The reading trap

Before Christmas, I swore an oath, that I would buy no books until I had read the stack by my bed. This stack consists of about fifteen books which have mostly been in my possession for at least a year but which I have never gotten around to reading because there’s always a new book I’ve bought that jumps to the front of the line.

After I bought Tom Bedlam, by George Hagen, I decided enough was enough. I would buy no more books until I had finished Ethics for a New Millennium, by the Dalai Lama; The Keep, Jennifer Egan; A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth; Charles Ives: a life in music, Jan Swafford; etc., etc.

To quote Adolfo Pirelli in Sweeney Todd: “You hear dis-a foolish-a, foolish-a man. Watch and see how he will-a regret-a his folly!”

Since then, I have bought (or been given, it was Christmas, after all):

  • Henry Green: Loving • Living • Party Going (three novels in one volume; one of those British novelists no one but great writers have ever heard of but who is adored by them)
  • Meg Rosoff: What I Was (new young adult novel)
  • China Miéville: Un Lun Dun (new children’s fantasy novel)
  • Rick Yancey: Alfred Kropp: the Seal of Solomon (sequel to The Extraordinary Adventures of A. K.)
  • Pink Dandelion (no, really): An introduction to Quakerism
  • Marcel Kuisjten, ed.: Reflections on the Dawn of Consciousness (essays and research following up on The Origins of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind)
  • Louis Auchincloss: East Side Story (novel of manners, by one of Them)
  • Max Barry: Company (a satirical novel)
  • Charles Nicholl: The Lodger Shakespeare (a look at the lawsuit in which our friend Bill was a deponent)
  • Gregroy Benford: Deep Time: how humanity communicates across millennia (bought back when we Lichtenbergians were futzing around with the buried nuclear waste)
  • Ellen Dissanayake: Art and Intimacy (the “prequel” to Homo Aestheticus)

One is not only forsworn, but one despairs. This list is not counting the books I am reading:

  • Georg Christoph Lichtenberg: The Waste Books (bedside book)
  • Leo Tolstoy: War and Peace (more about which in a moment)
  • Ellen Dissanayake: Homo Aestheticus (which I’m discovering is hard to pick up after an extended absence)
  • Patrice Hannon: 101 Things You Didn’t Know About Jane Austen (bathroom reading)

What is one to do? It is ridiculous to think that I will clear out these thirty books soon, if ever. And always, always, there are new books. And bookstores. (While waiting for Ginny to finish worshipping at the new DSW shoe store the other night, I picked up the Austen and Shakespeare books at Barnes & Noble.)

So do I have a plan? No. I already had a plan: buy no new books. It failed.

Part of the problem is of course that I’m devoting all my free brain time to the symphony. I wish I could say that reading these books could provide a break from that, but that’s not realistic. Writing this blog post is taking a break, clearing out thoughts and worries from my brain; reading is an entirely additional commitment for the brain power/time continuum. So until the symphony is finished, or at least turned over to Stephen in 110 days, there will be no concerted effort at clearing out this stack.

I can and will take a stack with me to GHP to read. That is assuming of course I don’t get sucked up into finishing another movement or two of the symphony (which is, you will notice, already assuming that I’m not going to finish all four movements in the next 110 days) or the piano piece for Maila, or even the songs for Day in the Moonlight, which would be a kindness on my part. But I have been able to find time at GHP to read, believe it or not.

After the summer, I might have time to plow through some of these. But I am fooling no one, am I? This stack will never disappear. There will always be new books and new projects to keep me from reading them. I will die with a huge stack by my bed. I will probably die crushed by the huge stack by my bed.

War and Peace is a marvel. I’m halfway through it now, and it no longer feels like I’m scaling some virtuous mountain. Now when I open it, it feels like being in a warm, limitless ocean. I feel like the kids opening the wardrobe door to Narnia, returning once again to a complete world that is not my own, not without its dangers, but one that is strong and fresh and fascinating.

I’m at a curious point in the book, where all the themes and characters have been laid out like pieces on a chess board. It’s most like the end of The Two Towers, I think, where everyone is dispersed and heading off in different directions, seemingly. No one’s choices have worked out for the best, and it’s been so long since I read it before (35 years, maybe?) that, embarrassingly, I cannot remember who gets to be happy at the end. Other than Kutuzov, obviously.

