Who's Going to Play This?

For most of my compositions, I have a clear understanding of who will play the piece. At least the first time. Although I hope for many, many performers to program my works, there is a specific musician or ensemble I have in mind when I am writing. What I know of their abilities, their likes and dislikes, and even their personalities have played a part in my decisions. It feels like a partnership, and I like the opportunity to receive feedback about what I've written and to make changes when something just doesn't work.

Now I find myself working little by little on a piece without a predetermined performer. It fits with my new practice of committing to a purpose because the outcome is important to me, even if I can't see clearly how to get from where I am to where I want to be. I know where the first step is, though. Once I get there, and take enough time to enjoy that bit of the journey, I can figure out where Step #2 lies. I find that I am on several different journeys, and their steps are not all moving at the same pace. It is a rather invigorating dance when I take a moment to think about it.

With this project, I am envisioning sound relationships in a more idealized way. I'm not sure what the end result will be, but it is a liberating process. There may be many changes once I have an opportunity for the work to be performed, but I believe that it is a very honest representation of my creativity so far. It is a bit slower going than some of my other compositions, but I am not in a hurry. I am listening deeply and consciously to what I have written, so I feel much more in tune with every detail of what I am creating. I am being a bit meticulous about knowing what comes next, and I am waiting to create more of the piece until I am in a place of trusting myself and the music. And the rest of my life's dance continues around it and within it.

All in the Timing

When I am working on a piece of music, I am very conscious of the temporal elements. How do different sections relate to one another in length? How much time am I spending on a particular theme? Am I giving the listener enough time to take it in, or am I surpassing a typical listener's attention span? Sometimes, I find myself writing more music to extend a portion of a piece that flits by too quickly, and on other occasions I cast aside something that just doesn't work in the pacing of a piece. Ideally, I want each portion of a work to take just the right amount of time to be appreciated and to relate well to the grand scheme of the piece. Of course, I don't know what any listener's actual experience is going to be, so I rely on what works for my own ears and trust the music.

This week, I have had a series of days in which I didn't do everything I had intended with my day. There are goals I have in several different areas of my life, and when I am not pushing forward toward all of them, I have had a tendency to beat myself up. It is as if I have to cover new ground each day or else I will be doomed to failure.

This isn't reality, though. Far from it. There is something in each step to appreciate, and moving on too quickly would be like cutting short a section in a piece of music. When I take the time to truly recognize what I am gaining from being where I am in this moment, I am better prepared for what comes next. If I go careening forward in a mad attempt to accomplish more and get where I'm headed faster, I can easily slip into panic mode. Today, I am listening to myself a little better. I have plenty of things I want to do today, but I also realize that I have tomorrow. And the day after that. And I am where I am supposed to be right now.

Self-Fulfilling Prophets, We

I had a conversation with someone yesterday who didn't believe she was being heard by a third party. Her initial demeanor was tense and agitated, and she became more so as we talked. I listened, I said that I heard she was frustrated about not being heard, and that things weren't going the way she thought they should. My words didn't really have a chance in that conversation, which ended with a bit of a threat toward me implying that I would have to do something about the situation. When she disengaged, I understood exactly how she felt about not being heard.

This complaint is not a new one for this individual. What I noticed as she spoke is that she repeated herself several times, and her voice had an edge to it. In fact her body was visibly shaking from the intensity of her emotion. She stated a lot of her beliefs as absolutes (i.e. "x should not happen," "y has to be this way," etc.), and the conversation was almost entirely on her terms. She wasn't really interested in my response, and she left when she chose to do so without opportunity for discourse. Basically, she did a lot of things that made what she had to say a bit more challenging to hear.

As I sat down today to send out some pieces to competitions and commissioning opportunities, I found myself doing something very similar. When I become convinced that I don't have a chance of being recognized or acknowledged, I act in a way that makes it more difficult to get recognition or acknowledgment. I pass up opportunities, or I approach the task of assembling the submission materials as a chore and an inconvenience. In reality, what I want can become more possible if I direct my energy appropriately, but I sometimes become bogged down by my doubts and fears and my energy becomes devoted to feeding those things instead. Fortunately, I recognized it today, and I sat back and thought, "What would it be like if the music I created won this competition?" I liked what I saw, and I was able to jump back into going for what I wanted with a smile.

It's what I want for the people I encounter, whether I see them for a moment or every day. I want them to get how much control they have over whether their fears or their hopes win their time and attention. I want to be a part of their awakening to how different their experience of life could be, and that it is a choice they can make, moment by moment. And I'm realizing that I don't have to go out and make opportunities for myself to be a catalyst in this way. The opportunities for me are all around me. All I have to do is notice them.

Warrior's Music

There have been some compositional ideas rattling around in my head since my time at Way of a Warrior last week. Much of the training was quite experiential; there was something to be learned in physical action rather than just sitting and listening to a lecture. One morning, exercising outside, I was visually taking in a beautiful serene mountain lake, smelling clean air and freshly cut grass, feeling the dew on my leg cooled by the morning breeze, and hearing bird calls from close by and a far off train. I was reminded of John Cage's philosophy as I thought: What incredible music!

For some of my ideas I want to submit for film or television scores, it works to keep it simple without being simplistic. But too often, I limit myself in my other compositional efforts by believing that I have to write something "accessible" or at least something that musicians will want to perform. It can be paralyzing at times, because ultimately I have to admit that I don't really know what other people will listen to or want to play. I can also get into telling myself that I won't write anything worth people's time or effort. Certainly not a motivational place to be.

Today I had a little time to start re-conceptualizing a piece I started a couple of months ago and dropped. After my trip to New York in March, there were wondrous ideas for a percussion piece floating around in my head, but when I started to get them on paper I was dissatisfied with the result. Now I am thinking about that piece in a new way... as a potential experience rather than mere sounds.

It's not a completely novel idea, but I don't really believe that everything (or anything) I do has to be completely novel. Still, I haven't often allowed myself the free rein to be as creative as I can be. Now I have been reawakened to the potency of experiential art, and I want to approach the music I write as openly as I can, stretching that aspect of myself to the fullness of its capacity as well. When I am excited about what I want to write, I am much more likely to carve out time to create. And when I pour my complete self into what I am creating, I know my effort won't be wasted.

Fast Fliers

Another little piece of learning for me last week happened during a morning run, or "fly" as it was called. I found that when I run with trustworthy fast fliers, I can push myself to my limit without worrying about leaving someone behind, and I can stay within my limits without pushing too far, trusting that I won't be left behind.

This was important for me, because my life doesn't often have me partnering for long periods of time with people who are more capable than I in a particular area. I find myself holding back from stretching as far as I can because I'm conscious of the abilities of some people around me. And I often don't risk trusting someone to stick with me when I need to take things slowly. I believe in those instances that I will be holding someone back, that I will be annoying, or that I need to be as good as they are before I partner with them.

My flying lesson about trusting people now has me on the lookout for people who can do really well things I'm passionate about. I'm willing now to trust that inviting these people into partnership with what I am creating in my life will allow me to truly stretch to the limits of my capabilities. In music, as well as in many other things.