First order of business: I am living in Taiwan (since August 19th).
I am taking an 二胡 (èrhú) class, and thus far have learned the basics of bowing. The proper grip and bow placement is tricky, and having never played a string instrument, the entire experience is foreign to me. In the first two lessons, none of my previous musical training has volunteered itself to be of any use, and the class is furthermore taught entirely in Chinese, so you know, there’s that.
Through my early fumbles handling the instrument, I have learned two important phrases:
I expected my one day at the International Horn Symposium in Los Angeles to yield the excitement and energy usually afforded by conferences of a grand scale, but I instead walked away feeling ambivalent about my lot as a horn player. Oops. Still, I appreciated the closing words of horn player J. Gregory Miller recounting his experiences touring with English rock band The Who:
Oh, also, I bought a fancy-pants mute from Ion Balu, who is quite the gentlemanly dude.
The aforementioned performance of my hymn took place this last Saturday in Mountain View at the Community School of Music and Arts. Below is the one, very awful photo I have of the venue (Tateuchi Hall) from my seat in the back while I waited to go on stage myself.
The performance went well, I thought, given that we were only able to rehearse it once. I still think it’s a hilarious thing that as a composer I get to call this occasion the world premiere of my piece.
Special thanks to my teacher, Daniel Wood, as well as Selin, Linus, and Jimmy Haber who all volunteered to play the piece. Also, thanks to my friends Nick, Anthony, and Lilliana for coming!
For an upcoming recital, I have been trying to figure out how to perform (or arrange to have performed) my new choral work… without a chorus. Apart from my not having many connections in the choral community, a full chorus would probably outnumber the students and parents in attendance at the recital.
As a fallback, I hastily mixed a synthesized rendition of the hymn for horn choir. I owe this exercise to GarageBand for having an impressive horn ensemble sample in its sound library, but I was happy enough with the results to take the time to “write out” (in Sibelius) the score for a 5-part horn choir.
Some concerns and considerations:
In its original key, the piece would demand of the first horn players a sustained high C. So, I have lowered the key of the piece by a whole step. I am considering lowering it even a half-step further, but that would result in the somewhat awkward key of B major for at least one section.
My composition teacher informed me that a 5-part horn choir is a very rare and unusual ensemble. He recommended re-scoring the piece for horn octet, which would have the added benefit of doling out the longer phrases and high parts more fairly (as it is, the 2nd horn part has no rests), as well as enabling beefier chords.
Not needing to figure out how to distribute spoken syllables across notes is a huge burden off my shoulders. Not to say that it isn’t a useful exercise, but writing the piece for an instrumental choir has allowed me to reinstate the phrasings, slurs, and ties that I first had in mind, which, you know, I think are more tasteful.
There’s a lesson here about the unpredictable evolution of one’s own work. Something for me to mull over and write about later.
My recent predilection for liturgical music has given rise to what ought to be my first choral work. It’s not finished, but with it, I have tried to produce a hymn in the style of Romantic-era musical settings of Russian orthodox worship services. I have given myself the rather daunting task of trying to capture the same spiritual flavor of these works, while omitting any religious program (that is, for some definition of “spiritual”). I’ve written the piece for a cappella SATBB chorus, and it’s looking to be about three minutes long.
At the moment, I’m in the process of deciding on a text for the work, which is a process so critical and yet unbounded as to be basically paralyzing. My first experiments in assigning words to the music have involved a French adaptation of a poem For the Fallen by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943).
This past Saturday, I attended South Bay Horn Day at Mountain View High School. The festival lasted from nine in the morning to nine at night, with a mix of workshops, horn choir rehearsals, and performances filling the day. It is held annually, and I only attended once before in 2013.
It was a joy to meet so many other horn players from the area and to hear the excitement in their voices as they recounted their experiences with the instrument. It was a joke instantiated in several forms and reiterated almost ad nauseam that we’ve all sold our souls to one of the most difficult instruments to play. Laughs of solidarity on this topic sounded from dawn till dusk.
