Songs without Words

I am in the midst of writing a new violin concerto, hopefully one that I will be satisfied enough with to actually finish. But as I write, I am now faced with a whole new demon that I never really thought about before: am I a tonal or atonal composer? I have never considered myself an atonal composer, actually, but as my works incorporate more and more tangents and forays into new harmonic territory, I feel that I may end up losing the ears of those who might enjoy pieces in the style of say my 61st Concerto or 22nd Symphony. At the same time, I have such an ingrained sense of tonal language and conventions that some semblance of tonal center is always persistent in my music, even when engaging in non-diatonic languages.

One of the big questions is this duality of tonal and atonal music. People divide themselves into camps, championing one or the other, but rarely both. Yet the relationship of tonality to atonality is not like a cat and a dog, or a tissue and a paper towel. Tonality is a child, a subset, of atonality: atonality encompasses the full aural experience and possibility, both “harmonious” and “discordant.”

One may consider, then, the organization of sound possibilities in a manner similar to food. Thai cuisine is centered on particular spices, lime, coconut, chiles, and the like. That gives it a particular unifying flavor and richness. It is a subset of every food you could possibly make. No culture in the world dabbles in all possible food, and similarly, no native musical language dabbles in all possible music – it is too vast and “flat” in terms of topology to make sense to human ears. Humans long for a certain organization, a regular system, be it scales, chords, range, or timbre.

Then, every composer is working with a “rule set.”  Forget the term “tonality” for now, because that is too contentious.  A “rule set” may be a defining scale, such as octatonic or Klezmer or Japanese pentatonic, or it could be a method, such as serialism or pointilism.  Every culture came up with a different sensibility in rule sets, but every culture has one.  And every composer, tonal or atonal, writes with a particular “rule set” in mind.

In this way, I can understand my music: it is just like tonality, and just like so-called “atonality,” which is not really atonality at all because it always involves a particular understanding of tones.  My music focuses on lyricism and shapes in the tones, even when the chords are dissonant or the melodic line is twelve-tone.  That is my “rule set,” and it is so because that is what I find provocative and agreeable to hear.

The class of ’08 had some heavily subsidized tickets to go see Wicked (ten bucks a piece, definitely a bargain for musicals at the Opera House, where $35 is about as cheap as you can get — for obstructed-view seats), so my girlfriend and I sat at our computers, refreshing the ordering page constantly until sales began. It was definitely a vast upgrade from the hysterical stampede from real-life ticket sales in ages past.

She decided on the last day to dress up somewhat, which meant I had to quickly whip out a shirt and iron it. We happened upon other familiar faces – six of them, in fact – at the Kendall T stop — do great minds really think alike? I was actually amused at how similar all the girls’ shoes looked (although I must admit, I was partial to my Love’s).

The show was very crowded, but as always, the theater remained at a comfortable temperature, if not a slightly cool one. I always marvel at the homeostasis of such large halls, where the sheer number of people ought to heat the room by at least a few degrees.

Having heard the songs so many times before, I instead focused on the visuals as well as the personal twists on the songs. There were lots of little differences between this show and the original cast’s rendition that I picked up on, the unmarked decisions that make live performances so unique and human.  For instance, the moment at which Madame Morrible switches over from speaking to singing, or Doctor Dillamon’s accent, or whether Glinda seems to be deadpan/mocking or laughing out loud when she utters, “Don’t make me laugh!”  The melodies were as beautiful if not moreso than I had heard them before, and even though I felt that some of the singing sounded forced or more square, it also had an openness and resonant quality to it that had me mesmerized for the whole three hours.

The special effects were quite amazing, as expected – the Wizard’s robotic head and the giant dragon and the flying sequences were all beautifully executed.  Yet my love for this musical will always be because of the songs and their universal quality.  Elphaba and Glinda — and even the Wizard for a few moments — express feelings and ideas that are generalized enough, intentionally or not, to apply to almost the entire audience.  I doubt anyone will be a literalist and suddenly speak out against the caging of animals in zoos (although I am decreasingly impressed by the concept of zoos, despite how much I enjoyed visiting them, along with aquaria, as a child).  But especially for kids growing up “green” — the “teacher’s pets” who ironically grow up into the individuals who truly stand up for their beliefs — this musical is a great relief and venting point.  Sure, Elphaba “dies” (no, that’s not a spoiler – everyone in the world has heard, “Ding dong, the Witch is Dead!”), but only after singing some amazing songs and with a best friend (not to mention the thousands in the audience) by her side.

I wonder if everyone watching can catch all the subtleties of the plot, though.  For instance, it’s pretty hard to catch just from the performance that Fiyero was saved by having his body turned to straw (thus finishing the trio – the lion cub at Shiz becomes the cowardly lion who wants courage and Boq becomes the Tin man lacking a heart), or additionally that he takes advantage of the commoners’ mistaken belief that the witch could be melted with water (which is especially confusing since, in the book and in the original, she *is* killed through water).  But in any case, Wikipedia does a great job of clearing all that up :).

