Tag Archives: Composing

It’s Like Riding a Bike … Until It’s Not

For a while now, I’ve been wanting to make a return to music – in particular, music composition, and writing scores for orchestras, and pianos, and more. Factoring this in with the enormous amount of other creative work I want to do – writing the fourth book in “The Redemption of Erâth” series and continuing work on young adult novels – means it was unlikely I was going to really make a move on this in the near future, but the dream was always there.

And – foolishly – I assumed I would remember what to do when the time came.

It’s funny – it’s been more than ten years since I last focused my energies on creating music, and whilst I’ve certainly not forgotten the basic principles of playing music, there is a surprising amount that I have forgotten – and it makes me sad.

I (obviously) devour music as a listener; whether it be classical, rock or symphonic metal, I am always, always listening to music. And in my past, I was a somewhat accomplished pianist, played bass moderately well, and knew my music theory like the back of my hand.

And while I can still pick up a bass and pluck away, or tickle the ivories in a half-assed manner, there’s a huge amount that I no longer remember. It’s funny – it’s almost like the old, “I’ve forgotten more about making music than …”.

I recently set up a kind of office in my loft, with a nice, large desktop computer screen, electric keyboard to one side, and plenty of great music-writing software. And once the setup was complete, I fired up Logic Pro, downloaded some beautiful piano samples, and tried to play.

I couldn’t remember a single song.

Isn’t that weird? I know the keyboard, I know the layout, and can play in any key – but I can’t remember how to actually play anything. A few measures at most, and the rest is just gone.

Oh well, I thought – playing was never my main gig. So I opened up my music notation software that I haven’t used in a decade, and suddenly I couldn’t remember how to use it. As in, almost every single feature and capability of the application is a mystery to me. I’m going to need to relearn it.

They say playing an instrument is like riding a bike – you never forget how to do it. And whilst to an extent that isn’t entirely wrong, it certainly isn’t entirely true. I’ve just discovered that there is a huge knowledge gap in my mind when it comes to music, and it’s bothering me greatly; I used to know my arpeggios from my appogiaturas, and now I can barely remember what an ossia is. There’s literally terminology for musical notation that I’ve completely forgotten.

I’m confident I can relearn it, and it will eventually come back to me, but it’s disturbing to see what a lack of practice can do to something you once thought of as a part of your very being.

Is there anything you used to know well, that you feel like you’ve since forgotten?

What Have I Left Behind?

I watched a movie last night called Carrie Pilby (2016). In essence it’s about a startlingly intelligent girl who is trying to figure out her place in a world of people with half her brains and twice her wisdom. It was a cute movie, with just enough humor and drama to satisfy, without leaving you emotionally exhausted by the end. A little predicatble, perhaps, but entertaining.

And I related to it in more than a few ways, which I found surprising, because I don’t usually relate to onscreen characters. Like me, Carrie skipped grades in school. Like I once did, Carrie thought of her intelligence as something that set her above her peers (I now know that intelligence is a poor measure of a person). Like me, Carrie is sometimes depressed. She can’t relate to people, and finds social interactions exceptionally difficult.

The funny thing was that, as much as I related to the titular character, I also related to one of the side characters, too: Cy. Cy is a talented musician who hides his gifts behind humility, and despite his scruff and snark plays clarinet for one of the leading orchestras in the world. And the thought of Cy playing in an orchestra made me think back to my own youth, and what I’ve left behind.

You see, I was once a talented musician. For many years as a child music was everything, was my life and my reason for existence. I dreamed of playing Rachmaninov before crowds of thousands, and as much as I struggled to play my best, I equally enjoyed playing at my best. I gave concerts; I sang in choirs. It led me to a degree in music composition.

And then, slowly, life got in the way. The last time I put note to paper was over a decade ago. The last time I played a real piano was years ago. And whilst you don’t forget things like that, it makes me start to wonder: what was it all for?

There’s something about the creative process that innately calls to me, something that, without which, leaves me feeling hollow, and empty. There have been great periods of my life when I haven’t created anything at all, and these are unsurpisingly linked to the times of my life when my depression has been at its worst.

