For a piece to hold my interest (generally) it has to fit the following criteria: be fitting to the character/mood/environment; have a loop time that is not too short; and be an overall good piece of music (obviously).

The length of the loop is (or should be) dependent on other factors. For instance, if players are going to be spending a lot of time in an area, the loop should be much longer. Long dungeons, long in-game cut scenes where skipping dialogue is not an option, and boss battles are three good examples. You don’t want to have to trudge 45 minutes through a dungeon with an annoying 10-second loop—this is especially important in games where sound effects play a vital role and the music must be left on. Nor do you want your concentration to be broken during a challenging battle or puzzle because the music is getting on your nerves.

For RPGs—at least, traditional games—the overworld is probably the place where it’s most important to have interesting and appropriate music, as players will spend a lot of time there. The same goes for alternate travel themes, such as airship, boat, etc. Another consideration that needs to be made is whether or not the overworld music will reset after, say, a random encounter. This one bugs me a lot. Since these themes tend to be fairly lengthy, and random encounters are frequent enough, resetting the music means you might never (or rarely) get to hear the piece in its entirety. Not only that, but the first few seconds of the theme will get on your nerves more quickly. The more you’re likely to hear something, the better it should be. Final Fantasy VI and Breath of Fire each had three overworld themes to reflect changing worlds, and prevented one theme from being overused. Secret of Mana did the same thing with its flight music.

So, if you’re going to give all cities the same theme, it better be good. For instance, Chrono Cross has the worst battle music that I’ve heard (a shame because most of the soundtrack is quite good, even if a lot of it is based on remixed Chrono Trigger themes). This is not good for an RPG. If battles are integral, composing good battle music is vital.

Sometimes when I’m playing video games I will listen to other music (but only music that is either appropriate to my mood at the time, or somehow fitting with the game). But there are some games that I will only play with the game sound on. Besides most of the RPGs that I play, the Metroid series is at the top of the list. Since the very beginning of the series, Metroid has achieved an integration like very few others. The original composer for Metroid, Tanaka Hirokazu said that he tried “to create the sound without any distinctions between music and sound effects.” Though numerous other composers have taken over his work in all subsequent games in the series, it is apparent that they have held true to his vision, whether or not they knew this was his original intention. I think it works so well in the Metroid series partly because of the space/sci-fi setting, but also because of the humble beginnings of the music on the NES. At that time, with the limited sounds that could be created, it was easier to create seamlessness between music and sound effect. However, since then the amorphous sound has become a trademark of the series and is a strong contribution to the overall experience. If I play without the music/sound effects on, I feel like I’m missing out on a part of the experience. By the same reasoning, the music should never take away from the experience. I don’t want to be pulled out of a moment because the music is not fitting.

Musicke Silentium pt. 1

I think the idea that music and silence are distinct and opposing entities is faulty. Rather they are two facets of a continuum that are inseparable, but lacking a unifying name. Much the same way that death is a part of life, light exists with dark and so on. And I don’t mean this in an avant-garde-blow-your-mind way. Silence could be the opposite of music (from a certain viewpoint), but that does not make it an opposing force. Unfortunately, people talk about an “absence of music,” or about “filling in the void,” which makes it sound like music is and silence is not. Those who compose with this frame of mind will achieve different results from those who use silence much the same way they use “music.” If music is the composer’s creation and silence is an emptiness, then silence will be his enemy. He will see it as the abyssal plane that surrounds music. Eternal nothingness on either side of a piece. You should not fight silence and attempt to force music in between it. There is no beginning or end to either music or silence. There may be an end to a song, but the music is far from over. Silence does not simply cease to exist when the first chord is played. If silence is nothing, then how does one create music? How can something be created from nothing? One must work together with silence and music to shape the continuum around us. Silence cannot be nothingness, for it too can be used like music—“notice the use of double basses to reinforce this passage” compared to “his use of silence before the return of the second theme.” When instruments “drop out” of a section, they are not suddenly an “anti-music.” Their silence does not oppose, does not obscure the music of the other players. No one says “I can’t stand the lack of violins in this passage. It grates on me.” One might say “this section feels empty with the brass gone” but she is mistaking the use of silence as an enemy to the music. A good composer will know when to use silence just as well as when to use other techniques. Knowing when to play and when not to play are equally important.

