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Post by Bob Porter on Sept 6, 2017 22:57:12 GMT
Well, I presented a very simple format. There are many.
I don't use a formal plan. I admit to never having tried. It feels as though I would be forcing what I'm writing in to a box. Rather than letting the music go. Not too freely, but rather have a loose hand on the reins. Sure, I have an idea where I want to go, but time and again the music knows better than I do. Sometimes I feel more like a facilitator than a composer. I start the process, but then I need to get out of the way. For me, this is the magic. There is a theory that music is all around us all the time. Musicians just make it audible. There is nothing even close to sitting back after writing something and hearing that it is good.
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Post by fuguestate on Sept 6, 2017 23:17:38 GMT
Bob Porter : Using a "formal plan" doesn't necessarily mean you sit down, decide on a sonata form, and then start plopping down notes according to that form. At least in my own composition process, much of the time I start with a theme (or the beginning of one) without knowing where it will lead. But at some point, the fog begins to clear a little, and I can perceive multiple directions to take, some of which may lead to a rondo form, some to a sonata form, or some other form. And even then, it's not set in stone until it's actually done. I've tried writing strictly according to a form in the past. None of those pieces turned out well. Perhaps unsurprisingly. These days, though, I find that with certain themes, it's possible to "prod" it in the direction of a predetermined form, while still letting the music flow where it "wants" to go. Of course, this only works if the theme is suitable to that form to begin with. If not, no amount of prodding will work, and if you bring out the shoehorn, you'll end up with a poor fit (i.e., the music won't be very good). There is some amount of flexibility in how you handle a theme, though it often comes at the price of a compromise, such as not strictly following a preplanned number of bars, or some other such concession. Of course, sometimes you get to a point where the music will insist on going a different direction no matter what, in spite of all efforts to herd it where you want. In these cases, it often produces the best results if one just lets the music go where it will. (Maybe to pull in the reins at a later point. A little. Maybe.) "Taming" the musical "beast" in this way is, at least to me, part of the fun and draw of composing. You get to drive, but your car sometimes has a will of its own. Fortunately, crashes are non-fatal in this case.
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Post by Bob Porter on Sept 7, 2017 19:24:12 GMT
It's all semantics, of course, but I think I prefer to "skillfully steer" the music. Taming the beast sounds more like I am the master. Which I most certainly am not. We're just saying the same thing in different ways.
But as far as "inspiration" goes? I seldom have any. That is until I sit at my composition computer. I can't remember ever having a problem writing, or having writers block, or running out of ideas. Of course I'm not doing commissions or writing anything very complicated.
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Post by fuguestate on Sept 7, 2017 19:56:11 GMT
Bob Porter: you're lucky. I find that my inspiration has the tendency to vanish when I sit down at the computer, ready to compose. My inspiration has a higher chance to return if I take a long walk alone. So I usually end up toying with new ideas while away from the computer, away from pencil and paper, and when I hit upon a really good idea, I try my best to memorize it so that I'll remember what it was when I get back to the computer.
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Post by Bob Porter on Sept 9, 2017 0:54:07 GMT
Man, you have a memory? What's that like? Sure, I think up fantastic melodies all the time. They evaporate just as fast.
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Post by fuguestate on Sept 12, 2017 22:17:55 GMT
My memory isn't as good as it may have sounded. I often come up with pretty good ideas only to find myself unable to recall how it started, or if I put some effort into remembering how it started, that I can only remember the first 1/4 of it. Inspiration is an elusive thing to grab a hold of.
Then again, sometimes I wonder if said good ideas were actually good ideas to begin with, because there have been occasions where I manage to remember a meaningful portion of a good idea, write it down in time before memory evaporated, only to discover upon revisiting it that it wasn't as good as my initial impression of it suggested -- in fact, it was a dud.
