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.

Three cheers for melody!

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.

When I was thirteen, my parents decided to buy me a musical instrument, and debated between a saxophone and a guitar. We already had an upright piano which evidently wasn’t one of the options. On my birthday in 1963, they bought me a guitar and an instruction book so that I could teach myself. Being one of three preacher’s kids (PK), they didn’t have a lot of disposable income to afford lessons. So, I taught myself to play the guitar.

The guitar’s job, it seemed, was to provide the chords. The melody was to be sung by me. That was my musical reality for quite some time. This meant that I learned to develop a good sense of how chords go together by playing the guitar. I played folk music, Beatles, Byrds, Buffalo Springfiield, Crosby Stills and Nash, Doors, Cream, Hendricks and Dylan. I realized, looking back, that I played my guitar all the time from 1965 to 1973. Then, I got tired of pop music and got tired of the guitar. I wanted more notes. I wanted cooler chords. I wanted more of a challenge.

Sitting in my dormitory room in 1971 in Madison Wisconsin, listening to Stravinsky’s Petrouchka, my life changed. If THIS was what was going on in classical music, I wanted to be a part of it. I auditioned to be accepted as a music major a year later and was accepted.

My parents’ choice of a guitar for me had the following effects: I developed an excellent ear for playing along with whatever music was playing. This may be a genetic trait as my father’s father, and my mother’s mother’s sisters all played by ear and barely read music. I did not develop a good sense of reading music, as guitar music, especially in the 60s, did not require knowledge of reading music. All I needed to know was the names of chords. I didn’t develop the ability to pick out melodies or basses on the guitar until later when I became bored with the endless chugging that a rhythm guitarist does.

Later, when I became a classical composer, my music, at first, was harmonically driven. Then I discovered non-sung melody. The guitar didn’t have enough notes for what I wanted to do, so I studied piano in college. I was never a good sight-reader, but could crash through music at my own pace if need be. As my love for melody grew, so did my ability to write good tunes. Then I discovered the magical world of counterpoint and how it is melodic, free-flowing chord progressions.

Had my parents bought me a saxophone, my guess is that I would have gravitated more towards jazz. I probably would have played in the marching band, or the jazz ensemble in high school. I would have had a much better sight reading ability, at least for a single line. Who knows whether I would have developed a good sense of harmony playing only a monophonic instrument. And perhaps had I played in ensembles more, I might have been more gregarious and social. Instead, I gravitated towards being a loner, as composers tend to do. Perhaps my parents saw that in me as a 12-year old and that is why they bought me a guitar. Or maybe that didn’t want the sound of a honking saxophone in their house.

One of the purgatorial experiences professional musicians must endure, is the regretful party-goer: “My parents paid for me to have [piano] lessons when I was little, and I did it for a while and then stopped. I SOOOO regret not continuing in my lessons, but I wanted to …” They take a swig of their vodka, and I then absolve them of all regret as the Father-Confessor of Music, and say “…there there, if you really wish you had continued your lessons, start again next week. But budget time to practice your instrument every day. Otherwise, get over it.”

I am very happy the way I turned out. No, I didn’t have a career as a concert pianist, nor have I ever been a great performer, but I get by just fine. I can play along with almost anything as I’m hearing it for the first time. I thank playing the guitar for this. My sense of harmony eventually translated to the piano (keyboard harmony) and to being a composer who can look at a page and “hear” the music.

I recently bought a new guitar–first time since 1970. I realized that I know thousands of songs on the guitar, and why the hell was I not playing them or sharing them with others? The beauty of the sound has brought back a flood of all the great songs I used to play between 1965 – 1973: a golden era in popular music, and I was there, playing along.

“Red Black Window” is from the three movement set for soprano saxophone, viola and cello, THREE DARK PAINTINGS (1983) with music by Roger Bourland and choreography by Dorothy Massalski. The recording is from a concert of the Composers in Red Sneakers with Rikk Stone, soprano saxophone, Scott Woolweaver, viola, and Karen Kaderavac, cello performing.

This performance is from one in Sanders Theater, in the late 1980s.

There was something missing in my life: I realized it was TOUCH. No, not being touched, the electro-acoustic piece by Morton Subotnick from the 1970s.

I remember first moving to Boston in 1976 to attend the New England Conservatory of Music. First I lived in Malden, but that was SO boring, I eventually found a dive on Westland Ave for $75 a week. The day I moved in, a woman with her front teeth missing sitting on the steps next door, who I was later to learn was called “Blow Job,” asked me whether I wanted one for $5. My cheeks turned red and I said NO, but thank you for asking–being the polite midwestern boy my parents had raised me to be.

Several months later, I became engaged in late night music war with some dude who decided to play disco at full blast at two in the morning while he screamed at his woman. He was on a Donna Summer’s Greatest Hits thing. I decided I would try to come back at him with Pierrot Lunaire. It just didn’t have the power that a disco groove does. I came back with Subotnick’s TOUCH. It took a while to get going, but once it kicked in, it kicked ass! I was so proud and so cool, dueling with some pimp screaming at his–well, all of a sudden, the music turned down. I heard a very angry black woman tell of the dude playing the music. Whoa! I turned Morton down, and called it a draw.

I couldn’t find a YouTube clip for this music, so you should do your homework to see whether you can buy it. And if not, go here and download it yourself.

