And I’ve always wondered, why do most of the band pieces in these 12 CDs sound the same?  Not with the same melodies or same beats, but with the same sound?

I used to blame the clarinets. If there was ever a section worth blaming, it seemed like it would be the sea of clarinets that every band has. They always seemed like a poor substitute for the violins.

But I’ve since decided differently. After all, the Prescott High School Wind Ensemble has one of the sweetest sounding clarinet sections I’ve come across. When they play in unison, it is like a warm (and in tune!) breath of summer breeze. And when they play harmony and counterpoint … Wow! I would be happy writing for that section alone.

Instead, I’ve uncovered what I believe to be the source of this “sameness” from the feedback forms of the students in the band. Several times during the residency, I handed out feedback forms for the students to fill out. Did you like the piece? (Generally, “Yes.”) Is anything out of your range or too hard? (“The meters are tricky, but that’s easily solved with practice.”) Are there any parts of the piece you don’t like? (“I don’t like rests.”)

And there lies the crux of the matter. Wherever I chose to work in a particular color of the band for a while, those with rests or long sustained notes would complain. (At least one student said, “I don’t like the long notes, but I understand why you put them there.”)

What? I like to have the contrast between the various sections. I like to hear the clarity and beauty of the solo instrument. I like to save the full band effect for climactic moments. And following my “likes” generates a bunch of rests for everybody else. Hence, the complaints.

I can’t help but wonder if many band composers attempt to either (a) please all the students by avoiding too many rests; (b) double everything so that no solos are at risk of being lost by a weak player; or (c) all of the above.

If everybody is always playing at the same time, or even most of the time,  doesn’t the tone color remain pretty much the same? I liken it to taking all of the crayons out of the box and using them all at once, creating … uh … black?

Perhaps my conclusion is not so accurate. Instead, maybe I’ve simply uncovered a common yet irrelevant complaint among band students that your typical band composer does not get to hear, or doesn’t worry about, and hence, does not heed. (Band pieces don’t typically come with feedback forms, do they?) Perhaps the real cause of the “sameness” with your average band piece is something else, and maybe when I hear the final rendition of my piece, I’ll disappointingly conclude, “Hey, it all sounds the same….”  (Hopefully not.)

So, what did I do? Well, I didn’t fill in everybody’s rests. I did give just about every section an opportunity to take the melody, including the low brass. I did double a number of solos (I didn’t want an absent person to leave a gaping hole!). And, I think, I did a pretty good job with this band piece (even if the clarinets thought that their part was a bit too easy).

I get to hear the piece on Monday, after about a week of practicing. I’m pretty excited, and I hope those with too many rests enjoy the opportunity to sit and listen.

So far, lots of positive comments on the piece, but the one comment that was consistent with all of the listeners so far:

What’s with the loud start at the beginning?  My teenage fill-in-the-blank (child, niece, alter-ego, …) doesn’t wake up that energetic!

So, it was time to write some program notes for those who were not part of the residency.

Here they are: Program Notes

Enjoy!

The music for the wind players was finished nearly 2 weeks ago.  The percussion was left to be done.  And, for me, percussion is like dynamics. Sure, they’re important, but I’d rather write REAL notes.

Not that I’d admit that to my wife, for I’m married to an orchestral and world percussionist.  She likes nothing better than to be in the real driver’s seat of an orchestra – seated right in front of four timpani.  When you get down to it, if the timpanist doesn’t follow the conductor, nobody does.

It’s very tempting to ask Maria to help me with writing percussion.  The walls of our music studio are filled with various percussion instruments – collected from a continuing lifelong effort to have at hand every possible musical sound one could want to make.  If I do end up asking her for help, who knows what instruments I might end up putting into the score.  So, it is probably just as well that our schedules do not line up, and she is usually unable to offer me help.

The nice thing about writing percussion music is that I don’t need to sit at the piano.  Usually, I’m sitting in the arm chair in the living room, with a quiet house, waving my arms frantically as I accompany my computer’s rendition of the band piece with my air cymbals, air snare, air bass drum … you name it.  Sometimes I even keep the curtains closed so I don’t scare the neighbors.