In recent years my creativity has come in the form of writing, either novels or blogging, and whilst writing words is arguably a lengthier, more arduous process than writing music, it bears the promise of a more immediate reward: it’s easier to get people to read your writing than to listen to your music.

That being said, I miss writing music. I miss the process of orchestration, of wondering which instruments would sound best where, and creating sounds that, until then, had never existed before. Some of my favorite compositions were for a full orchestra, whilst others were smaller, chamber arrangements; yet others were death metal in symphonic form.

I saw some time ago a post about Anthony Hopkins, and how he once wrote a waltz. for decades it went unheard, until it was finally pulled from the dusty shelves and performed for the very first time. I would love to hear my own music performed live. I would love to know what it sounds like in real life, and not in my head, or through poor computer imitations. And watching this movie returned all these thoughts to me. It made me want to experience live music again, to compose, and to create. And hopefully, I will.

It takes time, and it takes effort. It takes years of laboring in the dark before one sees the light. Sometimes the light never shines. And this thought saddens me more than any other; that what I write, what I create—it will die with me, unheard and unread by any, one of millions of stories the world over that will never see the light of day. That will ever remain on the dusty shelves.

I wonder, sometimes: what have I left behind? What life might I have had as a musician and composer? Would it have been any more fulfilling than that of an unknown writer? Or would I have languished, withered and despaired … much as I still to to this day?

I suppose there is no telling; there is no knowing ‘what if’. Nonetheless, it reminds me of how fleeting we all are, and how important it is to do the best we can each day—even if that best isn’t much. Because one day we’ll all be gone, and what we leave behind is all that will remain to remember us by.

To fight the gloom and dark, and persevere in the face of utter despair. Such is life.

Thought of the Week: Making Music

Apologies for the delay in this week’s post—and even more apologies, because I have an admission to make: I haven’t done any (any) writing in the past two weeks.

Argh!

I have, however, what I hope is a reasonable excuse. Instead of devoting my time to words on paper (or computer screen), I have instead been trying my hand for the first time in many years at writing music:

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Did you know that I wrote music, once upon a time? Ahem … of course you knew—you’ve checked out all of my website, haven’t you? I have a degree in music composition from the University of Sheffield, and for quite some time in my youth thought I might be a professional composer.

Well … life got in the way, of course, and that particular dream never happened. Then, a few years ago the creative juices started flowing again, but what came out were not notes, but words. So The Redemption of Erâth was born.

But deep in the back of my mind, I’ve always wanted to return to writing music, and with the advent of advanced notation and recording software, I decided to revisit one of my earlier works: a symphony for full orchestra, first written when I was about fifteen.

Inspired by the likes of Beethoven and Dvořák, I had come up with a couple of melodic ideas that seemed to fit better in an orchestral environment rather than solo piano (which was my medium of choice up to that point), and so with all the enthusiasm of gusto of youth I set about writing a symphony. Full, four-movement piece, which would have totaled nearly an hour in length—had I ever finished it. I ended up with first, third and fourth movements, but never got around to writing the second (slow movement). What I accomplished was, for my age and relative inexperience, phenomenal; however, it was most certainly not publishable, never mind performable. I didn’t have the understanding of the immense variety of instruments in a full orchestra at the time.

But that’s what I went to university for. And now, with a solid background in composition and a shorter orchestral piece (that I’m actually quite proud of) under my belt from my final dissertation, I’ve decided, while the mood strikes me, to open up Logic Pro X and Finale 2014 and start making some music! It’s tedious, long-winded and thankless work—in two weeks I’ve managed to write approximately seven minutes’ worth of music. In the first movement alone, I have another fifteen to go.

But the joy of creating is the same as it always has been, and fret not—though Brandyé and Elven have taken a (very temporary) back seat, I will return to them and their adventures in Erâth.

For now, here is Symphony in F minor—so far!

Featured image from http://wallpaperswide.com/old_music_score-wallpapers.html.

Satis Logo 2014