Here is an historic recording of Charles Ives singing “They are There!” I remember first hearing this on the Columbia multi-LP set of Ives’ complete work in the 1970s. In this performance, I hear a crusty old New Englander, slipping in swear words here and there. I hear what we all know and love about Charles Ives, the simultaneities of musics, the dirty harmonies, the crazy patriotic quotes, and with the addition of his voice there is another element: a sense of reckless abandon, a sense of kookiness, and an almost drunken delivery (although I doubt he was drunk in this performance)–all flipping the finger at tuxedo-ed and perfect performances.

Here is Ives playing from “The Alcotts” from his CONCORD SONATA, just to mellow things out a bit here.

James Newton Howard visited UCLA this week and presented some of his recent film scores to our students. Even though school is almost out, there was a terrific turn out. I was only able to stay for a portion of his talk, but found him bright, eloquent and enthusiastic about sharing his life and music with students.

As I looked at him, I couldn’t help but notice that we is in excellent shape. So I blurted out: “James: I’m looking at your body, and you look terrific. For someone who spends their life sitting on their butt, you look great. Do you work out?” He seemed pleased to have been asked this. I had an ulterior motive in that I wanted our students to hear his response. In a forum that is supposed to be dedicated to technique and musical stuff, I was delighted to hear him extol the value of taking care of your body. “I have a gym in my studio” [of course!] “and I realized many years ago that we’ve got to take care of our bodies! I do eight films a year and exercise helps combat stress and the many long hours of working.”

Thanks for teaching that to our students, James!

Here’s a taste of James talking about his music.
]]> http://rogerbourland.com/2010/06/10/meeting-mr-howard/feed/ 0 http://rogerbourland.com/2010/05/19/thinking-about-inspiration/ http://rogerbourland.com/2010/05/19/thinking-about-inspiration/#comments Wed, 19 May 2010 16:26:53 +0000 Roger Bourland http://rogerbourland.com/?p=5076

Yesterday in a class devoted to a quick overview of Olivier Messaien’s “Quartet for the End of Time,” I went off about composerly “inspiration.” In the case of Messaien, he was inspired by his deep religious views, his love of rhythm, color, modes, textures, and birds.

I asked the class “Is there anything that jumps out of the music saying I AM SACRED!”? Or if another artist shoots up heroin, is his music DRUG MUSIC? And if a composer chooses to compose using one of the many systems popular in the last 100 years, should this music be less musical because its author used a system?”

Artists all face the terror of the blank canvas as they start a new work. We all do different things to get the juices flowing (I’ll focus on composers). They might decide to compose something in sonata form; they decide to compose a composition for one of the many pre-existing ensembles (orchestra, string quartet, piano concerto, etc.); or they have a commission to compose something very specific (film, ringtones, video game music); or they might be inspired by a painting, or a poem, or a story, or a religious concept, or a mathematical procedure, or a challenge. They might work out before composing, or smoke a cigarette or cigar; or smoke a joint, or get drunk, or shoot up something; or have wild anonymous sex; or they might go to mass, or work in the garden, or read a book, or meditate. There might even be someone who takes a baseball bat and smashes a tree. Some will dress up in kinky clothes. Some burn incense. Some only compose late at night, and some only in the early morning. Many times you have to just roll up your sleeves and work, not having time to wait for “inspiration.”

Composers all do different things to get their music out. I need to be careful about glorifying or favoring one method over another as we are all different in our work methods and personalities. Tell students that composers use all these techniques, but all that matters in the long run is the final product.

Just back from the last Green Umbrella concert of the season at Disney Hall. All vigorous pieces by white males born between 1967-79.

I’m proud of the LA Phil for supporting young composers–there have been pieces by composers 40 and younger on most of their new music concerts.

For me, none of the pieces were quite right, but I got what they were trying to do. Meaning, if they were MY student, I’d have some structural opinions. But I learn to keep my mouth shut. The opening guitar piece by Mr Lee was beautifully written for the guitar but seemed to wander very far away. Everybody loves fast music: somtimes people care about the notes in fast music and sometimes we dont’. You know? Mr Norman’s “Gran Turismo” was such a piece. The performance was electrifying. The violin octet was clearly a gas to play. Gustavo hugged everyone of them after the performance. Touch. Yes.

Mr Bermel contributed “Canzonas Americanas” and was downright campy. I felt that the Hollywood Bowl had suddenly kicked into gear: surprisingly populist with modernist wrenches thrown in. The final movement was a good first sketch. Needs more music, but really catchy material. At the intermission everyone was humming it. I kept thinking: this crowd is dying for a tune, but catchy tunes are somewhat rare in this series.Brouwer’s Sonata for guitar was peaceful nocturne; and the final piece by Benzecry jumped up an said hello: strange morphing between filmic textures, spectralism and some Latin rhythms sprinkled in.

I only had use of my sunglasses today as my regular ones are in the shop. So I felt a bit like Jack Nicholson at the Lakers Game.

Oh yeah, Gustavo! He is a joy to watch. He can stay out of the way and keep body motions to a minimum. Or he can move. His body enhanced conducting style took flight especially in Mr Norman’s piece. Composers take note: Mr Dudamel likes fast music that sparkle and percolates.