With the Furniture

In the midst of a University Assessment Committee meeting yesterday, I looked at my hand resting on the table in front of me and had this strange new thought:

That's a nearly forty-year-old piece of equipment. (My hand, not the table.)

Not long before the meeting, I had been practicing some Liszt pieces I've known for a while. More and more, I enjoy playing works I've know for a while. My hands and arms appreciate moving through familiar patterns and producing combinations of sounds that they figured out how to produce comfortably some time in the past.

I have very few machines that are forty years old and still function. But much of my furniture is at least that old. Maybe that's part of why we appreciate older things as we age: we start to belong with the antiques in that they have a few years on them but are still sturdy and functional. They're even a little elegant which might inspire us. They're a little more human in these ways than some of our newer things - gadgets that will be displaced and replaced in a few years.

And there's something else I have that's a little old like me: music. I play stuff that's stood the test of time and spoken to the human heart, in some cases, for centuries. Thinking about that makes me want to play something really old - millenia old, not just centuries.

That's where I am - at home with my old stuff and my old self.

And my beagle. She and her ilk have also been hanging out with humans for a long, long time. And I think I can sense her passion for her human family in her greetings and her desire for quality time with us.

Paul, my personal apostle, (I'm referring to Dr. Paul Harlan my colleague at Southeastern who designed the theory curriculum I teach) reminded me that the extraordinary difference between the machine of my hand and the clothes washer that no longer works is that the hand is made of human tissue that rebuilds and refreshes itself. It's kind of a miracle when you put it in those terms.

It occurs to me that the aging of the hands and the mind were not particularly addressed in my musical education. The health of the hands was in a big way, but there was no intentional discussion of what happens or might happen as one grows older.

Beagles and Beginners

It's "raining up a storm" in Lakeland and has been since early morning. Sophie (the beagle) was disconsolate last night due to the lightning and thunder.


I'm writing a beginning band piece for a specific beginning band. I like writing to specifications. Clear parameters really help me know what to do and to feel good about it. They push me to engage very realistically with the craft of composition.


Here's my assignment as I understand it so far:

jazz-based or influenced

small number of low brass that play best together

clear and restricted ranges for all instruments (generally an octave or less)

clarinets are the strongest and largest section

parts need to be simple enough to be played but engaging enough not to bore the players

fairly simple rhythms

and nothing can move much faster than moderato

it would probably be a good idea to write music that sounds pretty good even if some of the players lose their place and keep playing anyway!

And I'm sure there are more things I'm not remembering at the moment or haven't realized yet.


This composition process is fun but slow: discovering what the piece is and can be. It's very true in this situation that the primary work of composition is editing. I write a little, trying to make something I like, I listen back and think of the parameters, adjust it accordingly, then I listen again to see if it works for me, then I adjust it accordingly, then I think about the parameters, adjust, put the passage back in context, adjust, etc. etc. etc.

Like I said, fun but slow. And good for me.


Composing is like building a house. That doesn't sound very original. But I like architecture and this image helps me. It's also good for appreciating, from the outside, the significance of what composers do.

When you build a house, you need to consider what that house is for - a single young professional, a large family with children . . . shelter in the tropics or on a mountain in New Hampshire . . .

And you need to make sure it's structured well. There are principles involved in making it a good "machine for living" and lots of wise people and regulations to help you do that.

And from time to time, someone comes along and suggests a totally new type of room or way to use an existing room. Then that catches on and changes the way we see houses and the way we live in them.


When composing, I need to take into account who's going to be using my music and where it will be used:
opera singer? congregation? children?
concert stage? church? classroom?

How will it be structured? Its structure will have something to do with the questions I just posed above - "form follows function."


And then Beethoven comes along and says "What if we make the first theme sound like an introduction, put the second theme in major mediant, and have a really long closing group? Oh yeah, and a quick appearance of the first theme transposed into the Neapolitan right when we think the piece is about to end. How did he come up with this stuff? But it really works, so we listen to him.


