And I'm more than ok with that. Criticism is an art that seems to be falling away in the arts. There's not enough "holy crap, this sucks! and let me tell you why I think it sucks!" We coddle the youth, say "that's nice, but you could maybe do this thing a bit better," and when they don't change it we chalk it up as a learning experience. It's a mindset I've actually been trying to change in myself.
Socratic method is all well and good. Leading people to their mistakes. But, sometimes, the best way to do that is to give your honest opinion. "I don't like this passage. I think it's this problem. Why don't we find out why?" rather than "That's nice, I like it. But..." It's a change, and one that needs to happen.
And that's exactly what I got from Yehudi Wyner and Augusta Read Thomas. I played Till Coffee Do Us Part for Wyner. He praised the lyricism of the vocal writing. And attacked the instrumental writing quite heavily.
Wyner felt that the instrumental writing was getting in the way of the singing. It was at times too dense without any harmonic support for the singers. I shrugged at that, since that was more or less the style I was going for in the beginning. However, he didn't even like the later parts that were traditionally founded. Wyner thought the harmonizations in the strings got in the way, and that they didn't offer much harmonic support.
I appreciate those comments. I will take a look at the beginning again--it is very likely that the thick nature is causing issues. In a previous editing, that section was thinned out, and an entire section removed, but I may not have gone far enough. Time for some erasing.
Then there was the plot. Boy did Wyner dislike the plot. Elevating coffee to being an opera, creating a farce. He thought I failed miserably. But he couldn't give me a why. Another student in the masterclass did, after much questioning give me a good solid answer: The conflict starts too early, and that makes it not seem like it's going anywhere. AH! That's some incredibly good criticism. And there's a damn good chance he's right. In fact, I'm pretty sure I agree with him. But, it took some intense questioning, more or less forcing an articulate answer to get it from him.
All in all, I agreed with a lot of what Yehudi Wyner said--vocal writing is hard, opera is even harder. Setting prose is a bitch, and it's very easy to let the background, and your grand theories, get in the way of good writing. Can you write a dense, complicated opera? I totally think so. Shadowtime by Ferneyhough is fantastic. But it will be a tough piece to sell.
And that farce and parody are not everyone's cup of tea, and people are much less forgiving on it. A good farce is worth a million dramas, but people forgive a drama.
*********************************************************************************
Augusta Read Thomas was the same as she's ever been. Many years ago, I was in a masterclass with her--it was 2005, I believe, and the piece was one of my first. Possibly my first to really be played in public. A little duet from trombone and marimba. It used mutes, some dead strokes, mallet changes, all sorts of things I felt to be very "avant-garde." I was, after all, the "crazy composer" in the group. LOL
I remember a few things from that masterclass. One was Thomas praising my lyricism in my writing AND playing. Bad idea--never nurture a musician, they might see you 8 years later! lolz. Another bit was being able to sing your music. I nailed that bit, but others had some difficulty. Of course, I was also PLAYING mine, so it's almost like cheating--singing what I play was a normal part of my trombone lessons. And I remember something she said to another student: "I hear Beethoven, a Schubert, and maybe a little Brahms. But I don't hear any of you! You are what you eat--or listen to. Listen to yourself!"
Ah, for a 20 year old just starting in composition, this was a big eye opener!
With that knowledge, I entered my masterclass with All Things Are Not Equal: Sinfonietta Edition, recently recorded by Ensemble Signal, Brad Lubman conducting. It's a piece that's about as unpretentious as you can get. Straight forward, jazz and funk "inspired" (hell, it's easier to classify in those terms than "contemporary!"), and by todays standards, somewhat short. The performance is solid, and it was obvious the group had fun.
I came prepared. Thomas listened, gave some initial thoughts. The biggest one? She didn't think it went far enough. I stayed tied to my groove, let the groove playout, and didn't do much variation. True enough. And I didn't set out to do much variation. And then the singing started.
First it was "sing the first groove." Easy enough. Alright, now do a simple variation. Then another. Alright, now do something far away from the groove, harmonically and stylistically. Ok, do another, but add in longer notes.
I did all these without breaking much of a sweat. I did have a tendency to speed up, which annoyed me .As I was snapping and improvising, I actually said "I keep speeding up. Ugh," then went back into the singing. I added in all sorts of things--pitch, percussive sounds, all sorts of consonants and vowels, mixed and matched from whatever...and I always made a point to end by grabbing the groove right where it should be when I ended. Ok, that last bit was me showing off.
The looks from the assembled group were, well...worth the showing off. Even Augusta Read Thomas looked suitable impressed. Of course, I knew something like this was coming--I had practicing the grooves a bit, and had all the lines in my head, so I could sing them. And while I'm a crappy improviser on trombone, that's a problem with my control of the instrument, not the brain. This played into my strengths. And when it was done, I already knew where it was going...
Hey, John, since you can come up with all these ideas spur of the moment, why aren't any in here? Where's all that crazy improvisational writing? I sputtered the easy answer: "You write a simple tune to allow people to improvise around. In this case a groove, and setting up a certain feel. Then the soloist would do their thing. Guess I flubbed a bit when I reduced the improvising..."
Ah, see, I had. And Thomas called me one it. She more or less had said that in her comments, that it didn't go "far enough," but she wanted to prove that point unequivocally. And she did. I softball'ed the transcription. The statement of "I did it in 24 hours and didn't give it much thought," is a poor answer, so I didn't give it. There's no reason for half-assed work. And it All Things is a bit half-assed. Written quickly (over about 4 days), re-orchestrated even quick (24 hours over about 2 days). It was half-assed. And I rightly got called on it.
*********************************************************************************
Really, Wyner and Thomas were telling me the same thing--I hadn't treated the material with enough care. This echoed Ferneyhough's earlier masterclass. It seems to be an issue. And all three pieces were developed quite differently. It took me 8 months or so to write Dance. Till Coffee was a solid 2-3 months, though definitely rushed toward the end. All Things was about a week total. And yet they all had issues with "care."
I just finished revising Cake for a performance in November. The same could easily be said of that score, and I spent about a year on it! A YEAR! And while, musically, I think it's alright, notationally it was horrid. Lack of care, in this case toward the presentation.
So, two things came out of this--1) Direct criticism is a good thing! 2) Don't be a jerk and half-ass any of your work. Even if you worked your ass off on the first draft, you've got three or four more to go!
More than one draft? IN MUSIC?!? SHEER FOLLY!
Bruckner would disagree, I think...
