Great things yet unseen: glacial progress

Progress, at times, is very slow. Especially when I'm accompanying ten-ish people and teaching eleven piano students, all as a lowly undergrad. Were I a more accomplished pianist and educator, this would hardly be daunting, but all this collaborative piano and all these lessons will surely sharpen my skills and leave me with a greater capacity for each in the future. And, as busy as I am, and as far off as excellence may be, I'm looking forward to it. I really want to be an exceptional educator.

The other side of this is that being so busy leaves me with precious little composing time. I am, however, making progress each week. Perhaps in this regard, I am the glacier and my cantata is the prairie—or, what will eventually become the prairie. I am working slowly, advancing little by little but creating yet-unseen eskers, kames, and kettles in my music. I'm very excited to see where this composition takes me.

Labor Day reflections

In the past week I've devoted some much-needed time to reading and composing for the prairie cantata. I've found some terrific poems by Kathleen Norris and Tom Hennen and Bill Holm. The trouble I'm facing is the task of putting my observations into music. Norris and Hennen and Holm all have made their observations, so that's helpful. But what about my interpretations of them? Or my own observations for the instrumental passages? How can I describe the prairie?

There is both an abundant freedom and a smothering dauntingness in knowing that there is no right or wrong way to express the prairie musically. There is no ideal way to express it. One possible solution to the prairie's vastness is to express it in layers that interact harmoniously in some way. But here's the problem: the sky is high above us and the ground just below us. They are two very different worlds, and while parts of one will occasionally come into contact with the other (birds and rain, for example), they only meet at the horizon. And the horizon is defined by the observer. This work is therefore necessarily subjective. It can't be a snapshot or a book report. It must be a thesis. An assertion. But of what?

A New Project

As the title suggests, there is a new project in the works. On the horizon. As it were. A different project than the one mentioned a few months back. That never got off the ground. This one will, though. It's the big multi-movement choral and instrumental piece that will be premiered next May. I've begun researching, and I am now charged with finding the texts for this project. I've read the journals of Thomas Thomasson, one of the first Norwegian settlers in Stevens County, as well as correspondence to and from Ida Hancock, and early resident of Morris, and some of Bill Holm's writings. Between these sources, and likely others, I hope to be able to gather the texts I need to compose the choral portions of the composition. Truth be told, I don't need a whole lot of text; the daunting part is finding the few small passages that will be of greatest use to me.

Now that I have my keyboard back at home, I will hopefully feel more motivated and inspired to compose smaller works. Or sow the seeds for larger works. Anything. I have composed very little this summer, and I am now finding myself yearning every day for something to compose. But nothing has been coming to mind. Perhaps I should approach things differently.

Remarks on the tenor duets

The tenor duets I've been composing are simple, musically speaking. Although the harmony is quite ambiguous, it is built on Western scales. But it does have very obvious and simple musical patterns. Anyone who can read music can learn this music, although it requires a degree of aural aptitude because of the lack of accompaniment.

Still, the main barrier I've put up to learning these pieces is that one voice is in English and the other in Chinese. Not only that, but I am providing only the Chinese characters for the Chinese part—no transliteration, no pronunciation guide. Having studied Mandarin, I know that Romanizations of the language are extremely misleading, and pronunciation guides are tragically ineffective. Instructions on how to pronounce the language would, in my opinion, be completely useless because Chinese has so many sounds that simply do not exist in English. For Mandarin syllables like shi and zhi, to name only two examples, there is no English equivalent. None whatsoever. There is no point of reference. Even with tutoring from a native speaker, a person with no prior experience with Mandarin would have difficulty getting the pronunciation right. Everyone has the capacity to pronounce Chinese, but it demands a lot of practice from most nonnative speakers.

Therefore, in the exeedingly unlikely event that these compositions are learned or performed by anyone else in the future, I am safeguarding them from being butchered by making it very difficult for non-speakers to learn the Chinese part. It's not that I feel people shouldn't attempt this music. In fact, I'd be tickled to death if I were to learn that somebody somewhere had taken an interest in it. My concern is for the beautiful sounds of Chinese. These pieces were composed with these sounds in mind; these sounds are a part of the music.

Materials have been produced!

At last, I've composed something that fits within the framework—and since there isn't really an established "framework" I use the term very liberally—of practical minimalism! I have completed two short a cappella tenor duets, and there is one more on the way. So finally, after all these months, I have worked up the courage to compose in a way in which I know I need to compose much more often. In addition to having composed these works, I also have a vocalist who is going to help me test them out in a couple of days. I haven't consulted with him on the following prospect just yet, but once we're comfortable with the material, I'd like to see how singing this music in various environments affects the performance. I would like to try this music outdoors, where I feel it belongs. After all, the texts for "The Boats Are Afloat" and "Spring Sun" are not about the indoors. I would very much like to hear experience this music outside.

I have another much larger composition in the works as well. The project is called A Prairie Cantata, and the blueprints call for a 30-minute choral and wind ensemble composition based on prairie themes. I have been spending a little time at the historical museum in town to do a little off-the-clock priliminary work lately. Let me take a moment to brag about the building, though. Initially constructed as a Carnegie library, it became the Stevens County Historical Society a number of years ago. Much more recently, the building underwent a million-dollar renovation and addition, doubling the museum's size and doing a beautiful reworking of the original portion. Absolutely gorgeous. And I promise you, in all honesty and seriousness, that this place has the best public restrooms in town. No contest. Anyway, come July, the Historical Society will be of great use to me as I begin the research process in earnest, and I am very excited for what I am confident will be an incredible learning experience and what I am hopeful will become a thoughtful, original, and enjoyable composition.

A bigger project

As the title suggests, I'm starting work on a bigger project. For the second half of the semester, I'll be working on a wind ensemble piece. Dr. S lent me a rather hefty pile of scores so I can study them this week (Spring Break!), and hopefully that will give me a better idea of what to do as I begin my own experiment with wind ensemble music. It's great to have such an encouraging instructor, but he also said that because the medium of "wind ensemble" is a relatively new one, so there's maybe some extra room for creativity. It's easier to do things that haven't been done before.

All the while, I'm wondering whether I'm beginning to stray from the path. I've acknowledged already that I prefer the voice because it is the most natural, organic, and portable of all the instruments, and I'm still very interested in composing choral music. Despite less-natural nature of manufactured instruments, I'm still compelled to write for an instrumental medium. If, God willing, I end up being published, there's a chance that I'd be able to reach more people with my message if I write for multiple media.

I don't doubt that many composers are strong environmentalists, but I couldn't name any. I may just be ignorant, but I believe that composers can and should pay more attention to the environment. David Maslanka has a strong appreciation for nature, and I really his music. I'm not certain that I want to emulate him (we'll see: I haven't looked through his scores yet), but I based on the sound and based on some of his own comments on his music, I feel that his music is rooted in a very organic reality. That's something that I find very attractive in music.