The school were I work is doing a Stevie Wonder Retrospective in about two months (egad).  I have been tasked (in addition to being the production manager) with arranging one of the 16 numbers for the show - It ain't no use.  Here's the original.

There was a time when I would have scoffed - SCOFFED - at being asked to arrange a Stevie Wonder tune.  But, for both of you who have kept up with this blog know, it has been a long and lonely road paved with getting over my bad self in order to reach the promised land of embracing my mad creative skills.  One such embrace took place in my car on the way home last evening.  Harmonic changes, meter alterations - one cloth right there under weeks of dusty reiteration of the recording settling on a transcription, not an arrangement.

These are the moments I long for, which is not dove - possibly the Pereclete - appearing on my shoulder whispering sweet somethings special, but finding the tool at the bottom of the bag on one last try after skinning my knuckles repeatedly on that same damn Philips head.

When music's all that said and done from dusk till dawn it can lose it's sparkle.  A childhood acquaintance caught me on facebook, asking, "Are you still in love with music?"  Well, we hang out...hold hands sometimes.

Less fervor, more practicality? Less zealotry, more honesty; less sweating, more sensibility?  The honeymoon begin over, the real work begins; a good day being when I revise one bar instead of writing two more?  The long view?

Had an opportunity to see a dress of the new opera Madame White Snake at the Cutler last night.  Here's the info. You should see it - it's a good new work that's engaging.  Props to the BCC kids!

China, China, China. Chinese composer (studied in the west), Chinese librettest, Chinese folk tale, Chinese singers. Supertitles in English AND Italian...kidding - Chinese. 

Here's the rub for me: the composer had three seperate writing styles all in seperate boxes: 1) what sounded to my ear like traditional Chinese writing, or at least, Chinese stylized writing made playable by a western orchestra; 2) very lyric, very tonal, Puccini-esque writing with soaring, beautiful melodies; 3) Atonality with Sprechstimme.  No shit.

Which brings me to the idea of the mashup.  What would have happened, I thought as I left, if he had more aggressively worked to combine the three, or even two of the elements, into a unique voice for this work? 

My teacher told a story wherein he had an opportunity to lunch with Olivier Messiaen.  As the story goes, my teacher asked Messiaen what he thought about Jazz, to wit, he replied that he "...destested the intermingling of cultural musics, which could only lead to the weakening of both."  As my teacher would later put it to me in his own words, "When you mix water and wine, you get neither."

Not so sure.  A big fan of Multiculturalism I am not, (and I'm not exactly talking about this) but there's got to be a line between originality in terms of combining influences and trying to please everybody in a way that's like forcing together two colors of play-doh.  There's a slippery slope for me here, however, which leads down the slip'n'slide to the mud puddle of, say, using folk music, poly-tonality and electronica in a single piece, or, for that matter, having classical players try to pull off swing.  Is the difining charactistic creativity?  Maybe!

To show that I'm not really a poop.  I found this via this guy (I know, right?).  Can't say I understand the aesthetic, but I appreciate the creative amalgamation of sound.

And so, Lent beginneth.  Say what you will, but keeping track of your year via the church calendar is downright convenient.  As is my yearly tradition, I am giving up green vegetables and all of my New Year's resolutions.

This year, the bidding to a Holy Lent also coincides with not getting a position, the 1st anniversary of my friend's death, and a major medical showdown for a family member, so, it's generally been really easy to focus on writing.  I was listening to a radio interview with Walter Kirn, who wrote the novel which was turned into the movie, Up in the Air, which I haven't yet seen, so don't blow it for me.  He was talking about how, after he had written the book, he met with the same experience he wrote about, except that he was being terminated from a job by a guy who came in special to do it.  When the host asked if he had said something kitschy like, "Hey, I wrote the book on this!" (radio laugh track), he chuckled and said, "Well, art may imitate life, but when life happens, the last thing you think of is Art."

Walking out on the portico, throwing your arms as wide as can be and welcoming the universe in to uplift your greatness is cute.  This, however, (and among other reasons) is why I love Lindsey Vonn.  She skis on a bum leg, takes shit for posing in the SI swimsuit issue and STILL wins the gold by a half second.  Why? All she does is prepare. Evan Lysacek, too. And Ohno and Davis and White - who had the gold in hand and STILL went out and stomped the 1260- and, for that matter, Twyla Tharp, who I'm re-reading.  From the porch, I saw the preparation horse in it's stall.

Self imposed dry spells are the dryest.  They are not dry in that there is a deliberate attempt to not create, but that there is a deliberate attempt to not not create.

There are so many road blocks it's easy to just say that the roadblocks are part of the process, but allowing them to be so is a little like saying that the war could be won if only not for the other army coming down the hill.

I was asked at a party last night what I was working on and it took me a while to come up with a coherent, engaging answer.

But it's not about the socks.  It's about square one.  Which is where I'm at.