6/27/13
Ferneyhough and Me (part 2)
Many moons ago, I wrote a blog entry about Brian Ferneyhough. At that point, I had not met him. My thoughts came from various quotations from a rather old article/interview with Ferneyhough.
A few weeks ago, I got to meet Brian Ferneyhough. My first impression actually came through talking to a few of his students in attendance. We traded stories over some fabulous Korean food. Getting the "inside scoop" from his students was nice--I got to hear the good and the bad. And from two different types of students: one an ardent supporter; the other more disillusioned. Both agreed, however, that whether or not you buy into Ferneyhough's aesthetics or theories, that there's no denying he's brilliant.
I went into the masterclass a bit worried. What would I show him? I was assured that Ferneyhough actually didn't push his aesthetics onto composers, and worked from within the pieces. So, I thought I'd bring a piece that's a couple years old, but one dear to me that I honestly think is a pretty good piece--Dance of Disillusionment and Despair. Dance is a piece I've always enjoyed, and many others seemed to as well. However, I haven't been able to get it a life outside the 2 performances in 2011. I've been showing it in masterclasses, hoping to figure out what I can do to bring it along. John Corigliano really hated it.
Ferneyhough, however, didn't hate it. He did, however, dislike the contraints I put on the music. By choosing (arbitrarily) to make each movement 1 minute, he felt like I shortchanged the material. Almost every movement he would say: I like where this is going, you're starting to make something, then it ends.
At first he wasn't sure about the construction, with some movements having dense material, other movements being incredibly sparse (especially pitch-wise). When I told him the decision came from mapping measures in the first movement through the whole piece, he flipped through the whole piece, skipped to the beginning a few times, and said (paraphrased, of course. as was the earlier): Ah, ok. Fair enough. It appears you stuck pretty well to that. Sometimes, I don't like what happens, but it's a clear reason and you stick to it. Fair enough.
Finally, he came to the main points. And they were quite poignant. I had written a 17 minute piece...that was meant to be 35-45 minutes. I shortchanged my material in every movement. And, the endings...By making so many endings, I played out the possibilities.
Food for thought from Brian Ferneyhough: There are a million ways to begin a piece, but only a dozen or so ways to end one.
And when you have 13 endings, you're bound to have repeats.
What struck me about Ferneyhough was how romantically he talks about music. He quickly fell into the world of Dance, which is fairly Romantic. And then, during his talk, he referred to his own music in much the same way. Systems be damned, it was supposed to be musical, even Romantic. Ferneyhough seemed to use the different systems and construction methods just as a structuring device, a way to limit his own thought moving through his pieces.
When you look at a Ferneyhough score, "Romantic" isn't the first word that pops into your brain. When you hear some recordings, "mechanical" seems more like what should be heard.
I got to hear five pieces by Ferneyhough during June in Buffalo: Incipits, Exordium, Terrain, Mnemosyne, and Intermedio alla Ciaccona. This festival was the first time I've ever gotten to hear any of Ferneyhough's music live. And it was a treat. I'll even forgive JACK Quartet for changing their program and playing Exordium instead of String Quartet No. 2, even though SQ No. 2 is one of my favourite pieces of all time.
It's a great mix. Terrain and Intermedio had Irvine Arditti as the soloist, Terrain with Ensemble Signal. Terrain was handled masterfully by Talea Ensemble, JACK took on Exordium, and Mnemosyne was performed by Keiko Murakami (I believe) of Ensemble Linea (I can't find my program, but she's listed as the regularly flutist with Ensemble Linea).
Everyone played passionately. This doesn't mean they missed notes--they were all inscrutably perfect. But there was music in every note. Every awkward leap, every crunchy harmony, all the subdivisions within subdivisions moving at different time ratios, every nuance had meaning. Watching Arditti play Terrain and Intermedio was astounding. There was no break, no phrase that wasn't carefully attended to. JACK playing Exordium was masterful, with Arditti watching from the audience (and clapping quite enthusiastically when I stole a look in his direction).
This all leads me to one major thought: Ferneyhough, while writing in a method that some would call "dense," is still trying to reach people. He still wants an audience to get a reaction from the piece, to be drawn into that world. In the masterclass, the way he talked about my piece was more about how I failed to do exactly that. And hearing his music live, I was drawn into the music, the drama, the entire experience. During his pieces, I found myself moving closer to the edge of my seat, listening with full attention. If I didn't have full attention, I'd miss a single detail, and the following sequence may be rendered meaningless.
Ferneyhough creates experiences. Let go of the preconception, of the "i don't understand." Stop trying to understand and just listen, be a part of the music. Maybe, eventually, you can listen and "understand" but that's not really the point. He's giving you all the information, and, just like in a certain author's books, you don't have to READ the whole page, just relax, and skim, and the information will "magically" come to the surface. Ferneyhough is like that.
And what I learned from him is I'm not there yet.
A few weeks ago, I got to meet Brian Ferneyhough. My first impression actually came through talking to a few of his students in attendance. We traded stories over some fabulous Korean food. Getting the "inside scoop" from his students was nice--I got to hear the good and the bad. And from two different types of students: one an ardent supporter; the other more disillusioned. Both agreed, however, that whether or not you buy into Ferneyhough's aesthetics or theories, that there's no denying he's brilliant.
I went into the masterclass a bit worried. What would I show him? I was assured that Ferneyhough actually didn't push his aesthetics onto composers, and worked from within the pieces. So, I thought I'd bring a piece that's a couple years old, but one dear to me that I honestly think is a pretty good piece--Dance of Disillusionment and Despair. Dance is a piece I've always enjoyed, and many others seemed to as well. However, I haven't been able to get it a life outside the 2 performances in 2011. I've been showing it in masterclasses, hoping to figure out what I can do to bring it along. John Corigliano really hated it.
Ferneyhough, however, didn't hate it. He did, however, dislike the contraints I put on the music. By choosing (arbitrarily) to make each movement 1 minute, he felt like I shortchanged the material. Almost every movement he would say: I like where this is going, you're starting to make something, then it ends.
At first he wasn't sure about the construction, with some movements having dense material, other movements being incredibly sparse (especially pitch-wise). When I told him the decision came from mapping measures in the first movement through the whole piece, he flipped through the whole piece, skipped to the beginning a few times, and said (paraphrased, of course. as was the earlier): Ah, ok. Fair enough. It appears you stuck pretty well to that. Sometimes, I don't like what happens, but it's a clear reason and you stick to it. Fair enough.
Finally, he came to the main points. And they were quite poignant. I had written a 17 minute piece...that was meant to be 35-45 minutes. I shortchanged my material in every movement. And, the endings...By making so many endings, I played out the possibilities.
