Whisperings From Beyond Tartarus

Okay. I kind of fell off the face of earth this year. Or . . . maybe I fell onto it. The real world kind of got in the way of 28mm fictions. Some of this is fairly mundane. Some of it is honestly slightly grim. But some of it is almost exiting. I have a concert announcement. (You might recall I live a dual life as science-fiction gamer wannabe and super-serious musician man.) Early this year I started playing with the Town and Country Symphony Orchestra. This has been fantastic for a couple of reasons. First, and not least, I get to play music. Which . . . might actually be what I love most. Maybe. Don't quote me on that. I really like pushing lead around a table, but . . . Beethoven. Verdi. Richard Rogers. There's this music stuff. Even better? The TCSO has agreed to play my piano concert at their annual chamber concert at Parkway United Church of Christ. On Sunday February 10th David Peek will conduct the TCSO and Andreas Boelcke in a performance of a keyboard concerto by Bach, Gabriel's Oboe from The Mission, and my first (and so far only) piano concerto.

Again, this will be Sunday, February 10th 2019 at 2:30 pm.
Parkway United Church of Christ
2841 N. Ballas Rd.
St. Louis, MO 63131

Which brings me to the second part: Kickstarter is good for more than just spin-casting startups. You can also make other spinning things. Like CDs, for instance. I'm running a small fundraising drive on Kickstarter to offset my own expenses related to the concert.(Most prominently a plane ticket to get the pianist from Berlin to St. Louis and back.) Please feel free to take a peek at my musical bake sale. You can buy a handcrafted CD there, a bespoke score, or a few other nifty things. And anything we raise beyond expenses will go to support the TCSO in their mission to bring great free music to the community in western and northern St. Louis county.

Either way, if you're in St. Louis please come to the show. I hope that you will enjoy it. There will be a little bit of something for everyone. And . . . it's free. (Best price ever.) And if you're not in St. Louis . . . there is always YouTube and it will be there. Not quite the same, but . . . not too shabby for all that.

Sincerely,
The Composer.

Morning in the Sun and Other Distractions

So it seems that in the midst of all the hubbub of the new year there were a few things I'd meant to post and never did. And now it's April.

Wherever has sweet time gone while I wasn't looking?

I've posted these one or two other places, so if you've already seen them I beg your indulgence. All are motion picture experiments of one sort or another. All are accompanied by music I've written and haphazardly recorded after a fashion. Two use my toys. One video was even intentionally designed specifically to go with that music, in that MTV way . . . if rock bands had no budgets and stood an inch and a half tall. All tell a story in one way or another. So, hey, they fit, right? Anyway . . .

Let there be video!

I call this first one Christmas on Tartarus. The toys you'll have seen. The over-scale tree in the middle of town? What was that about sweet time? The two piano pieces aren't particularly recent, both hailing from the early aughts. But the video was from last December, so it's new enough.

This next one is more of a story, and less "classical", save possibly in the rock sense. And hey, that's 28mm me and my 28mm sweetheart, so maybe it's a love story.

(Word of warning: this one's a little longer and starts out slow.)

This last one is more of an "art" piece. It's really just a Koyanisquatsi reference if it were a video for Short Ride in a Fast Machine. (Which . . . has been done, of course.) But hey, I think of this as Rachmaninov meets Glass, so maybe that's not altogether inappropriate. The piece probably owes something to both.

Anyway, thank you for watching. And listening.

Sincerely,
The Composer

(See? I really do compose. Honest.)

Ars Contra Tyrannus

Here's a somewhat special moment: a back to basics moment. I started blogging to write about music and got carried away with gaming instead. I do not wish to lose my sci-fi chi, but events can sometimes catapult you back to places you'd forgotten. This is one such case. For some reason I feel as though those of us who appreciate that magical spot at the end of the rainbow where we can feel welcome need some music to march to. We have a long walk ahead of us. In fact, a friend asked me to write some walking music for just that purpose.

I'm not really by nature a pop song composer. I'm a fugue and symphony guy, so I have to venture into slightly unfamiliar territory to do this. I've done a few before, but not whole heap tons of 'em.

So this last of week or so has been something of a learning experience. Not only have did I write that walking song, but I also made some demo-ish recordings of it and several other popular songs that have been sitting on the back burner. First, let me give you a glimpse inside the Empty Pocket Studios . . .

