Twenty years of dust
Mama never was big on
Perfect moments
Daddy heard
No swelling soundtracks
When he looked at her
Only raw and earthy
Belonging
When she held his face
He was home
Twenty years of dust
And a bunch of pesky words
Even when they fought
He was happy
She was there to yell
Her unpretentious
Love at him
With the fury of a princess
Whose foot was two sizes
Too big to fit
The first shoe he brought
Twenty years of dust
Couple of loose hinges
And one ugly dog
Mama never was keen on
Designer things
But she always baked
A pie on Sunday
Silly old movies
Made her cry about
People in love and stuff
And then she would always ask
How come
They don’t make them
Like that no more
I am enclosing links to my latest compositions: The Jubilance and the Lament. Both works were composed to satisfy the final requirement of a counterpoint course in my undergraduate studies and both draw inspiration from Johann Sebastian Bach’s Das Wohltemperierte Klavier.
In their initial version, the Jubilance and the Lament were written for piano solo, but since I often crave the sounds of the string orchestra, I have decided to orchestrate them.
The Jubilance (a Prelude) explores the development of a very short single theme through melodic mutations and harmonic modulations. It’s full of colorful energy. I think it actually has a temper
The Lament is a 4-voice fugue, diametrically opposed in character to the prelude, is very somber and sorrowful and explores varying degrees of chromaticism.
I have two other compositions for piano solo which were inspired by my counterpoint studies this semester. You can read about them and listen to them here
Several years ago I was in need of some mindless decompression and so I went to the movie theater to see a popular at that time chick flick The Devil Wears Prada. Perhaps the Prada story itself could serve as a topic for another post, but for now I would like to focus on a commercial I saw before the movie.
It was the standard run of the mill immediately before the featured presentation; “fasten your seat belts, turn off your cell phones”, etc. Of course, in the theater business, no time should be wasted without product placement, so even this short predictable intro was sponsored. And the product, you guessed it from the enclosed image, was Coca-Cola.
The Coke was performing acrobatics on the screen; it was taking a ride in a roller coaster. It was spilling, bubbling, and enticing everything in its path. My fellow movie goers were already licking their buttery fingers and loosening their belts, completely oblivious to the excitement (although the subconscious, no doubt, was being methodically programmed). I was unimpressed (I don’t even drink soft drinks), but I was paying attention.
The background music completely captivated me. The instruments used in the jingle were quite contemporary; electric guitar, keyboard pads, drums, the works, but the composition, the way in which the instrumentation was woven, ah, it was a classical masterpiece, a work of art.
The first thought that came to my mind was “whoever wrote this must have studied Counterpoint”. The proportions, the pacing, the polyphony of this aural experience could not be explained in any other way. And then, sadly, I realized that I was probably the only person in the theater to even notice this beautiful composition.
My thoughts drifted as I was trying to imagine who the composer might be. Perhaps an intern who graduated from a conservatory several years ago, dreaming of professional film scoring, still struggling to break into the industry, slaving away at copying other (less talented) people’s music. Perhaps happy to have the opportunity to write something that will be heard by millions of people.
Perhaps an old pro who has done many similar jobs in the past, needing this one to pay for the mortgage, or braces for a child, bored with writing for subjects he/she did not care about, after giving up hope for an epic blockbuster, or an independent high quality drama.
Nameless, faceless, invisible. Wherever you are, whoever you are, I recognize your talent and I tip my hat to you.
I recall this experience as I consider the role of music in our society and the societies that have gone before us. I was raised with a great respect for the arts. In my understanding music was always linked with spirituality and with the sacred, even if it was written for “secular” purposes. I’m not sure I am ready to let go of this ideal, but the more I learn the craft of music business and music composition, the more I fear that my infatuation with music is in danger.
Perhaps making music is like making love. When you do it for money it ceases to be love and becomes something else…
What was the inspiration
For the second word
In the third stanza?