Right, then. I’m going to update my reading pages, and then I’ve got a symphony to write.

IV. Lento, quick note

Busy as a bee this morning, not even 9:00 and I’m nearly to the lead-in to the return of the R.R.™ theme. However, as I listen to the sudden outburst of the minor agitato theme, it dawns on me that this is just an interlude, not the lead-in to the return. So, more work to be done. Actually, you might recall I had reserved the right to extend this section. It’s just that I thought I would extend the minor section and then plunge into the R.R.™. Now it appears there’s more to come after that. (There is a cat watching me type this as if she has just now noticed that I do this kind of thing. Or perhaps she’s trying to figure it out. She’s the one who, lounging, keeps reaching for the space bar to start or stop the symphony playing.)

10:07 am: Here it is, from the R.R.™ statement to the beginning of the minor agitato interlude. Sorry for the abrupt ending.

5:09 pm: Honest to God, I don’t know how this happened. (You’re listening for the new bit right after the obligatory repeat of the R.R.™ theme.) But it totally works and actually sets up the rest of the balloon section.

9:00 pm: Well, actually, it sounds a little stupid at the moment. But it will totally work once I get it tightened up.

IV. Lento, some progress

I didn’t post any of the work, minimal as it was, that I did this week, so here’s your first look at it since last Sunday.

It picks up at the end of the opening Lento section. I think this is the first time you’ve heard the Rachmaninov Ripoff Theme™ with the oboe instead of the solo violin. I think it’s better. The solo violin was just a political move anyway, to make Stephen happy.

The obligatory repeat follows, and then, instead of the wistful lullaby-like version of the agitato theme in G major, I’ve launched into an allegro with the agitato theme in D major. More exciting, and it gets us into the keeping-the-balloon-in-the-air section earlier and with more vigor. The lullaby segment will return later, I think.

I cut this mp3 off sometime after the orchestration I’ve been working on runs out and we’re back to the piano sketch of a week ago. Keep in mind, as always, that the computer is cutting off some held notes; dynamics are hit or miss (although I’ve monkeyed with the mixer to make the brass not so loud); and some of the segments are still missing… something. That’s what this week will be about.

Since I’m off this week, I’m going to try to get the balloon-in-the-air section done and be firmly into the Awfully Grand Recapitulation of the Rachmaninov Ripoff Theme™ by the end of the week.

A photo

::sigh::

I came across this photo somewhere recently, tucked away in some satchel that I must have used on a more regular basis in a past life. As for most people, a photograph of myself is a lodestone, drawing my eye again and again to this representation of a being that I know must be me, but somehow doesn’t seem right. I set it aside, but it kept resurfacing on my desk, and it kept nagging at me.

Warning: this is all about me.

Continue reading “A photo” →

IV. Lento, orchestration, day 2

I took Dvorak’s 8th with me in the car today to listen to a couple of things, the orchestration and the development. I learned enough to depress me.

First of all, my impression was (and a study of the score this afternoon confirmed it) that the strings do all the heavy lifting. They never stop playing. They may be playing pads and chords under the winds occasionally, but mostly they’re playing “the piece,” and they never stop. So I have to learn to do that. You would think this was easy. It is not.

Second, the man’s development I have always admired: tuneful, witty, inventive, and beguiling. Seemingly organic. Seemingly effortless.

I know it can’t have been. I know he took a lot of time with each of his symphonies, and he wasn’t just doing it a couple of hours twice a week. It was his day job. Besides his natural gift, he worked at his craft, many hours every day.

I begin to wonder if I would be more productive if I had all day every day to thrash out ideas and discard the less worthy ones. I think this is part of my fear of just generating crap: I don’t have time. I’m not even using everything I’m writing. I am sketching out things that don’t go anywhere. But with Time’s wingéd chariot hurrying near, I’m afraid that I will sometimes settle for what’s on the page already.

Can you tell that this evening’s work didn’t go well? I’m going to eat my Häagen-Dazs raspberry sorbet.

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.