Please note carefully the expensive recording equipment dangling off the music stand. If it looks like something you might see someone wearing in your finer Midwestern truckstops, it is. It's the headset off my low-budget smarty phone. And the cymbal is the same frying pan lid I played when I was four or five and climbing in and out of my mom's kitchen cabinets. Yeah, the instruments are real enough, and yeah, they mostly cost more than a microphone, so maybe my priorities are misplaced, but . . . well . . . whoopsie daisy. Emptied my pockets buying things that make noise and had nothing left for things that detect noise.

So I started last week off making recordings of a couple of older things that I've wanted to render more presentable for one reason or other for a long time. The first was originally intended for a radio play that has, thus far, remained unproduced. It was somewhat easier, as I let my computer do all the complicated instrumental performance work and I just sang. The second was more adventurous as I decided I wanted to play it myself.  That's where the frying pan comes in. (It will be back later.) This one is a very odd bit of fan service: a song for a band called Mushrööm Klöwd.

 but we're here to talk about protest. I'll try to given them proper posts of their own later. Anyway, I'd been struggling with what to write her until I looked over at my wall. This is a painting from a friend of mine, Kerry Hirth, called "The Unfortunate Rake." (Which could well be me at several points in my life, but Kerry insists there's no symbolism to it. Fortunately, my progress has led me on a path that's at least tangential to Bedlam and not directly towards it.)

Kerry has an interesting way of sensing the world around her. She strongly associates colors and harmonies. She can see the colors in a piece of music. This is a form of what's called synesthesia. I don't want to get into the technical woods here, as it's complicated, not my specialty, and there's quite a bit of debate anyway. Suffice it to say, however, that while somewhat rare, that's quite a history of it among famous artists and musicians alike, and Kerry uses it as the basis of many of her paintings.

But I'm not one of those synesthetic artists. I appreciate where she's coming from, and I'm darned interested to see what she sees when she hears my music, but to me, it looks more like an odd rainbow, or perhaps an identifying code on a box car (since I also like railroad stuff) than music. And trains are music to my ears, actually. So that's not inappropriate. But it was the rainbow that struck me the other day. I looked at it and I thought rainbows. (This will come up again. I have a couple of rainbow projects in mind Oldhammerishly speaking.) And the line "The colors of the rainbow are hanging on my wall" indelibly lodged itself in my head. "The colors of the rainbow, don't ever let them fall." (To which point I suppose I ought to stop running around like a wild thing in my living room . . . but they're secured up there with the big nails, so hopefully that isn't too big a risk. And if a pair of ten pennies aren't enough I'll break out the railroad spikes.)

Anyway . . . 

So there it was, milling around in my noggin, the beginnings of a song about rainbows. That's always a good start. Of course, my wall was a little specific, so I worked to generalize the chorus a little better and wrote some verses for the specific stuff largely cribbed from the life stories of friends with some small artistic license: the raft episode was wholly local, I believe, and I know not the precise amount of shiny yellow that was provided to the smugglers. But the stories are mostly painted in pretty broad terms that would doubtless be similar to lots of folks. (Actually, the trawler business probably applies to several of my friends, come to think of it. Honestly, everything but the raft episode is pretty general, and that's the one I changed the most anyway.)

But without further ado, let me present to you the "Rainbow War Song":

. . . . .

The Rainbow War Song

D. Ackerman

1/20/2017

When I was a young man I felt I walked alone,

A shining spot of color in a world of monochrome.

I fought to be my own man, to sing a different tone.

Little did I know then of the shining rainbow home.

Chorus:

The colors of the rainbow are standing proud and tall.

Each color of the rainbow, don't ever let one fall.

Let the people of the rainbow sing of peace and harmony

Know that if we march together our colors can be free.

Each person of the rainbow has a place inside the whole.

We will carry one another to reach our rainbow goal.

My friend, she was a young girl trapped inside a stranger's skin.

The preachers at the churches told her changing would be sin.

But she found the rainbow nation and she learned a different way.

The great big rainbow family had a different way to pray.

Chorus

Let me tell you of my old friend and his tremendous craft;

To escape from fire and flooding he built himself a raft.

By the light of our great rainbow he sailed across the sea

To a land of milk and honey he builds with you and me.

Chorus

The young woman fled the jungle where the war had taken hold.

She paid the price for transport with eight pieces made of gold.

In the belly of the trawler she was smuggled 'cross the sea

To the shining rainbow nation where her colors can be free.

Chorus

. . . . .

There is, of course, an audio version recorded by some half competent singer and pianist. (Maybe even three quarters competent if he would ever practice, but he did not.) This is really just demonstration grade stuff, not actual performance grade. Empty Pocket is largely empty of sound equipment, so I didn't invest that much time in the recording. The idea is to get this piece at least out there so folks as need it can use it and perhaps add their own verses if they so choose.