"All music emerges from silence, to which sooner or later it must return. At its simplest we may conceive of music as the relationship between sounds and the silence that surrounds them. Yet silence is an imaginary state in which all sounds are absent, akin perhaps to the infinity of time and space that surrounds us. We cannot ever hear utter silence, nor can we fully imagine such concepts as infinity and eternity. When we create music, we express life. But the source of music is silence, which is the ground of our musical being, the fundamental note of life. How we live depends on our relationship with death, how we make music depends on our relationship with silence" ~Arvo Pärt

Aha!: Rap

I love those "aha!" moments. The point when something that never quite made sense to you suddenly snaps into clarity. That's one of the best parts about figuring things out by yourself. You get the satisfaction of knowing the answer to something as well as knowing that you arrived at the conclusion yourself.

The past three years have been particularly full of those "aha!" moments. After being thrust into the music world in the spring of 2006 I was inundated with information, and had to slowly wade through it all and make sense of it on my own. Then, gradually as I learned more and more, things I had learned earlier on made so much more sense. And things that I might have passed by before were suddenly relevant and the pieces fit together to make a satisfying picture.

Rap never made sense to me. And that which we do not know is often that which we avoid. I did not understand the point of rhyming over a beat or repetitive loops. The problem was, I was trying to analyse it from the wrong perspective. I was applying my knowledge of and experiences with other kinds of music, which didn't jive.

I don't remember exactly when it was that I understood, but I was struck by the simplicity of the answer and I gained a new appreciation for the genre.

Rapping isn't about the music per se. There is no harmony or melody to speak of because that's not even the point. The endless looping leaves no room for development or change because there isn't supposed to be any. This repetitiveness stems from freestyling, and rappers would have a hard time anticipating their rapping scheme if the beat, tempo or loop kept changing. Imagine trying to improvise over a constantly changing chord progression. If you didn't know what chords were coming up or how long they would last, picking the right notes, arpeggios, chords and rhythms would be very difficult.

Establishing a regular pattern turns it into a group experience, too. Now the audience can anticipate along with the rappers. Part of the enjoyment, then comes from knowing the pattern of the beat, feeling out how the rapper moves along, anticipating the upcoming rhymes/rhythms and then feeling good when you guessed correctly, or being surprised when the outcome is different.

Understanding all this gave me the chance to take a new look at the art and form new opinions. Now that I was comfortable listening to it, I was able to weed through the things I liked and didn't like about it, and I realised that I actually like it a lot. I think rapping, and particularly freestyling is a really impressive skill. I came to realise that it is particular styles that I didn't like. It wasn't the rapping though--it was the content. I didn't like the attitude, the lyrics or all the hype around it that seemed to overshadow the music itself. However, I've come to appreciate what it has to offer now that I know what I'm looking for.

The second one to the right

Early on we learn that music has strong beats and weak beats (and medium beats too, oh my!). Knowing the placements of these beats allows us to recognise the metre of a piece when listening (and adjust for changing metres), and tells us where to move to in a bar. Even when we start disregarding multiple beats in a bar (in faster tempi) or breaking down beats into further subdivisions, it's all pretty straightforward. Move to the strong beat(s). I think even those without conducting experience can easily follow along to a piece of classical music and know where the downbeats belong (even if they don't know specifically it's a "downbeat").

Rock music seems to treat the idea of downbeat somewhat differently. The standard rock beat has a snare hit on beats two and four--are they accented off beats? Can a syncopation that lasts for an entire song--and in thousands of songs--still even be considered a syncopation? Or is it even an accent? It could be that the bass pedal we frequently hear on beat one (and three, though sometimes as two eighth notes or just on the second half of the beat) is interpreted as "strong" and the subsequent snare hit is then processed as "weak." After all, music is always about context. But I'm not convinced. After all, the bass drum is "softer," more subliminal, often blending with a note played on the bass guitar, whereas the snare is a sharp contrast: it's very noticeable. When a band gets the audience to clap along, we clap on the "offbeats" with the snare. I think this can be partly explained by the timbral quality of our claps, but isn't it also because we feel the music moving towards the second and fourth beats?  We bob our heads on two and four. So if this is no longer a syncopation, does that mean our entire view of rock music has been shifted by one beat? This article, while not directly relating to these musings do make an interesting related point.

