Author: Dale

Seven Dreams, opening attempt

Posted on by Dale

I’ve decided to be a badass composer and post my failures here as well as my successes.  (Wait, he thinks he’s had successes?)

Today I thought I would whack out a grand baroque chorus to open the show with, and I did but it doesn’t really work. However, the best way to get good work is to crank out the bad work, at least for me.  I can hear what doesn’t work and move on from there.  (For those who are new to my whinging composer posts, I start a file called “abortive attempts” and futz around in that before committing to a real score.)

So what doesn’t work about this?  It’s too rushed, not spacious enough. The text needs more breathing room.  It needs to sound more like the opening to this opera, and that means more tension, even in the pure tonalities of unexamined myth.

When finished, the text and the music will move on to a B-section, with the piccolo trumpet diddling little triplet figures, before returning to the big theme.  That will segue into the Zadok figures from yesterday, and Daedalus will have a quasi-recitative section before breaking into yesterday’s bit.

There are also some harmonic things that I thought might throw us off balance in a good way but don’t quite hit the mark.

In any case, it gives the flavor of what I’m going for.

score (pdf) | mp3

In other news, I avoided working on John Tibbetts’ song another day.

update: already improved it; will start completely over tomorrow nonetheless

Seven Dreams of Falling, Dream One

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As most people who have to listen to me face-to-face know, I have recently accepted a “handshake commission,” i.e., no one is handing money over to anyone else, to write the score to Carey Scott Wilkerson’s Seven Dreams of Falling.  We were introduced by a mutual friend who hoped we would find such a collaboration fruitful and enjoyable, and indeed we hit it off right away.

Scott and I have been communicating for about a month now discussing how to turn his quirky little post-modern play into an opera, and we’ve made some good progress.  However, I haven’t really thought about actually writing any music yet.

Until today.  Or rather, last night, when my body and my brain conspired to keep me from sleeping, and one thing that kept running through my head was music for part of the opening scene, “Dream One.”  So this afternoon I thought, well, why not see if it actually comes out of my head?

On the LSCA, this tiny bit was between 2 and 3, so yea me!

Quick synopsis: Icarus’ flight and fall has become an annual event, webcast, pay-per-view.  His father Daedalus manages all the technical aspects.  Theseus has become their publicist while still managing his own annual myth, that of killing the Minotaur.  Ariadne has settled into embittered sniping; she runs a feminist blog and podcast.  The Minotaur—well, let’s talk about him later.  As the show progresses, Icarus decides he wants out of the myth, wanting to find life for himself.  Etc.

In Dream One, we open with a grand baroque chorus as the populace watches the Event on their iPads and phones.  We shift from the Chorus to Daedalus, and he sings of his son and the pride he feels in their continuing their myth for the benefit of the world.  That’s the part I wrote today, when the music shifts from piccolo trumpet and chorus to a Zadok-the-Priest-like figure in the strings and Daedalus steps into the spotlight.

So here are the very first notes written of the fabulous new opera, Seven Dreams of Falling, by Dale Lyles and C. Scott Wilkerson.  I should note that I decided to start with a piano score, which I will have to have anyway for rehearsals.  Those who remember the sometimes astonishing changes the William Blake’s Inn score underwent during orchestration may already hear timpani and chimes in the future.

score (pdf) | mp3

Your Beauty

Posted on by Dale

I have debated about blogging about “Your Beauty,” the art song I’m struggling with for John Tibbetts, but I think I will.

I’ve spent about ten days whacking around notes in my music notebook, which is unusual for me.  I usually open a Finale file and play around there. In fact, I have a Finale file already created called “tibbetts abortive attempts,” and it’s got some real dead ends in it.

But I thought I would force myself to play on paper/keyboard instead of the screen, in the hopes that it would broaden my abilities to hear the music in my head and get it into the Real World more easily.

Amazingly, it did not.  I got three pages of scribblings, none of which seemed inspired to me, and so this morning I thought I would input some of it into Finale to see what it sounded like if it weren’t being stumbled over by my fingers.  It wasn’t excellent.

So I just noodled about a bit, and lo! there was the opening.  Simple, yearning, with potential for more.  We’re going to push on from there, and I don’t know how much I’m going to go back to the notebook as a tool.  It doesn’t seem to work for me.

Here are the first 21 measures of “Your Beauty”: mp3

Remember, the last part of anything that I put up while I’m working on it sucks.

Yet another STEM alert

Posted on by Dale

Honey please.