Food for thought from Brian Ferneyhough: There are a million ways to begin a piece, but only a dozen or so ways to end one.
And when you have 13 endings, you're bound to have repeats.
What struck me about Ferneyhough was how romantically he talks about music. He quickly fell into the world of Dance, which is fairly Romantic. And then, during his talk, he referred to his own music in much the same way. Systems be damned, it was supposed to be musical, even Romantic. Ferneyhough seemed to use the different systems and construction methods just as a structuring device, a way to limit his own thought moving through his pieces.
When you look at a Ferneyhough score, "Romantic" isn't the first word that pops into your brain. When you hear some recordings, "mechanical" seems more like what should be heard.
I got to hear five pieces by Ferneyhough during June in Buffalo: Incipits, Exordium, Terrain, Mnemosyne, and Intermedio alla Ciaccona. This festival was the first time I've ever gotten to hear any of Ferneyhough's music live. And it was a treat. I'll even forgive JACK Quartet for changing their program and playing Exordium instead of String Quartet No. 2, even though SQ No. 2 is one of my favourite pieces of all time.
It's a great mix. Terrain and Intermedio had Irvine Arditti as the soloist, Terrain with Ensemble Signal. Terrain was handled masterfully by Talea Ensemble, JACK took on Exordium, and Mnemosyne was performed by Keiko Murakami (I believe) of Ensemble Linea (I can't find my program, but she's listed as the regularly flutist with Ensemble Linea).
Everyone played passionately. This doesn't mean they missed notes--they were all inscrutably perfect. But there was music in every note. Every awkward leap, every crunchy harmony, all the subdivisions within subdivisions moving at different time ratios, every nuance had meaning. Watching Arditti play Terrain and Intermedio was astounding. There was no break, no phrase that wasn't carefully attended to. JACK playing Exordium was masterful, with Arditti watching from the audience (and clapping quite enthusiastically when I stole a look in his direction).
This all leads me to one major thought: Ferneyhough, while writing in a method that some would call "dense," is still trying to reach people. He still wants an audience to get a reaction from the piece, to be drawn into that world. In the masterclass, the way he talked about my piece was more about how I failed to do exactly that. And hearing his music live, I was drawn into the music, the drama, the entire experience. During his pieces, I found myself moving closer to the edge of my seat, listening with full attention. If I didn't have full attention, I'd miss a single detail, and the following sequence may be rendered meaningless.
Ferneyhough creates experiences. Let go of the preconception, of the "i don't understand." Stop trying to understand and just listen, be a part of the music. Maybe, eventually, you can listen and "understand" but that's not really the point. He's giving you all the information, and, just like in a certain author's books, you don't have to READ the whole page, just relax, and skim, and the information will "magically" come to the surface. Ferneyhough is like that.
And what I learned from him is I'm not there yet.
6/24/13
Charles Wuorinen and "entrepreneurship"
I'm back from Portugal, which means getting to work on this blogging thing...maybe. Still so much to do before heading to Stockholm. Being a globe-trotter is awesome, but tiring.
Anyway, to the topic on hand. Charles Wuorinen is a fiery fellow. He has his opinions and convictions, and he will stick to them whole-heartedly. I respect that. His speeches are blunt, forceful, and thought-provoking.
There was a phrase I latched onto during his talk--"Cultural Barbarism." One area that I think Wuorinen moved dangerously into with his talk was a pushing a stratified class system. Wuorinen discussed how the "elite" of the country no longer cared about the arts, especially music. He said that there hadn't been a president since Richard Nixon that enjoyed classical music, and even Nixon used to have to sneak off into the closet to listen to symphonies. As for the non-"elites" of the country, well...
Wuorinen basically told us not to worry about them. The problem was the learned people didn't understand music: politicians, business-people, professors, other artist. Wuorninen seemed to feel that "normal" people wouldn't understand the music, and didn't need to understand it. And that groups like Bang on a Can played up to the audience, lowering the quality of music, and leading further into this cultural barbarism.
Wuorinen also said that the government (any and all) had no place in the arts anyway. That the only real way to move ahead in music is through personal relationships, mainly with the "elite." He made reference to all sorts of classic examples: Bach, Mozart, and how Beethoven tried to ruin the system.
I asked Wuorinen "What can we do then, as composers, to be 'cultural ambassadors,' and help fix this problem." Wuorinen gave a succinct answer: (paraphrased) All you can do is change the mind of one or two people, preferably with money.
Like I said, he can be provocative. At the very least, coming out of his talk, the young composers had some of the most interesting arguments. I won't dwell on everything, but I'll hit a few points.
First, I agree somewhat with Wuorinen about the lack of appreciation for art music. and I think there is a sort of "cultural barbarism" happening, but i don't think it's in the way he's discussing. Wuorinen seems to think that art music has always been relegated to cultural elite, and that's pretty much where it should stay. Then he bemoans how the rich and powerful don't give us money anymore. I don't see that as the problem.
A bigger problem is people saying "It's [art/classical/instrumental] music and I don't/can't understand it," and never giving it a fair chance. It's closing your ears and mind, not even letting the music in. Where does this come from? Well, there are lots of places, but I tend to think the attack on academics in America, particularly in the arts, is a nice portion. I've found the best way to change people's minds is to follow Wuorinen's idea: One person at a time. But I think you can change a lot of people's minds, one person at a time.
And the first play we need to start was also suggested by Wuorinen, and I agree: other artists. I don't know how many art openings in the US I've been to where the music was a friend of the artist...with a guitar singing some folk rock type tunes with crappy lyrics. Here's an artist, taking themselves seriously, perhaps working in a very abstract form. It's high art, not pop art, not pop in general. And yet the choice of accompanying music has nothing to do with the art, or even within a similar area of art. Why?
Because artists take the same perspective as most of the rest of the public. Not all, of course, but I see the problem most with the younger generation.
Now, let me say this now, I'm not blaming them in some way, saying young artists doing this are horrible people. That's definitely not it. But, they're a group that, as composers, we HAVE to work with, get on our side, and do more than just ignore. Composers ignore artists as much (or maybe more) than artists ignore composers. Eventually, we have to reach across the aisle.
Also, Wuorinen really ripped into the music and entrepreneurship bit. There's been so much written about it, from older articles in businessweek, to David Cutler writing all sorts of stuff on "new ideas" to help create entrepreneurs. This post isn't to run through the merits (or lack thereof) of the ideas, but to point out one thing Wuorinen said that I agree with: a great musician, created through rigorous training and performance experience will always have a better chance of success than someone that learns some tricks for making a quick buck.