Memorable performances from the day included the world premiere of a piece for horn quartet called VA 22211 and a horn choir rendition of an aria from Mendelssohn’s Elijah oratorio (“O rest in the Lord”). VA 22211, named in reference to the zip code of Arlington National Cemetery, pays tribute to our fallen heroes and explores a range of feelings from hymnal reverence to heroic fervor. The Mendelssohn selection felt to me more sacred and spiritual in an all-horn setting than in its original scoring for orchestra and soprano. Its cadential C major chord freed me of all worldly cares, if only for a few moments.
The latest flurry in the vicissitudes of my listening patterns summons the music of the church. I have created a playlist on Spotify called “Hymns” containing five ecclesiastical selections for unaccompanied chorus.
Sergei Rachmaninoff – Liturgy of Saint John Chrysostom, Op. 31: XII. To Thee We Sing
Sergei Rechmaninoff – All-Night Vigil, Op. 37: II. Praise the Lord, O my soul
Eric Whitacre – Lux Aurumque
Alexander Gretchaninov – Passion Week, Op. 58 – At Thy mystical supper
Morten Lauridsen – O Magnum Mysterium
The first hymn by Rachmaninoff often seems to appear by itself on concert programs, which I assume is because it is less strictly modal, orthodox, and chant-like in character than the surrounding movements of the larger work and follows an accessible, arc-like shape from beginning to end. The second selection comes from Rachmaninoff’s All-Night Vigil and features a call-and-response dialogue between solo voice and choir. It is more austere and modal than the first piece, but ends with a more familiar cadence into a B-flat major chord, reminding us of its author and his place in history. The descent to the low B-flat engineered for the basses awakens the passive listener.
I don’t have much to say about the other three selections, except that they are optimistic in their outlook and inspire quietude.
I am a nonreligious person, but will readily admit to the merit of the vast library of music that we owe to centuries of music-making being largely a by-product of religious worship. Emanating from the thickness of harmonies and the tensing and relaxing of cascading suspensions are the reverberations of devotion, exaltation, and humility, as pure I think as humankind as ever distilled them in non-literal forms.
About a year ago, I found myself listening to less and less classical music in my daily listening routine, replacing the late Romantic program on my playlist with a hodge podge of EDM tracks I managed to harvest from my Alesso radio station on Pandora. I’m not really sure how it happened, but I guess I was in the throes of a more… hormonal phase of music.
It was a concerning thing to be getting away from my classical predilections, but corrective measures weren’t something that could be forced. Listening to my old favorites from Ravel, Tchaikovsky, and Dvorak just wasn’t doing it for me. Anytime I plugged in my earphones, I caved in to an embarrassingly teenage compulsion for four-on-the-floor, synthed-out dance tracks.
Fortunately, discovering Arnold Bax tripped a switch in my head that has started to set my listening habits back on track. At the very least, I’m indulging these days in a far more balanced musical diet.
On my flight to Thailand in December, the in-flight entertainment console at my seat was playing as background music a piece by English composer Arnold Bax. I hadn’t heard of Bax before, and as I sat there browsing the Action & Adventure category of movie selections, I stopped to take note of the piece’s harmonic language and use of orchestral color. It was exactly the kind of early 20th century writing that I’ve come to love and obsessively seek out. (Not the atonal writing of Schoenberg and co., as should be obvious, but the fusion of Romanticism and Impressionism that labored on in the attic of the classical household through the mid-century.)
The piece was Bax’s Morning Song, a short, 8-minute fantasy for piano and orchestra (its resemblance to a piano concerto deepened my initial curiosity). It features a playful opening melody that dances along throughout the piece with treatment from various voices.
I look forward to exploring and discovering more of Bax’s music. His life spans a period of time that is nearly coincident with Rachmaninoff’s — they lived to about the same age and were separated by about ten years. So far, I’ve found no evidence to believe that they knew of each other, but they seem to draw from many of the same influences.
For not terribly compelling reasons, I am trying to get my score for My Name is Richard Rozen printed and published semi-professionally. When I wrote the music a year ago, I didn’t put much effort into typesetting the sheet music properly, because I would be the one performing the work, and honestly I had a lot of it memorized anyway. Now I’m paying the price in hours spent poring over the manuscript, tweaking margins and spacing, adjusting page breaks, and adding rehearsal letters. Figuring out the right way to format copyright information has also been a burden.
In all of this, I take for granted how nice it is to have a tool like Sibelius. Even then, I still feel like I’m cheating the age-old art of music printing.