The snare hit also helps determine the overall apparent speed of the music. When there is a shift from two snare hits to four per bar, suddenly the music is galloping along, even if nothing else has changed. Where are the strong beats now? It's as if we're using hypermetres now, but also compressed the bars (or something). I'm not quite sure how to explain that one, but I have noticed that speeding up the snare affects the overall apparent tempo more than any other factor. Now we have four downbeats. Another peculiar effect occurs when there is a snare on every beat, but it has been shifted to the second half of the beat. This sounds perfectly normal while you're listening to it. But it has happened before that I've gotten in the car and the CD has resumed playing in one of these particular passages. Two things happen: first, I recognise that the snare beat in rock means "strong." Then I correct the measures to hear those snare hits as being on the first half of the beat. It's an extremely confusing experience because my brain is in conflict. It knows that the music sounds wrong because it knows the other things going on (vocals, keys, etc.) now sound displaced. But it has trouble reconciling the (actual) displacement of the snare hits. It has taken me up to a minute (or until the drumming pattern changes) for me to correct the rhythm.

This standard use of bass and snare drums to denote first/third and second/fourth beats obviously has its limitations. This will only work in common time, and shifting the snare to beats one and three would create a truly bizarre "syncopation." In shifting to triple metres, I've found the most common use of snare to be on every beat, at the beginning of every bar, or at the beginning of every other bar (effectively turning it into duple time subdivided into triplets). This is, of course a generalisation, and I'm talking about establishing a regular rhythmic pattern.

The uses of bass drum and snare drum/hi-hat in trance and dance/electronica is a completely different matter, however. One, perhaps better left for another time.

Conducting Nature

Following up on the last post, I've been thinking about several things that I'll try to at least touch upon.

First off is the issue of adapting trance or trance-like elements to a classical music setting. The reverse has been done many times, quite successfully I might add. In fact, classical music has been adapted to or sampled in just about every kind of music, and when it is done competently it works. 

Why then, does it seem that when other styles of music are performed "in a classical style" they seem to fall quite short of the mark? How many times I've heard "the Beatles for orchestra" or "such-and-such a band in the style of Mozart," and it never works for me. It sounds contrived. It sounds like a square peg trying to be forced into a triangular slot. If I hear one more person ask me if I've heard Metallica play with an orchestra...I'm sorry, but it does not sound quite right. The thing about setting rock music to an orchestral setting is that (a) the music was not originally conceived with an orchestra in mind and (b) the original music lacks a certain "compatiblility." The second point is a more subjective one, yes, but I feel it's true. Metallica is really playing with an orchestra. There is no sense of fusion. Rock/metal/pop can be combined with an orchestra, but the piece has to allow room for the sounds of the orchestra. Otherwise you're just writing a song and trying to cram 52 extra pieces in afterwards.

So, is classical music the problem then? Is it not "adaptable" or "flexible?" Can it not accomodate other sounds and styles? I hope this is not the case, for it would just prove further that there is a rift between the two worlds. But the problem for me is that it can work one way, but does not seem to be quite as successful the other way. Specifically regarding trance elements in classical music: I think it's possible, under certain circumstances. Trance is often conceived on a large scale, with very gradual development. Single pieces are usually upwards of six minutes long, trance compilations span two full compact discs and concerts will last five or more hours. A symphony could be compared to a compilation disc. While the symphony may only have three movements to the disc's 14 tracks, and the symphony will draw on only a few contained themes compared to the contrasting tracks on the disc, I think they share in their development of moods and ideas. So with regards to the music itself, there is no reason it couldn't be played by an orchestra.

However, I see several problems arising. How closely does one follow the adaptation? For instance, an orchestra cannot produce electronic sounds (assuming a live setting using only acoustic instruments) which is a trademark of trance, dance and electronica. Nevertheless, if you try to put together a trance track piece by piece in an orchestra as you would in a studio, that's where I think you fall short. Then you're trying to recreate instead of adapt. If you want to recreate, use the original materials and means. Still, one has to question how effective a translation can be without some of the most important original elements--which also includes the thumping bass beats. Do they stay? One of Glenn Gould's problems with rock music is that it has an unchanging tempo. There's no room for it to breathe, he said. I can only imagine what kind of a reaction he would have had to five hours of constant pulsing.