And so, these past 2 weeks, I worked the percussion parts into the score, squeezing in time for the project between the other pressures of life (in the past two weeks since finishing the “REAL” notes, I’ve also taught my piano students, filed my taxes, finished two other works for choir that are to be premiered in June, taken care of a sick wife, worked on our upcoming music festival, practiced, and slept a little).

And, now it’s done.  I’m glad to hear and see the final project with the percussion.  I must admit, the “REAL” notes do sound much better with the percussion.  And I think that the band students will really enjoy the piece with the extra energy of the back row added in.

I do have one confession that I must make to Dan, the band director.  I’m going to have to explain that tonight, as I was finishing the last few measures of the piece, I asked Maria for some ideas on one area.  I did get some good ideas, but I also ended up with two extra instruments in the back of the band.  At least Maria said that Dan could borrow them from her wall if he didn’t have them …

Here’s what the computer makes the finished piece sound like: A Day In The Life

I find it well worth bouncing ideas off of her, because sometimes, as a composer, I need a fresh perspective to throw in some new directions.

So, today I took a risk, and I learned what it was like to get fresh perspective from a high school band.

This past week – I was verging on stuck.  I had a decent beginning to the band piece.  I knew what I wanted the music to say next (or at least I thought I did), but nothing I came up with was working.

So, Monday morning arrives, and I get to present to the band my results of the past week.  This is what I’ve written so far.  You like it?  Great!  Now, for what happens next … I don’t know.

So, I asked them to suggest ideas to me.

I’ve never done something so uncontrolled with a band residency before.  Typically, I build careful restraints around the questions I ask.  Questions like: What ideas for orchestration do you have here?  What kind of things can I do to create this effect?

But what I was about to ask was something completely different.

After quickly going through what I (as a composer) think about to keep the music sounding “organic,” I asked them to take out their instruments and fiddle for a few minutes, and then present some ideas back at me.

“Go!” I declare.

Nothing happens.  I get back only deer-in-the-headlight eyes staring at me.  I can imagine their thoughts … “You want me to improvise an idea here in front of everybody else?”  Uh, oh, I think.  This was way to risky a step … After all, this is the first day back from break, and what is the likeliness that any of them are truly awake?

But, I offer a little more coaching.  A little more assurance that there are no wrong ideas.  And, “Go!” I exclaim again.

Someone picks up an instrument and starts experimenting.  After a while, most of the band is trying out ideas on their instruments.  In one corner, a few are staring blankly.  I invite them to form a small group with folks from the row behind and collaborate on ideas.  Soon, they’re engaged in the process, too (or at least it looks that way to me …).

After a couple of minutes, I quiet the band down and start soliciting ideas.

Sam spoke first:  How about taking this figure you have in your melody and transcribing it to a diminished scale?  (Actually, that wasn’t his words, but that’s what they amounted to.)

Off to the piano – I played back what he played on his trumpet.  He suggested passing it back and forth between some instruments, and then he started playing smaller, more frantic, fragments of the motif in quick succession.

Cool idea, I thought.

Someone else … How about doing a repeated note in the bass … and he did a bit of scat for me … ba-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-DAH-da-da-da-DAH-da … At the piano again, I played back what he had, and threw Sam’s idea on top of it.

Oooh – they liked that.  The band started to sit a bit taller now.

From the far left side:  How about changing the meter to maybe 3/4 in the second section?  Well, I responded, you gotta be careful that you don’t create a middle section that sounds too different from the first section, but if you’re going change meter – why not something a bit more driving, like 5/4?

To the piano again, I change the bass line to 5/4 and add Sam’s idea back on top.  They really liked that.

Another hand go up … How about upper woodwind accents, like “deeddle-leeddle-leeddle … deeddle-leeddle …”

More improv at the piano, adding the accents.  Ooo’s & Ahh’s from the band members.

They’re hooked, and so am I.  I think I now have a plan for the middle section.