This morning’s Atlanta Journal-Constitution had a story (sorry, premium content/no link) about how students in Georgia and the nation are no more interested in careers in science, math, and technology than they were a decade ago.  Quelle horreur!

A key finding of a U.S. News & World Report study was that interest had actually fallen between 2009 and 2013.

Hey, you know what else had fallen between 2009 and 2013?  FUNDING FOR K-12 EDUCATION IN THE STATE OF GEORGIA, you freaking morons.

Between 2000 and 2011, I watched my media center’s budget shrivel to $0.  That is Z-E-R-O dollars.  The only money I had to buy books with was raised by the PTO’s book fairs.  That’s it.  So whatever I was supposed to be doing to help turn our children into wonks and geeks wasn’t getting done.  At the same time, the overwhelming focus on reading and math meant that science was barely taught at the elementary level.

Between 2003 and 2013, I watched the budget for the Governor’s Honors Program [GHP] go from about $1.6 million to about half of that.  Our science classes had to scrounge discarded computers from VSU to do their lab work.  They had to trek down to the library to do even the slightest bit of web research.  Purchase of spiffy materials or equipment was out of the question. Experimental work that took longer than two and a half weeks was not doable within our crippled four week program.  Our technology and design classes were coasting on computers we bought years ago.  We were “significantly different from the regular high school classroom” only in being significantly behind.

So don’t come wringing your hands to me, Powers That Be.  If making sure that more of our students desired careers in the STEM fields had been important to you, you would have bloody invested in making sure it bloody happened.  You didn’t.  Fuck off.[1]

update: I need to clarify that our GHP science/tech/design classes were “significantly different,” of course, because of the incredible instructors and their ability to focus on the process, but boy it would have helped if I had been able to, you know, buy stuff for them.

—————

[1] Apologies for the language.[2]

[2] Not really.

Harry Potter

Posted on by Dale

Recently I found myself with some free time but without the willpower to make my brain work, somehow, and so I set about re-reading the Harry Potter series.

First of all, the last book in the series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released in 2007.  Seven years ago.  The first book was released in 1997: seventeen years ago.  Wow.

The good news is that they still hold up.  They’re still terrific reads, still funny and exciting and clever.  Harry is still an annoying twerp and Dumbledore is still my role model.

In fact, I enjoyed them even more this time around because it was fascinating watching the entire plot—not just the plot we thought we were reading—unfold through the seven books.  I remember thinking when we got to the third book (Prisoner of Azkaban) that we were watching something larger happen . Then Jo Rowling said in an interview that she had plotted all seven books ahead of time and that she had seven shoeboxes into which she put index cards of every spell, person, event, object, everything, spreading them across the Potterverse with meticulous care.  I knew we were sunk.

I began to read every book like a mystery: what were the clues she was so blithely throwing in our way?  She always withheld something essential, but there was enough in every book to at least tip you off to the possibility of the ending of that book.  But it meant that you had to read ever so carefully; I began keeping notes on each book, noting “insignificant” details and writing questions that I thought should be answered.  She still fooled me every time.

Except for the big one.  When we got to Half-Blood Prince, I began to suspect that what she was leading us to believe about Severus Snape was not, shall we say, the Truth.  While we waited for Deathly Hallows, I went back and re-read the series again, and one sentence jumped out at me:

“And what the ruddy hell are dementors?” [asked Uncle Vernon]

“They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban,” said Aunt Petunia.1

…

“How d’you know that?” [Harry] asked her, astonished.

…

“I heard — that awful boy — telling her about them — years ago,” she said jerkily.

“If you mean my mum and dad, why don’t you use their names?” said Harry loudly…

Indeed, Petunia, why not call “that awful boy” by his name?   This was classic Rowling misdirection, and that meant that Petunia was not referring to James Potter.  It didn’t take a lot of thought to come up with the idea that Severus Snape must have been a part of the Evans family landscape, possibly before Hogwarts even.  Was it possible that Snape was in love with Lily Evans?

If so, that explained nearly everything: his hatred of James Potter and his son; Dumbledore’s continued trust in Snape; the constant references to Harry’s having Lily’s eyes; Snape continually saving Harry even though he hates him.  It all clicked.

And so the big reveal in the last book was not a complete surprise to me.  Since I had been playing Snape in GHP’s annual Hogwarts Night, I was gratified to have it confirmed that Severus was in fact the hero of the series; we Slytherins get so few attaboys…

In sum, the books were not just a fad at the turn of the century.  I think they will stand the test of time and will still be read in another 50 years, just like all of J.R.R. Tolkien’s work.