There is also the issue of mood and setting. Going to a trance show is an experience wholly separate from a classical music concert. Part of the experience of trance is movement. It's about getting out on the floor and dancing and not just enjoying the music aurally, but feeling it. Could an orchestral setting capture this? Not the whole thing, no. I think you could apply trance elements if you were clever about it, but trying to recreate the whole of it would leave you feeling like something is missing.

That brings me to the next issue. Regarding the setting I presented in my last post (about jogging), I don't think you can recreate that in music. At least, it would be pointless to. Suppose I found some way to organise and notate it such that I had four distinct sections that were reproducing the proper rhythms of the music, my heart, my breathing and my footsteps. What then? Would I actually try to mimic the original sounds? Or would I attempt musical interpretations of them? That seems unnatural. And I think that's where music that attempts to capture the sounds of nature does not succeed. Writing a piece with birds singing and leaves rustling in the wind is as futile as going out into the forest and asking the elements to work with you--could the birds be a little louder?, and would that dog stop barking for just a moment?, and why is it raining today?

One rainy morning

I was rather taken by the extra-ordinary (and yet natural) music that took place whilst jogging this morning. Rather unwittingly I had created an extremely complex layering of rhythms and metres. And, somehow, they did not interfere with one another or create harsh contradictions.

First was the obvious music. The constant flowing pulse of the trance that I was plugged into, with its steady thumping bass beat and unchanging tempo. Within this itself there were already layers.

Next was my heart. Not always noticeable, but pounding more and more in my ears as my speed increased and my heart rate went up. More or less steady, but without the exactness of the bass drum. Not only was it moving to a different beat, but it pulsed with a sort of ta-dum, ta-dum against the trance’s single beat.

The crunching gravel beneath my feet set up another more audible layer—audible like the music, but also physical like my heart. It too created a new a rhythm tch-ka, tch-ka, tch-ka, tch-ka, as each foot made contact and then moved the earth beneath me before leaving, only to be replaced in time with the next foot. Again, my feet moved independently of the others.

Finally came my breath. By far the slowest of the four, both physical and audible as with my feet, but less percussive than the others. A certain sharpness to the initial intake and exhale, but otherwise soft and smooth.

By traditional standards, they were not in concert, but somehow, all working together. Changing one would affect the others. Strangely, I was not bothered by this apparent lack of unity. Only when I concentrated on their differences did I notice and feel like I was being torn in all directions. If I tried to think about my breathing it would throw off my step. If I attempted to match my step to the pulse of the trance, my breath would have to be adjusted. But left alone they worked together quite nicely.

I have found trance to be the best kind of music to exercise to. If I were to listen to another album with tracks of varying tempi, I find my other rhythms are disturbed. Adjustments have to be made and the energy does not flow consistently or smoothly.

Quartetting 'till the End of Time

This last piece was a real struggle at times, but other times came quite easily to me. The intention was to write three or four preludes for piano quartet, but after presenting a couple of them in class, it became obvious that I just needed to focus on one and expand it more.

I actually ended up using all of the original material, and even the last section that I added was reminiscent of other sections. It seemed that pretty much every time I presented in class this semester there was the comment "expand on this." "Develop this more." I still question how much I should use an idea and--more importantly--how I develop an idea. I took a page from Sibelius' book and developed ideas toward their final presentation (rather than presenting an idea and then developing it). This leads to a lot of deceptive movement and interrupted segments, which somehow works in the end. I think the piano tied everything together with its underlying movement. I'm happy with how it turned out.

Now, let's see what the summer brings.

On melody

What is melody? What makes melody? And how does one write melody? Does melody exist on its own, wholly independent? Does it merely coincide with the music around it, does it co-exist with the music, or is it derived from it (or vice versa)? What is the music without melody? How does one differentiate good melody from bad melody? Is there a distinction between melody in counterpoint, melody with harmony and melody alone? Do we differentiate the following: fugue subject, counterpoint entrance, aria, sonata theme group? Can we? Would we want to? Does there exist something in the absence of melody? In answering these questions, what can we say then about countermelody?