Anyway, so that's my last week or so. Thank you for listening.

Sincerely,

The Composer

Gas Powered Perambulations

Please bear with me as I take one of my occasional breathers from the world of modeling and delve back into other subjects almost as far removed from poetry and the symphonic, but still closely entwined with art.

A bit of background to catch up my newer readers: my wife is from Vietnam so I have recently had the pleasure of periodic travel to East Asia. While there I've spent most of my time in  a lovely vibrant town once called Saigon and now officially designated Ho Chi Minh City. I've come to the conclusion that one of the more characteristic things about any given place is the way we get around. Ho Chi Minh is quite unlike most other places I've been. (And I've covered some distance in my short life, touching the soil of forty-seven states, nine countries, and three continents. Typically for at least 24 hours and in many cases quite a bit more than that.)  The US is a car country defined by fancy highways of almost exorbitant length, with a few significant exceptions. (And even the exceptions have their share of pavement.) Europe, with less space for roadways and more people per square klick, is remarkably multi-modal.

Asia, particularly South and East Asia, make Europe seem only slightly more densely populated than the moon. I expect most people have seen pictures of Asian traffic; the solid walls of people on the streets of Mumbai, the miles long parking lots leading into Beijing, the trains breathing pressurized human life in and out of Tokyo. Ho Chi Minh isn't quite like any of these. There are no trains to speak of. There is but one highway (though a second is under construction) and it isn't as yet a parking lot. And no one seems to walk much of anywhere. (I'm a little surprised people walk from their bedroom to their front door, but the houses are small and vertical and motor vehicles don't do stairs well.) So what is Saigon traffic? Motorbikes: mopeds, scooters, crotch-rockets, even the occasional cruiser. It seems as though all the bikes at Sturgis have been hit with a shrink ray and gotten very jiggy populating the streets and lanes of a large, but surprisingly compact Southern Florida style paradise by the millions. It may be the largest collection of two-stroke love on earth. And of course everyone is honking or beeping at all times, traffic laws are fluid, and signals are scarce. In short, it . . . is . . . FUN!

Some minor temporal liberties have been taken, but I hope this gives you a flavor of where I'm going. It's a fun town, Saigon, a great place to relax, eat, visit friends and family. It's a busy, bustling place where a lot of people work and play hard. It makes for a truly memorable power-assisted walk in the park.

5th Annual NIFTI Fleet Review

Well, it's that time again. Actually, it's well past that time. In point of fact the fleet review has been ongoing now for more than a month, and I'm only now getting around to writing about it. While this is no excuse, life has been busy in NIFTI. Still, without further ado, the Review . . . 

Reviewing the Imperial Japanese section of the fleet.

New Cai Lay Harbor looking south from Bean Hill

Three Flowers steam around the North side of Soeur Trois in the West Bay

A pair of Secrataries patrol the East Bay

I won't spend a lot of time belaboring it, because I want to get down to reviews of new models in the near future, but I want to at least mention it and point you to the new review video:

I tried some new animation tricks in there. All very quick work. Haven't gotten so elaborate as smoke, wakes, or shell splashes yet. These will come another time. But I'm reasonably pleased with the results as experiments go. The animation begins about halfway in. Lots of slow pans of the fleet first. If you are curious, the pieces are my own "Fanfare and Fugue" and "March of the Robot Monster" as performed by some friends and acquaintances of mine. I anxiously await your thoughts.

Sincerely,

The Composer.

Work, websites, and piano concerti

My most loyal followers might note that I am, as usual, overdue for the annual fleet review. I am sad to say that this will continue for a little while longer, but do not fear, ships will assemble in the harbor very soon. But first, a bit as to why this has not yet occurred. (After all, the Grand Empress just had her first jubilee. It is that time.)

Ships have lately taken a back seat to music . . . or at least thoughts about thinking about music. Or perhaps more accurately fury at a website lost. For somewhat over twenty years I, your humble composer, have been a minor functionary at the local ShowMe University Inc. I was mostly retained for the sake of hanging heavy things in the air once or twice a year. Well, said University has revamped their HR procedures. They used to purge the rolls of employees who had not worked for one calendar year. Now they do it every six months. One rigger who works twice, or maybe once a year never got the memo.

