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.