In a line, how does one emphasise the tonic? Traditionally we have used repetition of the tonic; leading tone resolving to tonic (or subtonic to tonic modally); the dominant scale degree falling or rising to the tonic. We can also rest on the tonic, mediant or dominant to imply a tonic resting point. What then of the supertonic, subdominant and submediant? Is there use of altered scale degrees to put emphasis on the tonic? Should tonic emphasis be the main focus of a line?

Re: Allowing your musical ideas to achieve their full potential

I started out writing a reply to the blog entry on the main page, but it turned into a bit of a rant, I guess, so I decided to run with it an post it as full entry on its own. Here it is:

It's strange--I have two completely different mindsets and methodologies when I'm composing "art music" versus "popular music" (I strongly dislike those terms, but it gets my point across). With the latter I have no problem repeating ideas and figurations. If I have a cool countermelody that goes on behind the vocal or main guitar/keyboard line, I'm eager to reuse it and let it go on at length. I'll bring back a chorus three times if I think it's good enough. But with the former kind of music I feel pressured to keep changing things. Why? I'm not really sure. I have to force myself to develop some ideas, convincing myself that people aren't going to be bored hearing it the second time around. Though, in both styles I'm still driven by the fear of sitting on one chord for too long (though I'm getting a little better and allowing passages of harmonic stasis). More than just worrying about whether an idea has reached its full potential (as Kim mentions), I worry about whether I should even be using my ideas. Sometimes I come up with an idea that I'm so attached to, I don't want to use it until I can write the perfect context for it to fit in. Two reasons why: the insecurity of not coming up with as good an idea again; and not wanting it to stand out against surrounding ideas that maybe aren't as good. 

Guess it all boils down to insecurity, doesn't it? It's really tough to separate ourselves from our pieces--because that's like tearing ourselves apart. Then we have to rely on our limited scope of objectivity without totally rejecting the subjective. Examining it pragmatically versus viscerally.

We also have the option of relying on an outside source of opinion. Even this presents a fair share of problems. Even if we accept external opinions, we will still weigh it against our own two views. For instance, take the following three scenarios, provided that your subjective view is that your idea is good.

-If the External matches your Objective, but disagrees with your Subjective you face your original dilemma--though possibly in a more balanced manner depending on how committed you are to it.

-If the External disagrees with your Objective, but matches your Subjective (this may seem slightly odd), it's further reinforcement.

-If the External coincides with your Objective, which also matches your Subjective, you've probably hit the spot.

There are many other situations which would arise if you feel that your idea isn't any good but think people would like it. And of course all kinds of other results depending on the circumstances.

I definitely didn't answer any questions, and have probably created a whole new level of questions, but it was good to see the questions out there in the first place and see how other people react to the same dilemma.

Finally settled?

Well, you can't say I wasn't ambitious. I initially envisioned a symphony orchestra, and then a modified chamber orchestra, but my time draws nigh, and with more than just composition on my plate I realise that it just won't be practical at this point. I really liked some of the ideas I had and I would like to come back to them in the future, but four weeks is just four weeks.

I've decided to try my hand at piano quartet. Nothing concrete yet, but I have visions of a short prelude and an adagio. If I can at least get the slow movement done for this project that should be enough. Now it's time to sit down and start working out some theme groups and how to organise the instruments. Let's see what comes out by Friday!

Fast Forward

What a great concert. I'm really impressed with everyone's work, both from the composers and performers. There was a lot of variety and I really enjoyed myself. Good job everyone!

I've been slowly working on the next project. With so little time left it's a little daunting, but I really would like to write for orchestra. I have a few thoughts in mind already. I'd like to write in (modified) sonata form. Instead of jumping in headfirst, as I think I did last time, I'm taking a more sectional approach with this one. I'm coming up with theme/theme groups first so that I know how the piece will move from the beginning to the end, and then I will develop those ideas to create all the intermediary steps.

I've already sketched out a preliminary theme 1. For my second theme group I want the melodies to be based on the traditional pentatonic scale used in Okinawa--do mi fa so ti do. I've played around with it before and it's a very neat scale. I've been listening to some traditional Okinawan music to see how it works (the melody, that is--I will probably invent my own harmonies), what kinds of rhythms they use, as well as use of percussion, if I can fit it in.

