You know how when you upload your compositions to iTunes, but when you’re looking at the screen there’s no album cover, just the default icon?
That’s pretty sad. It’s as if Apple is laughing at you, because you’re not a real composer.
Pfffft on that, I say, and so I design my own album covers. When I finished “The Ballad of Miss Ella” last week, there was that default icon, and so I grouped “Miss Ella” with “Not Really Bad” and “Dear Diary” from my middle school theatre workshops and made a new album:
You might have been expecting further posts about Lichtenbergianism: procrastination as a creative strategy, and you would be justified in thinking that surely I had either a) written more on the book itself; and/or b) whined my way further into The Essential Guide to Getting Your Book Published [EGGYBP].
However, I had a deadline, which I have met by ignoring all those other creative bits.
Miss Ella is a performer extraordinaire who hails from New Orleans.1 She was a chanteuse at her own nightclub, the Kingfisher Club, and was forced to flee back in 2005 during that “unfortunate storm,” as she refers to it. She managed to save her neon sign and her piano player and headed out into the world to share her gifts.
She herself was saved only through a miracle, and during the storm and ensuing events she found that she had been gifted with extraordinary shamanic powers, you guys, powers that she is now committed to using to the betterment of mankind. Plus the singing.
I cannot tell you how honored I was when she asked me to write an opening number for her act, one that would serve as an introduction and explanation for her beautiful, empowering story. I wrote one version for her, but she gently spurred me to try again2 and I’m glad she did, because this time I got it right.
When she told me last Friday that she had a show coming up and expressed a desire that the new version be in her hands STAT, I set to work. One never wants to disappoint Miss Ella.
Here then is “The Ballad of Miss Ella,” subtitled “The Spirit Is Coming in Me”: score [pdf] |
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1 Actually she’s from Pascagoula, MS, but she does not often refer to those early days.
2 I believe her exact words were, “Here’s a YouTube. I really like it, don’t you?“
The other day, the incomparable Berkely Breathed put up on his Facebook page the following strip:
His apology is directed to the equally incomparable B. Kliban:
This reminded me that years and years and years ago—the heyday of Kliban’s cat comics—a melody popped into my head for these lyrics. It’s nothing like the cartoon would suggest, but it was catchy and enjoyed a certain vogue amongst the young people who hung about at the theatre in those days.
It has occurred to me that I ought to drag it out (of my head—it’s never been written down that I remember) and see if it would work for my “hero’s theme” for my Unidentified Music Project. It’s certainly catchier than any of my ABORTIVE ATTEMPTS in the linked blogpost. The trick will be to see how flexible it is for variations. More work, as we say, is required.
P.S. To the estate of B. Kliban: I have no intention of using these lyrics in any way, so unsharpen your pencils and put your cease & desist letters away. Your copyright is not threatened, at least no more than the intertubes has already threatened it.
More imagery of what my song cycle William Blake’s Inn might look like if some enterprising theatre company decided to stage it:
I’m thinking that at their first appearance, the Tiger and the King of Cats should probably be in their puppet avatar. The denizens of the Inn would move forward, perhaps; at any rate, they would “come to life.”
I’ve done another 5–10 seconds of visualization for William Blake’s Inn, hereinafter known as WBI.
no large version
So, yes, the stars are puppets, in the sense that they are held aloft by performers. There are probably stationary stars in the backdrop, but these are mobile. You’ll see why tomorrow.
Again, the music:
The event pictured above is from 0:10–0:15, approximately.
Using the ungodly amount of art supplies I have on hand, I just began with the Prelude, and before I knew it I had the first whole five seconds sketched. That means I now have o.2% of the entire work visualized. UNSTOPPABLE, that’s what I am.
Anyway, here it is:
—click to embiggen—
Where it says “appear,” imagine “twinkle on.”
And here’s the music: mp3 Remember, it’s just the first five seconds—only 37 and a half minutes to go!
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[1] And remember, if you are looking for a charming, expensive piece to do for a world premiere, I am contactable.
Before we left for our trip last week, we paid a visit to Richard’s Variety Store in Midtown/Monroe Drive. Richard’s is one of those places that create a strain in a relationship if, for example, one’s lovely first wife had never disclosed that she knew of this chamber of wonders. One might accuse the other of holding out on him.
It’s a magical place, kind of a Woolworths for the hipster/hippie crowd, and if you haven’t been, go.
Here’s what I bought (among other things):
Yes, that is Icarus, the hero of Seven Dreams of Falling, coming eventually to an opera house near you. He’s to remind me that I do have a major theatrical work to compose. Which I’m not doing right now, because I’m writing this blog post to avoid finishing my tax returns.
If I were to link this to Lichtenbergianism, it would fall into RITUAL, as an object which represents a project or a goal and serves to remind me that it will be a beautiful thing—once I finish it.
In an admirable display of both TASK AVOIDANCE and ABORTIVE ATTEMPTS,[1] I have not worked on Lichtenbergianism: procrastination as a creative strategy today. Instead, I have forced myself to crank out about two minutes of abortive musical ideas for a new piece that’s been on my mind for a year and a half now.
What I’m posting today is a textbook example of ABORTIVE ATTEMPTS: it makes no effort to be complete or even good. What you will hear is multiple “false starts,” just plopping out some images and ideas without regard to whether they are any good or not. I put “false starts” in quotes, because the whole point of ABORTIVE ATTEMPTS is that there’s nothing false about them: they are just starts, period.
Some of these bits are way wrong. But they exist. Some may find their way into the finished piece; most won’t.
Here’s what you’re listening to.
I have an idea for a programmatic orchestral (maybe concert band) suite inspired by series by one of my favorite young adult authors, who shall remain unnamed here for copyright issues obviously. There are two ideas I’m futzing with here (in a piano score): 1) a landscape of surreal majesty; 2) a theme for our hero, a 1930s radio serial style whiz kid. (If you have tumbled to the secret, keep it to yourself, thanks.)
Each abortive attempt is only a couple of measures, followed a measure of silence.
landscape ideas: just harmonies, to be fleshed out later + fragments from an earlier attempt, also landscape related
sketch for our hero theme
another hero theme
chase music motif, mostly harmonic
another hero theme
a landscape sketch
a chase fragment
one more hero theme
You will note the appalling unfinished sound of nearly all of it. But that’s how it begins. Check back when if I’ve finished the piece.
