People often are amazed at composers. It seems like magic to many, and they often ask about the process. I tell them that we learn and are trained to “hear” things internally — usually they gasp — I remind them that I am amazed that doctors break open chests daily to do heart surgery, and that that is just as amazing to folks like me.
For me, a hopeless melodicist, MELODY always comes first. The piece hangs on the melody like a scaffolding. The melody is what the piece is “about.” Don Martino used to say “Anyone can write a tune.” Looking back, I just don’t agree. Most “serious” composers, it seems, are not so interested in melody these days. That’s their business. For me, when people walk away humming or remembering a tune, they are taking the piece with them –– they can “own” the piece internally. Modernist music without tunes leaves the listener with an experience, but what do they carry home with them? How do they reconstruct the experience in their heads if there is no melody to recall it? I don’t know, that’s why like prefer tunes.
I’m on a composing vacation now. I’m composing four songs for Vladimir Chernov commissioned by Pacific Serenades, with texts by Mitchell Morris, and scored for piano trio and baritone. The first thing I do is to live with the text: figure out what it’s about so that the melody conveys my take on the meaning. Then I figure out how the text needs to rhythmically be presented. I think about the overall trajectory of the piece — where is the climax? — Where are the high and low notes?
I write tunes sitting quietly in a chair, usually in beautiful spots (Palm Springs, Mill Valley, and Hawaii being my favorite out-of-town composing locations). So that’s what I’m doing now: composing melodies for Vladimir.
I am also thrilled to be composing “Aria for Kenny” for Kenny Burrell’s 80th birthday, next year. It will be scored for guitar and orchestra, and premiered by Kenny next year.
I posted the piece below and decided to see how quickly things “show up” on the internet. Thirty seconds later I entered “Yahara River Valley Boys” into a Google search engine and BAM! it was there. I went to PIPL and put in my name: the picture and my name, along with everyone else’s in the band, are on PIPL. We have a sobering and terrifying speed of communication with everyone who has internet access (and the interest). Note to self: be careful what you write!
Greg Brown obviously had some time on his hands this summer and scanned some old slides and unearthed a bit more of my bluegrass past: The Yahara Valley River Boys. This would be 1972, I think. From left to right: Greg Brown, fiddle, Roger Bourland, guitar, Jamie Shelton, electric bass, and Ed Fyffe, banjo.
[Photo: Greg Brown]
It is common for men my age to start losing their hearing, especially the upper range. It is also common for men my age to deny that they have a problem. Part of my problem [these days] is that people have a tendency to slur their words. Some portions of words project more easily than others and many times people just don’t enunciate.
Enter the Android operating system. I’d seen it in action, and I especially was envious of the Goggle ap, where one can take a picture of a bar code, or a product, and it will tell you what it is, where to buy it, and what the prices are. I was also impressed with the voice recognition software.
I am now the somewhat proud owner of a Droid X, available through Verizon. Somewhat in that I miss the UI (user interface) of webOS from my Palm Pre, but I like the general zippyness and new aps that Android has.
After a few days of experimenting with the voice recognition software, I realized that clearly enunciated words get transcribed most readily. What does this mean or imply? That we will become a nation of enunciators so that our smart phones can effectively understand us, thereby not having to use a real or virtual keyboard.
Parents, REJOICE! Your tween or teens will have to join the revolution of good enunciators or be the SO-TWO-YEARS-AGO laggards of people who only use a keyboard.
The day of voice commands and transcription is here, and it WILL change society and our interactions with each other. Will it eventually smooth out the variety of English accents with it? Will everyone sound like the phone company operator?
Hmm, maybe I should go back and plug in my princess phone.
For the first time in three years, things have slowed down, affording me time to catch up and do things I’ve put off for years. I’ve scanned old photos. I’ve digitized a box full of VHS tapes — good thing, the color was going. I’ve worked on my family tree. I’ve practiced the guitar and it seems all my technique has come back, despite some stiff tendons. I’ve watched movies.
I have not composed any music this summer. As I will be composing non-stop for the next three years, I have no problem letting my creative pool be still. The result of this temporary stillness is a welling up of musical horny-ness. I look forward to and dive into composing music, not unlike the way I look forward to making love. My heart beats a bit faster, my whole body is very sensitive, my eyes are probably slightly dilated, and become very focused. But today, and of late, the waters are still, and it’s a nice break.
I have blogged less, rather, sketching out topics to write about in future posts. I’m building up a momentum to jump back in. For now, as I mentioned a few posts ago, I’m blogging to you psychically.
In my family tree correspondences, I met woman named Valerie who shared some family history and photos. The seated gentleman in the photo above is Tilberry Miles Arnold, my great-great grandfather through my mother’s mother’s father. About Tilberry, she writes:
[...] Elias Arnold was a very poor hog farmer. I asked my grandmother about that and she said that was true and Tilberry grew up I guess thinking he wasn’t going to work that hard. Elizabeth Pock, his wife, made all the business decisions and she is the one that went to auction and bought and sold cattle. She is responsible for them Ibeing able to purchase that big beautiful home (still standing incidentally). The rocking chair he is in the those pictures, is where he sat from the time he was young till he grew old. She said he never worked a lick in his life.