Finally (sort of a new topic) the other day I noticed that almost all the melody notes in "All the Things You Are" are the thirds of the chords that tend to be used to harmonize them. Anyone who tries to play the piece on the piano with good voicing has probably already noticed this. But it struck me because I've been thinking about the relationships between melodies and their accompaniments, and particulatrly about how what members of the chords are featured in the melodies contibutes to the mood of the music.

Before Christmas, I was meditating on the fact that Mary "pondered all these things in her heart." That sounds very inner to me. I was wondering how to write a melody that would express Mary's inner-ness, and I improvised some melodies that focused on the insides of chords - the thirds. It seems like that leads to melodies that are sweet and warm, and at times, rather innner in nature.

Chowan Inspiration

This has been the week of meetings, inventories, syllabus writing . . . oh yes, and meetings.

I like the awareness of tradition here at Chowan. Periodically, someone says "This is the day when . . ." or "Traditionally on this day . . ." This is something I often wanted more of at other places.

I was feeling particularly inspired after Thursday which was the day of the faculty retreat. It was a rich day that culminated with a look at the new "Murph's" which is our newly renovated, truly transformed, sport-themed space formerly known as the snack bar. And that was followed by a reflective walk with Sophie (our dog) - reflective except for the part when we were running!

On our walk, my love for Murfreesboro and my work here was refreshed. I thought of my father's inspiration for his work, particularly as expressed in his church newsletter articles from his days at Sylvia Circle Baptist Church in the 80s. There was a sense of heaven on earth for him that came not from things being peaceful but purposeful.

Joy comes in being part of perfecting a place, helping a community become whole. And that's what has been going on here for a very long time. One would be saddened to move on because that work is so fulfilling.

Strolling quietly after dark under the tall pines reminds me that God is present and working, and Squirrel Park (the university commons) has been particular mysterious and intriguing lately as a pair of owls has been making an appearance there around dusk.

MacDowell Columns building stubbornly looms up out of the night like a bulldog jaw or a great fist. It says "Wars have come and gone - but we are still here. Hurricanes have scarred our land, but we are still here. Doors have closed and opened agin - we are still here. Depression, Recession - still here."

And we're still here for the continuation of civilization. It seems that the whole project - civilization and intitution - exist and persist as a grace from God.

Contrasts

Beauty in the garden inspite of the weather.























There's a big forest fire in three counties to our south. It was smokey most of yesterday morning here in Murfreesboro.

Apart form the fire - which changes the air quality significantly at times - it has become very hot here. Summer weather arrived three days ago in full force.

Our place is air conditioned, but I know at least one person whose isn't and have thought seriously about his situation the last couple of days.

I took a walk with Sophie (our dog) and we sat calmly in Squirrel Park on-campus. Us both being calm is a rarity. By that time of the day, although it was hot, a steady breeze was coming from the east, tempering the mood on the shaded swings hanging from our ancient trees. I realized I should be open to, and take advantage of, such moments of peace that spontaneously occur from time to time.

On Wednesday, the Mercer University Children's Choir performed in First Baptist Ahoskie. It was a lovely service of worship that was admirably presented after a ten hour bus ride. The children had great focus. They impressed us with their rhythmic abilities as well.

As I studied the program, I noted that the majority of the composers were women. Such a program is also a rarity. Maybe more children's choir music is by women since women might find themselves working children's choirs more often than men?

I also thought a bit about the purity for which children's voices are often praised. While the sound of children's voices might be considered pure, I think the way children phrase also contributes a lot to this impression of purity. There is a naive quality about the phrasing of children. And by that, I mean something very good. Their musical expression may be as deeply thought and felt as ours and executed with just as much concentration and intensity. But their type of intensity doesn't bring the same adult type of drive to each note passing to the next and ultimately to a climax and a conclusion. Their feelings about this progress are different and maybe more innocent. I still wonder if some of what we adults think of as passion or intensity might really be anger or fear - and that might be okay. Or maybe we should learn how to make music like children - with peace and joy.