Do I have the right to be proud of my music compositions? Oh heavens, yes. The difference between a machine generated playback and a professional performance (even though she called it a practice) is so thrilling that you just can't miss this YouTube of International Clarinetist Marion Harrington playing my music. "The Last Shepherd" was written for her and may be included on her 2012 Christmas Charity CD or even on tour (which you can help with by visiting her link). Marion has called my music "melodic and atmospheric". Listen to her play and its a slice of heaven. http://goo.gl/Cde37
And now I'll go off and cry...
Showing posts with label composer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label composer. Show all posts
30 December 2011
13 April 2010
A Boy Named Vinny...
Last year, in the midst of Klamath National Forest I was invited to a Memorial Day cookout. I knew two of the forty some people there, and four of the eleven dogs (two of them were mine).
I met some good people there, and more during the summer months I camped at the Hungry Hay Placer Mining Claim. I learned a lot about gold mining, and even found a very small bit of gold that took 4 hrs per day for six months to collect. Not even worth the gas to go to the store and back once, but it was fun.
I learned more about nature and used it to write more music and to write children stories. I remembered, and according to my notes, promptly forgot, parts of my life that had been blanked from my mind. Some memory lost to emotional trauma, some to physical trauma, and perhaps more to vanish as time goes on.
But this is about Vinny...a boy at the cookout who had spent the week at the campsite with his parents to hold the space for the gathering. And it is about a little girl, a friend of his family, who was celebrating her birthday. Now Vinny was a first year violinist and with some coxing from his mother had brought his instrument out to the camp. It was safe in their very long fifth-wheeler, and he had been practicing how to play Happy Birthday.
Vinny's mother felt he had mastered it well enough so she asked him to play if for the assembled guests. Uh oh! Stage fright set in and Vinny could not be persuaded to play. I saw fear in his eyes and a tenseness in his neck and shoulders. I had met Vinny a few days before so wasn't a complete stranger to him. I went over to where he and his mother were discussing it. She trying to persuade him, and him trying to back away.
"Vinny," I said, "I didn't know you played Violin. I played Cello for a very long time, but now I write music for people to play. I compose for most of the instruments in the orchestra." And so we chatted for a bit about his year of Violin playing. What he had learned, and the notes he knew. I told him I would write him a piece of music. And I did. That evening back at my campsite after washing some blacksands down to the cleanest particles...I pulled out a sheet of music paper and wrote Vinny's Tune.
The following day was the last of the gathering. I drove the four miles over there and presented the music to Vinny with his father present. These days it is not wise to offer children anything without a parent at hand. They need the security of knowing the offering is okay with their parents. The parent needs to know they have control, and that the offering is not something wrong. There is too much wrongness in the world as it is.
As most young boys, Vinny didn't really appreciate the gift immediately, but after his mother came over to join us and started asking him what notes this one, that one, and those, were he perked up a bit. I left him a message that the tune was his. Whatever his mood he could play that tune and take it slow or fast to suit himself. It could be sad, it could be speedy, it could be slow, it could be happy. And so it is. It is Vinny's Tune. I also told him that I hoped he continued playing for many, many years.
Why would I talk about Vinny and his tune? Because I have three children, whom I have also written music for, and named the pieces for them. They have yet to hear them, and may never hear them, as I don't know where any of them live. There is much I don't know, bits I do, and much I fear to know. Is it emotional? Yes. Is it physical? Yes. Will I live long enough to overcome either or both? Perhaps not.
This year I expect much of my music will be published and archived in other places than just on my computers. Someday perhaps my children will find my works, including the simple Vinny-like tunes bearing their names. They don't have to like them, but they will know that often I think about them and wish that the blanks were filled.
I am thinking that after I have posted Vinny's Tune for a short while I may post the pieces for my children. I may do that. I may forget because much of the present gets forgotten, but by writing here I may get around to it yet.
I seem to recall wanting a round-tuit.