In the early 1960s, pre-Beatles in America, we fell in love with a television show that showed on Saturday nights called HOOTENANNY. I’ve never forgotten the theme song: “It’s hootenanny, hootenanny, Saturday night…” and different groups would sing the theme each week. As I look at this promotion for a 3 DVD set of that series (that I just might have to purchase), so many memories of that time come back. I love the songs, the terrific harmony, and their gosh-darn wholesomeness.
WIkipedia defines a hootenanny as:
Hootenanny is an Appalachian colloquialism that was used in early twentieth century America to refer to things whose names were forgotten or unknown. In this usage it was synonymous with thingamajig or whatchamacallit, as in “hand me that hootenanny.” Hootenanny was also an old country word for “party”. Now, most commonly, it refers to a folk-music party.
I’ve seen a lot of articles about the joy and limitations of a new generation of toys built on one’s brain waves contolling some parameter in the game.
For the last two months, I have been blogging psychically, having a running post, for you, as I go through my life. It’s almost turning into The Truman Show. I’m hoping this new brain control stuff starts working, just think of the possibilities! But for bloggers, it could be a very handy tool. Meditating could become a tax deduction, or a source of income–depending on what you do with it.
I’ve heard that it’s common for men who turn fifty to go out and buy themselves a drum set. Some call it a midlife crisis. I say it’s never too late to rock n roll. And I prefer to call it it a midlife exuberance, in fact I’ve had several so far and am having another one this summer.
A few weeks ago we went to the Hollywood Bowl and heard three different groups that featured acoustic guitars and a male-female singer-songwriter duos (Swell Season, She and Him, The Bird and the Bee). I was amazed that I liked all three groups and their songs as well. But most resonant with me that evening was the thrilling and vibrant sounds of the acoustic guitars.
As I’ve mentioned below, my parents bought me my first guitar in 1965. My second one was an Eko acoustic 12-string guitar that I bought with money from my paper route (delivering the Milwaukee Journal in Green Bay, Wisconsin). In high school, my various rock bands brought in some income, and I put whatever money I made back into getting new guitars. I purchased my last guitar in 1970–a Gibson Dove. I have had it ever since. In 1973, I stopped playing the guitar a spent all my energy learning to play the piano. I wanted more notes. And, after too many nights of playing music in bars, and too many nights of playing manic Bluegrass rhythm guitar (using only four chords), I realized that that kind of musician path was not one I was interested in. After falling in love with Stravinsky’s Petrouchka, I turned my back on the instrument I played between 13 and 21.
I suddenly realized that people would kill to have the guitar technique that I do, and know the songs that I know. And I had decided to let that skill and knowledge go to sleep. Until a few weeks ago.
I decided to buy a new guitar. As musicians all know, when you get a new instrument, it brings out the musician in you, and you play and play and play. Music just pours out. Well, that’s what I’ve been doing. All the technique that I haven’t used since the early 1970s came back. That’s amazing. My callouses have slowly come back. Last week, Kenny Burrell, who was thrilled to hear that I had taken up the guitar again, gave me advice on building up callouses: “When your fingers hurt, stop playing.” A wise man.
So although I am revisiting all the old songs I knew from the 60s and 70s, I’m learning a lot of new songs as well. I’ve put together a huge playlist that I’ll play along with and I’ll just play along with whatever Daniel is listening to, or what is being watched on TV or on a movie. Having to do lightning-quick retuning in between songs is a technique I’d forgotten, but my ear is good as ever.
This experience has been a familiar one, almost like “coming out.” I’ve come out as a tonal composer; I’ve come out as a gay man; and now I’ve come out as a guitar player.
I never knew that I was in the closet as a guitarist until I found that no matter who I told that I’d just bought a new guitar, they ALL had no idea I ever played the guitar. Was I embarrassed to be a guitar player? As a CLASSICAL COMPOSER/guitarist? Jeepers, only Berlioz was that. But lo and behold, I found an embarrassment in the closet (literally) and it is now out and ready to be seen and played.
ALL THERE IS IS LOVE (1993)
Music: Roger Bourland
Words: Paul Monette
Performers: Phil Hettema, speaker; Gay Men’s Chorus of Los Angeles, Jon Bailey, conductor.
Publisher: Yelton Rhodes Music (Los Angeles)
Paul Monette gave me permission to set an excerpt of the introduction to his collection of early poems LOVE SONGS FOR ROG, recited here by Phil Hettema. Paul and I wrote this piece as a kind of thank you note for the Gay Men’s Chorus of Los Angeles’ powerful performances of HIDDEN LEGACIES.
I went to PIPL and put in my name: the picture and my name, along with everyone else’s in the band, are on PIPL. We have a sobering and terrifying speed of communication with everyone who has internet access (and the interest). Note to self: be careful what you write!
It is common for men my age to start losing their hearing, especially the upper range. It is also common for men my age to deny that they have a problem. Part of my problem [these days] is that people have a tendency to slur their words. Some portions of words project more easily than others and many times people just don’t enunciate. 
The day of voice commands and transcription is here, and it WILL change society and our interactions with each other. Will it eventually smooth out the variety of English accents with it? Will everyone sound like the phone company operator?
I decided to buy a new guitar. As musicians all know, when you get a new instrument, it brings out the musician in you, and you play and play and play. Music just pours out. Well, that’s what I’ve been doing. All the technique that I haven’t used since the early 1970s came back. That’s amazing. My callouses have slowly come back. Last week, Kenny Burrell, who was thrilled to hear that I had taken up the guitar again, gave me advice on building up callouses: “When your fingers hurt, stop playing.” A wise man.
