Stalking the wild piano piece
Three posts in one! These are sequential posts from 2011, when I was creating the music for my CD Drivin’! They’re rather fun, and they’re all about the same music, so I’m combining them here. I think you’ll like them—read on!
Kathleen’s Lament
originally published September 6, 2011
How hard can it really be to write a piano piece about a donkey?!! I mean, really: he brays, he chuckles, he oozes personality, and if you doubt that, he’ll kick you. So it should be quite easy, right?
Aargh!!!
Less lamentaciously
originally published September 19, 2011
Okay, The Donkey Drag (aka Mr Darcy’s Lament) is coming along nicely now. It is in D major, just like The Phoebe Returns; I find it interesting that both pieces I have created about the creatures who hang out here are in D. I don’t think it really means anything, though.
So The Donkey Drag obviously must include the donkey & me going along cooperatively; and going along not cooperatively; the donkey braying; the donkey kicking (I think you’ll recognize that section quite easily!); the donkey chuckling (yes, Mr Darcy definitely chuckles). So the “sections” of the piece are clear; I was just having trouble before coming up with the music to go in those sections. I think I’m past that difficulty now.
Mr Darcy chose this photo op.
Drivin! CD therefore has one piece written by my car and one piece written by/about my donkey. Wonder what else I can work in? Only have 2 more weeks to be creating & learning it, too!
Stalking the wild piano piece
originally published September 22, 2011
I’ve noticed that I have a similar pattern both in learning new music by another composer and in creating new music myself.
First there is the “I have a dream” stage: maybe I’ve heard and loved this Beethoven sonata, or maybe I have caught a sound of a new piece in my imagination. I know I want to learn/create the new music. I am full of anticipation!
I start to work on the new repertory or the new composition. Sometimes that can be rather frustrating because what I hear in my imagination (whether it is repertory or new work) is somewhat out of reach. But I know it’s there. At this stage my memory of the dream keeps me in the game.
(I believe that I ought to be able to skip this first stage & get right to the next stage, but for some reason I usually do this first. I think the truly great practicers know how to minimize this stage—advanced practicing: how to make one’s work play. And of course, there are the compositions that come to me essentially fully formed. A Handfull of Quietness was one of those; so was The Never-Ending Starlit Road. It is a thrilling experience to sit and cognize new music and know as I play it that it is just perfect.)
Then there is the “try everything” stage. If it’s repertory, I become my own teacher and start creating practice assignments for myself, all with the idea of getting over the frustration. I think what I would tell my student who was having these challenges. It still feels like work, but it is work with a purpose. Momentum is picking up a bit.
In the “try everything” stage of composing, I just generate ideas. I want to discover any musical idea at all that might go with my new piece. Usually in this phase, if I play through the new piece it sounds like a true mess. There’s no other word for it.
At a certain point, though, all of a sudden I am past some barrier. In repertory, most of the technical issues are worked out, or if not mastered yet, I am at least experiencing regular improvement from the assignments I created for myself. In composing, I am finally starting to hear in the music what I could hear in my imagination. What really belongs in the piece becomes clearer each time I play it.
Now I’m stalking the wild piano piece. This is the truly fun part, almost more fun than performing the music once I have it learned or composed. In learning repertory, this is the phase where I finally love to repeat sections, use the metronome, do my technique work. I can hear the music refining itself each time I play the new piece; I can feel the confidence in my hands. It’s almost intoxicating.
In composing, this is when I am usually simplifying and throwing notes away (so to speak). Because I can hear my imagined music in my real music, the idea of the piece becomes stronger each time through. What two days ago was a mess is suddenly coherent and focused. Also, usually it is easier to play music that makes sense than music that is all a jumble. Much easier!
This is where I am with The Donkey Drag (aka Mr Darcy’s Lament). Really it is a pretty silly piece; how could it not be? I’m writing a piano piece about my donkey, a creature with smarts, a strong will, and a goofy personality. He’ll do anything I ask, as long as it is his idea.
Mr Darcy, being himself
So I’m composing music with a plot. He brays, we walk, he notices the rope & kicks, he digs in his heels. The braying music has always been pretty clear in my mind, but it wasn’t until I created the kicking music that the piece began to emerge from my muddled imagination. Now when I play it, it’s fun, it’s energetic, and most of all it is clear.
The only downside: if I work on this music in the evening, sleeping is hard to come by. I won’t ever play it last on a concert; that would just be unfair to the audience!