It was a wonderful night, and I was entranced by my girlfriend’s elegance and beauty, especially in her blissful “nap” during intermission, tucked under her quilt-like comforter.  Her curvaceous smile and long lashes were irresistably charming as she excitedly professed her fascination and curiosity for all things electrical and musical.  I smiled and laughed with her, and held her small hands that peeked out from below her jacket, and I think for the first time in more than a week, I could feel her signature peaceful, serene aura enveloping her delicate form and spreading like a magical wisp of cloud-mist over me.

My academic advisor just invited me to go to a BSO concert featuring Shostakovich Cello Concerto No. 2 and Bruckner 9.  HOLY COW.  This is like a dream come true T_______T!!!

Granted, this wasn’t any defining work of orchestration or counterpoint in the first place (and I readily admitted just as much by writing the strings on the standard piano staff using only half notes and whole notes, for the most part). But, this remains, after four years, one of my favorite compositions, and unfortunately it’s one of those that falls by the wayside because I didn’t put in any dynamics into the original (the audio output, in any case, since the appearance and sound were not interlinked then as they are today), and because it’s hard to hear intentions through MIDI (apparently). Well, I think this is a step up from raw MIDI, and it’s not a huge file, so go ahead and have a
listen if you’d like. Link
Faster version w/ reverb 

It’s for violin, but synth violin still needs a lot of work before it can be a soloist. Not that the flute is all that musical either, but hey, I have to suffer through the entire string section, so you flautists can deal with a lone flute, ne? ^^

Finale 2007 is actually really impressive. Ask me four years ago if this sound quality from rendering out the raw clunky numbers of MIDI input would be possible, and I’d say “no way!” In the tremolo section, there’s a lot of swelling that, strangely enough, I didn’t actually put there. It’s a little hokey, but I like how it’s trying to interpret my music, rightly or wrongly so.

As an added bonus, here’s Fugue #2! It’s all muddy now, just the way it should be :).

Upon analysis of the sonata form first movement of Bruckner’s Sixth Symphony, I noticed a great deal of similarity between its construction and ideas and the ones I explored in my Symphony No. 18.  Here is a quick rundown of them:

1.  A powerful, blasting primary theme that is composed of two nearly-identical statements made in very different keys.  In the exposition, these two statements are separated by short wind interludes that bear little relation to the theme, and are more like interjections.  However, in the recapitulation, the two segments are placed right next to one another, heightening the jolt of the key change.  Also, the brass and winds take care of the theme, while the violins are doing a high, ornamental pattern.

2.  There are three (or more) thematic ideas, the last of which melds indistinctly into the development, which is minimal and barely present, mostly serving as a large build-up back to the recap.  In both build-ups, we utilize a “rising-by-thirds” key ascension, changing keys every few bars as the line rises in pitch and volume.  Eventually, we both land on a blatant dominant chord and sit on it for about two bars before having the theme come back at the climactic point while the accompanying instruments simply continue their original patterns, giving the sense of the theme rushing in all of a sudden while the momentum keeps on going – seamless recap.

I had never heard Bruckner before this summer, yet I feel like we have a lot in common as composers.

When I was in fourth grade, I was part of a youth orchestra in Boston, and my conductor jokingly told us about how Beethoven, upon dying, placed some sort of curse on future composers such that they could not outdo him in symphonic works. The story continues with Mahler, always conscious of Beethoven’s shadow and fearful, one day suddenly jumping the gun and trying to cheat Death by writing a tenth symphony. (He of course died after only sketching out ideas for that work.)

But it’s not just Mahler. Schubert wrote nine as well, never finishing the appropriately titled “Unfinished Symphony” (although he had ample time to do so – the unfinished one in question is #8). Bruckner as well died without finishing the final movement of his ninth symphony (which I am currently listening to). There are, of course, many composers who never reach 9 at all – Brahms had 4, Rachmaninoff had 3, and Tchaikovsky had 6. But the latter two weren’t associated with Germany at all, and one would suppose that Beethoven’s ghost stuck around on familiar territory.

It could really just be coincidence about those 9’s. Because symphonies became longer and increasingly complicated as the 19th century chugged along, it would take several years to write each one, and there are only so many productive years that a composer has. That would explain the rapid drop from Haydn and Mozart, who wrote 104(+4) and 41 symphonies, respectively.

Honestly, I would be happy if I could complete just one full symphony in my lifetime … and I’d die happily if I could write nine!

I came up with an idea for the bulk of the “B” section of my new piece, and I scribbled it down on a napkin while eating dinner at the Cambridge Grill.  It is based very loosely on the intro of the piece, which is exploratory, thin, and somewhat haunting.

