An interesting aspect of re-jiggering old pieces, as I have done with Christmas Carol at least twice now, is that I have left a trail of modifications and improvements over the last 30 years and I haven’t taken care to go back and update all the previous versions.
This means that even last year’s 11-piece ensemble version is not the same in minor details as the current project. In painting, this would be called pentimento, where the artist made changes and adaptations in the course of work and which can be seen through careful examination or infrared/X-ray/or other technology.
Past novelists of course kept their drafts for the most part, and it’s a cottage business in academia to scour these for the differences in the original artistic impulse, a kind of tracking of Successive Approximation. (Christopher Tolkien has made a career of this.)
Composers, in the past, are the same. Leonard Bernstein famously did an entire program on how long it took Beethoven to get the opening measures of his Fifth Symphony right, based on material from Beethoven’s sketchbooks and papers.
Nowadays, of course, revisions and editing and evidence of crashing and burning evaporate with a shift of the electrons of which everything is made now. This has been a matter of some interest/concern for scholars—and artists themselves: how will the future learn of our creative processes when we leave no trace?
That’s one reason, actually, that I start a Finale file for Abortive Attempts and then transfer things to a “clean papers” file—usually—once I’ve settled on melodies and harmonies. There’s still a lot that evaporates in the process, but I feel as if I have left a little bit of a path to understanding how I did what I did.
I think it’s finished. I’m pretty sure I’ve fixed all the really gross harmonies that were still bugging me. It may or may not have been a problem of voice leading, about which I have little to no clue.
I’m sitting here in my room in the Springer Opera House—yes, that’s a thing—waiting for the first rehearsal of Born Yesterday, the Garson Kanin comedy that closes out the Springer’s season, and I’m being very good, waking at 6:00 a.m. and actually working on Christmas Carol.
I questioned whether to bring my own coffee pot since there’s one in the communal kitchen here, but then I realized that if I open that door before 9:30, I’ll start being sociable with my fellow cast members and never get any work done. So I’m glad I have my coffee set up in my bathroom; I’ve actually been productive this morning.
I’ve picked up where I left off some weeks ago, starting to get “The Cratchits’ Prayer” re-orchestrated. As I’ve said before, none of this process is very hard since most of it is just deciding where to copy and paste the music that’s already there. But there are issues—and always have been—with this piece, in that the harmonies twist and turn and I don’t think I’ve ever gotten them right. I reworked them last year and I don’t think I solved the problem, so this is the time and the place where it all comes to an end. Eventually.
This blog post is, of course, in the spirit of TASK AVOIDANCE, one of the nine precepts of Lichtenbergianism: I got to a certain point in the music and decided to stop working on it for a bit.
Today is Tuesday. The first runthrough of this show is Sunday. And then in another week and a half, we open. Let that sink in: we have fourteen days of rehearsal (Mondays off) and then we open.
Let me be the first to say that, never having done this before, I have some anxiety about my ability to learn these lines in the allotted timeframe. It helps that one of my fellow cast members, an actual professional actor, said the same thing at dinner last night. It’s a matter of age, mostly. Those lines just won’t stick like they used to. In Into the Woods, I flubbed scenes in ways I never had before. Of course, in my defense, most of my scenes began with the line “And so the Baker…,” so it’s no wonder that I couldn’t keep them straight.
Feh. I will not only survive, I will prevail. But I do see a lot of evenings spent chiseling those words into my brain.
So what if I haven’t composed a new note in — let’s just say “a while”? I have been working. Well, I’ve been working this week, anyway, on reorchestrating A Christmas Carol for its new production this coming December 10-20.
I’m a little over halfway through the show, and today I thought I would share some results: the Christmas Present Street Scene.
Street Scene in 1999 production
In this number, we have the chorus just generally being Christmas-y all over the place, with loud, jolly parts interspersed with quieter sections over which touching scenes are played. We hear the Christmas Waltz for the first time, and we end with the Chorale, which brings the mood into a somber reflection on the Reason for the Season, segueing into the Cratchits’ home.
In last year’s production, there were issues involving the inability to repeat sections appropriately, and so the music got chopped up instead of played straight through. If only I had known about the theatre’s use of QLab…
Oh well, things are going to be much better this year. Those who have fond memories of long-past years will rejoice to hear the full orchestration restored.
Behold, Christmas!
Christmas Present Street Scene | vocal score (pdf) | mp3
Ten years ago today, my old AOL friend Noah flipped the switch on his server out in California, and I started this blog. [Picky readers will point out that I had started blogging over at Blogger some months before, but I defy them. I regard them as naught.]
