Yesterday I was amazed by the desperation of a young composer who came to visit me. Jean Claude flew all the way from Paris to interview me about the UCLA new Masters degree in film composition, er, visual media. He was SOOOO excited that we were about to launch this degree. In the course of our conversation, I really felt that I as speaking to a Jew trapped in Nazi Germany begging for asylum. He kept starting sentences and I would finish them.
In Paris, as a composer you…
….have to compose in a post-Boulezian style.
Right! If I were to try to…
…use a major and minor triad it would be unacceptable.
Yeah! I would be an outcast, thrown out of school; everyone would…
…laugh at you. You would no longer be cool.
It drives me crazy: there is only ONE style of music that can be written one school one can go to, it’s like…
…nazi Germany.
Yeah, I guess you’re right.
I talked to him about what it is that film music needs to do, and one of those things is to allow the listener to cry. I asked him:
Can you imagine any passage in Boulez’s music making anyone cry?
He laughed and then asked:
Does your school have a stylistic imperative?
No, we are a very catholic school (with a small “c”) so if you really want to write a 12-tone ballet, or a tonal film score for your masters thesis, that’s up to you. We try to help you become who you are, not try to create yet another Boulez clone.
This information was cathartic evidently. He was brimming with happiness. Seeing that he clearly needed some articulation of this newfound freedom, I grabbed my Chair’s Wand and zapped him saying “YOU DO NOT HAVE TO WRITE LIKE PIERRE BOULEZ EVER, EVER AGAIN! and you can quote me.”
The exorcism was complete.
I related this story to Byron Adams last night who claimed that HE was the true heir to the French tradition. “Boulez” is a German” is sputtered as he forcefully put down his wine glass.
[Sketch by Ted Norman of a rehearsal with Pierre Boulez of Le Marteau signed by the performers: Catherine Gayer, Les Remsen, Arthu Gleghorn, William Kraft, Dorothy Remsen, Milton Thomas, Pierre Boulez]
Two years ago I discontinued the LA Times. I just never read it, was tired of the music critics, and preferred to get my news on the internet. Yesterday I started the paper again. Like a kid at Xmas I got up early to fetch and read my Tuesday LA Times. I missed it. The LA Times online sucks, and I could never warm up to it. The layout too difficult to traverse, and almost impossible to find Mark Swed’s reviews.
Before I was appointed Chair of the UCLA Music Department, I had been blogging furiously. My dad later confessed he thought I was bored. Maybe I was.
Bloggers get their “news” from reading other blogs and online news, and sometimes from real life — you know, the kind where you leave your computer and go outside? I think I had become the former. I have wrestled with giving my readers more music stuff — God knows I am hounded by people all over the world begging me for my Rufus Wainwright piano transcriptions (whom I refuse) — but I am paid, and students pay UCLA to get that information, so for those who want that from me at this point in my life, I can’t guarantee that I can always help you there. When I retire from teaching, my guess it that I will be much more loquacious about music issues. Most of the hard core music bloggers don’t also teach at a college or university, so their blog IS their lectern. I talk her e about music on my own terms. I embrace the “life” portion of my blog’s mission statement as much as the music part. For that reason, this blog can be, as my father criticized it one day, “all over the place” and that’s just fine with me. I don’t earn a cent from this blog but have found it tremendously envigorating to write. And knowing that I have a faithful group of readers makes it worthwhile.
I fantasize that when I no longer teach, I will have an enormous amount of things to share with my readers that now are completely inappropriate to my job as a teacher and my position as Chair. Nonetheless, I still have a hell of a lot to say and will continue to say it here.
I say all this because school will be starting in a few weeks here at UCLA, and my job as Chair will really begin. The summer has just been practice. I hope that the blog does not suffer due to lack of hours in the day, but I will make a concerted effort to keep it up.
The Smirking Chimp dug up a marvelous piece of reseearch from Journal of Epidemiology and Community Health, is entitled “Elvis to Eminem: Quantifying the price of fame through early mortality of European and North American rock and pop stars.” Why am I not surprised that rock stars’ health is not as robust as they get older? Look at the graph above and you’ll see that European’s are generally healthier than Americans. Smirk points out that European’s have better government supplied health care, whereas unless American rockers were smart when they earned the big bucks (they rarely were), they likely don’t have the kind of insurance that those of us with regular jobs have.
So, parents, if your kids decide to be rock stars, emphasize that they get their health insurance plans in line as soon as they leave home!
This was one of my favorite Lovin’ Spoonful songs. A peculiar stylistic mixture: a classical head, a country bridge, and it ends on an unresolved dominant 7th chord. Who knew that John Sebastian played the harp, I mean a REAL harp? I don’t understand why this group hasn’t fared as well in the oldies department. They were a terrific group.
A year ago I spent 10 days in Maui with Mark Carlson working on the third installment of settings of poetry of Francisco X Alarcón. The first set was commissioned by Vance Wolverton and the Cal State Women’s Fullerton Women’s Chorus. Books 2 and 3 were commissioned by Iris Levine and Vox Femina/Los Angeles. (All are available from Yelton Rhodes Music.)