It all sounds rather ambitious, I know, which is why I will try to get the theme groups ready as soon as possible and start looking at instrumentation. If I don't have that moving relatively soon, then I might keep the same ideas/structure and look at perhaps using a smaller ensemble.

Composition Redux

It's been two weeks since my last in class performance, and my piece has gone through some major changes. After the last presentation I ran into a brick wall and got "writer's block"--possibly as a result of hitting the wall. I use quotation marks because I don't think it was so much a block as it was feeling inhibited. I had several ideas, but they either didn't make any sense, or wouldn't work with what I already had. I knew if I wanted to move forward I had to make some big changes.

I'm in unfamiliar territory, using a foreign music vocabulary, and the harder I fought against it, the worse it seemed. I knew I had to find something that would tie into the familiar and give me something on which I could build.

My first order was eliminating the voice. It was causing too many problems, including pitch location and the fact that I had originally only written a few lines of text to go with this music. I replaced it with an english horn, both for its sound and to pair with the clarinet. After a few attempts at starting something completely new, I realised I was better off salvaging some of the material that I've already written and presenting it in a new way. I had become just too attached to the chorale that I couldn't let it go. However, instead of being opening material, it is now the climax and end of the piece. I decided to take the first half the fourteen bar section and turn it into a kind of passacaglia. This allowed me to have a "form" and material to fall back on, but it was already different than your typical ground: seven measures long, in duple meter and with interludes between repetitions rather than a continuous approach.

Now the ideas were starting to flow more freely. I had something to tie the piece together. My idea was to interweave the instruments over the double bass during the ground, never having them all together, until the final chorale. I wanted a sense of everyone trying to come together, but never quite making it, one voice dropping out just as another enters. Unfortunately, as I discovered today in class, it lead to too much confusion. I have the basis for what I want, but now it needs more coherence. There is really only one section where there is a focus on one instrument (e.horn), so now I have to go back and tweak, creating different levels (not just through dynamics).

Speaking of which, the score is pretty much bare at this point in terms of phrase markings, dynamics, etc. I sketched everything out by hand this time, and then entered it into the software, and didn't have time to make those notations before giving the performers the music. Not an excuse, but something I need to fix. I mostly know where it's going, but it still needs to be done. I'm still on bad terms with music notation software. If there's one thing I've learned in the years of using it, it's that it stifles creativity and only complicates the task. I finally see that I have to write things out by hand first if I want to keep things flowing.

So, major points to focus on:

-dynamics, notation, phrase marks, etc.

-fleshing out the piano (it's pretty scarce right now, and could be used in a lot of places for colouristic effects and reinforcing the double bass)

-coherence in each part and through the parts

I'm also thinking about using a white noise machine as another kind of ground. I'll have to wait until a rehearsal before I know if it will work or not, but I think it could. Using a kind of "surf" noise that creates a secondary, uncontrollable ebb and flow to the music.

Quintet

I'm really glad I got to hear the instruments live today. While I was partly focused on playing my own part correctly, I got enough of an idea of how it's flowing. I really think the instruments work well together; there was a really rich sound. I can't wait to hear the voice on top of it. I liked how the imitation came out, and we'll be able to see more of it with the voice, too.

I need to fix the score order and label them properly. I'm still learning how to get my way around the software, so my primary concern was getting notes on paper, but it's something to keep in mind (and labelling will be important for next time so people know which voice they're following).

There's room to play around with voicing now. I need to decide soon if I will expand on this section or create other "movements" to flow into and out of it. Part of me wants to keep the piano part identical in the second half--this gives a kind of centre that the other instruments can gravitate around. On the other hand, it's worth trying out different spacings for more colour. Same goes for the other instruments.

Quatrain

The middle section is done. For now. Edits are inevitable at this point; I know I can do something more with it, but I'm going to have to hear it live first to get a real sense for it. Unfortunately we won't have a vocalist this week, but I can still get a general idea. Midi files will never do a piece justice.

The Rondo form has definitely gone out the window. I'm now fairly set on a through-composed piece, with three contrasting sections. I have the text written and set to music for the middle section (which will be presented tomorrow sans voice), most (if not all) of the text for the opening section written, and a general idea for the third part.

