I recently re-read the last of Robert Craft and Igor Stravinsky’s famous collaborative books, Retrospectives and Conclusion. It was published in 1969. That might have the the year I first read it. There are not many people who are more inspiring to me than Igor Stravinsky. His catalog of works is huge, and I think I like everything he wrote. His work from a hundred years ago still seems fresh and innovative. He was invariably himself, and seemed to be immune to trends and vagaries of the music business. As the poet Ezra Pound said of art more generally, Stravinsky’s music is “news that stays news.” And I admire how incisively he spoke of others’ work. Here he is in a 1966 interview, talking about Charles Ives: “[He] was exploring the 1960s during the heyday of Strauss and Debussy. Polytonality; atonality; tone clusters; perspectivistic effects; chance; statistical composition; permutation; add-a-part, practical-joke, and improvisatory music: these were Ives’ discoveries a half-century ago as he quietly set about devouring the contemporary cake before the rest of us even found a seat at the same table.” Who speaks like this? Who can so eloquently analyze another composer on the fly? Like so much of his music, Stravinsky’s take on Ives is important, profound and funny all at the same time. Love this guy.
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In Praise of Barns
Over the summer my jazz band, Chaise Lounge, played in a classically beautiful barn in Vermont. I also heard a wonderful chamber music performance at a barn in Damariscotta, Maine. And now that I’m back in the DMV (a local nickname for the District of Columbia and its Maryland and Virginia suburbs) I’m looking forward to playing at the granddaddy of all barns, The Barns at Wolf Trap in Vienna, Virginia. It must be the lack or parallel walls, or maybe the warm, non-reflective acoustic properties of the wood that makes playing at a properly retrofitted barn feel like playing inside a big guitar. I think it is wonderful that so many of these 18th- and 19th-century structures have been repurposed as music venues. Our Wolf Trap show is on Friday, October 14th. If you are in the neighborhood, please come by.
A Latin melange
I don’t have to tell you that the state of arts funding in much of the US is dismal. That’s why I feel particularly fortunate to live in Montgomery County, Maryland, a jurisdiction that supports both mainstream and esoteric artistic endeavors. I was recently awarded a county grant to write and produce a new chamber work for strings, harp and percussion. The piece I have in mind will incorporate Latin rhythms, in honor of the county’s booming population of immigrants from Central and South America.
Postcards from the West
After eight months of work, I have just finished writing a big orchestral piece called Postcards from the West. Total running time, about 43 minutes. At first, the piece’s subject was pretty high-concept. I started out to write a four-movement work about the four states of matter: solid, liquid, gas, and (don’t forget) plasma. But it was tough going. Maybe it comes from all the films I’ve scored, but I tend to work better when I have images in my head as I write. I started poking around the internet for pictures to inspire me and settled on four vintage postcards, each representing to me one of the four states of matter. Unexpectedly, all four images came from the American West, and my way forward became clear. Now the piece is finished, and I am hoping to find an orchestra to premiere this beast. I welcome all thoughts on this matter. Please contact me via postcard. If you’d like to hear or read the piece, you can find PDFs of the score and hear MP3s of a synth realization here.
Where High and Blue Meet
You never know where your next idea will come from. Not long ago, my jazz band, Chaise Lounge, was playing at the funky and highly regarded venue The Rooster’s Wife in Aberdeen, North Carolina. Much of the charm of this theater comes from its owner, Janet Kenworthy, who lodges and feeds touring bands with exquisite Southern hospitality. After sound check, Janet gave us directions to her house: “Walk out this door, turn right on High Street, then walk up to Blue Street and it’s right there.” “OK,” I repeated, “You’re at the corner of High and Blue.” There was a weird silence in the air, and after the perfect pause, our bass player, Pete Ostle, said meaningfully, “Man, I’ve been there.”
How could this not be the next song in what singer Marilyn Older refers to as our “scorned-woman-slumped-over-bar catalog”? When we got home, I put pencil to staff paper and came up with a new song named after the intersection—and the mental state. Here’s a video of us performing it last week at our favorite DC supper club, The Hamilton: “The Corner of High and Blue.”