Wuorinen attacked the movement away from creating extremely strong, well trained, almost over-practiced musicians to instead making "artists" that seemed more intent on making money than great music (or art). This is one point I completely agree with. Now, does that mean we shouldn't be learning how to live with our skills? Well...Wuorinen would be against pretty much everything Cutler suggests, but I'm not. But Wuorinen does have a point about being a great musicians first.
Traditional models of making money in the arts are gone. Symphony jobs have always been sparse and difficult, and are now even more so. Apocalyptica and Zoe Keating are much more well known that JACK quartet (though that really does need to change. HOLY SHIT is JACK quartet amazing). And more and more classically trained musicians are turning from "art" music performance to popular music performance...the music "they grew up with." Is this cultural barbarism? Is what I do "elitist" even though I make no bones about writing music that I honestly believe anyone can enjoy? And do we need to go back to a more direct patronage system to make it all "work?"
Somewhere in the middle is usually the answer to me. I'm still chewing over bits of this and figuring out what exactly the best path is. I'm not a "conservative" guy by any stretch: I've collaborated with artists (and done pretty well with it, I think), I've had pieces played by a group that's more "jazz" than "classical" and had large audiences, I've written two operas that played to sold out crowds, I've gone to academic festivals, played in wine bars and museums, given academic papers, and even had a comedic play (the kind without music) produced to nearly sold out crowds. Perhaps I am, in some sense, an entrepreneur. But I've done all these things WITHOUT the lure of money.
Does this make me an entrepreneur? Maybe...But how much of it have I done AFTER I became at least a proficient musician? and how long did it take me to develop as a musician because I did more areas of study, spread myself out? and how many areas am I REALLY proficient at?
The times I split, i learned much less--as an undergrad, I was not a fantastic trombonist NOR a fantastic educator/conductor (was doing secondary instrumental, after all). I was ok at both. Same during my MM as a composer and audio engineer. It wasn't till my doctorate when I said "Alright, now I get serious about writing music" that I REALLY developed in one area heavily. Compare my MM and DMA compositions and you'd agree that there's been a pretty hefty push forward. Age helps, but intense study helps way more.
Anyway, again, there is no answer here...But Wuorinen gave me something to think about, if for no other reason that he incited me during the talk. I couldn't avoid what he was saying, I had to face it. I didn't like it all, but I was forced to figure out exactly why.
So, thank you Charles Wuorinen, for challenging me. It's something that doesn't happen every day, and I appreciate it. This is a lot of words just to say:
Challenge Accepted
Anyway, to the topic on hand. Charles Wuorinen is a fiery fellow. He has his opinions and convictions, and he will stick to them whole-heartedly. I respect that. His speeches are blunt, forceful, and thought-provoking.
There was a phrase I latched onto during his talk--"Cultural Barbarism." One area that I think Wuorinen moved dangerously into with his talk was a pushing a stratified class system. Wuorinen discussed how the "elite" of the country no longer cared about the arts, especially music. He said that there hadn't been a president since Richard Nixon that enjoyed classical music, and even Nixon used to have to sneak off into the closet to listen to symphonies. As for the non-"elites" of the country, well...
Wuorinen basically told us not to worry about them. The problem was the learned people didn't understand music: politicians, business-people, professors, other artist. Wuorninen seemed to feel that "normal" people wouldn't understand the music, and didn't need to understand it. And that groups like Bang on a Can played up to the audience, lowering the quality of music, and leading further into this cultural barbarism.
Wuorinen also said that the government (any and all) had no place in the arts anyway. That the only real way to move ahead in music is through personal relationships, mainly with the "elite." He made reference to all sorts of classic examples: Bach, Mozart, and how Beethoven tried to ruin the system.
I asked Wuorinen "What can we do then, as composers, to be 'cultural ambassadors,' and help fix this problem." Wuorinen gave a succinct answer: (paraphrased) All you can do is change the mind of one or two people, preferably with money.
Like I said, he can be provocative. At the very least, coming out of his talk, the young composers had some of the most interesting arguments. I won't dwell on everything, but I'll hit a few points.
First, I agree somewhat with Wuorinen about the lack of appreciation for art music. and I think there is a sort of "cultural barbarism" happening, but i don't think it's in the way he's discussing. Wuorinen seems to think that art music has always been relegated to cultural elite, and that's pretty much where it should stay. Then he bemoans how the rich and powerful don't give us money anymore. I don't see that as the problem.
A bigger problem is people saying "It's [art/classical/instrumental] music and I don't/can't understand it," and never giving it a fair chance. It's closing your ears and mind, not even letting the music in. Where does this come from? Well, there are lots of places, but I tend to think the attack on academics in America, particularly in the arts, is a nice portion. I've found the best way to change people's minds is to follow Wuorinen's idea: One person at a time. But I think you can change a lot of people's minds, one person at a time.
And the first play we need to start was also suggested by Wuorinen, and I agree: other artists. I don't know how many art openings in the US I've been to where the music was a friend of the artist...with a guitar singing some folk rock type tunes with crappy lyrics. Here's an artist, taking themselves seriously, perhaps working in a very abstract form. It's high art, not pop art, not pop in general. And yet the choice of accompanying music has nothing to do with the art, or even within a similar area of art. Why?
Because artists take the same perspective as most of the rest of the public. Not all, of course, but I see the problem most with the younger generation.
Now, let me say this now, I'm not blaming them in some way, saying young artists doing this are horrible people. That's definitely not it. But, they're a group that, as composers, we HAVE to work with, get on our side, and do more than just ignore. Composers ignore artists as much (or maybe more) than artists ignore composers. Eventually, we have to reach across the aisle.
Also, Wuorinen really ripped into the music and entrepreneurship bit. There's been so much written about it, from older articles in businessweek, to David Cutler writing all sorts of stuff on "new ideas" to help create entrepreneurs. This post isn't to run through the merits (or lack thereof) of the ideas, but to point out one thing Wuorinen said that I agree with: a great musician, created through rigorous training and performance experience will always have a better chance of success than someone that learns some tricks for making a quick buck.
Wuorinen attacked the movement away from creating extremely strong, well trained, almost over-practiced musicians to instead making "artists" that seemed more intent on making money than great music (or art). This is one point I completely agree with. Now, does that mean we shouldn't be learning how to live with our skills? Well...Wuorinen would be against pretty much everything Cutler suggests, but I'm not. But Wuorinen does have a point about being a great musicians first.
