IV. Lento, orchestration, day 1

Actually, I spent a lot of time rejiggering some of the orchestration of the first part of the G major section. The solo violin is now gone and in its place is an oboe, with a flute in an upper octave for support. The inevitable repeat has been taken down an octave in the upper strings, which gives it a warmer sound. I also switched the harmony line to the violas instead of second violins. The cellos are now bowing instead of plucking.

The rest of the time I had I started just throwing the melodies to the strings. I think I’ve been dumb to resist letting the strings carry most of the load. Probably what I should be doing is starting with the strings playing everything and then back off from there.

Of course it sounds like crap right now, so give me another day to make sure there’s enough crap to make it worth clogging up your browser with another mp3.

I’ve got to figure out now how to orchestrate the Big Time Recapitulation of the Rachmaninoff Ripoff™ theme. I’m pretty sure it’s in the wrong register for everyone, but it’s got to be in G major, so there we are. Hey, you think this why no one’s written a G major symphony since Mozart? (Well, Stephen can think of only two, Dvorak’s 8th and Mahler’s 4th. Fortunately the Dvorak is a favorite of mine, and a model if I may be so bold.)

Applaudity

I wish lichtenbergian.org were up and running, because this entry really belongs there. (Noah received his weekly reminder yesterday; I have heard nothing from the man. My lips are pursed and eyebrows raised.)

My old-word-of-the-day calendar provided us this weekend with applaudity: clapping hands for joy, from Henry Cockeram’s 1623 Interpreter of Hard English Words. One can imagine the wheels already turning in Lichtenbergian brains.

Anyway, the main Lichtenbergian aspect of the word is the attached historical trivia:

On February 9, 1810, long before the plot for The Producers was conceived, arguably the world’s worst actor, Robert Coates (1772-1848), made his English stage debut in Bath. His portrayal of star-crossed Romeo in a flowing Charles II wig got the crowd tittering, and soon afterward they roared uncontrollably at the sound of the seat of his tight red pantaloons splitting. He changed dialog outrageously, used inappropriate cadence, whispered soliloquies inaudibly, conversed with spectators, and greatly exaggerated Romeo’s death throes. Afterward the audience demanded an encore, shouting, “Die again, Romeo!” Coates obligingly repeated his ridiculous routine, and would have done so again had his furious Juliet not exited in disgust. Soon thereafter, Coates was playing to royalty and packed houses in London, where he developed a loyal following and corresponding prosperity. He enjoyed being seen in his gaudy, kettle-shaped carraige adorned with his trademark cock and his motto, “While I live I crow.” [ed: shame on you all!!!] Ironically, he died under the wheels of a more modest hansom cab.

An inspiration for us all.

IV. Lento. Well.

If you’ve been keeping up, you will remember that this morning I despaired of moving IV. Lento, Allegro beyond the repetition of the main theme, but then I posted an update saying that “all hell had broken loose.”

Well.

Here’s the mp3 of the new bits. I don’t know that you can tell whether the hell had broken loose. This is what happened. There was no way around repeating the main theme (the Rachmaninoff ripoff), so I just did that. It’s fairly blatty, but at least it’s out of the way. I’ll polish later.

Then I sat down and started playing with the agitato theme, seeing what I could do with that. I’ve been using 12-staff folio score paper to sketch on, and suddenly I found that I had three of these booklets going at one time, with bits and pieces linked across pages, back and forth. As I tinkered with each strand, suddenly each would split, generating another strand on another page that had to be written and then tied back in to the original.

All in all, by the time I quit for lunch and the Masterworks concert, I had sketched out enough music to double the length of the movement so far, and get us all the way to the Big Time Recapitulation of the Rachmaninoff Ripoff™ them.

So what I’ve done here is put the piano sketches into the score. You may not be able to tell where this is heading, orchestration-speaking-wise, but it’s in my head somewhere.

We start (after the twin statements of the Rachmaninoff Ripoff™ theme) with a statement of the agitato theme, very wistful, with simple 8th-note accompaniment. Then it undergoes diminution as well as picking up the tempo, and we’re treated to a variety of keys.

Suddenly the agitato theme inverts, and we get more adventure. Notice the new motif : two descending eighth-notes and a quarter. It starts out innocently enough but immediately swerves into startling harmonic changes.

You may be surprised to hear the original agitato theme enter in a definitely minor treatment, I reserve the right to expand that section. Right now it’s only four measures, the theme repeated.

And then we’re back to the Rachmaninoff Ripoff™ theme. Be patient and keep listening. There are a few more surprises before we hit the Big Time Recapitulation, which is where I stopped.

Marc should be very proud. I just vomited it all up on the page, tied it all together, and stuck it in the score. Now I’ll refine it over the next few days. Those who followed the orchestration of 10. Blake Leads a Walk on the Milky Way will remember what fun that is.

Sorry for the silence

I know I haven’t posted anything this week, our dog Winnie has been at the vet all week, and no one’s sure even now what’s wrong with her or whether she’s going to be OK or not. I’ve had to devote my attention to other things (even as I type this, there is a cat who normally leaves me alone prowling about my table and demanding that I hold her.) Lots of Niggle/George to deal with.