ALARCON MADRIGALS, Book 3 (2006)
Music by Roger Bourland
Poetry by Francisco X Alarcón
Performed by Vox Femina/LA, Iris Levine, conductor (May 2007)
es triste ser vaso y nunca llenarse
ser puerta y siempre quedarse trancada
ser cama sentirse mortaja no lecho
es triste ser uno y nunca sumar dos
ser ave sin nido ser santo sin vela
ser solo y vivir soñando abrazos
•
3. Like a crazed flower
there has never been sunlight for this love,
like a crazed flower it buds in the dark,
is at once a crown of thorns and
a spring garland around the temples
a fire, a wound, the bitterest fruit,
but a breeze as well, a source of water,
your breath –– a bite to the soul,
your chest––a tree trunk in the current
make me walk on the turbid waters,
be the ax that breaks this lock,
the dew that weeps from trees
If I become mute kissing your thighs,
it’s that my heart eagerly
searches your flesh for a new dawn
•
4. Face and Heart
may our ears hear what nobody wants to hear
may our eyes see what everyone wants to hide
may our mouths speak our true faces and hearts
may our arms be branches that give shade and joy
let us be a drizzle, a sudden storm
let us get wet in the rain
let us be the key, the hand, the door, the kick, the ball, the road
let us arrive as children to this huge playground ––
the universe
•
5. Guardian Angel
When I felt so sad and all alone
Wanting to cry in the classroom
The girl sitting next to me
Suddenly held my hand
And with the darkest and most tender eyes
I’ve ever seen
Told me without a word
“Don’t worry, you are not alone.”
Some of my favorite Spanish wines included a grape that I hadn’t known: Cariñena, which in Catalunya is called Samso. If you find this in a blend, try it out. I have no idea whether this wine makes it out to California, but I will keep my eyes open for it. The Wine Info Site provided this information:
I have purged the salutation “dear” as in “Dear Susan,” and have replaced it with the more to the point “Susan” as I would if I called Susan on the phone. Usually she can tell it’s me by the timbre in my voice. For someone who doesn’t know or recognize my voice, I would say “Susan, this is Roger Bourland…” In an email, in that the reader can see who the note is from, this extra identification is unnecessary.
“Dear” seems to be from a different era. A very different era. I mean, the only people I can think of that say “dear” to each other these days are old ladies and queeny men. I find it so amusing when some of my more virile, straight male friends write me an email that says “Dear Roger,” — it just sounds so GAY!
And when you are going back and forth about something as you would in an instant message situation, there is no need to have a salutation at all. Just start typing.
Email has afforded new closing lines. The old business standard is “Sincerely yours,” which sounds kinda corny these days. The one I see the most is “Best,” or “All best” which both are short for “All best wishes,” which sounds like a New Years Eve toast. Many of my close friends will give me a textual smack on the lips and hug by typing “xoxoxo” followed by their name.
My favorite closing is taken from James Merrill Ouija board “inspired” epic poem “The Changing Light at Sandover.” He has many eccentric spellings that were obviously short cuts for the Ouija transcription. It’s the word “yrs,” short for “Yours,” which is itself short for “Sincerely yours,”. So if this were an email, I like the quirky close of
I’ve spent the last 10 days in Spain on the Costa Brava. I’ve been blogging to y’all daily in my mind, recharging my batteries, rethinking everything, eating fabulous Catalan cuisine and discovering amazing Spanish wines. Gaudi and Dali have been my constant companions. No UCLA, no blogging, no composing, no dogs, no bills, no Los Angeles. We fly home tomorrow hoping to avoid Hurricane Ding Dong or whatever the hell hurricane is approaching the East coast.
I cherish my commenters: thank you for participating in my reality. I have much more to say now. Apologies for not responding to your smart comments.
[Interview with with Roger Bourland by Vance Wolverton, 1994]
VW: How did you come to choral music or composing choral music?
RB: My earliest experiences with choral music were in church because my father was a minister. I recall singing in church with my family: my grandfather singing bass, my grandmother singing soprano, and my mother singing alto. I would try to sing tenor, which was kind of tricky for a little boy. I joined a boys’ choir in third grade in Albuquerque, which was unforgettable, and continued to sing in various church and school choirs. I was in rock-androll bands in high school and college and taught people their vocal parts by ear. Then in college I joined the Choral Union, directed by Robert Fountain. We performed Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms and the Spring Symphony of Benjamin Britten. It was bewildering to me, but when we performed with an orchestra in front of an audience, suddenly the music made sense and became a very magical experience.
VW: Who were your teachers andor models?
RB: Probably my greatest teacher was my exposure to choral music in church. None of my academic teachers were choral people. Choral music was always the “nerdiest” of musical arts for the modem composer. It was much “cooler” to write a cello concerto or a string quartet than a choral piece. I was Randall Thompson’s assistant in 1980, after he had a stroke. I handled his correspondence and some musical projects for him. He would tell me to move this voice here and that voice there and turn SATB into a piece for women’s choir, etc. That year, I wrote 12 hymns and showed them to Randall Thompson. He had interesting things to say about ranges, such as “don’t write too high for hymns, because typical people would be screaming if you write G’s for them,” and also taught me some nifty things about inner voices. One of the most valuable learning experiences for me was when I accompanied Mr. Thompson to a high school choral festival in Fredonia, New York in December of 1980, where they performed a concert of his music. It was touching to see how many people loved his music and how his music speaks to and moves people.
VW: What is your source of inspiration?
RB: I believe we are created in the “image” of God, and one of the qualities of God is to create. I believe all of us share in that creativity, whether through creatingchildren, compositions, learning experiences, or whatever. Another source of inspiration for me is studying patterns in nature. An example is a snowflake-there is symmetry, beauty, and a transitoriness. A composer’s creation evaporates in the air but lives on in the memory of the listener-much the way a snowflake eventually melts. Composing is a magical art.
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