Traditional models of making money in the arts are gone. Symphony jobs have always been sparse and difficult, and are now even more so. Apocalyptica and Zoe Keating are much more well known that JACK quartet (though that really does need to change. HOLY SHIT is JACK quartet amazing). And more and more classically trained musicians are turning from "art" music performance to popular music performance...the music "they grew up with." Is this cultural barbarism? Is what I do "elitist" even though I make no bones about writing music that I honestly believe anyone can enjoy? And do we need to go back to a more direct patronage system to make it all "work?"
Somewhere in the middle is usually the answer to me. I'm still chewing over bits of this and figuring out what exactly the best path is. I'm not a "conservative" guy by any stretch: I've collaborated with artists (and done pretty well with it, I think), I've had pieces played by a group that's more "jazz" than "classical" and had large audiences, I've written two operas that played to sold out crowds, I've gone to academic festivals, played in wine bars and museums, given academic papers, and even had a comedic play (the kind without music) produced to nearly sold out crowds. Perhaps I am, in some sense, an entrepreneur. But I've done all these things WITHOUT the lure of money.
Does this make me an entrepreneur? Maybe...But how much of it have I done AFTER I became at least a proficient musician? and how long did it take me to develop as a musician because I did more areas of study, spread myself out? and how many areas am I REALLY proficient at?
The times I split, i learned much less--as an undergrad, I was not a fantastic trombonist NOR a fantastic educator/conductor (was doing secondary instrumental, after all). I was ok at both. Same during my MM as a composer and audio engineer. It wasn't till my doctorate when I said "Alright, now I get serious about writing music" that I REALLY developed in one area heavily. Compare my MM and DMA compositions and you'd agree that there's been a pretty hefty push forward. Age helps, but intense study helps way more.
Anyway, again, there is no answer here...But Wuorinen gave me something to think about, if for no other reason that he incited me during the talk. I couldn't avoid what he was saying, I had to face it. I didn't like it all, but I was forced to figure out exactly why.
So, thank you Charles Wuorinen, for challenging me. It's something that doesn't happen every day, and I appreciate it. This is a lot of words just to say:
Challenge Accepted
6/9/13
JiB Told Me to Do It
This week has been insane. Completely. Effing. Insane.
In all the best ways.
Too many things happened this week, and I have been far too busy and exhausted to begin to sort it all out. But here are some highlights that I plan/hope to discuss and put into a larger context:
In all the best ways.
Too many things happened this week, and I have been far too busy and exhausted to begin to sort it all out. But here are some highlights that I plan/hope to discuss and put into a larger context:
- Charles Wuorinen's talk--mainly in the context of the current context of "entrepreneurship."
- Brian Ferneyhough's talk, focusing on his interesting ideas on musicality (and some great examples from the festival. Linea KILLED Incipit. Jack killed Exordium. And Irvine Arditti killed Terrain. GODDAMN what a week!)
- Masterclass with Ferneyhough--Beginnings, Endings, and what materials demand
- Masterclass with Yehudi Wyner- musical expression, vocal writing, and "not getting in the way"
- Masterclass with Augusta Read Thomas- Don't half ass your work!
- The experience with Ensemble Signal, premiering a piece no one really expects in a festival like this, and the reaction to this unexpected piece.
- The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly--Beautiful Structures, Rough Performances, and WTF was That?!?
- JiB in context of the college experience--How a hardcore festival/workshops like June in Buffalo may one of the greatest things possible. Not for the performance, and the resume padding, but for all the RIGHT reasons.
These topics may all be discussed. Sometimes they'll get shoved together, more than one in a post. Maybe they'll span more than one post. I have no idea at this point.
But this process will be mostly for my own benefit. It's about decompressing all the information that's been shoved into my poor little brain. But hopefully more people will get a great deal out of it.
Ya know the worst part? I don't really have time to write these or decompress. On Saturday, I leave for Lisbon, Portugal, and Electroacoustic Musical Studies Conference 2013. So, instead of really being able to reflect, I'll be preparing for round 2, this time all EA instead of acoustic.
Shift gears, be prepared for anything
But this process will be mostly for my own benefit. It's about decompressing all the information that's been shoved into my poor little brain. But hopefully more people will get a great deal out of it.
Ya know the worst part? I don't really have time to write these or decompress. On Saturday, I leave for Lisbon, Portugal, and Electroacoustic Musical Studies Conference 2013. So, instead of really being able to reflect, I'll be preparing for round 2, this time all EA instead of acoustic.
Shift gears, be prepared for anything
And always, ALWAYS be prepared to sing. Because ya never know when you'll be singing all the lines from your own piece, or as a great singer found out, auditioning for some opera and/or ensemble solo work.
5/28/13
Till Coffee Do Us Part
Below is the video to my latest work. YouTube did something funky to it, but then the site said "we noticed your cropping is off..." No, my cropping was ON, your cropping is off. Weirdos. So, it's being fixed. BUT, who cares, here it is anyway. Enjoy this craziness! I'll get up on my webpage at some point as well. Yep yep.
Special thanks to everyone that made this awesome
Nathan Granner and Stacey Stofferahn as Heinrich and Betty
Black House Collective musicians in the pit, and KcEMA for their sound support! And a big thank you to both groups for producing the work.
Lisa Cordes, Stage Direction
Alison Heryer, Design
I waved my arms, and did a fair job of it.
No, ENJOY!
Special thanks to everyone that made this awesome
Nathan Granner and Stacey Stofferahn as Heinrich and Betty
Black House Collective musicians in the pit, and KcEMA for their sound support! And a big thank you to both groups for producing the work.
Lisa Cordes, Stage Direction
Alison Heryer, Design
I waved my arms, and did a fair job of it.
No, ENJOY!
5/20/13
A winding creative journey.
I've always written...
When I was young, ten or eleven, I used to write stories. They always had grand proportions. Everything was the start of a trilogy. I was young, so these grand plans always fell apart after ten or fifteen handwritten pages, wide-ruled, of course.
I also used to write songs. Arbitrary little ditties, using the keyboard my parents got me. I'd record a line, play it back and play another line on top. And sing some nonsensical lyrics. Can't remember many, but at least one was about being a hobbit. These were recorded on cassette and rarely played.
When I hit middle school and high school, I kept writing those long stories. Grand plans. Outlines started popping out. I read voraciously, learning from fantasy authors, and the occasional sci-fi author. Dialogue was clunky. Oh so clunky. Descriptions were interesting, but I had no concept of how to have characters interact. It always felt so...fake.
My musical writing was much the same way. I had progressed to occasionally writing things down. I did some arrangements and reharmonizations. Most of the work was...subpar. But I had a strong grasp of theory, so most things were coherent.