So I found myself without benefit of the free (though less than completely convenient) web-hosting services I'd enjo . . . excuse me, used for the last eight years or so. I have been reconstructing my website in the wilds of the internet, away from sheltered academic surrounds. In short, I am back. It took some real effort to get here, and there will no doubt be one or two bugs to work out, but I'm back. I may not be completely finished with my U career, since they do still need to hang heavy things twice (or once) a year, but the terms of any engagement will henceforward be different, more interesting. Indeed, more rewarding. And I will maintain my website elsewhere. More fun anyway. I pay a little for the privilege, but I have more freedom and better access. It's hard to complain now that the work is more or less done.

So if you can stand a little music, take a poke around my new demesne. I had long meant to talk about music on this blog and do so only rarely. I even have good reason to do so presently. I'm releasing the first elements of a Piano Concerto into the world on my new works page. This is yet another piece whose thematic material came to me in the shower one day. I like to think of it as Rachmaninov meets minimalism. Sort of. With luck it's one of my more approachable pieces. In any case, I hope that you might enjoy it.

Sincerely,
The Composer

It's Good to be Dictator for Life

. . . But better still to be the Queen's Chosen Companion.

I have stepped down as God Emperor of My Basement with the coronation of the new Queen Empress and Goddess Among Us. Fortunately, in the first, and probably last election, I have been appoi . . . er elected by acclamation Duly Elected Dictator for Life. In honor of this I am renaming My Basement the New Independency of the Triple Florentine Intersection or "Nifty" for short. With my first act as Duly Elected Dictator for Life I have broken ground on a new capital to be called Cai Lay after the Queen Empress's birthplace.

The Annual Birthday Review was superseded by the Coronation Review, which perhaps explains why it's so late this year. Without further ado, I give you photographic evidence.

First, a pair of pictures from the royal yacht.

The review this year could also be seen from the loftier perch of a tethered balloon hanging over the West River. Below is some video shot from this vantage accompanied by a pair of the dictator's own compositions: Prelude and Fugue in C Major, and and Fugue in C Minor, both for organ. 

Following the surface and balloon tours we boarded the Dictatorial jet and  took to the skies. Here you can see a general overview.

Here's a nice shot of Her Majesty the Queen showing her keen interest in the proceedings.

I have also provided shots showing the individual national constituents of the Nifty Fleet. Most of my readers will be aware that the Duly Elected Dictator, being a fan of history, has constructed his fleet in the image of the various participants of World War II. Each national fleet is accorded its own position in the annual review. These have evolved over the years as the Grand Nifty Fleet has grown, but the allies and chief opponents of various belligerents have always been given close proximity where possible. And the U.S. has always been afforded the front right corner.

The United States Navy, Coast Guard, and Merchant Marine

Nihon Kaigun and the Imperial Japanese Merchant Marine

The Royal Navy and Merchant Marine of the United Kingdom

Italy's Reggio Marina and Merchant Marine

Germany's Kriegsmarine and her Merchant Marine

France's Marine National and Merchant Marine

 

The Royal Navy of the Netherlands

Warships and Merchant Vessels of Canada and Australia

The Royal Thai Navy and Merchant Marine

The Nationalist Chinese Navy

Harbor Vessels and Merchant Vessels of Neutral Nations

Lastly, I will close with a small foretaste of things to come. Let us simply say that next years review will be even more grand.

Music and Miniatures

I've been involved in an online discussion lately where a group of us are trying to refight the Second World War as Japan. We represent a kinder gentler Japan. (Though one still bent on securing the resources we need for independence. And liberating East Asia from colonial oppression seems the way to go about it.) For the most part this has involved cleaning up our military, treating the locals with decency so that we can gain their support, waging a PR campaign in the United States so that the electorate there knows that we genuinely have swept away Tojo and the militaristic nationalists, and of course lots and lots of logistics. (How many c. 5" rifles can we build? How many graving docks over 600' do we have? How much steel? How much rubber? How much bauxite can we get from Indochina? How much oil from Borneo? How many additional merchant hulls will we need? How can we prevent losses? How much efficiency will we lose by instituting a convoy system? Can we afford conversions? Destroyers? Carriers? You get the idea.)

Well, in the midst of all this serious talk our esteemed Prime Minister, while talking about what to call some of our proposed special use infantry units, suggested "storm troopers" and wondered if we could get someone from Hollywood to write some theme music. Well, that was enough for the good Admiral Noka Shijin. In his academy days his friends called him "Shinfonikku Shijin." (Or Symphonic Poet if you prefer English.) So he blew the dust off some "theme music" and posted a couple of videos to YouTube featuring our fleet, and one with some trolls and goblins just for entertainment. (Should we wish to be evil and twirl our mustaches.)