You who grant passage
To understanding
Through autopsy
Of defenseless frogs
Observe the tiny lungs
Still inflated
Against all hope
The heart shivers
In agony
Nowhere to hide
Except behind a few
Bare words
The soul is still
Invisible
Once upon a time
Or maybe today
Their paths crossed
Or maybe they didn’t
At the main entrance
Or maybe on the fifth floor
It was the beginning
Or the end of all things
He was late for the meeting
She was early for the train
Warm wind was sweeping
Empty streets
Or maybe it was raining
During the rush hour
She changed her mind
At the last moment
Or maybe she was determined
He hesitated
Or maybe his mind
Was already made up
She made the right turn
And so did he
Except the Narrator
Fell asleep
And so it was
A few minutes too late
Or maybe a second too early
Promise me
That you will not outgrow
Running barefoot
In the summer rain
When the world
Spits out
Its schizophrenic songs
Listen to the nakedness
Of your heart
And dance till sunrise
Promise me
That you will not cower in the storm
The hail will pound
Till numbness
Promise me you won’t let go
Be not afraid to feel
The howling of the wind
Inside your soul
And sing till daybreak
Promise me
That you will not cease
To dig with bare hands
Till you unearth the true words
That ring with you deeply
The saving grace
Of the mirror of solitude
The chill of the night is passing
Hold on till the morning
Promise me
Don’t you worry child
You will never starve
Your bubble gum smile
Will break daddy’s heart
You can order him around
He will get you the red car
Cause you’re Daddy’s little gal
Don’t you worry babe
Daddy will be there
To keep you warm and safe
All your debts will be paid
You just play the game
Throw a fit or blackmail
You can live in Disney Land
Don’t you worry pretty doll
Get yourself a handsome boy
He will baby-sit your toys
Keep him till you get annoyed
There is more where he came from
You can’t afford to be bored
You must always be adored
Don’t you worry ma’am
Find yourself a loaded man
You will be his trophy wife
He can order you around
But you will take him for a ride
In his red antique car
You will have the last laugh
Cause you’re daddy’s little gal
Most wanted is
Most wanting
Nothing more
Nothing less
Less is more
More is never enough
Enough already
Happiness is wanting
What you already have
Everything you want
Is straight ahead
And behind
But the road
Keeps turning
So much less
So much more
Difficult
Do you know
What you want
Will it be
Enough
For you
Mysteries are unpolished gems
Unapprised treasures
For a discerning collector incognito
Everyone else
Wants a piece of the pie
But he deciphers
The recipe for its fragrance
Once a year the coveted flower
Blooms in secret
He will risk his life to find it
Those who know everything
Know nothing at all
Those who know nothing
Stuff their bellies
Till they feel satisfied
Those who are unsatisfied
Set sail for a lone voyage
Mysteries are ephemeral like April mist
Fainting in the hot noon sun
Invisible to irreverent blabbers
And perennial clowns
The veil is lifted in solitude
Seek and you shall find
Through the cracks in the windows
The sea whistles its ancient song
Waves crash against the walls
In endless ostinatos
The foam
Seeps in under the door
Sizzling mysteriously
Rock me to sleep
Tell me stories of sunken cathedrals
With stained glass windows
A mirage of aqua and sapphire
Deep beneath
In currents of seaweeds
Medusas comb their hair
With coral reef forks
And braid it with garlands of seashells
Thousands of tears mingle
In the ocean of forgetfulness
All cares drown
In slow motion
Slower still
Be still
Let me float
Adrift
Do you think we are
More sophisticated
Advanced
Civilized
Progressive?
Their pencils gave us calculus
Their inkwells - counterpoint
Their sliding rule - velocity of light
They spun the Earth around the Sun
Sailed the oceans by starlight
Boys argued theology in Latin
Slaying dragons in spare time
Adams wanted pursuit of virtue
But they preferred
Pursuit of happiness
One word
Could it be?
And here we are
As the world turns
Having sex in the city
We worry about
How our butts look
In one of a kind
Conformity jeans
Amused by the laugh track
We keep on drinking
Diet Oprah
The thrill and the agony
Of a blank page
Not quite the eternal no
Not yet a sweeping yes
A sketchy maybe
Possibly perhaps
Adorned with uncertainty
And thirdguessing
The thunderbolts of heaven
Turned into dim flickering
Prone to misinterpretation
A one way ticket to Unknown
And a head full of perishable thoughts
Doesn’t seem like a wise investment
Especially when
You are out of second chances
You hitched your wagon to the star
Not knowing where you are going
But I see you as you are
As you hope to be
And as you will be
Many days from now
I see you
After all these years
You are still walking toward me
In the rain
Your pale cheeks beaded
With pure droplets
Your clear eyes
So true and unrehearsed
Words are irrelevant
Nothing can be said
That we haven’t heard
Without saying it
The doors of the train are closing
The way they have been
Since the beginning of time
But for us
They are closing for the last time
And I am whisked away
No, I am slowly pulled away
But not against my wish
And not against yours
We both know
Without saying it
My shoulders savor the memory
Of your long embrace
So true and unrehearsed
Words are irrelevant
Nothing can be said
We both know
Without saying it
A good composer has to be able to wear many hats; that of an orchestrator, arranger, conductor, instrumentalist, and, of course a creator / inventor.
I finally had some time to pull my orchestration projects I prepared last year. It’s so much fun to play with the orchestral colors. I am enclosing a couple of pieces. Both, originally written for piano solo, now scored for full orchestra (woodwinds, brass, percussion, and strings).
I thought I would experiment with combining my abstract painting with music. The video features 10 of my paintings and the soundtrack is one of my electronic compositions entitled Thousands of Tears.
All my days have been written
In your book
Before any came to be
And then you gave me
The chisel and a hammer
To carve them out
From the silence of a boulder
I am weighed down
By the gravel in my pockets
Dust mingles with sweat
I can no longer see
Or hear anything
But the incessant clashes
Of dull metal against my bones
Oh, what I would do
For a gentle rain
Not for my arid throat
Or calloused fingers
But to wash over the stone
So I can look
For signs of hope
Of a shape
Emerging
Several years ago I was in need of some mindless decompression and so I went to the movie theater to see a popular at that time chick flick The Devil Wears Prada. Perhaps the Prada story itself could serve as a topic for another post, but for now I would like to focus on a commercial I saw before the movie.
A good composer has to be able to wear many hats; that of an orchestrator, arranger, conductor, instrumentalist, and, of course a creator / inventor. 