I was still working at Newnan Crossing Elementary, about to finish my specialist degree in instructional technology; my lovely first wife was still in charge of lots of stuff at Piedmont Newnan Hospital; my son was still in high school. I was midway through my tenure as assistant program director for instruction for the Governor’s Honors Program. I was beginning the final push on finishing William Blake’s Inn. I had just made my second labyrinth, at Newnan Crossing, my ear was unpierced, and the Lichtenbergians wouldn’t exist for another two years.
Since then I’ve blogged in spurts, sometimes going for months without posting, but I always keep this tab open on my browser so that I’m reminded that I have this ongoing experiment to deal with, to write and share my thoughts with at least half a dozen people on this planet, to say things that I need to say.
The blog has never been—and never will be—a diary or personal journal. Whatever personal issues I’ve had over these years, you didn’t read about them here—I don’t think they’re interesting, first of all, and secondly I don’t think it’s necessarily beneficial to share these kinds of things with the wide world. If I’ve exorcised demons in writing, you may be assured that it was in some other venue/medium.
Mostly this blog has been a journal of my creative life, from my music to my writing to my adventures in Lichtenbergianism and hippiedom. It’s been fun reporting on my roadblocks in composing or my progress with Lichtenbergian goals or philosophical underpinnings of getting naked in the desert. It’s been fun ranting against the conservative idiocy that infects our nation. It’s been fun just putting one word after another while avoiding other tasks.
So ten years later, here we are: I’m retired, my lovely first wife now works at the Samaritan Clinic, my son is married, and this is my 1,416th post. Onward!
Whattayathink? I submitted the Pieces for Bassoon & String Quartet piece five years ago. Perhaps I should hit them with the Six Preludes (no fugues) this time.
OK, so I’ve not been very productive. But I have accomplished some little bits.
First, you must know that I’ve been working on re-orchestrating A Christmas Carol for next December’s re-premiere. I haven’t shared any of that because it’s not very interesting, but here’s a taste:
This bit of underscoring takes us from the chimes of a neighboring church to the Ghost of Christmas Past’s teasing appearance, to their transportation to Scrooge’s past: the countryside, Martin and Oliver having a snowball fight, and then fading into the schoolroom.
The process of preparing sound files for December is not at all the same as simply re-orchestrating the show from an 11-piece ensemble to a full orchestra. Because I’m not actually working on documents for live musicians, there are lots of shortcuts and omissions. For example, if I transpose a harp sequence up a octave, I don’t bother moving it from the bass clef up to the treble clef because who cares? No harpist is going to have to decipher what I’ve written, and the computer doesn’t care—it will play the notes exactly where I’ve put them whether they look correct or not.
Repeats are another area: many of the pieces have vamps (bits that loop until the scene moves on) or repeated verses/choruses. For live musicians, repeats save paper and are easier to read. But the printed repeat signs are irrelevant to a computer program that I’m going to instruct to “loop this waveform until I tell you not to,” and so I’m leaving those out. In the above sample, there is a vamp on the flute part that you won’t hear because that will be taken care of in QLab, the multimedia sequencer I’m still exploring.
I’m in the middle of pondering whether it is going to be better to try to “slice” the repeat (with varying degrees of smoothness or accuracy) in QLab or to export each section of a piece separately so that the repeated section is clear and easy to click on. This may become critical in rehearsal, of “A Reason for Laughter,” for example, as we try to get Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig in and out of their verses, or in “Country Dance” when we’re trying to learn new sections of the dance.
I also have been taking repeat signs out of pieces like “Country Dance,” where it’s just easier to string all the jumpbacks (from A—>B—>A—>C—>A) out into one long piece rather than deal with all my quirky repeat signs. In fact, I’ve stopped working on the music to blog here because the challenge of untangling “A Reason for Laughter” makes my eyes cross.
Anyway, as far as slicing vs. exporting multiple files for each pieces goes, I have lots of time between now and November, so I can play with all my options. (Who am I kidding? I’ll take the complicated way because it will make life much easier in rehearsal.)
I have gained an assistant:
She is currently trying to keep me from typing—WHAT IS THE DEAL EVEN I SHOULD BE PETTING HER ANYWAY—and did you know that pencils, pens, and erasers make great rolly toys, especially if you knock them to the floor?
She’s been with us for a couple of weeks now but has so far refused to divulge her name, and she is the only cat I have ever met that, when you pick her up, goes limp in your arms and settles in for a cuddle. She’ll shift, turn over even to get more comfortable, but ask to be put down? Nope.