Since this is falls at the very intersection of all that I try to write about here, save for the poetry, I would be quite remiss if I didn't repost it . . .

So, if you want to hear my third symphony, you can listen to the first movement on YouTube.

Since it's longer than their beblasted ten minute limit there's also a second part to said first movement.

And the mustache twirling (from a ballet I wrote for my late sister) is also available for your listening pleasure. (With orcs.)

Sincerely,

The Composer

2011 Fleet Review

The fleet review last year was a bit late, as the God-Emperor of My Basement was overseas. (No constitutional monarchy, this basement. I'd like to hope the God-Emperor is an enlightened despot, but his rule is absolute and virtually unchecked within the boundaries of his empire. On the other hand, this may change since he's courting a God-Empress.)

Anyway . . .

The art depicting the fleet review is still not the best, but at least there's something. It gives you an idea of the last year's expansion:

2010


2011


Clockwise from the upper right int he 2011 review: The U.S. Navy and Merchant Marine, the Royal Navy and Merchant Marine, the Royal Canadian Navy and Merchant Marine, the French Marine nationale, the Chinese gunboat Ning Hai, Sweedish and Norse merchant vessels, the Italian Reggio Marina, the German Kriegsmarine and M.V. St. Louis, the Imperial Japanese Nihon Kaigun and Merchant Marine, and a few harbor craft.

If you look closely you will see that there are a few unpainted ships this year. I try to have everything painted and finished in time for the review, but the expansion was dramatic enough and I was busy enough that I failed this year. Ah well, there's always next year.

At least we cleaned up the harbor enough that it doesn't look quite so miserably fouled as it did previously. The water is blue. This is an improvement, yes? If you are interested, here's some video of the review accompanied by the second movement of my first symphony: "War."

For better or worse, I hope you have enjoyed my miniature folly. Stick around and we'll see what develops. The next fleet review will be even larger and more grand, and hopefully, I'll have better art.

Sincerely,
The Composer

Am I gay?

I'm sitting in my car crying to the end of the first act of Nutcracker. And I come in the door spinning like some kind of freak. If I didn't like girls so much I'd question my own sexuality. No wonder all the kids at my middle school were so darn certain I was gay.

On the other hand . . . Tchaikovsky did write some very good music. Maybe if I were gay I'd also be rich and famous. (And somewhat more talented than I presently am.)

Yeah, it's been an emotional and goofy year. But I' do like Pyotr Illyitch. And all those folks that insist that Brahms is salvation and Tchaikovsky (or Wagner) an untalented hack can go suck it. Don't get me wrong, I like Brahms too, but I'll tell you what, I'd much rather play (or listen to) Tchaikovsky. Which means half my professors will now officially hate me.

And oh yes, there is a point to Christmas. It's not Christmas without mice and little girls having whacked out acid trips. And I officially like cultures where fairy tales are for grown ups. (For the curious, Russian opera is also replete with fairy tales. Fairy tales with big hairy men that sing really low and gardens full of lithe exotic princesses . . . And dwarves who keep their magic in their beards. It's just that kinky.)

But then Russia always did fairy tales better than Disney. Better music, better stories. Just . . . better.

Ladies and gentlemen, it's the holidays, so go out and crack some nuts. And dance!

Butterflies in my Stomach

Have you ever pitched your art to someone else? Nervous business.

Many of you will have previously noticed that I once wrote a ballet.

But the choreographer for whom I initially wrote it decided she had no need of it. So I finally got off my duff and pitched it to a new choreographer. It's a bit more up her alley. Wish me luck.

And maybe one of these days I can do something really hard and write something new.

(I keep trying, though clearly not rigorously enough.)

Am I still in one piece?

Holly cow! I'm still in one piece. I made it through. The sister enjoyed the concert. I nearly, well I cried more than once. Kept it quiet and short, but I did cry. Gave my mother a piece of music too, since she's turning 60. (Was a last minute idea. But the right piece was on the program anyway.) It wasn't perfect, of course, as such performances never are, but it was fun, lighthearted, and everyone seemed to have had a good time. It seems that there is now a bit more new music floating around out there. I'll try to post some video or audio soon.

