scoring silents

I love silent cinema. It’s a new love. It started with the opening of the Bell Lightbox in September, 2010. Just over two years ago.

A stork landed on my doorstep with a Buster Keaton film swaddled in a padded envelope.

Sherlock Jr. What an incredible entryway into the magical world of silent cinema. (I’ve written about it here)

Buster Keaton taught me how to write scores. Buster taught me about timing, about how to introduce a character. He taught me about how you can describe a character through their theme, about how to comment on the action.

But he also taught me to never reveal what was about to happen.

There is a difference between foreshadowing and giving it away.

The story happens in real time. Things happen to people in real time.

When Buster is about to be accused of stealing, the scene starts with him getting ready to save the day. Buster knows that, and we must know that too.

The music must know that, because it makes the reveal, well, so much more revealing.

 

 

The Bell Lightbox opened with a concert series of silent cinema gems with various live music scores, including my klezmer/jazz sextet playing to “Sherlock Jr”.

I attended as many as I could. It was my silent cinema 101 course.

I saw “The Passion of Joan of Arc” with Richard Einhorn’s breathtakingly haunting score

DJ Spooky’s “Re-birth of A Nation”- fascinating!

Andrew Downing’s superb and seamless score for “The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari” (you can find an excerpt here:)

and Gabriel Thibaudeau’s lush and beautiful score for “Metropolis”

This was my classroom.

I have since seen the incredible Bill O’Meara play on a few occasions, each time amazing me more and more by his ingenuity, respect for the tradition and his ability to tie it all together in a gorgeous package. Bill has taught me a lot.

Here are some other things I’ve learned:

A score, even improvised, still has shape and form. It has themes that develop along with the action on the screen. It should be able to stand on its own as a coherent musical work.

When the music is distracting to the film, it’s not working. The music needs to sound inevitable. Like it’s always been there. Even if the score is radical, when it can change the feeling of the film, it must never be a distraction from it.

 

Over the past few months I had the good fortune to delve into the surreal and fantastic world of Méliès and de Chomon and into an early horror film by Tod Browning – “The Unknown” starring Lon Chaney and Joan Crawford. These were all presented as part of Nuit Blanche at TIFF. There were 19 films in all, (some very short) and for each of these films I came up with some melodic, thematic or textural idea which I developed in each film. I made use of prepared piano, melodica and harmonium, thought about Mozart, Chopin and Bach, free jazz and traditional folk music.

For Charlie Chaplin’s “Circus”, my melodic material was Chaplin’s own score, which became the basis for my own improvisation. I mean, how could I possibly improve on Chaplin? His score is witty, clever. he understands irony and how to translate that into music. genius.

So here I am on my birthday thanking the stork for this incredible gift.

And while I’m at it, I’ve just discovered Ada Lovelace via today’s google doodle. She was born 197 years ago today. Mathematician, computer wiz (!) and daughter of Lord Byron. How lovely to share a birthday with Ada!

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finding my way in

there’s a point in the creative process where it clicks.

where I find my way in.

and when I do I realize that it’s been right there all along.

I just hadn’t found the phrase, motif, chord or tiny fragment of an idea that opens the flood gates.

sometimes it takes weeks. sometimes days. sometimes years.

sometimes I need to put it away for a while.

but I think that it’s important to remember that if I hang in there I will eventually find it.

because that is what I’m looking for. I’m always searching for my way in.

***********

every new arrangement is born of this process

of trial and error of frustration of nearly giving up.

and I have to go through it in order to really appreciate when the germ of an idea just appears.

and I know it’s right because it’s so simple, so elegant and so deeply resonant.

and I feel like skipping around the room or whispering,

thank you.

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pay-tro-ni-za-tion

commission me

ring my rotary
vibrate my cell
RIM me an SMS
(save my soul)
facebook, twitter –
the writing’s on the wall.
blog my space
shout from rooftops
send up a smoke signal.
semaphore me
send it in code.

give me a project
to put my creative juices
through the blender.
tell me like you told Bach:
we need a cantata for next Sunday
and hey, we only have three sopranos
(and one of them doesn’t sing very well.)

pay-tronize
but don’t patronize me.
never, ever, ask me to sound like someone else.

tell me to research
settle on a score.
Buster my guts for a cabaret on halloween
or valentines at christmas on mother’s day.
give me a world series send-off
with hockey night in canada
played one hundred ways.
tell me to boogie my way through Mary Lou’s swing
or jazz my way
through a world music series.

a capella, tin whistle chase scenes
turn “turn of the century”
on Turner classics tracks
with Keaton as conductor.
woo-woo!

give me a deadline
put a gun to my head.
tell me how many, when and where
and I’ll do the rest.

stimulate my economy of means
with a bulk-head of
leg room to stretch my imagination.
I’ll dissolve my limits
in the ether of jet stream.

give me a challenge
calculate the risks.
give me a slate to work on
a leg to stand on
commission me.

in return I’ll create,
imagine, dream,
learn, grow and entertain
the idea…
go to the ends of the earth
to begin.

and when it’s done
I’ll tweet, blog, facebook
video, newsletter, interview
press my release
plug you into my stream
of consciousness,
invite all my friends
and write you this poem.

dedicated to Ontario Contact and Ken Coulter (who asked the question)

Last October I attended Ontario Contact. The conference presents an opportunity for touring artists, presenters, agents and workshop presenters to get together. It consists of showcases, pitch sessions, a trade show, formal talks and informal round table discussions. At one of those discussions about investing in the arts, there was a heated discussion about whether or not you are compromising an artist’s integrity by “asking” them to do something – perhaps in addition to a performance that may be “riskier” to present.  I immediately began to think about Bach and Mozart and how integral the patronage system was to the history of music. This poem came out of those thoughts.