I met some good people there, and more during the summer months I camped at the Hungry Hay Placer Mining Claim. I learned a lot about gold mining, and even found a very small bit of gold that took 4 hrs per day for six months to collect. Not even worth the gas to go to the store and back once, but it was fun.
I learned more about nature and used it to write more music and to write children stories. I remembered, and according to my notes, promptly forgot, parts of my life that had been blanked from my mind. Some memory lost to emotional trauma, some to physical trauma, and perhaps more to vanish as time goes on.
But this is about Vinny...a boy at the cookout who had spent the week at the campsite with his parents to hold the space for the gathering. And it is about a little girl, a friend of his family, who was celebrating her birthday. Now Vinny was a first year violinist and with some coxing from his mother had brought his instrument out to the camp. It was safe in their very long fifth-wheeler, and he had been practicing how to play Happy Birthday.
Vinny's mother felt he had mastered it well enough so she asked him to play if for the assembled guests. Uh oh! Stage fright set in and Vinny could not be persuaded to play. I saw fear in his eyes and a tenseness in his neck and shoulders. I had met Vinny a few days before so wasn't a complete stranger to him. I went over to where he and his mother were discussing it. She trying to persuade him, and him trying to back away.
"Vinny," I said, "I didn't know you played Violin. I played Cello for a very long time, but now I write music for people to play. I compose for most of the instruments in the orchestra." And so we chatted for a bit about his year of Violin playing. What he had learned, and the notes he knew. I told him I would write him a piece of music. And I did. That evening back at my campsite after washing some blacksands down to the cleanest particles...I pulled out a sheet of music paper and wrote Vinny's Tune.
The following day was the last of the gathering. I drove the four miles over there and presented the music to Vinny with his father present. These days it is not wise to offer children anything without a parent at hand. They need the security of knowing the offering is okay with their parents. The parent needs to know they have control, and that the offering is not something wrong. There is too much wrongness in the world as it is.
As most young boys, Vinny didn't really appreciate the gift immediately, but after his mother came over to join us and started asking him what notes this one, that one, and those, were he perked up a bit. I left him a message that the tune was his. Whatever his mood he could play that tune and take it slow or fast to suit himself. It could be sad, it could be speedy, it could be slow, it could be happy. And so it is. It is Vinny's Tune. I also told him that I hoped he continued playing for many, many years.
Why would I talk about Vinny and his tune? Because I have three children, whom I have also written music for, and named the pieces for them. They have yet to hear them, and may never hear them, as I don't know where any of them live. There is much I don't know, bits I do, and much I fear to know. Is it emotional? Yes. Is it physical? Yes. Will I live long enough to overcome either or both? Perhaps not.
This year I expect much of my music will be published and archived in other places than just on my computers. Someday perhaps my children will find my works, including the simple Vinny-like tunes bearing their names. They don't have to like them, but they will know that often I think about them and wish that the blanks were filled.
I am thinking that after I have posted Vinny's Tune for a short while I may post the pieces for my children. I may do that. I may forget because much of the present gets forgotten, but by writing here I may get around to it yet.
I seem to recall wanting a round-tuit.
25 November 2009
The Blog Path...
When I canceled my Anon Blogs and began this one I didn't think I would update it more than once every blue moon. I hadn't updated the blog on MySpace in at least three blue moons so why would this be any different. I don't really enjoy writing odd-bits on either it or Facebook. And just now I think I realized that the clutter bothers me, the screen noise irritates me, and I feel like I'm being watched very closely.
A Blair classmate, Les Oakes, did remind me that I am indeed being watched. So off I went to my new blogspot and began entries. Now I find that it is only my own words in front of me while my fingers dance around the keyboard. I have no interruptions to trains of thought other than the music roiling between my ears.
I had a blog on Word Press under a name I don't want to reuse. I tried to rename it but they don't allow changing the account name that matches to your email address. They told me to go into the old account and change the email address and after it is verified then I could open a new blog account with my email address. Yep! Only problem is that I only have one email address and I'm not going to bother to get a new one just to fake out their computer. In fact, they should not be telling us how to fake them in the first place. Duh!
