To Love or Not to Love...

I have developed the ability to arrange/orchestrate things I do not love. That is a good thing, so that I am not torn apart when I realize that "my piece" is not perfect according to someone else's standards. However, at times I wonder if I shouldn't love my pieces just a little. I want to do well, but I don't want to take forever doing the projects. I complete them in a way that meets the requirements, and sometimes I like the melody/arrangement, sometimes not so much. However, I take little ownership of it now. I still want to do my best, but it has become an assignment with specific peramaters rather than a composition I want to pour myself into. Is this a bad thing?

My Cooking is Boring and Bland

I think I can relate to Alicia. Today I went back to my orchestration of the Spanish melody only to find that I didn't like it very much. I listened with the headphones and declared to Zach and Dave S. that it was hideous. They then informed me that the volume was so loud that they could hear it perfectly even through the headphones!
I intended for it to be simple, but it almost seems too simple. Sometimes I'm not sure how to "spice it up". Sometimes I'm like the cook that is afraid to experiment outside of what I already know, lest something go frightfully wrong! My knowledge of orchestration seems so slim right now.
I love studying orchestral works. I love seeing how they produced the sounds. Somehow I'm not able to translate that into my assignments. Not that I expect to write as good, but that I should be able to apply some of the principles in smaller ways. But when I write it's as though I'm still thinking with choral limitations.

Developing "taste"

Let's see . . . where was I . . . oh yes! So, my point about the odd foods I like was this: "taste" is developed by positive exposure over an adequate length of time. This rejoins the post Alicia made about peanut butter and orchestration. I think that the more positive experiences you have orchestrating (or writing any kind of music), the more inclined you will be to try a repeat of the experience. The converse may also hold true.
Can we try to change Abigail's, "some days I like it but other days I don't," into, "Oh, I always love it when . . ."
Does the difference make sense? I think that developing taste depends not on our whimsy but on our habit-forming experiences. I think there is a difference. That's why I like fried catfish and calmatta olives all of the time.

Developing "taste"

Improvising on the peanut butter and orchestration analogy, I have discovered that most people dislike foods I enjoy. For example, I have developed a taste for such unpopular entrees as: spinach, smoked salmon (lox), kookaburra licorice, raw ginger, sushi, chicken cooked in coconut milk, sparkling water (e.g. Perrier), Greek olives, . . . wow I'm getting hungry . . .

. . . I am going to go eat and come back to finish this post!

Peanut Butter and...Orchestrating?

I had a recent conversation with Tim Zieger and Abigail Calin that got me thinking about orchestrations. It stemmed from a strange topic, but that often seems to be how interesting and intellectual conversations get started. Tim was commenting that Abi disliked peanut butter. Her response, however, was that she doesn't always dislike peanut butter; it depends on what it is in and upon her mood. I immediately thought, "Wow! That's how I feel about orchestrating sometimes!" I may write a certain melody line that I find to be very inspiring and enchanting one day while another day I plug my ears and wonder how I could have ever thought of such a horrible combinations of notes. Hence, it depends a lot upon my mood and requires constant tweaking and rewriting. But how do I know if it really is a good melody? What if an individual listening to my composition is in a completely different mood than I was when I wrote it, and is absolutely disgusted by it while I stand in awe at my outstanding abilities (ok...not really...but you get my drift). This can also be applied to many other things such as writing for certain combinations of instruments. Sometimes it sounds great...and other times it...doesn't. Also, keeping right along with the peanut butter theme, writing a great melody or using certain instruments together can only sound great if applied within the right context. Peanut butter with beans is not very appealing just like the flavor of a good melody can be overtaken by an overactive, non-supporting harmony. The result is a bad taste! There are so many things to take into consideration when orchestrating, and I am just beginning to discover a few of these. I hope that one day I will be able to write something that is enjoyed by all and is as appealing as the peanut butter inside of a Reese's cup. But for now, I will continue on in my pursuits...

Energy Drainage

When we orchestrate, the same sort of questions and decisions about energy arise that define daily life. Consider how on a daily basis we each must walk wisely and decide where and how to pour out our energy. We can all recall to mind particular days where it took just a few moments for our energy to become completely drained. On other days (usually better ones) we have a plan of attack--perhaps a schedule of things to do, a list of priorities, etc. When an "energy-sucking-vampire-moment" comes along, it takes fortitude to pull back and respond by conserving energy rather than losing our cool. Now, in an orchestration, there are parts--certian instruments--that will threaten to undo us. We get so wrapped up in their line . . . their moment . . . that we lose sight of our overarching compositional plan. We must begin to learn how to approach our orchestrations as whole units instead of individual parts. Analogically, it is helpful to look back on each day "in perspective"--as a whole unit. USUALLY, no single moment should define a whole day.

I suppose that one thing I struggle with in orchestrating (though, I have obviously never really orchestrated an entire piece) is confused parenting (like McGrew's bad parenting). I guess, I am simply not sure how much I must tailor each line to each instrument. I understand that to some degree, the lines you give to each instrument must be idiomatic (they must most assuredly be within the mechanical range of the instruments, and depending upon the level of the ensemble's skill for which the work is composed [if in fact it is composed with a specific ensemble in mind...], they must be in the accessible range of the players, and as far as figuration is concerned... a tuba is not quite as agile as a flute...) But should the player be babied too much? or should the player be expected to practice a challenging part? Should we expect certain things from a player, once the music is presented to them in an understandable way?
those are some blurbs for now...goodnight all.

P.s. I think you'll make an excellent father Mr. McGrew

Bad Parenting

When seriously orchestrating, it is exceedingly difficult for me to find the balance between two opposite, excessive habits: (1) doting over each instrumental line in an orchestration and (2) forgetting to provide a modicum of basic direction for each line. The first problem is perhaps a bit like pre-spanking your kid before going out to the store just in case they might misbehave after you get there. The second, on the other hand, is like forgetting to change your kid's diaper before you head out.

I'm going to have a kid in three months.