Some of my best work and most incredible musical discoveries have come out of commissions.

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first gig of 2012

preamble.

part one:

what’s the difference between playing tunes and free improv?

nothing.

nothing?

nothing.

but surely…

 

part two:

they’re the same thing. same rules. tunes are free and free are tunes.

the only difference is that when you’re playing a tune the form is inherent.

when playing free the form is extrinsic. it’s still there. you just need to find it or allow it to find you.

 

part three:

look. it’s all about composition. even playing tunes is about composition.

not some rote play the head solo for a few choruses play the head. we’re done.

unless that’s intentional.

or you have 16 bars or 32 bars or whatever and a huge canvas to play with around inside, outside, through, over and beyond the tune.

 

part four:

free playing is composition, too.

it’s just a composition that reveals itself over time

and if the players are truly listening they’re on the lookout for it.

and by the way.

melody, rhythm, harmony, motifs, themes and variations, counterpoint

tonality (now there’s an idea) atonality

it all applies.

 

the gig.

okay. I admit it. I had a few ideas. But they were ideas of intent. Not actual melodic or harmonic ideas. The ideas occurred to me a few minutes before I was about to play. The ideas were kind of like guidelines that I wanted to share with my fellow musicians Mark Segger (drums) and Heather Segger (trombone). I said, let’s make things short. I mean get to an idea, play with it and end it. Then move on. Nothing meandering or aimless. Let’s listen for endings. Even if one part is simply one of us taking a solo, let’s be aware that that’s okay. I even had an idea that it could be like a suite. We could interrupt applause if we wanted to so that it didn’t get too broken up. The weird thing is, the audience got it. They only clapped once, but the next time we gave them breaks in the action, they didn’t clap. they knew. they were part of it.

It was part of Leftover Day Light at Somewhere There, the performance space of AIM (Association of Improvising Musicians) Toronto. It’s a series that goes on every Friday night featuring three groups (or solos) who play one set each. I asked Heather and Mark to join me. I had been playing some of my regular “jazz” gigs with Mark lately, so I thought it could really strengthen how we play “inside” if we did a completely “outside” gig together. I was curious about Heather, having heard wonderful comments about her playing. I also loved the idea of having a few trombone/vocal dialogues. I was attracted to the range, timbre and warmth of the trombone with vocals.

I came prepared. I brought my own mike and amp to sing through, even though I knew I primarily wanted to play the piano. I removed the entire bottom panel of the piano in order to get more volume. I had the advantage of having heard the piano in the first set and was determined to make it louder. I even brought my digital tape recorder to tape the performance, but, well, kind of forgot to hit the record button a second time, so it remained in standby mode. ugh. technology… or maybe it was just Friday the 13th.

While setting up I was talking to the audience about the recent concert I saw at the Vanguard. I thought about the ostinato bass line Geri Allen and Esperanza Spalding played on “Au Leu Cha” and it occurred to me that it would be a good place to begin our set. It was such a fun place to start, that I decided to end the set with it as well.

Here are some things I want to remember:

I love the concept of a suite

I love ostinatos. I’m going to use this one again.

trombone/voice. very cool

a good ending

 

postlude.

one thing leads to another.

A few months ago I had a lesson and breakfast with Sylvie Courvoisier. Over breakfast we talked about free improvisation and form. She spoke about her concept of form as though you start with a fork, move to the spoon and the knife, perhaps the plate. There is some relationship, development and exploration as you move from place to place and branch out slowly,  giving time for an idea to develop and simmer rather than all of a sudden being across the road in unrelated territory. (or worse – my comment – meandering in a sea of nothingness where everyone is afraid to make a move).

In my lesson with Sylvie, we talked a lot about tone, weight and dropping into the keys. Sylvie introduced me to the Taubman Technique and encouraged me to seek out Edna Golandsky. But that’s another blog entry…

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essays on creativity/3. an extra year…

this is the 3rd part to my essays on creativity. part 1 is here and part 2 is here.

Several years ago I had an epiphany:

I had been granted an extra year of life.

It was around the time of my birthday and I was assessing what I had accomplished as a musician. Although I never doubted my musicality, I was wondering if it made sense to keep pursuing music. My career just didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Perhaps it was time to switch gears and put my creative skills to use elsewhere. These thoughts continued for several days as I explored more and more possibilities and became more and more depressed. Then suddenly, the day before my birthday, I realized that I was a year younger than I had thought!