—————

1 The summer that Half-Blood Prince came out, I was visited at GHP by my son and the two other teens.  Even though they were all of driving age, they willingly sat down to have Story Time.  I read the first two chapters to them, and when Petunia let slip that she knew what dementors were, they literally jumped up and screamed in astonishment and delight.  Fun times.

Apology for no posting

Posted on by Dale

I didn’t post yesterday because I was doing the State STAR Student selection committee thing all day and all night—such a great time with great kids!  About half of them were GHP alums, and in fact the State STAR was from last summer.

She proceeded to send me a lovely note on Facebook about how much the program had meant to her in general and me in particular.  She took a great many of my seminars, and the one on Licthenbergianism she said had a profound impact on her.  So the idea that I’m cut off from that part of life made me very sad.

And then today is Shakespeare’s 450th birthday, and I’ve been out in the labyrinth all afternoon getting ready for that.

So no blog post yesterday or today. Sorry.

A Lesson for Peter Jackson

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In which I continue to guide and correct filmmaker Peter Jackson

The other night, we were watching nothing on television.  I left the room to get a snack, and when I returned, Cartoon Network was showing The Wizard of Oz.  We settled in, despite the fact that it would have painful commercials and we own the 75th anniversary DVD.  But the DVD was downstairs, and we were not so energetic as to retrieve it and then watch it from the very beginning.

Dorothy and company had reached Oz’s great hall and were making their requests, and then we were off to the West. As I admired the craftsmanship of the moviemaking, I felt curmudgeonly enough to comment that it had all been done without a stroke of CGI.  Matte painting, of course, but there was nothing that was not present in our physical world in that movie.

The scene which prompted this get-off-my-lawn remark was the climb up the crag by the Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow, following Toto back to the Witch’s castle.  Like Sam, Frodo, and Gollum’s climb to Cirith Ungol, the set is a simple plaster mountain, backed by fake landscapes.  However, it occurred to me that we didn’t get swooping camera shots showing us the vertiginous peril our heroes found themselves in (despite the fact that director Victor Fleming was addicted to boom-shots: remember the Confederate wounded at the depot in Gone With the Wind?); nor did we have to deal with someone falling and having to be rescued; nor did we have to suffer the Lion abandoning the quest only to return at the last minute on top of the castle.

You see where I’m going with this.

No, it was all very business-like: our heroes are risking their necks to climb that crag—we’re not even shown a scene where they have to decide to climb instead of using the road—there’s the “I hope your tail holds out” gag, and ta-da!  We’re hiding out somewhere over the entrance to the castle.

It didn’t take much for me to imagine what the sequence would have looked like in the hands of Peter Jackson.  Besides the aforementioned swooping, fake rescuing, and cowardly betrayal, we would also have had to endure an extended fight sequence with the Winkie guards when they jumped the Tin Man and Scarecrow.  There probably would have been hundreds of guards in the marching sequence, not to mention interminable CGI shots of the castle.  The charming detail of the Lion’s tail swishing through his guard’s coat would be gone, of course, since he would have fled way back on the crag.

Then, with a shudder, I thought of the other scenes that would be completely bloated and overblown: the flying monkeys attacking the heroes in the forest; the entrance to the forest—who knows what other perils they would have had to fight their way through before being attacked by flying monkeys?; the actual rescue of Dorothy from the room; and sweet Cthulhu! the chase around the parapets.  And that’s just in the second movie, Oz: The Desolation of the West.

And for what?  The story would not have been advanced one bit by any of this.  We would end up exactly where we were to begin with.  The mood would not be enhanced: hello, “flying monkeys” is already universal code for creepy/scary/terrifying.  (Sorry, Once Upon a Time, making their bites infectious doesn’t up the ante.)

So, Peter Jackson, go back and watch The Wizard of Oz.  Make your notes, give rein to your wildest impulses, flesh that sucker out.  Now go to a nice, quiet place and study why The Wizard of Oz is a great movie.  Look at your impulses and compare them to truly great movie-making.  Then figure out how to make part three of The Hobbit ninety minutes long.  You’ll be doing the world a favor.

For those who think I’m being too tough on poor Peter, here’s a thought experiment.  Suppose it were announced tomorrow that Peter Jackson was doing a remake of The Wizard of Oz.  (You may make casting suggestions in the comments.)  Can you doubt that it would be in two parts, and that all these concise scenes would now be action sequences lasting at least 15 minutes each (25 for the climactic chase around the castle)?