Poetry...oh poetry. I had no grasp of the rhythm of poetry. I could tell you about dactyls and alexandrine verse. The knowledge was there, but the feeling was all wrong. It was mixed with music. Long and short, stressed and unstressed...I could pat my leg in rhythm, count stresses based on an arbitrary tempo. When I wrote, my brain worked the same way. The verses wouldn't work without specific setting. They were all "free" even when I tried to write a sonate in iambic pentameter. This all popped up in high school, presumably because I liked the cavalier poets and Shakespeare.
I had one arrangement played in high school, "American Pie" by John McLean. Somewhere, I have a recording of it. No idea about orchestration. Only basic ideas of arranging. It was atrocious. But I was learning. Hearing it played, I knew it was bad.
College hits. Writing became an regular effort, but not creatively. Research, research, research. Learn MLA, Turabian, in-text, footnote, endnote, grammar grammar grammar. I nearly failed my first paper in college. The idea of writing a novel left. Short-stories never manifested. Poetry was a 2am distraction, often in the summer when I wasn't writing papers. Paper topics were often lame, unoriginal, too often biographies or just descriptions. Wasn't until my senior year I tried to get interesting, inventive. Comparisons of orchestrational methods, Biblicism and mysticism in the Quartet for the End of Time. But it was still rehashing ideas--there were volumes published on it. I wasn't saying anything original.
The music I wrote in undergrad was better. The first that was really something was theory driven. There was counterpoint, mostly canonic. It followed a set progression, moving steadily through the work. ABA form, same texture throughout. It was definitely coherent, the theme and general idea interesting enough. It's been performed three times now. Later, I worked with Carlos Carrillo. I wrote a trombone and piano piece that was more free. Roughly sonata form, more adventurous in all ways. Not a bad piece, for a young student. An early string quartet movement I still toute as being the greatest work in the literature because "You can start and stop at any point and it'll work!" A single piece for mixed chamber ensemble that I'd still like to hear played at some point. And a piece for trombone and string orchestra that I toured. The orchestra director felt bad--he programmed a Haydn symphony as the big piece; no trombone part. So, Carlos and I convinced Geno to let me write something short. It's not a bad piece, I was trying hard...and learning, always learning.
I headed off for a masters (eventually). My writing got better, but not after being ripped apart and put back together. Academic, always academic. But I hated the style of prose, so I said screw it, took my own tone. The teachers found it refreshing in one sense, but it needed tightened. The pendulum swung again, too far...academic-ese starting creeping in again. Still, always struggling with how little I knew of writing. The poetry was mostly gone now...hard to read Bukowski and think "yeah, my poetry is alright." I quit because I sucked, and I had no time to possibly get better...especially by fumbling in the dark. Research was all I knew of writing.
Music...I wrote a great deal. And I got better. Much better. It's amazing what guidance can do. The questions, the realizations. Sometimes theory and system driven, other times "intuitive." There were notated and improvisational pieces. A text piece made a scene. An "interactive" piece involving a video, arbitrarily triggered sound files, and poetry by Jack Kerouac got a good review. And an opera. Oh, the opera...
I didn't write the words of the opera. Well, not expressly. I worked on the libretto. Painstakingly. It was passed between myself and the original writer, Eileen Wiedbrauk. It was forced into a shape, turning thoughts into dialogue, descriptions into scenery, words into action. I learned a lot...and didn't think I destroyed the original which had captured my imagination so well.
Doctorate. Oh Doctorate. My academic prose was called "too academic." But when shown to others they said "No, it's very easy to read and colloquial." I was confused. Editing...editing was my bane. I realized it always had been. It was like having my ideas slain before me, their blood spilling across the page with every mark. But I had to learn, and with help, it got better. A paper was picked up for a conference...I presented and then published my first academic paper. It's been presented two more times now. And it hurts every time because I still see problems staring me in the face, taunting me.
I churned pieces out, was getting some performances. People thought some of the music was neat, started getting repeat performances. It seemed insane to me, having pieces picked up for festivals. I had to travel a bit. And I got better, more fluid. Orchestration became the primary focus, timbres swirling...themes, development, form, anyone could do that. But the whole, the entire sound, was all me. Old and new structures intermingled--isorhythm with nested time domains, scales with spectralism, traditional notation with graphic scores. Everything mingled.
Playwriting. I wanted to do another opera. Or a few operas. Dramatic works. Bigger, better, more coherent. I took the class not to become a writer, but to become a better composer. If I could finally start to understand how it was put together. We talked about many things--conflict, stakes, offstage urgency, dialogue creating action, strong and clear ideas, subtext, onstage discoveries. I wrote...But more than anything, I edited. I edited as I wrote. My writing got better, forced into a workshop as a non-writer, around people finishing degrees or entering in with more experience. One play has gone through eight edits. It's almsot right...It's been performed, and I'm editing it again. Something I've never done with a paper...and something I've never done with music.
An opera. I wrote the words this time. The music was somewhat formulaic, somewhat intuitive. There was subtext, not just in the words, but in the music. No quotation, but allusions, recognizable styles and ideas. The story had conflict, and so did the music...at times it was edgy, at other times as stereotypical as it could be. You could hear Schubert lied, Mozart and Verdi, jazz, even a bit of Ferneyhough, though only the smallest portion. And where was I? In every sound, altering it, letting through only what I wanted to come through...
It's been quite a journey, but I'm finding my creative home. Dialogue wasn't really the issue, it was the strength. The medium was the issue--I knew what the characters wanted to say, but I couldn't have them say it the way I wanted in strict prose. But in a play, I can. It's about the characters, a scene, nested themes, plots, and actions. Meaning everywhere, sometimes where you least expect it. A language I can speak.
My music follows the same course. I'm finally finding that language, the mix of everything, where I fit in.
And I still dream big...big projects, big ideas. But now, maybe, after years of preparation, I may finally be ready.
The full length opera is coming to the world soon. But there's still much work to be done
When I was young, ten or eleven, I used to write stories. They always had grand proportions. Everything was the start of a trilogy. I was young, so these grand plans always fell apart after ten or fifteen handwritten pages, wide-ruled, of course.
I also used to write songs. Arbitrary little ditties, using the keyboard my parents got me. I'd record a line, play it back and play another line on top. And sing some nonsensical lyrics. Can't remember many, but at least one was about being a hobbit. These were recorded on cassette and rarely played.
When I hit middle school and high school, I kept writing those long stories. Grand plans. Outlines started popping out. I read voraciously, learning from fantasy authors, and the occasional sci-fi author. Dialogue was clunky. Oh so clunky. Descriptions were interesting, but I had no concept of how to have characters interact. It always felt so...fake.