I've always been uncomfortable showing incomplete sections of my work, especially when they will be as out of context as this will be tomorrow. I'm not sure how the text will be received either. Still, I need to hear what this all actually sounds like--it will give me an idea if the other thoughts I have are feasible and whether they fit in or not.

I'm still mulling over ideas for "aleatoric elements" and extended techniques. I have plans for an ad lib section in the final part. I want to be actively thinking of places to use--shall we say--"new" techniques, without going overboard, or even just for the sake of using them. If I can use them, that's great, but if they don't really work, if they don't really make sense, then I don't want them. I like to keep things streamlined.

Trio

It's amazing how a piece can take on a life of its own and evolve. I went to see Dr. Ross the other day and we fixed up a few chords in my piece and discussed a possible new direction for it. He spoke truly when he said that sometimes you can't control what a piece is going to do once you've given it life.

I was so sure of my Rondo format, but it's moving farther and farther away from that idea. Already the "B section" has been extended, and I don't think I even want to repeat the A section (whatever it's going to sound like). Especially now that I've started work on the text, the piece is pulling me in a new direction with new ideas. I'm very happy to go that way, but it's strange how these things can happen. I think it might end up being through-composed--"A" might end up coming back at the end in a varied format (or through one of its themes), which might give me incentive to work hard on some good melodies.

The fast approaching deadline will also give me incentive to work hard. At first I thought I wouldn't like being under pressure to compose--but being under pressure forces me to actually bring ideas out, rather than just thinking about them and saying "ah, I'll write that down later" or "that's no good, I'll think of something else."

Secondo

Time to get down to business.

I have a general idea of what direction my piece will move in, including some very specific points I'm eager to incorporate. As I said today in class, my piece will be in Rondo form: (intro)ABACA(outro). The A sections will all be based around the scale I came up with: C-Db-D-F#-G-Ab-Bb, with the whole idea that the "tonic" chord has no mediant. The B and C parts will be drastically different and based on other modes/scales. The instrumentation is: Bb Clarinet, Viola, Voice (Alto), Piano, and Double Bass.

The basic idea for the B section has been sketched out, and I imagine it will remain mostly as it was heard today (in the piano part anyway). Dr. Ross mentioned that a few parts seemed unusually tonal (as funny as that term sounds). It's true. There is always the option to leave those chords as is on the piano, and add other notes to it on another instrument, but there are a couple of sections that I think could use some tweaking. Planning on incorporating some sort of eb Phrygian melody over top, between the clarinet and alto. Mmm....counterpoint.

I'm pretty happy with how the progression turned out on the whole. Just to reiterate what I said in class: I began by writing a fairly standard progression in eb minor (with some not-so-standard progressions/chords included). I then reversed the progression and added notes here and there to "disguise" the original chords. Example: if the progression had gone i-iv-ii6/5-V-i, I would have rewritten it as i-V-ii6/5-iv-i, and "reworked" the chords. I got this idea from another song I wrote. After I wrote the chorus, I realised that it made perfect harmonic sense if you started at the end and worked backwards; I figured I could consciously apply this concept this time around.

Also noted: my work includes two stringed instruments. Therefore I shall probably write out their parts in d# minor. Not a big deal, but something to remember before the last second!

I considered borrowing text for the song, but had an idea already for words. Mental note to keep in mind that two players need to take breaths throughout the piece. I usually just take a deep breath at the beginning and plunge into it!

How very exciting!

Post the First

This is at once exciting and terrifying. I'm really excited to be in a composition course--something I've been looking forward to since I thought of applying to music school almost three years ago. Now I have an outlet into which I can channel all my pent up teenage angst (I never fully got it out years ago), and not only that, but my works will be performed, which is a weird feeling itself.

I'm a little anxious because I've never been asked to compose with specific guidelines in mind--heck no one's ever actually asked me to compose period. While I'm not totally dead set in classic tonality, I'm definitely heading out into uncharted territory--and without any chord progressions to cling to! Still, I am looking forward to it.

I like the idea of creating your own scale as a starting point for composing. It certainly allows for a whole new range of chords, melodies, feelings and combinations. I know I struggle with writing melodies, and often rely on harmonic progressions to lead me through a composition, so these projects will give me a chance to explore a new area, come what may.