Charms and Offertories

 Classical Music Radio for the Short of Attention Span

— Postcards From Red Squirrel Trail

This is a bunch of grown people fighting a rubber chicken, basically.

— director James Cameron discussing a scene from Aliens

The heart of last night’s concert—with which I am heartily pleased—was the redemption of an implicit promise I made internally to Robt Gross and Kevin Scott. We first played their pieces —Four’s  the Charm and Min'khah (Offertory)—In remembrance Shoshanna C. Winson, respectively, on our October program at King’s Chapel, but, in a freak hiccough on the Universe’s part, that was the day when the YouTube feed was glitchy and failed, so that (A) the composers could not hear the performance and (B) there was no document of the event. Partly for that reason, but especially because we like the pieces a lot, I chose to reprise those works this month. Kevin was especially warm in his appreciation of last night’s performance. And I was delighted with the presentation of the Henning pieces. We shall have video and audio documents of last night. And now: to prepare for April at King’s Chapel.

Eve of the Concert

 Everything changes, but the linens don't change themselves.

— Postcards From Red Squirrel Trail

Audrey Hepburn: Well, aren’t you going to kiss me, Charlie?

Albert Salmi: Ain’t he kinda close?

Audrey Hepburn: You’re going to kiss me, not him.

Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, Woburn is inviting you to a scheduled Zoom meeting.

Topic: Karl Henning Concert

Time: Feb 13, 2026 07:00 PM Eastern Time (US and Canada)

Join Zoom Meeting

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Reflecting on Luck

 I’ve seen smarter analyses on impulse tattoos.

Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

It was a special quality, among the many admirable qualities possessed by Mr Pecksniff, that the more he was found out, the more hypocrisy he practised. Let him be discomfited in one quarter, and he refreshed and recompensed himself by carrying the war into another. If his workings and windings were detected by A, so much the greater reason was there for practicing without loss of time on B, if it were only to keep his hand in.

— Dickens, Martin Chuzzlewit

We had an excellent Henning Ensemble rehearsal on Friday, 6 Feb. We intended another rehearsal on Saturday, but Mother Nature had other ideas, largely in the of of fresh snow and bitter cold, so we chose instead to work a bit later Friday. I probably repeat myself, but I am a fortunate composer in having colleagues who carried on with rehearsals in January when I was indisposed, and also in having a colleague who has stepped forward graciously to assist with various admin tasks. Our concert at Redeemer is this Friday, February the 13th.

Very separately, I have been slightly unfair musicologically to Pierre Boulez for decades. At this point there is no knowing the source, nor the degree to which I have deviated therefrom, but I had this idea that he had made a pronouncement to the effect of “No music written before 1952 is worth listening to.” It appears that this is not anything  Boulez (whom, be it noted, I will always respect as both composer and conductor) said, and I have no notion of where I failed there. But fail I did.  What he did write, which is no whit less inartistic and wrongheaded, was: [A]ny musician who has not experienced — I do not say understood, but truly experienced — the necessity of dodecaphonic music is USELESS. For his whole work is irrelevant to the needs of his epoch. Fortunately, as with Wagner, the rubbish Boulez pronounced does not alter the fact that he was a great composer.

The Return of the Brave

 I recently misspelled “Punxsutawney.” I wish to apologize to groundhogs, wood-chucks, nutria, wallabies, & three-toed sloths everywhere.

So if the groundhog watches the super bowl, there’ll be nine weeks more of dumb beer commercials?

Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

If a nobler waits for thee,

I will weep aside,

It is well that thou shouldst be

Of the nobler, bride.

— Geo. MacDonald

Some time ago, my friend Olivia Kieffer composed a set of 55 short pieces for toy piano, The Texture of Activity. I am the dedicatee of a piece titled The Brave, whereof our mutual friend Carson Cooman just uploaded a performance:

A Time of (Mostly) Non-Doing

 My music never lies, but at times it may wink roguishly.

Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

... and today when the satellite net is crammed with the stupid drivel of the Hot Humorous 100, where can a gone cat like yourself get the laughs that we were making then just for you?

— David Ossman as Dexter Fong

Mostly what I have not been doing is, finishing composition of Janky Juke Joint. It’s one of those times when I seem simply not to feel motivated to write. Before my stroke, I simply worked on at least one composition, and I was not concerned with motivation. I lived motivation. Is it my brain behaving differently since my stroke? Lassitude resulting from most of the Universe’s indifference to my work? It’s unclear and I don’t seek clarification. I know that I shall write more, but not today. (For one thing, I plan to include the piece on the April program.)  The q. of the Universe’s non-need for my work does not occupy my thoughts one way or another at present. I am simply at musical rest.

Let's Dance

 Although it turned out that he had said something very different, what I heard, happily free of context was: “I’d rather marry Yoda.” This was, frankly, of greater interest than the actual discourse.

Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes,

We convince by our presence.

— Walt Whitman

Is it a sad number? Well, we’re still dancing. I finished The Dance at Ruin’s Edge, Op. 209 today, Part of the piece is a kind of echo of some shakuhachi music I listened to recently. I called Peter to apologize. The piece calls for bass flute, which it is no picnic to hold and play. at four minutes or so, the piece is not unreasonable in that way way, but requiring Peter to schlep a bass along with his C and Alto Flutes is no inconsiderable burden.

The Dance Goes On

 TFW it’s a three-dog night, and all you’ve got is a single irritable gerbil.

Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

But he had always treasured one particular idea drawn from the philosophy of Indian music above all — its thinking about silence. According to Indian theory, silence – anhad – lies at the heart of music, and anhad made audible is the primordial, indivisible sound, nad, or Nad Brahma, nad as the supreme reality made audible. It is only through experiencing Nad Brahma that we can lose ourselves in the eternal silent ocean of anhad. An echo of nad is to be heard in the endless dhran drones of the tanpura that underpin Indian music – and surely, then, it was also to be heard in the drones of his pipes. Finally he learned that it is only through the striking of two objects together – aghat, from the verb 'to wound' – that nad can be produced out of anhad. So — vulnerability, the piercing of the senses and of the heart, the pain of wounded silence: only from this can music be born. It was a beautiful, humble way of thinking about sound, and it always reminded him of his responsibility as a musician: to make sound I must destroy silence — is what I am playing worthy of this?
— I posted this on Facebook some years ago, but do not now remember the source at all, at all.

With all our family basically trying to feel better from this onerous flu-like ailment, it is some weeks since I’ve felt I had any steam for composing, and when I have reflected on that, I’ve found it mildly vexatious. Today, methought I would make a go at applying a little discipline (ma non troppo) and I made good progress on the Opus 209. Perhaps two weeks have passed since I composed the first four-ish measure of The Dance at Ruin’s Edge, the new trio for piccolo, bass flute and bassoon for the April program. One peculiarity is: m. 29 ff. feels like the genuine ending for the piece, so there will be creative insertion, but not today.