So I just stay here and explore thoughts and polish words so that they shine as bright as the lights I envision. I struggle daily, hourly, with music pounding in my head clashing with stories trying to get out. Sometimes I
succeed in calming them by getting one of the works into the computer where it quietly awaits the interest of a publisher. And even though I thought I wouldn't be writing much in the blog doing so seems to act like a pressure valve venting explosively with steam. Surprisingly, instead of loosing the thoughts and forms it feels like what is formulating is doing so with more precision.
This funneling has provided me with some peace of mind as well. In just the short life of this blog, and of the twitter stream, I've made more progress on other works besides my childrens stories and my music composition. In fact, when I figured out how to set up both the blog and the twitter posts on the same page I actually felt like an accomplished web author. Of course, partial success could be rewarded with publisher contracts, but that is still to come.
Those of you who find me on MySpace or FaceBook get the twitter stream automatically. In fact, you may never get to the blog page here. I am not writing either for you. I am writing them for myself only. I narrate to an invisible audience, I know, and I see some of them float in and then float out far quicker than a reading should allow. (Seeing them floating means they are not so invisible.)
At least here I can reaffirm to myself that I am. I am a composer. I am a writer. I am a photographer. And when those lives don't seem full enough I enjoy pulling tiny bits of gold from large piles of rubble.
A Blair classmate, Les Oakes, did remind me that I am indeed being watched. So off I went to my new blogspot and began entries. Now I find that it is only my own words in front of me while my fingers dance around the keyboard. I have no interruptions to trains of thought other than the music roiling between my ears.
I had a blog on Word Press under a name I don't want to reuse. I tried to rename it but they don't allow changing the account name that matches to your email address. They told me to go into the old account and change the email address and after it is verified then I could open a new blog account with my email address. Yep! Only problem is that I only have one email address and I'm not going to bother to get a new one just to fake out their computer. In fact, they should not be telling us how to fake them in the first place. Duh!
So I just stay here and explore thoughts and polish words so that they shine as bright as the lights I envision. I struggle daily, hourly, with music pounding in my head clashing with stories trying to get out. Sometimes I
succeed in calming them by getting one of the works into the computer where it quietly awaits the interest of a publisher. And even though I thought I wouldn't be writing much in the blog doing so seems to act like a pressure valve venting explosively with steam. Surprisingly, instead of loosing the thoughts and forms it feels like what is formulating is doing so with more precision.
This funneling has provided me with some peace of mind as well. In just the short life of this blog, and of the twitter stream, I've made more progress on other works besides my childrens stories and my music composition. In fact, when I figured out how to set up both the blog and the twitter posts on the same page I actually felt like an accomplished web author. Of course, partial success could be rewarded with publisher contracts, but that is still to come.
Those of you who find me on MySpace or FaceBook get the twitter stream automatically. In fact, you may never get to the blog page here. I am not writing either for you. I am writing them for myself only. I narrate to an invisible audience, I know, and I see some of them float in and then float out far quicker than a reading should allow. (Seeing them floating means they are not so invisible.)
At least here I can reaffirm to myself that I am. I am a composer. I am a writer. I am a photographer. And when those lives don't seem full enough I enjoy pulling tiny bits of gold from large piles of rubble.
24 November 2009
Recorder Music...
When I was younger, in school in Hastings, Nebraska, I started playing Cello. The strings program there, in fact all the orchestral instruments, was fantastic. Then my family moved to New Jersey, and I had to go along with them since I was just 12-years old.
I spent two years at North Warren Regional High School. The first year I was the only string player in what was mostly a marching band that did two concerts on stage per year. I got featured in a front stage position and they taped a mic to my cello. Our band director didn't really understand strings and couldn't deign to note that I was trying to tune my cello from a string slippage. My A-string broke as I frantically tried to tune and I ended up playing the last two pieces entirely on the D string using advanced finger positions that I didn't really have mastered. Only a few people noted the difficulty, the adjustment, and the beads of sweat forming on my forehead. Two of those few were my mother and myself.