The overall structure of the piece is ternary: intro-A-B-A, with the durations being about 1′, 2′, 2′, 2′ and the keys being (not defined), E, a, E.  While the E major sections are very set in ordinary chord progressions, the other two sections are much more adventurous.

Anyway, that probably sounded very dry, but I’m in lab mode right now ..

Greatest quote from lab …

Sukant: “I know tomorrow is Independence Day, but independence from what??”

Ahaha.  I think the easiest way to tell that I was born in this country is the importance I place on the holiday as more than a day off from work.  I can proudly sing all of the songs in the sing-along, too ^__^.

I always wonder about the use of the 1812 Overture, though.  Did you know that the tune blaring out below the final fanfare is “God Save the Tzar?”  I find also find it ironic that the US’s ally in the Revolutionary War, France, is portrayed as being defeated in this piece.  I guess it’s good that most people don’t know or care what the song is about?

Yesterday, our “summer cooking group” decided to go out to karaoke (DoReMi .. Korean-owned place over by Super 88) at Kenny’s behest, partially because Jennifer, Tejia, and I all admitted that we had never gone before. Given my past experiences with things of this sort in high school and earlier, I figured I’d probably get so nervous that I simply would sit there and let other people sing, and maybe get a bit of a feel for how it works … in preparation for next time?

Little did I expect to be singing a decent number of songs, some of which I knew, some of which I didn’t. For the songs that I honestly didn’t know, I just listened to the others for a verse, sort of trying to match their notes. It’s so much easier to “learn songs” like this when everyone you’re with is so talented and essentially on-pitch (they set some records on the “rating” system .. even getting over 100 once, which was unprecedented – I think you have to hit every note in tune to get that).

We mostly traded a pair of mikes, with non-microphone people singing along or providing backup as necessary. My “mike songs” were .. and don’t laugh .. “Yesterday” (Beatles), “I want it that way” (Backstreet Boys), All I Ask of You (Phantom of the Opera), “My Heart Will Go On” (Celine Dion), “I’m Not That Girl” (Wicked), “Fly Me to the Moon” (Frank Sinatra), a little bit of “Goodbye to You” (Michelle Branch), and “What a Wonderful World” (Louis Armstrong). It took around 2 songs to really solidify my pitch-grounding .. so the first two were pretty awful (in my opinion, anyway – I’m a little harsher in judging that than most). But I was really shocked, afterwards, to be complimented for my singing by none other than my BMES co-pres (maybe she was just trying to be encouraging?) .. apparently I sing really in tune .. . Nevertheless, I glowed a little bit after that :).

I called my mom for recipes afterwards and she said, “Why’s your voice so weird?” and I answered, “I was just karaoke-ing for two hours straight.” I swear if I saw her, I’d have seen her eyes boggle. “You can sing??” she asked. Hahahaha! It’s easier when you’re with a crowd that’s into the ooooold songs .. plus musicals!

Following up on the “Justin’s old music” post earlier, I have fully harmonized the first page of Concerto No. 33, called the “Tree” concerto because it has drawings of spruces around the title.  At the time of writing, I could hear the harmony in my head, yet I did not have the skills or means to write it down.  So I have endeavored now to notate the harmony suggested by the melody, which is to say that I only wrote the melody lines originally because they immediately yield their underlying structure just from their shapes and characters.
I settled on having the orchestration being string orchestra plus harpsichord – I realized a few bars in that trying to conceive of this in a classical manner wasn’t going to work, because the song actually had an underlying Baroque tendency.  I quickly added the harpsichord to improvise on the cello line (it is my firm belief that the continuo line must NEVER be played unadorned!!) and I became much, much happier.

Now, you might be like, “Wow this is such a simple-minded piece.”  But it was actually difficult to harmonize it.  Why?  Because there are so many freaking IV-V-I cadences – they come every 3 bars, roughly.  That makes it really hard to keep it interesting.  And then, even worse, the phrases are written in 4/4 but they are actually all over the place.  There are several periods where the “downbeat” is offset by one beat, making the strong beat 2.  If you listen to this without seeing the music, I bet you will hear some very strange measures of 5/4 and 3/4, maybe even 6/4.

Another thing to take into account is that this was written in the “old Justin style,” when I only wrote by hand.  Thus, the tempo is very fluid and free.  The dark crescendo at the bottom implicitly meant to accelerate, moreso than get louder – I have played the solo line many times, and I always accelerate by about 20 bpm at that point, if not more.  The idea that the “exit” of a theme should be accompanied with speeding up and greater excitement stuck around for a long time – actually, I still do it.

Listen

Look at the original

You’re free to leave comments/critique, but haha, don’t forget that I took the melody verbatim (except a few changes that I made when I started playing it, years ago, esp. in parts I couldn’t read clearly) and am trying to write in a style appropriate to how I heard the song in my mind so many years ago.  If you the melody sucks at some points … it probably does, and I probably know that ^__^.