The first movement is done.
I may wait a couple of days before starting the second movement.
Or, I may not.
Yesterday was the first anniversary of completion of the first movement of the Henning First. I shan’t apologize for continuing to exult therein.
When will someone perform it? We do not yet know. The question was rhetorical, but nothing negative. In fact, there is something of an exciting mystery in not knowing, when one is free from any anxiety attached to that lack of knowledge.
Not to say that I do not care whether it is performed—certainly I do. But the act of composing the Symphony was not a dare to the Universe, so that my sense of fulfillment depends on the Universe’s rapid and positive response. I wrote the piece for joy in feeling musically capable of writing it, joy in the sound which I know would be the result if fine musicians perform, joy in a good job done.
This year, the composer is mending from a bout of laryngitis. The good news is, that it did not strike the week of (nor the week before) a concert. Rehearsing my church choir last night was an interesting experience.
Monday I should certainly attend the Triad rehearsal, though I have no lively expectation that my voice will be ready—my part in the rehearsal (as a singer) will be mental.
Ah, the gloom of October mornings! Over the years, I have accumulated much experience, in the activity of getting the corporeal Henning to work in this annual October gloom. It is my considered opinion that nothing dispels that pall with anything like the surgical effectiveness of listening to a Haydn symphony.
And if you don’t believe me, just try it.
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