Tuesday, April 14, 2009

The granularity of work

I’m currently working on two pieces.  One is The Lost Child, a kind of “opera” for flute with electronics, percussion, recorded sounds, and actor. It’s by far the biggest project I’ve ever done, both aesthetically and in terms of logistics.  At the same time I am working on Adagio sostenuto for our June 15th anniversary concert.  It’s my sixth work involving the whole c)i instrumentation, which I find surprising. I had no idea! What’s impressive is that I still feel like I’m just getting started with this sonority, I’m just digging into the possibilities not only of the instruments but also of the expressive characters of the c)i performers.  Like Doug, when I write for these musicians I feel I’m not just writing for the instrument, I’m writing for the player.  It is a privileged position to have a long-term relationship with a group of such virtuosic, dedicated, creatively astonishing and generous people.  With these musicians I never feel worried about the piece not being understood, or not being prepared.  

 But how did we get to this place?  I’ve been thinking a lot about continuity; that’s what Adagio sostenuto is about, I think.  I get confused when I’m making a piece. I often forget what came first: some nameless creative impulse, a certain “taste in the mouth” of what the piece should be, or my fine philosophical justifications for those impulses and vague notions. The program notes! Anyway, I had already been working with these mass textures made up of tiny events, like clouds or swarms.  The surface sensation is of a solid substance, but when you look closer it is really many tiny grains of sound.  Then I started to think that being in counter)induction is like that.  When you say “10 years” it feels like some big object, some Monumental Achievement. But what it really is, is countless individual rehearsals, meetings, hours at the desk composing, mountains of press releases, postcards, emails (God, the emails!), writing grants, setting up chairs before a concert, playing the concerts…  Countless individual acts that add up to ten years of effort, ten years of music.

1 comment:

  1. i think your point about continuity is dead on the money – it's very easy to give lip service to connectedness (of works) and mutuality (of artists), but the ways in which those manifest in practice are both more mundane and more transcendental. i'm not amazed at how much working with c)i has influenced my composition and my understand of what composition is or could be, but i am continually amazed at how much of that influence i am unaware of, how much lurks in the shadows and surprises me mid-piece. I'm off in my head transcribing the music of the spheres, and i realize that i'm actually thinking about Jess' bow, or Ben's glisses. The local is the global, and the mundane is the cosmic. Or something like that...

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