I felt that the universe had been given me an extra year. This would be the year to say yes to any musical project that came my way. This would be the year to get over being fearful of playing music the way I heard it and with the people I most wanted to play with. This would be my year of grace; my own sabbatical. Most of all, this would be the year to be open to any crazy ideas I had, to learn anything I felt I needed to know, to experiment, try new things and allow myself to fail.

It may very well be that allowing the possibility of failure may be the most crucial of these realizations. Without the possibility of failure growth is almost impossible. Safety and creativity do not go hand in hand.

Once I had committed to the idea that I had an extra year of life amazing things started to happen. Doors began to open that I hadn’t even noticed before. All kinds of performing opportunities came my way, many of which I might not have pursued or followed-through in the past. Some required endless games of telephone tag with club owners, some required taking on whole new areas of studying, listening and endless hours of practicing, and some required facing the scary “truth” of the recording studio.

Let’s face it. None of us know how much time we have. The notion of an extra year is a little bizarre. But I’ve found it to be profoundly powerful. Each day is a gift. You never know what is lurking around the corner. But if you can tell yourself that this minute, this hour, this day or this year is extra time that you’ve been granted to pursue a dream, it changes everything.

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forgotten melodies

collective remembering.

collective forgetting.

the universal mind. the collective unconscious.

If you’re lucky, you can learn to recognize and identify that which you have forgotten. If you’re really lucky, you follow…

My body always knows long before my conscious mind tells me anything. The electric shock of recognition will start in my spine as my eyes fill with tears.

Forgotten Melodies came out of Nikolai Medtner’s Sonata Reminincenza. but it also came out of Maria Schneider’s Hang Gliding, and Shalom Secunda’s Dona Dona with a stop-over at Yiddish Summer Weimar in Germany. The seed of the idea came out of a spontaneous duet I heard at klezkanada played by Alan Bern on accordion and Christian Dawid on clarinet. It was heaven and earth and everything in between. And I recognized it at once. It was buried so deeply into my past that it preceded my birth. And it felt as though a vibrant and colorful path which I had never noticed before had suddenly come into view.

Forgotten Melodies is an exploration of Yiddish/Eastern European/klezmer music which I have arranged as contemporary jazz. I started the project a few years ago with Dona Dona and with a Canada Council grant to study with Marilyn Lerner, and on March 29 I will be presenting the collection in concert at the Four Seasons Centre for the Arts in Toronto. The repertoire includes some old Yiddish songs and melodies as well as original compositions inspired by klezmer/Yiddish music. I’ll be playing this music with my fantastic band: Mike Murley on soprano and tenor sax, George Koller on bass and Nick Fraser on drums.

I’ve recorded a couple of the selections on my upcoming CD, Two Kites. Here is a youtube video of Yam Lid/Lustige Chasidm/Balkan Bellabusta played in concert at La Belle Epoque and recorded by the CBC for “Canada Live”.

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essays on creativity/ 2.fairy dust

I wish it was all fairy dust. I wish I could just wave a magic wand and create music. fully formed.

The weird thing is, in the end it really is magical. When it finally happens you sort of forget about all the hard work, the hours and hours of procrastination, the huge struggles, the frustrations, the things you need to give up, the dead ends, the awful ideas, the judgement that comes way before it’s supposed to, the hopeless feelings and the initial excitement that gives way to doubt much too quickly.

I honestly don’t know how it happens. All I know is that I need to stick with it, keep going no matter what and trust that even though it may feel kind of awful right now, I will eventually find something. And then somehow it starts to grow. Almost on it’s own. Because when you’re involved in a creative process and you’re at it every day, at some point your imagination takes over and works on it. While you sleep. while you eat. go shopping, wash dishes, take a shower or while you’re just out somewhere.

That’s why I always carry a small notebook in my purse.

Ideas are everywhere. they really are fairy dust.

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essays on creativity/ 1.space

1.   space

The more I think about it, the more illusive it is. The ideas slip-slide faster than a fresh-caught fish. We’re in murky waters here.

When I think about creative thought, the first thing that comes to mind is space. You need space, and plenty of it.

Idle space, physical space, the look and feel of the brown wood on my finally-cleared desk. Psychic space. You need a place in the brain for ideas to float around in.

The brain as flotation tank.

I’ve become adept at filling in space, of occupying my mind with endless amounts of things to do. I’m addicted to keeping my mind busy. Occupied with clutter. Clutter is my way to avoid thinking. To avoid being creative.

But space is only something I get glimpses of now and then. And even given space, in an eye-blink all the clutter rushes back in faster than air rushes into an unsealed vacuum-pack.

Most of the time I forget about space. I forget about silence.

I suspect that silence and space need to be courted. It’s like I need to sneak up on myself and then coax my slippery mind. My fickle brain. Wait. Stay here for just a second longer. Long enough to savour this thought. Long enough to taste it, feel its saltiness, follow it through. Long enough to grasp it before it dissolves into the ether of the hubbub.

And if creative thought is so enjoyable, why do I avoid it?

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going lunar

I love the newness of the new year. A time to reflect, leave stuff behind and move forward. I just wish it came more than once a year. How about once a month? I’m going lunar! I wish you all many happy lunars this year.

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