Would you want to see that movie?

(I do however want to see your suggestions for Peter Jackson’s version of The Wizard of Oz in comments.)

New cocktail: the Jellybeanitini

Posted on by Dale

I know, it’s a horrible name no it’s not it’s adorable.

For our Easter luncheon gathering, I was requested to come up with a “signature cocktail.”  I was going to be lazy and steal something from the intertubes, but I didn’t like the sound of most of them.  Have you ever considered dissolving jellybeans in vodka?  Someone has, and it’s not a pretty sight.

The idea of a jellybean cocktail was appealing, though, and so I set about creating one.

Lyles’ Guideline #1 for Cocktail Creation is simple: go first for whatever has been flicking about your consciousness.  That would be orgeat, an almond syrup which shows up in several forgotten cocktails but which is not available at most of your Krogers.  When I came across some at the Decatur Package Store (of course), I snagged it.  (The linked article suggests it’s easy to make, but anything involving three layers of cheesecloth automatically becomes “involved” in my book.)

What does one use it for?  Mai Tais and other tiki drinks—of which I am not a fan—use it, and so does the very old Japanese Cocktail, a very tasty concoction.

Long story short: a serendipitous excursion to the grocery store for supplies and a couple of trial runs later, I had the Jellybeanitini.  I’m as proud of the name as I am of the drink.  (A quick googling reveals that the name already exists, so I can only be proud of coming up with the name independently.)

The Jellybeanitini

  • 1.5 oz brandy
  • 1.5 oz cranberry/blueberry/blackberry juice (yes, that’s a thing)
  • .5 oz orgeat
  • .5 oz lemon juice
  • almond/lemon sugar
    • to make the sugar: 1/4 cup of sugar, 1 tsp almond extract, zest of 1 lemon

Rim the martini glass with the sugar.

Combine all ingredients in the shaker with ice, shake, and pour.  Garnish with a lemon slice or lemon peel.

It’s kind of a hybrid between a Cosmopolitan and a Sidecar.  Yes, it’s sweet, but it also has the citric acid overtones that the really good jellybeans have, plus the mystery of the almonds.  It’s worth having two.

Christmas Carol update

Posted on by Dale

If you thought that I would find a way to avoid plowing ahead and finishing the Finale, and hence Christmas Carol, you would be a winner.

I have successfully distracted myself from that accomplishment by updating the software that runs this blog (WordPress) and by forcing myself to start hammering out abortive attempts on another piece that I have promised to compose for over a year now.

This piece is a simple art song (ha!) for a friend, John Tibbetts.  John attended GHP in 2008 as a Social Studies major and for some reason decided that I would make a dandy mentor as he moved from high school to college.  So he latched on to me, and I’m fine with that.  It’s been a warm friendship through good times and bad for both of us.

John is a preternaturally gifted lyric baritone majoring in opera at Georgia State University, whose program oddly enough is a national standout.  He recently starred as John Proctor in Robert Ward’s The Crucible; both he and the production were topnotch.

Anyway, some time ago I offered to write him a song for his senior recital. Since his junior recital is tonight, it’s probably a good idea to get started on the piece, even moreso because his star is rising swiftly and if I don’t do it now, he will be too far above my skills to even look at performing it.  (He’s already acquainted with much more famous composers.)

I’m using a text that is an intense love song, a song of obsession and frustration, in which the singer confesses that he is so blinded by his lover’s beauty that he cannot be sure he’s ever really seeing or touching her herself.  It’s a text I think young Mr. Tibbetts will understand intimately.  So all I have to do is to match that passion in the music, right?  Right.  Expect this one to be a 6 on the LSCA.

Update: And I’m done with the Finale.  Ha, and also double Ha!

Christmas Carol update

Posted on by Dale

I’m on the final piece of A Christmas Carol, the Finale.

Out of 160 measures, I’ve poured in about 60 of them.  This piece is proving a little more difficult than the rest, because my memory of it is based entirely on the fully orchestrated accompaniment I had programmed back in the 90s.  Now I’m having to reimagine it with a much skimpier ensemble.

At the moment, I’m just plugging notes back into the score just to get me from rehearsal letter to rehearsal letter, and then I’ll go back and make it sound as full as I can.  Fair warning to the synth keyboard player: hope you can divide that keyboard into two separate instruments.