Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)
— Incorrectly attributed to Sinclair Lewis
I set to writing my first symphony when I felt I was really ready to write one, and because I had wished to write one for a long time. Perhaps a decade before, I’d made a brief sketch for a symphony which I would leave unpursued. So this time, it was for real. It felt great when the symphony (the “Henning First”) was “in the can.” Perhaps I hoped there would be an odd chance that I might convince a conductor to perform it, which would entail finding (a) an orchestra with a board and mission open to presenting a symphony written by a living composer, as well as (b) a conductor who believes in the piece. (b) is overall an easier matter, I find, than (a) I should perhaps mention almost incidentally both that (unlike so many other pieces of mine) I here deliberately eschewed a colorful title, deciding instead that the no-frills “Symphony Number One” would make do. Also that I so designated it because I was confident that it would not be the only Symphony I would write. As I say, I was open to the hope, but (barring a kind of miracle–which has not materialized) I was not going to be much surprised that the piece would sit around unperformed indefinitely. Very well.
As a general thing, symphonic bands are typically more open than orchestras to music composed by living composers, so I decided that the “Henning Second” would be a Symphony for Band. I composed the first movement (of three) during the summer some months before my stroke. Finishing the symphony was a musical motivation I had while I was still in rehab following my stroke, before I really applied myself to composition again. Well, I did complete the second and third movements, but I have not as yet had any more success in arranging any reading/performance of the second symphony than I did for the first. I'll repeat that, in the first place, I know I’m not the first composer to have orchestral music in his portfolio languishing unperformed and, in the second, I wrote the pieces on spec, so (almost by definition) there has been no demand in the universe for them. I was therefore approaching a decision not to write another substantial piece until there should be some favorable augury. Before clinching that decision, though, I thought, Let me write a piece for strings alone, as perhaps a piece easier to “sell” than either of the first two symphonies. I felt I would avoid the raw designation “Symphony Number Three” and compose a memorial piece for the late Louis Andriessen, one of the composers with whom I had worked while I was at the University at Buffalo. In some later blog post I will address the question of whether the piece gets anywhere. In the spirit of Read Twice Before Posting, I am a little concerned that the element of complaint may loom larger than either seemly or necessary. Even as I contemplate not launching another speculative large-scale composition for the time being, I am not wailing to the heavens, why, oh why did I even write this music? I am proud of the music. I like the music. I believe an audience would like the music. Any disappointment is no matter of How can the Universe do this to me?! but entirely the passion with which I stand by my work.
One curiosity more: As evinced on this blog, I originally planned the Symphony for Band to be four movements. I might wonder if the decision (subsequent to my stroke) to “reduce” the symphony to three movements had to do at all with any reduction in confidence in my composing as I recover from the stroke, but I feel that the decision was simply so that the complete symphony would run about half an hour, that I felt making the piece longer would increase the difficulty in marketing the piece. Since the piece at present has zero currency in the market, the question may seem moot.
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