So the symphony has been stalled all week. I listened to the Largo for the first time in a week yesterday, and actually I liked what I heard. It’s pretty clear that I have to repeat the grand theme grander, but after that, I’m pretty clueless about what should happen next. I’ve been playing with the agitato theme in the major, but that doesn’t seem to go anywhere. Lack of skill on my part, I know.

There’s another blog post I started working on yesterday, but it’s going to take me a while to finish it.

So, alas, still nothing to read here. Move along.

update, midmorning: The agitato theme has begun to go somewhere. All hell has broken loose. I hope it lasts.

Two quick thoughts

Two quick things before I get back to work:

Rumor has reached me that our conductor, upon receiving the first 30 measures of IV. Lento, swore oaths. I may have written uplayable stuff. Oh well.

Back at the beginning of this unbegun symphony, there’s a bedrock motif I have in mind for the first movement. It’s important that the symphony start with this bedrock motif. This morning, I’ve been playing with some major key versions of the agitato theme for the ending, and it suddenly occurred to me that the bedrock motif fits beautifully over the major agitato theme, meaning I can wind up the symphony by overlaying the original theme over the end in some glorious finale.

Mere coincidence? I think not.

Back to work.

IV. Lento, to the double bar

All right, here it is.

I like the last bit before the double bar, where the strings pluck the diminished seventh chord and it heads into the major section. I’m not sure I like the transition. I think we need one more gasp of the tympani there. I’ll play with it to see.

I’d really like to hear it more cleanly and more humanly played. I might know what to do with it.

Fear and loathing

Tonight I will have to work very hard to get IV. Lento to the double-bar, i.e., the transition into the G major portion of the movement so we can begin working towards its glorious ending. In preparation for this, I pulled up the file and listened to the whole thing this morning.

I hate it. It’s not compelling, it doesn’t sound inevitable, it sounds contrived, and of course the computer’s inability to sculpt any kind of sensitive performance makes it sound even worse.

That’s the loathing. The fear is that I can’t fix it. Is it a matter of orchestration? Do I just need to reassign what’s being played to some different combination of instruments? Or do I need to reconfigure the phrases themselves? Am I stuck in the same motives and need to find a fresher way to explore them? It just sounds stodgy right now.

Then there is the fact that Stephen has asked to see a score this weekend. There’s no way I can have the movement completed by then, of course, so that’s part of the panic and disappointment. The other part is the idea of letting someone who actually knows what’s what look at it. He’s already said he likes what he’s heard, but still…

Time’s wingéd chariot, and all that, eh, wot?

Maybe I’ll feel differently tonight.

Two things

I worked further on this last section of IV. Lento, fleshing out all those hellish triplets for the strings, building up the discordance and sense of panic over the agitato theme in the trumpet. I got it completed, all the way to a very nice stuttering stop by the strings, but I’ve since made some notes in my waste book:

keep going, descending keys underneath countermelody of descending chromatics, ending with the pickup phrase for the G major theme.

So I’ll work on this section a little longer before posting an mp3 of the results.

In other news, we went to see The Drowsy Chaperone at the Fox. What a complete and utter delight!

The premise is that the Man in the Chair, who is feeling a little blue in his drab apartment, offers to share with us the old recording he has of a fictitious 1920s musical, “The Drowsy Chaperone.” Although he’s never seen it, the show springs from his imagination, bursting from his closets and refrigerator and slowly efflorescing and covering his reality with its own, even while he continues to narrate and comment.

It was enormously witty, gorgeously designed, and played with surgical precision by the entire cast. I laughed at some numbers until I cried, especially “Monkey on a Pedestal.” (The MITC sets it up by telling us it’s a lovely song… but please don’t listen to the words. They are accordingly awful and screamingly funny.)

It’s a glass of champagne from start to finish, and I highly recommend it. Oddly, I just went back to see what the Times had said about it, and it was not altogether positive. Somehow Ben Brantley (and others in the comments section) seemed to think that the weaknesses of “The Drowsy Chaperone”, and what does one expect from a 1920s musical?, were the weaknesses of the show itself. No, children, this was meta-theatre and the best I’ve ever seen.

IV. Lento, next bit

I think you’re going to be pleased, if not astonished. I know I am both.

You know I am a true Lichtenbergian* because this passage is really masterful, and yet I stopped before fully fleshing it out. Well, it’s bedtime, and I have a long weekend ahead of me. I can mess with it all day on Saturday while ignoring the GHP parent orientation video. Anyway, it’s all just clicking in the notes at this point.

The slow part coming out of the brass choir, right at the start, still sounds idiotic. There’s a gap where there should be a dying note. Oh, well, hear it under lights. **

I know you’ve heard it before, but here forthwith is the next section of IV. Lento.

——–

* No, I haven’t heard from Noah, and no, I don’t have access to lichtenbergian.org. I understand he is very busy with some stuff that actually makes him money, but tomorrow will be two weeks from when the domain name went live. It’s getting to be a little too Lichtenbergian. Just hold those thoughts. That what your waste book is for.

** Honest to God, I was working on this passage tonight and glanced over at the pile of papers on the right and was shocked to see the piano score for “Dream Land.” I had completely forgotten the progress I had been making on Day in the Moonlight. Too late now, I’m on a roll. Plus, Stephen wants the score next weekend.