And for once a good note amid the clinkers

We had our first rehearsal tonight. It went . . . all right. Better than I should expect given that I'm not yet very good at budgeting time for these shindigs. We made it through the ballet in spite of missing instruments. (We had one horn tonight, no bassoons, little low brass, and only timpani from a rather involved percussion section.) We even hit most of the symphony. Granted that in a nearly three hour rehearsal we hit only four fifths of the music from a two hour show. But we'll get there.

There were some sour notes. There were some missed cues. People (including but not limited to me) sometimes got lost in the woods. But we made it out. And we will make it Saturday. I could tell it was a piece I wrote. It looked and sounded like an orchestra. Which is scary good wonderful.

The hall is cozy. It's bright. Everyone there was kind and inviting. We will all fit. Somehow, with the help of good friends, I got a piano, four timpani, nearly thirty music stands, a bass drum, and an easy chair for the guest of honor to the hall. (She has a hard time sitting for two hours in her wheel chair. The easy chair should be better.) More instruments are yet to come, but it will happen. I believe that now. It's a very good feeling. Hopefully there will even be a recording that's not too horrible.

Thank you all for your kind words and support.

Further concert drama

So this concert thing. I grant that I'm a foolish bitch for trying to put together a concert. Arrogant, self-centered jerk of a guy. No doubt. There's no question that my music is unworthy of public performance. That I can't write for horns (already knew that) and that nobody writes symphonies anymore. String instruments are declasse. Classical music is dead. Orchestras are a historical artifact. Audiences are uninterested in new music.

Yep. I know all of that. Every bit.

Not going to try to compete with Beethoven. He's better than me. I like the guy. Not even trying.

But see? My sister is dieing of cancer. It's real honest to god killer nasty brain cancer. Not the play kind. This is for keeps. And well, I'm a poor starving artist who thought that maybe teaching people that Beethoven really is a god might save the world somehow. Seriously. I believed that. So I went back to school. And started starving more. And along the way I learned to write music.

Badly.

But still . . .

So what do I have to give my sister?

Money? . . . Ah . . . nope.

Stuff? . . . Nope again.

A cure for cancer? . . . Lord but do I wish I had that one.

But I do have symphonies. And a ballet. So I'm giving her a ballet. It's neat. Its fun. And people (real ones, on this very site) like it. To that end I've found musician friends. Still not quite as many as I'm hoping for, but quite a lot more than I feared. Enough to put on a respectable show. More than you'll see in the pit at your average Broadway show, in fact. And of similar quality in many cases. Perfessionals. That know how to play their instruments. And I've begged a truck off a friend. And large unwieldy expensive instruments. And money. And photocopying. (Thousands of pages of that. No kidding.) Did I mention the money?

Way back in January when this was little more than a feasibility study of sorts I talked to some folks that have a hall. Rather a crucial part of this sort of a show. I said "Hey, I'm a disorganized newby. If there's a question I should ask and don't, please tell me. Here's the date I'm shooting for." And the facility director said, sure, you can use this hall. Got the date reserved. And I asked her if I could hold rehearsals in the hall or if I would need to go elsewhere. She said everything would probably be fine. Asked her how much it would cost. She gave me a price and said she needed to check it with the board. Told her how many musicians were coming. Mentioned large expensive instruments. She said no problem. You can put them here and pointed to a spot. I talked to her a couple of times later, going in to the hall, as e-mails kept falling into the void. (Or at least going unanswered.) She said the price was fine. In March I went in to try to pay it, she said come back later, no rush. Pay it after the show. Asked if the rehearsals would be okay. She said sure, no problem.

So I e-mailed musicians. Told them where we would meet and when. Begged and borrowed things. Generally arranged stuff.

Sent an e-mail regarding unloading and tuning of equipment and instruments.

Wednesday I got an e-mail saying she was resigning her position and needed me to confirm dates and times to pass along to the new person. And here's a contract for you to sign so it's all legit.

Okay. Sorry to see you go, but we all need a change sometimes. Sent an e-mail. Here's the rehearsals and the show. And of course I'll come a little early and leave a little late to set stuff up and tear it down for you to keep it out of your way. And by the way, did you get the e-mail about the loading tuning business? Will it work?

Called her yesterday morning just to check and to let her know I'd be by with the contract. She told me she hadn't gotten any of the e-mail ere my reply to her time enquiry, but said there was nothing at all going on that week so it should all be fine. Talked a bit about the health of said sister, which is, of course, deteriorating. Said I didn't even think she'd be able to make it anymore, but that I'd still tape it for her, since that's all I can do.

Went to print the contract and sign it and what do I find in my inbox?

. . .