My musical writing was much the same way. I had progressed to occasionally writing things down. I did some arrangements and reharmonizations. Most of the work was...subpar. But I had a strong grasp of theory, so most things were coherent.
Poetry...oh poetry. I had no grasp of the rhythm of poetry. I could tell you about dactyls and alexandrine verse. The knowledge was there, but the feeling was all wrong. It was mixed with music. Long and short, stressed and unstressed...I could pat my leg in rhythm, count stresses based on an arbitrary tempo. When I wrote, my brain worked the same way. The verses wouldn't work without specific setting. They were all "free" even when I tried to write a sonate in iambic pentameter. This all popped up in high school, presumably because I liked the cavalier poets and Shakespeare.
I had one arrangement played in high school, "American Pie" by John McLean. Somewhere, I have a recording of it. No idea about orchestration. Only basic ideas of arranging. It was atrocious. But I was learning. Hearing it played, I knew it was bad.
College hits. Writing became an regular effort, but not creatively. Research, research, research. Learn MLA, Turabian, in-text, footnote, endnote, grammar grammar grammar. I nearly failed my first paper in college. The idea of writing a novel left. Short-stories never manifested. Poetry was a 2am distraction, often in the summer when I wasn't writing papers. Paper topics were often lame, unoriginal, too often biographies or just descriptions. Wasn't until my senior year I tried to get interesting, inventive. Comparisons of orchestrational methods, Biblicism and mysticism in the Quartet for the End of Time. But it was still rehashing ideas--there were volumes published on it. I wasn't saying anything original.
The music I wrote in undergrad was better. The first that was really something was theory driven. There was counterpoint, mostly canonic. It followed a set progression, moving steadily through the work. ABA form, same texture throughout. It was definitely coherent, the theme and general idea interesting enough. It's been performed three times now. Later, I worked with Carlos Carrillo. I wrote a trombone and piano piece that was more free. Roughly sonata form, more adventurous in all ways. Not a bad piece, for a young student. An early string quartet movement I still toute as being the greatest work in the literature because "You can start and stop at any point and it'll work!" A single piece for mixed chamber ensemble that I'd still like to hear played at some point. And a piece for trombone and string orchestra that I toured. The orchestra director felt bad--he programmed a Haydn symphony as the big piece; no trombone part. So, Carlos and I convinced Geno to let me write something short. It's not a bad piece, I was trying hard...and learning, always learning.
I headed off for a masters (eventually). My writing got better, but not after being ripped apart and put back together. Academic, always academic. But I hated the style of prose, so I said screw it, took my own tone. The teachers found it refreshing in one sense, but it needed tightened. The pendulum swung again, too far...academic-ese starting creeping in again. Still, always struggling with how little I knew of writing. The poetry was mostly gone now...hard to read Bukowski and think "yeah, my poetry is alright." I quit because I sucked, and I had no time to possibly get better...especially by fumbling in the dark. Research was all I knew of writing.
Music...I wrote a great deal. And I got better. Much better. It's amazing what guidance can do. The questions, the realizations. Sometimes theory and system driven, other times "intuitive." There were notated and improvisational pieces. A text piece made a scene. An "interactive" piece involving a video, arbitrarily triggered sound files, and poetry by Jack Kerouac got a good review. And an opera. Oh, the opera...
I didn't write the words of the opera. Well, not expressly. I worked on the libretto. Painstakingly. It was passed between myself and the original writer, Eileen Wiedbrauk. It was forced into a shape, turning thoughts into dialogue, descriptions into scenery, words into action. I learned a lot...and didn't think I destroyed the original which had captured my imagination so well.
Doctorate. Oh Doctorate. My academic prose was called "too academic." But when shown to others they said "No, it's very easy to read and colloquial." I was confused. Editing...editing was my bane. I realized it always had been. It was like having my ideas slain before me, their blood spilling across the page with every mark. But I had to learn, and with help, it got better. A paper was picked up for a conference...I presented and then published my first academic paper. It's been presented two more times now. And it hurts every time because I still see problems staring me in the face, taunting me.
I churned pieces out, was getting some performances. People thought some of the music was neat, started getting repeat performances. It seemed insane to me, having pieces picked up for festivals. I had to travel a bit. And I got better, more fluid. Orchestration became the primary focus, timbres swirling...themes, development, form, anyone could do that. But the whole, the entire sound, was all me. Old and new structures intermingled--isorhythm with nested time domains, scales with spectralism, traditional notation with graphic scores. Everything mingled.
Playwriting. I wanted to do another opera. Or a few operas. Dramatic works. Bigger, better, more coherent. I took the class not to become a writer, but to become a better composer. If I could finally start to understand how it was put together. We talked about many things--conflict, stakes, offstage urgency, dialogue creating action, strong and clear ideas, subtext, onstage discoveries. I wrote...But more than anything, I edited. I edited as I wrote. My writing got better, forced into a workshop as a non-writer, around people finishing degrees or entering in with more experience. One play has gone through eight edits. It's almsot right...It's been performed, and I'm editing it again. Something I've never done with a paper...and something I've never done with music.
An opera. I wrote the words this time. The music was somewhat formulaic, somewhat intuitive. There was subtext, not just in the words, but in the music. No quotation, but allusions, recognizable styles and ideas. The story had conflict, and so did the music...at times it was edgy, at other times as stereotypical as it could be. You could hear Schubert lied, Mozart and Verdi, jazz, even a bit of Ferneyhough, though only the smallest portion. And where was I? In every sound, altering it, letting through only what I wanted to come through...
It's been quite a journey, but I'm finding my creative home. Dialogue wasn't really the issue, it was the strength. The medium was the issue--I knew what the characters wanted to say, but I couldn't have them say it the way I wanted in strict prose. But in a play, I can. It's about the characters, a scene, nested themes, plots, and actions. Meaning everywhere, sometimes where you least expect it. A language I can speak.
My music follows the same course. I'm finally finding that language, the mix of everything, where I fit in.
And I still dream big...big projects, big ideas. But now, maybe, after years of preparation, I may finally be ready.
The full length opera is coming to the world soon. But there's still much work to be done
5/18/13
two much theater?
In the past month, I've had two theatrical works premiered to packed houses. The Story, Part 1: Alec and Grugh, ran during InTENsity 2.0, produced by Frank Higgins and Tony Bernal. Four of the five nights were sold out (and the other night had 2 open seats. So close!).
