29 January 2018

(The dream of a young man in the woods, listening)

It works in both directions (if there are “directions”).  That is, when I walk again into those woods, and feel my feet cushioned by the fallen needles, I remember again the walk I took, on which I conceived the musical germ for Ear Buds.  But also, when I listen in my inner ear (as yet, the only way to hear the piece) my spirit is transported to those woods, even if I am seated in a cubicle on the 31st floor of an office building in Boston.

And why am I thinking of the piece?

Two or three years ago, a conductor I know suggested that, if there is room, Ear Buds might have a reading at an annual internal conservatory event.  It all depends on there being capacity, and there has turned out to be none the two previous years.  But it is again that time of year when (as I have been made cordially welcome) I might ping him and see how the slate for the present year’s reading may look.

You may recall also, Gentle Reader, that Ear Buds now exists in a scoring for orchestra.  And you are right:  it may be time for an equally discreet inquiry there.

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