Roughly: "Oh god this is ballooning into something much bigger than you said and there's nothing in it for the people that own the hall and I'm not going to be here and the new person won't be here until after you're gone and the board doesn't like this and your sister can't be here anyway you should just cancel!" This four days before the first rehearsal.

How does hell no and we had a deal strike you?

You're worried that your "legacy" in the hall might be negatively impacted. That people might not like you because this crazy musician guy is imposing too much on the hall. Well, who exactly was it that said all of this would be okay? I grant that you thought that my three hour rehearsals would be two hours long. Not sure where you got that idea. Certainly not from me, as I've e-mailed some fifty or a hundred people telling all of them they would be three hours. And why on god's green earth would you think that there wouldn't be set up and tear down time before and after when you yourself told me you would need things cleaned up between rehearsals? Okay, I suppose I might have mentioned that, but it didn't even occur to me as mention worthy. What part of "I'm a disorganized newby and I'm winging it because I've got no choice" escaped you? Why would you assume that a show involving three rehearsals and thirty musicians would be small and uncomplicated? I know you knew about the large expensive instruments. You told me where I could put them. Did you think they would simply materialize? That they would tune themselves? Heck, I asked you about the loading zone. About parking. About the bloody kitchen sink.

I

Don't

Care

About

Your

Mistakes.

You fix them. This show will go on. You will not screw me just because you resigned quickly so you could start the new sexier job more quickly. It's not my problem. A deal is a deal. And as the experienced party getting paid it was and is your job to make sure you know what's going on with the client. If you can't keep track of your notes I can't help you. I've got literally a hundred e-mails to different people (I checked) all saying the same things. I've spoken to you in person four times. I've called you as many. I've e-mailed you quite a lot more. You never responded, but we always talked about the subjects over the phone or in person. I was never under the impression you hadn't gotten the e-mails. Maybe you might have asked.

Bah. Pay for your own bloody mistakes. If there is acrimony between you and the facility's board or permanent tenants that's the price you pay for your sexy new job. I have much bigger things to worry about. Like a sister who almost certainly won't see another birthday after this one. What part of death is forever don't you understand you damned idiot? I can't fix you. I can't fix your problem. Fix it your damn self.

Sincerely,
The composer.



Addendum: No. I'm not pissed. Not at all. Why do you ask?

NB: It's not personal. I understand that you have your own life. I'm venting. If you don't like what I have to say or understand that I'm a little upset for good reason, go find your grown up pants. I trust you have some somewhere.

Okay universe, am I not busy enough for you?

You might recall that I'm organizing this concert thing. Perhaps as a way of dealing with some fairly heavy psychological shit that I'm going through. (Dieing sister, tempestuously altered 12 year relationship, that kind of stuff.) You can probably guess that finding thirty five of your very best skilled musician friends to help you with DOING SOMETHING ABOUT IT!!!! is kind of hard when you have perhaps two nearby friends, and neither of them play an instrument. You can probably guess that there are time consuming logistical considerations involved surrounding mundane things like what will people sit on and how exactly does one get a piano into an art gallery.

So maybe you can guess that I'm busy. Fielding some dozen or so complex e-mails lately on the average day. Calling people on the phone. Writing parts. (Did I mention writing parts?) And I do still have a job. And I do still have work to do to get ready for this myself. (Seeing as I have no conductor, aside from myself, which means I'm going to have to make sure I can give legible cues to the bass section.)

So what happens? Oh yeah, assorted and sundry of my friends decide to have mental breakdowns to add to mine. Guys, I'm just getting over my own. I cannot pick yours up and put it back together for you. Call a professional. I'm single, so please don't bitch to me about who doesn't love you and how few decent people there are out there. Suck it up, kids. My office is closed. I'm out to lunch. I'm not taking new clients right now. I'm very sorry.

Maybe this is the psychological addendum to the no more medical emergencies clause I wrote into the contract last year.

Sincerely,

Your friendly neighborhood music therapist.

Game on!

Well, I'm in a slightly better place than last time. The show will still happen, thank you very much. An acquaintance even offered to help me find some folks tonight. Still a lot (lot lot lot) of work to do. Still evidence that I am fundamentally insane. But maybe it's at least a useful kind of insane.

What have I gotten myself into?

Or: Oh lord god I'm losing my mind!!!

Right. So all of you no doubt know that my sister is sick. Old hat. Been going through this for far too long now.