And this past Thursday and Friday, Till Coffee Do Us Part, ran. The evening, Rites of Being, was produced by Hunter Long and Black House Collective, and created in collaboration with Kansas City Electronic Music and Arts Alliance. Alison Heryer designed most everything, and Lisa Cordes gave her expert talents as the stage director of all six operas.
There was also some crazy guy that started voguing toward the end of Friday night...He was up on a podium and waved his arms like a damn fool. He did it because whenever he moved his arms, he heard music...and he likes music.
Yes, I was the foolish man.
Did anyone laugh at my title? It's a pun. Get it...Two shows? Two much theater?
These are the jokes people.
And what an experience all this was. I'm many years removed from my theater days. I did the community theater bit for...well, a hella long time. I played in some pits, and did a minor acting role for in undergrad. Worked for a production company, but didn't do much theater work while out East...Until Cake went up, and I was suddenly tossed back into theater.
Then four years pass, and I'm tossed back in again. People always seem amazed to know that I've been on stage since...8? 9? Can't remember...Anyway, a long freakin' time. My first credit as a lighting tech was when I was 12 (designed half the show. Poorly, i might add...but it got done!). My first directing credit was a children's production when I was in HS. I followed that up with directing Pippin, then directing 2 chamber operas for RTB's inaugural Opera Shorts program. I also waved my arms around then, leading several rehearsals when our conductor wasn't around.
Should have taken that "assistant conductor" credit. But I was already "Tech Director, Stage Director, Composer."
Anyway...Yeah, I've done a lot of theater...
But I've never had two shows run so close together. I've never had to flit from a rehearsal of one show to a performance of another. I've never had a show I've solely written the words to on stage. Cake was a collaboration with Eileen Wiedbrauk. Her story, and we sent the libretto back and forth (with a lot of "I have no idea what I'm doing..." "I don't know either..." "Hm, well...it's probably fine.").
So, my words, on stage. That was an interesting experience. The actors never stopped surprising me--in both shows, I laughed several times...which is hella awkward as you're prepping a to cue in the pit, and the actor does something so ridiculous you HAVE to laugh.
There's nothing in this world more magical than live theater. I know, I'm a musician, I should say "there's nothing more magical than a symphony," or something like that. But I'd be lying. There's something about the human voice, about seeing humans interact and draw you into the performance. There's something much more concrete. Music is abstract. Even when moving into more concrete worlds (using obvious quotation that will have cultural contexts, using real world sounds, etc.), music is always a step removed from the concrete image due to what's around it. (Does thunder have the same meaning when surrounded by rain, as it does when it's surrounded by gunfire without rain? a discussion for another time.)
But theater captures us in a snapshot of time. We see events unfold in front of us, and we are either drawn in, or kept at arms length as observers to judge the action (Oh Brecht...). I love me some Brecht, and when he's at his best, he's tricked himself and he's brought you into at least one character, while keeping the problem at arms length (Rise and Fall of the City of Mahoganny is the perfect example to me).
I wouldn't trade this experience for the world. It's not what I do professionally. I'm no actor. My directing is middling, at best. Same goes with my design. It's better for the world if I never sing again. And while I've enjoyed writing words, and think I'm pretty good at it, I'm best at writing music.
So, I'll continue to do that, and do it well. And keep your eyes open for opera number 3!
There's never too much theater in this world.
And this past Thursday and Friday, Till Coffee Do Us Part, ran. The evening, Rites of Being, was produced by Hunter Long and Black House Collective, and created in collaboration with Kansas City Electronic Music and Arts Alliance. Alison Heryer designed most everything, and Lisa Cordes gave her expert talents as the stage director of all six operas.
There was also some crazy guy that started voguing toward the end of Friday night...He was up on a podium and waved his arms like a damn fool. He did it because whenever he moved his arms, he heard music...and he likes music.
Yes, I was the foolish man.
Did anyone laugh at my title? It's a pun. Get it...Two shows? Two much theater?
These are the jokes people.
And what an experience all this was. I'm many years removed from my theater days. I did the community theater bit for...well, a hella long time. I played in some pits, and did a minor acting role for in undergrad. Worked for a production company, but didn't do much theater work while out East...Until Cake went up, and I was suddenly tossed back into theater.
Then four years pass, and I'm tossed back in again. People always seem amazed to know that I've been on stage since...8? 9? Can't remember...Anyway, a long freakin' time. My first credit as a lighting tech was when I was 12 (designed half the show. Poorly, i might add...but it got done!). My first directing credit was a children's production when I was in HS. I followed that up with directing Pippin, then directing 2 chamber operas for RTB's inaugural Opera Shorts program. I also waved my arms around then, leading several rehearsals when our conductor wasn't around.
Should have taken that "assistant conductor" credit. But I was already "Tech Director, Stage Director, Composer."
Anyway...Yeah, I've done a lot of theater...
But I've never had two shows run so close together. I've never had to flit from a rehearsal of one show to a performance of another. I've never had a show I've solely written the words to on stage. Cake was a collaboration with Eileen Wiedbrauk. Her story, and we sent the libretto back and forth (with a lot of "I have no idea what I'm doing..." "I don't know either..." "Hm, well...it's probably fine.").
So, my words, on stage. That was an interesting experience. The actors never stopped surprising me--in both shows, I laughed several times...which is hella awkward as you're prepping a to cue in the pit, and the actor does something so ridiculous you HAVE to laugh.
There's nothing in this world more magical than live theater. I know, I'm a musician, I should say "there's nothing more magical than a symphony," or something like that. But I'd be lying. There's something about the human voice, about seeing humans interact and draw you into the performance. There's something much more concrete. Music is abstract. Even when moving into more concrete worlds (using obvious quotation that will have cultural contexts, using real world sounds, etc.), music is always a step removed from the concrete image due to what's around it. (Does thunder have the same meaning when surrounded by rain, as it does when it's surrounded by gunfire without rain? a discussion for another time.)
But theater captures us in a snapshot of time. We see events unfold in front of us, and we are either drawn in, or kept at arms length as observers to judge the action (Oh Brecht...). I love me some Brecht, and when he's at his best, he's tricked himself and he's brought you into at least one character, while keeping the problem at arms length (Rise and Fall of the City of Mahoganny is the perfect example to me).
I wouldn't trade this experience for the world. It's not what I do professionally. I'm no actor. My directing is middling, at best. Same goes with my design. It's better for the world if I never sing again. And while I've enjoyed writing words, and think I'm pretty good at it, I'm best at writing music.
So, I'll continue to do that, and do it well. And keep your eyes open for opera number 3!
There's never too much theater in this world.
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