Composition Master Class
Some students will preface their presentations by an anecdote: “I got this rhythmic idea from the weird way my roommate snores.”
Hell Mouth is a blog about music (mostly contemporary), literature (mostly good), politics (mostly pernicious) and culture (mostly American). It is written by John Adams with the help of several “friends” who live in the redwoods of coastal Northern California.
My mother’s family was half Irish, and my memory of family gatherings is full of the same kind of gab and repartee that I find in the Aeolus chapter of “Ulysses.” The Catholic Church is never far offstage. One moment it’s the butt of scurrilous humor, and then a minute later it becomes the source of a sudden seizure of piety.
12 Comments Continue ReadingWhat impresses most about Astor Piazzolla is the extraordinary clarity of his thought. He could be brutal—just like the counterpoint exercises Nadia Boulanger assigned him —but his musical and intellectual mental processes were both profoundly absorptive and shrewdly practical. In this way he was much like his idol, Stravinsky.
5 Comments Continue ReadingHow to write a masterpiece? I haven’t a clue, but if a young composer were to ask me that question on this particular day I would unhesitatingly direct him or her to “The Perpetual Orgy” by Mario Vargas Llosa.
11 Comments Continue ReadingIn the last few weeks I read “Madame Bovary” twice—in English, which I’m passably good at. I can’t say that of any novel I’ve ever read—that I’ve wanted to go right back to page one and do it all over again. I now understand why Nabokov says you haven’t really read a book if you’ve just read it once.
6 Comments Continue ReadingThere’s always a part of you that is begging for relief, ready to jump ship at the slightest prompt, cut yourself loose from the humiliating confrontation of your pitifully weak brain with the intractable material you’re trying to manipulate and create meaning out of.
14 Comments Continue ReadingPublic rates Dudamel’s performance as “poor” to “very poor” in his handling of the crisis. New York Post headline: “Slick? Who’s Slick Now?”
9 Comments Continue ReadingSitting in the audience while your piece is being played can be risky business…You find your place in row W and quietly slide into it, trying to be as anonymous as possible. The guy in the business suit next to you nods perfunctorily. He doesn’t know you from Adam. (Certainly not from Adams.)
29 Comments Continue ReadingMoving back and forth between performing and composing, between a public self and private one, can be a transition with jagged edges that can take weeks to overcome.
19 Comments Continue Reading“Marcel,” I say, “I’m happy to see you want to take back your country. Can I ask from whom you want to take it back? Someone take it away from you?”
12 Comments Continue ReadingSome aggressively chipper Baroque music chases our correspondent from a Georgetown Dean & Deluca patio…he needs a musical Jacques Derrida to help him decode the way in which ambient music is used in our culture to achieve the desired susceptibility in targeted consumers.
10 Comments Continue ReadingWhat do we do when a composer gives one tempo in the printed score and then makes a recording that differs wildly with it? Follow the score or follow the recording?
14 Comments Continue ReadingDoctor Bob, my optometrist, reaches into a drawer and pulls out his Mac Pro. He hits a key and up pops a page of staves, a 4/4 time signature and a several rows of perfectly “engraved” eighth notes. He hits the space bar and it launches a composition of his called “Pink Tequila.” “Cool, huh?” he says.
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Some students will preface their presentations by an anecdote: “I got this rhythmic idea from the weird way my roommate snores.”
Leonard Bernstein tries to explain that mysterious essence of the musical experience: how and why does music convey emotion?
I’m thinking this is ridiculous. “Marcel, you’re shitting me. You can’t even read music and now you’ve become a music critic!”
The pianissimos are as intimate as a whisper. The concert hall is transfixed. And then, suddenly from somewhere in the back “WHOARGGGHHAAAARRRAAAAAACK!!!”
“Ladies and gentlemen I’ve worked my butt off on these two talks, especially this dazzler today about an antisocial German who contracts syphilis and takes to composing twelve-tone music.”
Wondering if Boulez has ever been to a dog show, I leave early in the morning with Eloise sound asleep on the back seat and a bag of pricey dog food in the trunk.
Advice to composers: Try not to panic if you can’t recognize that noise coming from the stage as something you wrote.