And, thank goodness.  The ideas start to peter.  Clearly things have come to an end, and I’m very lucky – I’ve barely reached the end of my allotted time, with no more lesson plan to spare.  (No instructor wants to run out of lesson plan before the class is done …)

Next?  I recorded the whole class on my laptop, so I get to listen to the ideas again to make sure I remember them correctly.  I will read all of the comments and suggestions that the students wrote onto the questionnaires I handed them.  Then, off to the piano, to improv more ideas, jot down what I like, and eventually paste it together into a middle section.

To put it short, I’m jazzed.

And after that, all I have to do is write the final section.  That should be easy … I think … or if not … um … Hey, Maria, would you come here for a second?

So, at this point, I give a little prayer to the code-gods, hope that the code is simple enough to minimize the chance any problems, and try to imagine if I’ve tested all scenarios.

Of course, I’ve not tested all scenarios … What happens if two messages come in exactly at the same time?  I expect the blog to work correctly, but my log file might be a bit confused – oops – unless the app fails to open a file already opened by another text processing process – hmmmm – that could mess up one of the texts … or maybe not …  do I sweat it now, at this hour? …. nah … it’s not worth checking the code  … one rule of thumb on development that I learned long ago: never make last minute changes.

You see?  That’s what I hate about this.  Sooner or later I always will imagine a feasible scenario where it won’t work.  When I coded for a job, my wife Maria said that I would come home with my eyes wide open, processing the day’s coding tasks in the back of my mind, never fully present until several days of vacation had passed.

That’s a big reason I switched careers back to music …

Well, time to see if I can shut my eyes and get some sleep.  I’ll know sooner or later if things work well enough.  Until tomorrow!

This is one of the reasons that I teach all of my piano students to compose.  Among other reasons – its fun, it helps us learn how music is constructed (thus, making it easier to learn), and, like all creative endeavors, it validates our existence on this planet.  (OK – maybe that’s a bit existential …)

So, while chatting with the band members of my residency this Monday, I mentioned that one of the reasons I compose is that I get tired of playing (or, more accurately, teaching) only music that is written by dead or far away people.

And then, a lone voice came up from the flute section in front of me.  ”I wish we played more music by dead people.”

I was so startled by this comment, that I had no idea what to say.  I didn’t think to mention that, yes, I too love playing music by the dead white men (and the occasional woman), and that I study their music to help improve my composing.  Nor did I think to mention that our history and present time is filled with great music, and that it is well worth embracing both the past and present.  No – the only thing I could think to mention was that I would try not to become one of those dead white men in the near future.  Yeah.

So, I started thinking about the band literature that I know.  And you know what?  Most of the rep that school bands play is written by living white men.  In fact, I was told many years ago that if I truly wanted to make a living at composing, I should focus on writing band music for school bands.  It is one of the few vibrant markets for new music by living composers.

This flautist is faced with a problem completely opposite to what my piano students face, and I can fully understand her situation.  If I was teaching my piano students music written only by Robert Vandall (a well known composer for student piano music) and his peers, I too would be crying out for music by Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, and Schumann – my dear dead white friends.

So, now that I will be writing a piece for this band, am I part of the problem?  I’ll pretend not to be.  I’ll say – well, we’re focussing on bringing composition closer to the members of the band.  We’ll learn a bit of how a piece is composed.  Those who participate in the small group sessions with me will actually get more hands-on experience composing.  And, besides, we’re making a contrast to those far away people who compose.  This is someone in your own backyard.  No – I’m not part of the problem.

At least that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.

Getting the technology to work took some time.  The trick is – how do I get a phone number to which folks can text that will automatically go to the blog?  It turns out that there are some services which will email you your texts.  And since there are blogs to which you can email your entries, I ended up doing this:

cell phone text -> email -> PHP script -> email -> blog

I use a service called 3Jam to buy a cell phone number for only 1 month ($9!) to which anybody can text, and it will forward it to an email account.

3Jam puts in all sorts of extra advertisements into their emails, so I wrote a PHP script (based on this article) to strip out these advertisements and pop the sender’s phone number into the subject line.  The PHP script then re-mails the message contents to the blog, hosted by wordpress.com.

Kind of cool, I think.