At the vineyard at last (the ultimate laborer, that is)

Jimmy Carl Black:  If we’d all been living in California, it would have been different.

FZ:  If we’d all been living in California, we wouldn’t work at all.

– from Uncle Meat

Theodore Bikel (singing):  And may the Lord have mercy on the fate of this movie,

And God bless the mind of the man in the street.

– from 200 Motels

Michael Palin:  Actually, I’m a gynecologist, but this is my lunch hour.

– from The Poet McTeagle

On 28 Sept 2017, I was in DC, enjoying An Evening With the Firesign Theatre, or What’s Left of Them with my old UVa mate, Eric Brissman.  The next morning, as reported here, I did most of the work writing a brief bagatelle for clavichord, for David Bohn.  Not surprising, since I approached the task in a needless hurry, there was a wrinkle or two to “compose out.”  Indeed, there is some rhythmic gnarliness, in the form of non-intersecting irregular groupings, which I offered to reconfigure in a less reading-resistant manner, but David gamely persisted with the Ur-text.  And this week, David allowed The last man to come to the vineyard to work to go live:

Intense

It’s a little weird seeing Repo Man for the first time, in this “So many people have been a few weeks too long in the conspiracy-theory pickle” epoch.  Also, having read Don de Lillo’s White Noise, multiple times.  Is it comedy, or docudrama?

The trenchant wit of the script gives joy to the butterflies of my soul.  I want to joke that the ending is just like 2001:  A Space Odyssey.  It isn’t, of course, but maybe I am not the only one whose mind will flit to that other transcendent apotheosis.

The movie as a project is probably perfection.  There is a grubby grit to the production which I should not want to be characteristic of most of my viewing, but it works here.  My mind buzzes with questions which ultimately reaffirm the movie’s power, rather than gnaw away at it.  Harry Dean Stanton is a marvelous actor, capably playing a squalid character.  Emilio Estevez is perfect as Otto, which is not quite the same thing as claiming that he is a great actor.  The cast is so good, you’d think they were farmed for the purpose.  The sound and music are (in the parlance of our times) bitchin’.  The televangelist and the vegetative state of Otto’s parents are entirely true to life, as we know from current events.

I almost want to watch John Wick and Repo Man as a double feature.  It would be a mighty loud afternoon, though.

Those small revelations which startle (somewhat)

Today the forecast indicates another brutal heat index.  The comparative morning cool simmers at 74° with 98% humidity.

As I knotted my necktie this morn, it suddenly occurred to me that I (probably) need never purchase any more neckwear, this side of retirement.  Nice to know that the budget will not suffer any pressure at that point.

As I laid out divers necessaries on the kitchen table, the further fanciful thought came to me, of buying my next tie only when I should become A Famous Composer™.

Given the uncertitudes of the artist’s life in these United States, my fame may be achieved (if even then) only after my death.

Should that be, let this blog post stand as a request to some surviving fan of my music, to leave a silk tie on my grave.  Let its colors be joyous.

Ho jo to ho

In an arguably unusual choice for Independence Day, at long last I've watched Repo Man.

The musical correspondence between the descending repeated-note guitar lick, and Otto scrambling down the stairs, was priceless.

Also, this movie features the most wonderful adaptation I have yet heard of the Ride of the Valkyries in cinema.

Marginalia

Listened to the entirety of the Bach b minor Mass, from start to finish, today. Yes, I've done so before, but I'm jiggered if I remember when. Herreweghe and Collegium Vocale Gent. Exquisite. An especially angelic Sanctus.

Don't know who wrote the score, but I watched "A Private Little War" from season 2 of Star Trek.  (An episode I waggishly dub, "The Lady Macbeth of Planet Neural.")  And "The Immunity Syndrome" (not really a good title for the story, a nagging voice inside me objects). Granted, I don't know how much of this is thanks to reengineering (and still praiseworthy, if so) but the sound design is fantastic, really drives the story of "The I. S."  There were (the mischief-maker in me noted) "Peter Gunn triplets" in the dramatic second act of "A Private Little War."  Zeitgeist.

What became the sand dance

[ 2 July 2016 ]

The one-minute piece for flute and harp (for the Fifteen-Minutes-of-Fame call) ... I may title Another Erratic Adulterer.  I think I may enjoy that musical caprice before settling in to earnest work on the trio (Oxygen Footprint).

. . . and, a little later that same day:

The duo who are commissioning the pieces specifically want dance (or, dance-inflected) pieces, so that title will not do, I don’t think.  So we have instead sand dance.

This was one call where I heard absolutely nothing from the group, nor from the program, after my actual submission.  (Just an observation.)

Rather a philosophical question:  Is it better to hear nothing, or to receive the explicit No, thank you. . . ?  It can break either way.

The sand dance, as I consider it now – unlike Out From the Unattanded Baggage, likewise a 60-second piece composed for a Fifteen-Minutes-of-Fame call, but one which is quite complete as it stands – will actually expand into a somewhat more substantial piece quite easily.

But I don’t know if this is quite the time to see to that.

Henningmusick in Florida

Mei Mei Luo and Paul Cienniwa will perform a piece which I wrote for Paul some five years ago, Plotting (y is the new x) at St Paul’s Episcopal Church in Delray Beach, FL at 3pm, Sunday August the 19^th.  (I am to speak as part of the pre-concert lecture, at 2:30.)