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Post by Dave Dexter on Sept 12, 2017 23:30:36 GMT
Preach. I can think of one occasion where I had a melody in my head and thought it was amazing. It was all so clear, the overall sound and harmony was beautiful, and I could not get it out. I had it close, but it was the difference between scoring a straight-to-VHS and a cinema release. Took me about four months of going back to it every now and then, and I finally had it. Perhaps the problem was because I often think in terms of discrete chords and melodies on guitar, or it could just be something that happens to everyone, be they experienced or not. I've burnt a few meals recording rough takes into my iphone rather than assuming the idea will still be in my head after eating. It's so fragile, anything you hear could change or dislodge it. Everyone has a musical elephant's graveyard, though. Those are the pieces you use for commissions you have less enthusiasm for My memory isn't as good as it may have sounded. I often come up with pretty good ideas only to find myself unable to recall how it started, or if I put some effort into remembering how it started, that I can only remember the first 1/4 of it. Inspiration is an elusive thing to grab a hold of. Then again, sometimes I wonder if said good ideas were actually good ideas to begin with, because there have been occasions where I manage to remember a meaningful portion of a good idea, write it down in time before memory evaporated, only to discover upon revisiting it that it wasn't as good as my initial impression of it suggested -- in fact, it was a dud.
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Post by fuguestate on Sept 12, 2017 23:41:20 GMT
In my case, sometimes inspiration is so fragile that the mere act of exerting the mental effort to translate the sound into notes causes it to evaporate. "Was that a leap of a minor 6th or a major 6th? Oops, what was the next note again? Nooo, it's gone....". I often resign to grasping at enough notes that can still be usable as a good idea, so that I can repeat it in my head until its imprint on my memory is slightly more solid, before I even attempt to write anything down. Unfortunately that often comes at the cost of forgetting what the rest of the idea was.
OTOH the one good thing that comes out of the fragile nature of the inspiration, and my need to "rehearse it" in my mind while committing it to memory, is that often the idea gets more refined as I repeat it in my mind, so that what I eventually write down is (hopefully, anyway) better than the original idea was.
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Post by Bob Porter on Sept 13, 2017 0:12:31 GMT
And yet, I think where the rubber meets the road is when you sit down and actually start writing. All the notes we may have made. All the grandiose plans we may have. All the killer counter point? All of it means nothing unless we can put something together when it counts. I'm not talking about technical knowledge, as such. I'm talking about being able to wring out raw emotion. Punch me in the gut, musically. Melt my face. Strip me bare, emotionally. Beat me until I fall on my knees before the almighty power chord(or whatever). Let me know I've listened to music. Don't just slop some notes together, and call it good. I'm not taking just about loud music. It could be 4 measures of soft four part harmony that is the sweetest ever written. Something that I can not just hear, but see and feel, also. No other art form can do that.
There's a little motif that goes through my head at some point almost every day. Nothing special. Not even a real melody. Just something that could be built on. Then, it's gone. I couldn't begin to remember it when I'm at the computer. And yet, later, at some point, when I least expect it ( and least able to write it down) it pops back into my head. Just kind of odd.
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Post by fuguestate on Sept 13, 2017 5:08:29 GMT
Yeah, I've also had ideas return to me while writing, ideas which I thought were forever forgotten. But for me, that's pretty rare.
Totally agree with your point about music being much more than just plopping notes together. My criterion is pretty simple. Whatever I write must sound good to me. I'm pretty picky when it comes to what kind of music I like. If something doesn't even convince me, I'll rewrite it until it does.
While composing Exuberance, I wrote many passages that eventually I just threw out, because they failed to sound convincing to me. A lot of them were "correct counterpoint" but they just didn't "work" in the context they were put in. I was stuck on the very first episode after the exposition for months before I hit upon something that worked. And even then it still wasn't the final form. Only later, while I was grappling with the next major section, did I finally hit upon the idea of using the subject inversion. Afterwards I even rewrote it and threw out the subject inversion, when a different plan came to mind. Only much later, after I decided the different plan wasn't a good idea after all, did I return to the idea of using the subject inversion. (And this is why I find revision control software an indispensable part of my composition process... but that's another topic.)
