Fresh Work

As the contrarian even at an early age, in my high school I was the one who was spaced in.
Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

Carmen Sternwood: You’re cute. I like you.
Philip Marlowe: What you see’s nothing. I’ve got a Balinese dancing girl tattooed across my chest.

— The Big Sleep

I continue to make progress on the flute duet, Music for the Un-Hip Hop. Now at about two minutes and a quarter. When I began the piece, I half felt that I was just riffing, but I am pleased with how it is shaping up. I am making no guess as yet regarding the final duration. I shall write a bit more, first.

I have now also made a proper start on the Opus 169 № 12, when this poor lisping stammering tongue lies silent in the grave, for my friend Eric Mazonson.  Eric requested an old revival tent hymn, “There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Immanuel’s veins,” right at the intersection of Christ’s redemptive sacrifice and arthouse gore. It’s one of a number of hymns which crop up in Ives’ music here and there. The hymn’s character makes for a good challenge for me, it’s so different from almost every other hymn I’ve coöpted for the Opus 169. So I’m learning what to do with the tune on the fly. So far, I am true to my desire to do a little composing every day.

And I’ve reviewed Joshua Bell’s new album with Chinese orchestra.