This is not the cat I was looking for—I prefer tabbies—but she is such a sweet-tempered beast that we were afraid to tempt fate by giving her away. I’m trying to get used to cat hair everywhere again. The turbo-purr helps.
Rehearsals continue for Into the Woods. You will have to believe me when I say it is not bragging to claim that my performance will be a tour de force—it would be for anyone handling the roles of Narrator, Mysterious Man, and the Wolf. Generally, the Narrator/Mysterious Man are combined roles, but the Wolf is played by Cinderella’s Prince. My playing all three requires some very quick changes indeed, and so the audience can not help but be dazzled by my facility, speed, and grace. There is one moment where I—as the Narrator—facilitate Milky White’s escape from the Baker’s Wife, only reappear seconds later as the Mysterious Man; I expect it to provoke laughter.
I am quite enjoying the chance to sing “Hello, Little Girl,” however. It’s delicious, nasty fun.
The show opens March 19 and runs for two weekends, Thu-Sun. Details here.
Lichtenbergianism: procrastination as a creative strategy is going well, if by “well” you mean “successfully avoid writing abortive attempts for Seven Dreams of Falling while not accomplishing an awful lot.” I sit in my writing chair—that’s an official thing—and start free-associating on one of the 9 Precepts, and before I know it I’ll have two pages in a minuscule field notebook almost filled. It’s exhausting.
So far, I don’t have any brilliant new insights to share from my writing; I’m still in the “dumping” phase, wherein all those things I’ve said and thought about the creative process over the years are finding their way out of the recesses of my brain onto the page. I’ve also begun collecting relevant bibliographic support, so that’s progress of a sort.
Finally, a look at the labyrinth:
—click to embiggen—
A panoramic shot from the west side looking back towards the entrance—not our usual vantage point. The winter rye grass makes for a lovely oasis of green, although I’m sure I’d be a better hippie if I learned to appreciate Nature’s own withered brownness.
It is well known amongst cognoscenti of office supplies that the fabled Blackwing 602 was/is the best pencil around. I was reminded of this indisputable fact recently while reading the Reintroduction of Stephen Sondheim’s Look, I Made a Hat, the followup volume to his Finishing the Hat. He actually has an entire section of the intro devoted to this pencil.
So I went looking for it and found it on Amazon, of course. I figured I deserved to have the world’s best pencil in order to work in my many little notebooks—at least those in which I work in pencil—and on the score to whatever music I’m not composing at the moment. Hey, if that’s what it takes for me to become Sondheim…
Quick review of said pencil: Meh. It has a lovely black graphite that is indeed easy to write with, and the detachable eraser thingie is cool, but the eraser is not the best eraser for the job. This one is.
BUT!
If you go shopping for these pencils, you will also be offered Palomino’s pencil sharpener. There’s the magic:
Before we go any further, do not buy the Palomino pencil sharpener. It is manufactured by KUM, a German company, and it is about $4.00 cheaper to buy their brand.
So… Notice the two sharpeners. This is why your life is improved by owning this thing. It’s a two-step process.
The #1 sharpener trims the wood of the pencil while allowing the lead to extrude without interruption:
And then the #2 sharpener sharpens the lead to the sharpest point you have ever had in your life on a pencil that was not right out of the box:
It’s awesome. I make yummy sounds every time I sharpen a pencil. As you can see, it works on all standard pencils, not just the Blackwings.
In addition, there are two little blades on the sides—see the red circle in the photo above? That’s for mechanical pencil leads. Plus it has two spare blades tucked away at the far end. What is not to like?
It is almost enough to make me want to write something.
Yesterday I successfully avoided composing a single note by getting started on the re-re-orchestration of A Christmas Carol.
Actually, this should not take too long and will be an excellent task avoidance option for whatever else I’m working on. All I have to do is open a new orchestral file (modified for my Christmas Carol purposes) and copy/paste material from the small ensemble version into the orchestral version, then redistribute the parts for a fuller sound.
There are the usual caveats: Finale doesn’t copy time signature changes or repeats, so I have to plan ahead for those. And the repeats were enough to drive me mad on a couple of pieces, if you will recall, so that’s going to take a lot of flipping back and forth between the small ensemble and full orchestral versions and digging into the control panel for each repeat sign. There were a couple of invisible ones as well, although I think that’s just for printing purposes. I think they’re visible on the screen.
So anyway, I got the “Opening” done—in the sense of successively approximated—and “Bah! Humbug!” blocked out. I may or may not post them at a later date.