Stately Songs
For the past few months I have been producing bits and pieces of country artist John Lilly’s State Song Project. He has written songs about twelve U.S. states and gotten a patchwork of grants and Kickstarter funds to cover the cost of recording and producing them. His songs seem to me to be the direct descendants of Hank Williams songs: forthright, tuneful, and lyrically solid. Last month we recorded “Mississippi” with the Chaise Lounge rhythm section, a blistering horn section, and three gospel backup singers. Next up will be his anthem to his home state, “The Hills of West Virginia.” When I first heard this song, it reminded me of a rather formal composition that might have been performed in a park gazebo in 1910. John was amazingly agreeable to my suggestion to orchestrate the piece for cornet, French horn, euphonium, tuba, background singers and a rhythm section of frailing banjo, guitar, and double bass. In a few weeks, we’ll go into the studio—and 100+ years back in time.
The Future is Now
Last week I produced a string quartet recording in Tel Aviv…from my home near Washington DC. I’d written the quartet as a sort of reverse overture for an upcoming film, An Open Door. The score will be for full orchestra, but this condensed ten-minute work contains all the major themes. Of course the compositional trick was to write idiomatic string parts for melodies that I’ve imagined for French horn or oboe, along with a full string section, brass, woodwinds, percussion section, etc. The practical trick—a kind of 21st century magic—was to oversee the recording without actually being there.
The onsite engineer and I managed the second trick via Facetime on our phones. Barack gave me a quick tour of the space and of each microphone he was using. I met the members of the quartet, with first violinist, Hagai Shaham translating between Hebrew and English. Maybe you have worked this way before, but it was my first experience with virtual audio production, and I’m now hooked. Though I unfortunately wasn’t able to travel to the session due to other obligations, I was able to get the performance I was hoping for from the quartet. Futurists have been predicting the advent of videophones since I was a little kid. I can’t believe the future is finally here.
A Theme for Remembrance
As a rule, film music doesn’t make particularly good concert music. There are exceptions, of course—much of Bernard Herrmann’s work translates beautifully to the concert hall—but mostly, nah. And conversely, not much serious concert music makes for a workable film score. So I usually try to keep these two areas of endeavor separate in my own work. But I am headed into a ticklish situation in this regard. Director Sonny Izon will be traveling to Israel shortly to record a string quartet version of my theme for his next documentary, An Open Door. Part of the film involves a luthier in Jerusalem named Amnon Weinstein who restores violins that were played by European Jews in the camps and ghettos of the Holocaust. With his craft, he seeks to give these lost legions back their voices. Sonny will record the theme in Israel using these instruments, and later on I’ll also help make a live recording of the same music at a concentration camp in Germany. Writing this music, writing an interesting string quartet that can possibly work as part of a film score, has been a puzzle for me to solve, but one well worth the artistic risk.
Sweet Second Thoughts
When I was a kid, I loathed the sweet, syrupy sound of Nelson Riddle’s Frank Sinatra arrangements. But one of the perks of growing up is that you get to change your mind about things, and this is one area where I have realized Nelson was right and I was wrong. Next week, I will be recording a few lush string arrangements for vocalist Dick Kaufmann, and I noticed while I was arranging these tunes how indebted I am to Riddle’s classic work. Writing the string parts for “Stars Fell on Alabama,” “What the World Needs Now,” and “I Get a Kick Out of You” was a textural challenge. Those swooping violin lines and close harmonies on top of a simple 2-beat rhythm section take an enormous amount of time to get just right—unless maybe you are Nelson Riddle. But I am happy to be here in his shadow.
In the Swim
I swim every day. And I’m sure every day it looks exactly the same to the lifeguard, yet each time it’s a drastically different experience for me. The details of a stroke change in minuscule ways: where your hand enters the water, how much your body rotates on its axis, how high your elbow stays on the recovery, etc. But I can always tell instantly whether my workout is flowing or not. It’s the same with the piano. Every day, I play the same scales that I have played for fifty years. Some days they feel great. Some days I could swear that I had never seen a piano before. But to the casual set of ears off in the kitchen, I sound exactly the same. The difference between a good-feeling warm up and a miserable one is basically inaudible. As musicians, we choose to live in a world where we grade ourselves harshly on the smallest things. It is a special interior hell, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I feel lucky to have an inner sense governing the tiny but all-important gradations in performance. And, unlike with swimming, where I sincerely doubt that I will ever equal my teenage times, we actually can practice music and get better our whole lives. As Pablo Casals famously said when asked why he continued to practice at age 92, “I think I’m starting to see an improvement.”