"A Song of Singing" written for the Delray Beach Chorale
Artistic Intentions
Once of my most recent works is a new wind ensemble piece for Mark Scatterday and the Eastman Wind Ensemble.
Distant Moons is a work inspired by the photography of Ansel Adams. As I was sketching out the piece, I wanted to learn more about Adams, his life, and his work. I have been an admirer of his photography for some time, although I have never known all that much about him. (One fascinating tidbit - Adams was actually a very gifted pianist and for much of his youth, planned to become a professional musician.)
So, a few months ago I decided I would read a biography of the great American artist.
I walked down the street to my town library, but unfortunately the only two "Ansel Adams" records they had on the shelves were a book of his color photographs and a DVD about his life. So, I asked if I could request a biography from another library. Indeed, a few nearby libraries had biographies, and through a inter-library loan agreement, they "ordered" the Mary Street Alinder biography of Ansel Adams. It arrived a couple of weeks later and I began reading a chunk of pages each night before bed.
One night, I was reading steadily through page 153 and suddenly came upon a sentence that stopped me dead in my tracks. I literally read it about 10 times, finding it profound and refreshing:
"Ansel, in contrast, felt that art must be created free from any intention other than the creation of beauty."
The "in contrast" refers to the work of László Moholy-Nagy, a European contemporary of Adams who was a leader in the avant-garde movement. Moholy-Nagy believed that "art should be used for social change." Adams disagreed, professing that the creation of beauty should be the only artistic intention - the sole reason for creating a work of art.
As a composer, I have always felt like I am on a quest to find beauty, and reading this quote over and over solidifies that idea in my mind. Surely what I am searching for most when writing music is beauty - bringing beauty to life and sharing it with others. Many intentions get in the way - what we "want" the piece to do, how we want it to unfold, how we want others to react to it.
There are undoubtedly many intentions and considerations floating around in our heads as we attempt to create a work of art. What I think I love so much about Adams' idea is that it reassures my desire to wipe all that excess intention and clutter away and simply create beauty.
Thanks, Ansel.
A Really Old Book
A few weekends ago, I was at a Historical Society sale in my town. I happened to spot a rather old book on a large table covered in books large and small, all on sale for 25 or 50 cents. I looked closely at the worn cover and read the faded title "Songs for the Sanctuary."
Interesting, I thought.
I got distracted and put the book down, but came back to it later and thumbed through the many pages. The book contains no actual sheet music, just texts for sacred hymns and psalms. The book was published in 1869 and the pages are still in pretty good shape considering the age of this book.
I bought the book and over the next few days, skimmed through the 1300+ texts in the book.
I'm astonished at the beauty of many of these texts - most are settings and variations of hymn texts, psalm texts, and biblical verses. It is not clear who actually wrote/adapted each specific text, as the book is a collection of these "songs," which have surely evolved over decades and centuries. However, many of these beautiful texts have likely been lost from sacred service music, due to their "dated" language.
In my love for old things, I find the antique nature of some of the language to be wonderful and certainly worth preserving.
I quickly realized that this book will be a fantastic source of texts to use in future compositions. I have already completed two works with texts drawn from this book: Once More, My Soul and An Hour of Hallowed Peace. I hope that I will be able to draw inspiration from the book for years to come.
Endings
I'm finishing up a trumpet and piano piece, which got me thinking about endings. I love writing endings. Sometimes it is the hardest section of a piece to compose, but I love it anyway. Most composers probably agree that starting a piece is often the hardest part, but there is a certain pressure that looms when it comes time to write an ending. You have to wrap everything up - successfully, creatively, and uniquely. The ending is also a great opportunity - to transform the music you've written, to "kick it up a notch" and take the listener somewhere special.
Endings are often where we find composers being the most creative.
Sometimes composers choose to bring the music to its highest moment of tension at the ending, saving the climax for the very end. Other times, the ending is understated, drawing the piece to a close in a hushed calm. Still other times, endings surprise us with their wit. Think about some of your favorite pieces and how they end - being that they are your favorite pieces, I bet they have endings that you love.
Renaissance composers such as Josquin developed the compositional idea of a conclusione - an ending which brings together all the pervading motives of the work. The technique provides a satisfying summation of the work - bringing back elements of music which we have heard before, but combining them into an amalgamation which is new and often stunning. Lately, I have found myself more and more attracted to this idea of conclusione, and several of my works aim for an ending that somehow brings together several music motives and transforms them through their simultaneous (or nearly simultaneous) combination.
Here is a wonderful example of a conclusione ending by Josquin, from his astounding psalm motet Miserere mei deus:
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