This is just one example. There were many other passages that were rewritten several times. Rewriting a later passage sometimes also requires revising an earlier passage. The overall form must "make sense" to me, and the music must convince me, otherwise I can't let it go.
The times when I've been lazy and chosen the easy way out, are usually also when people will point flaws in those very passages I skimped on. So hard work is not optional. Which is true for life in general, I suppose.
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Post by Mike Hewer on Sept 13, 2017 7:44:32 GMT
Dave, early on I used to dream up melodies in my head and whilst doing so, was playing them on my mental guitar, replete with position and fingering. I eventually stopped doing it, but there is nothing wrong with your way of thinking. I once dreamt a whole concerto and as it was playing, I kept telling myself to remember it. The piece finished with a chord so loud, it woke me up. Could I remember a single note.....?.....NO. Inspiration I feel has to be worked for and hunted out. Sure sometimes it comes in a flash, but more often than not I've found what I perceive to be my best moments have been through curation born of hard work. Not many composers wait around for the 'spark from Heaven' - much better in my view to lay down the circumstances that may lead to its arrival. .. Perhaps the problem was because I often think in terms of discrete chords and melodies on guitar,
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Post by fuguestate on Sept 13, 2017 18:14:39 GMT
Mike Hewer: Funny, I had very similar experiences. Would dream about a grand orchestral piece, and suddenly realize I'm about to wake up, so kept telling myself to remember at least the main motifs. After waking up, I don't remember anything. Sometimes, the very act of trying to remember it causes it to fizzle out while I'm still asleep. Sigh.
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Post by Bob Porter on Sept 17, 2017 21:15:51 GMT
And part of it could be a series of questions.
What is "inspiration"? Does it really exist? Is lack of "it" an excuse for not writing?
I know we take it for granted. We've assumed that it's some magical "thing" whence comes any art. Is that true? Can anyone pin it down? Or does it defy description? It seems it's like a train: we wait for it, we miss it, sometimes it never shows up, when it does we ride it wherever it's going, it gets derailed...
I'm aware of the definitions. We talk about it all the time. But what does it mean?
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Post by fuguestate on Sept 18, 2017 4:27:14 GMT
IME, inspiration is both rare, and thus needs to be complemented with perspiration (i.e., good ole hard work), and also tends to arrive at the heels of said perspiration. I.e., you're putting in the hard work of writing the notes even when inspiration is scarce, but then at a certain point, what you have just written becomes a springboard for inspiration to strike.
Modern philosophy loves to be analytical and segregate everything into neat little boxes, but reality is often far too complex to be understood that way. I think trying to single out inspiration as a thing in and of itself, dissociated from the things around it, is the wrong way to approach it. Rather, it is something inexorably bound up with the things that surround it, one of which is plain old hard work. There are inevitably other factors. Experience, perhaps, is another. And arguably, a strong grasp of theory might be one, too. Though that is up for discussion.
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Post by Mike Hewer on Sept 18, 2017 17:49:45 GMT
I will of course err on the side of hard work opening the door for inspiration, but to pick up on Bob and Teohs points, I think inspiration is actually undefined until it happens, only then might you think "where'd that come from?- that works". Bob asks what does it mean, well to me if I am listening to a master, it is a shiver of visceral emotion. If I am listening to my work it's a "crap, I hope I didn't lift that from somewhere". That of course is not a definition, perhaps a definition would be a heightened almost irrational instinct operating against the parameters it finds itself in. I think that depending on ones' ears, inspiration, like music itself will mean different things to different people. Despite my training, I also believe inspiration can hit any composer at any level in any field of music as is evidenced in the great traditions of popular music over the years. Genius and heightened instinct are in abundance everywhere.
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