I learned to play both trombone and baritone and actually marched a few times with the band. I had tried using a wheeled device to trundle along the cello but it just wasn't successful. I wish now I had learned the flute or oboe then, or later.
Then I transferred to Blair Academy and although I still was not in a strings program I did have a private
teacher come out from NYC. I fear that teenagedness took over parts of my brain and I did not pursue my cello education as I should have -- but I did get a college scholarship on it and in voice.
While at Blair I was asked if I would join a starting Recorder Class. Ms. Kathyrn Phillips-Price, flautist, got me started on an instrument I have played ever since. In fact, even though hurricane Katrina was the indirect cause of loosing most of my music scores, and Recorders, and Cello, I still have the Soprano, Alto, and Sopranino Recorders from my Blair days. That makes a few of my instruments well over thirty years old.
Now I compose a great deal of music and much of that is for solo instruments. I started doing that because I wanted more music to play without having to buy it. On the computer I often voice them as Oboe because it sounds better, but I play most of them on Recorder. I like to think most are suitable for Cello as well and I have transposed some for Cello.
One day, perhaps, I'll begin marketing the music through a publisher. At this time I just fill an annual subscription to customers that gives them nearly everything I compose. This includes duets, trios, quartets, quintets, etc... in various instrumental groupings. Composing has become a large part of my life and I think I owe part of that to Blair and the Recorders.
So from Nebraska and my Cello, to brass and Recorders in New Jersey, there is an instrumental part of me that coincides with my vocal part. I've been in the business world and enjoyed the money but I much prefer the musical part of me, the peace within after completing a new piece of music, even if it means I join the starving artists.
I spent two years at North Warren Regional High School. The first year I was the only string player in what was mostly a marching band that did two concerts on stage per year. I got featured in a front stage position and they taped a mic to my cello. Our band director didn't really understand strings and couldn't deign to note that I was trying to tune my cello from a string slippage. My A-string broke as I frantically tried to tune and I ended up playing the last two pieces entirely on the D string using advanced finger positions that I didn't really have mastered. Only a few people noted the difficulty, the adjustment, and the beads of sweat forming on my forehead. Two of those few were my mother and myself.
I learned to play both trombone and baritone and actually marched a few times with the band. I had tried using a wheeled device to trundle along the cello but it just wasn't successful. I wish now I had learned the flute or oboe then, or later.
Then I transferred to Blair Academy and although I still was not in a strings program I did have a private
teacher come out from NYC. I fear that teenagedness took over parts of my brain and I did not pursue my cello education as I should have -- but I did get a college scholarship on it and in voice.
While at Blair I was asked if I would join a starting Recorder Class. Ms. Kathyrn Phillips-Price, flautist, got me started on an instrument I have played ever since. In fact, even though hurricane Katrina was the indirect cause of loosing most of my music scores, and Recorders, and Cello, I still have the Soprano, Alto, and Sopranino Recorders from my Blair days. That makes a few of my instruments well over thirty years old.
Now I compose a great deal of music and much of that is for solo instruments. I started doing that because I wanted more music to play without having to buy it. On the computer I often voice them as Oboe because it sounds better, but I play most of them on Recorder. I like to think most are suitable for Cello as well and I have transposed some for Cello.
One day, perhaps, I'll begin marketing the music through a publisher. At this time I just fill an annual subscription to customers that gives them nearly everything I compose. This includes duets, trios, quartets, quintets, etc... in various instrumental groupings. Composing has become a large part of my life and I think I owe part of that to Blair and the Recorders.
So from Nebraska and my Cello, to brass and Recorders in New Jersey, there is an instrumental part of me that coincides with my vocal part. I've been in the business world and enjoyed the money but I much prefer the musical part of me, the peace within after completing a new piece of music, even if it means I join the starving artists.
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