Well, around Christmas, on a whim, I decided to give her a piece of music. I sounded some people out to see if I could raise enough money to make it happen. Surprisingly, they nearly all said yes. So I started asking musicians and they too nearly all said yes. So I've been slowly building this thing ever since. Found a hall. Booked it. Edited parts. Worked late nights. E-mailed friends and acquaintances. Everything seemed to be going fine. But then people started backing out. At first it was one, and then later a second.

Well, it's become a case of two steps forward and one back. And this weekend I worry that the forward steps are disappearing. This is an enormous amount of work. No one is bloody willing to help me organize this and let me tell you what a great bloody organizer I am. I still believe I can do this, that together we can make this happen. Hell, I know damn good and well that together we can make this happen. I need forty people, all told, to make this happen. This is not bloody impossible. It can occur. But damn it, I'm going to slit my own throat out of sheer stress. (And no worries to the psychologists out there. I'm not actually contemplating any such thing. This is hyperbole. I'm simply suffering under too much stress and so I'm venting a little.) (Okay, a lot.)

Oh, please god, help me out here. For once in your god forsaken godlike existence take pity on a mere mortal. After all, without us this would be one boring little rock with no decent conversation to be found. (Yeah, I know. An atheist who prays. How odd is that ladies and gents?) So help me. I don't expect much. I don't ask for much. But I want to give this piece to my sister, and in order to render it meaningful to her she has to hear it. (She can't, in the end, read a score.)

Right. Sorry for the vent. Thank you for your patience. Keep me in mind oh my friends. This must happen and thus it will happen. The show MUST BLOODY GO ON. First axiom of theatre. The show MUST go on. And it always does. No matter how many people get ground into the dirt in the process.

New Music

Appearances of late might cause one to think this should be called New Poetry. I like poetry, and I'm not completely horrible, but this simply is not the case. I actually spend much more time writing music, and the volume of music I've written is proof of as much. I just haven't plastered so much of it here.

So here's a bit of my more recent work, in this case two pieces for brass quintet as performed by John Perkins and Alex Pickard on trumpet, Bruce Gordon on horn, and Dan Witter and Todd Yatsook on trombone.

Fanfare and Fugue for Brass Quintet

Romon's March

This is a slightly more extended piece. I'd even go so far as to say it's somewhat better, but at present the only recording I have is one executed by a computer. And they've got no soul, to say the least, so it's missing a certain something. But here it is anyway:

Toccata for Keyboard

In the slightly less new music category (but still quite new in the grand scheme of things) here are two pieces performed by Rachel Aubuchon for a recital in the University of Missouri at Columbia’s Whitmore Hall in April of 2004:

Rondo on a Lullaby for Norah

Fugue in G-sharp Minor

There's quite a lot more where that came from, including a growing body of orchestral works, and scores to a few radio plays, but this will suffice for now. While this is very much at the core of my being, it may well be that the majority of the people on here will prefer not to delve that deeply into me. I seem to have a musical style that's horribly out of fashion embedded into the deep parts of my psyche. It's my private curse, I suppose, but I wouldn't trade it for all the world. It would be a very bad trade if I did.

So happy surfing net fans. And enjoy what you may.

Sincerely,
The Composer

The musical life

It's been some time since last I posted here. I've tried twice in the last week or so with no success. First I attempted to respond to a quiz that witchzenka sent my way. (She's wonderful guys. Get to know her if you can.) But alas I found myself distracted in the depths of funk. Then I tried to discuss art and love and how they've been troubling me. I found that this was an exceedingly difficult proposition, and probably outside the purview of a quasi-public journal anyway, so I said nothing.

But at the absolute least, I'd like to give you access to my most recent artistic endeavors.

Study 16 is a short piano piece in a vaguely impressionist style.
Toccatta is a more extended piece in a neo-classical style. It may well be the fist movement of a piano suite.
Two works that may be further movements in the same suite are this allemande and this tempo di courante.

There's not much to talk about in terms of current news. I'm still writing music. I'm still chasing smart girls. Both have been pushed a bit further back than I would like by bills that want paying. I'll see what I can do about that, of course, but that's about where I am now. One hopes that things will improve in the fall once classes start back up.

I might perhaps try to revisit some of the more personal emotional stuff in a future post. I've been trying to decide what to do with this journal, and this might be as good a place as any to genuinely discuss my feelings and interests, as my primary goal here is to advertise myself and not my musical skills. (Though I'm always happy to do both.)

I ramble. If you have any particular suggestions or ideas, I'd be glad to hear them. Best wishes. And witchzenka, if by chance you see this, sorry I dropped the ball. I'll try to pick it up later. I promise.

Sincerely,
David