I’m back. The Sanctuary piano and I had a very productive hour working on Adagio Thing.
I love Adagio Thing. Adagio Thing is my friend. The following scene mostly took place in my head, but it also took place in The Sanctuary, which is what I’m calling my lunch-hour piano-practicing room.
So anyway, four of us met in The Sanctuary today: Piano, Clarinet, Cello, and me. Oboe didn’t show up because she was too depressed about having been so unceremoniously kicked off the team, so to speak. English Horn was busy (her feast-or-famine job was in feast mode, I guess), and was unable to make it (much to Clarinet’s relief).
I wrote/sketched twelve measures. It starts out softly with Cello and Piano, and then Clarinet comes in at measure nine, after Cello has played through the first little theme once.
Now, this will most definitely probably change.
I might have Clarinet start it. I will probably have the main theme played twice because nine measly measures just doesn't (don’t?) seem sufficient.
The piano is just doing chords at first, but the top note of each chord shadows the notes that Cello is playing. It’s two counts behind (usually), so there’s kind of a sense of Piano either (1) singing the melody back to Cello, or (2) trying to learn cello’s part by following just behind it. I don’t know why it’s doing that. Piano just said, “Let me try this,” so I did, and it didn’t sound too bad at all.
Of course, I don’t know the first thing about writing counterpoint, so I don’t know how long Piano and Cello will be able to stay in two-things-going-on-at-once mode.
Then I mess with secondary dominant sevenths and a few other things, and modulate temporarily from F to g minor. And that’s when the cello starts doing arpeggios and the clarinet comes in, singing the original theme, only a whole step higher. And it’s so purty. And when it resolves to an E-flat, it just ... does it for me. And you just know Clarinet was singing her reedy little heart out in my head so she won’t have to be benched.
Then I looked at my watch. The scene in my head came to an abrupt end. Cello and Clarinet became silent and disappeared. Piano looked at me expectantly. I had gone way overtime with this. Cubicle Land was calling.
These scenes in my head—and what they produce in real life—are what I live for, though. There is nothing so thrilling as getting into “creative mode” and being so focused on the “scene” (whether in fiction or music), that time just ceases to be a factor. I am such a beginner at this whole music-composition thing, but I have a strong feeling that it’s “right,” that for me, that composing is somehow “meant to be.”
Silly, I know. How do I know I’m “meant” to compose when I hardly know the first thing about it? I’ve always known I was meant to compose, though. I just never had the nerve or the patience before now to learn how to do it. And those “right” feelings get stronger every time I sit down at the piano, whether to write, play, improvise, or work through a theory exercise.
I don’t know how I know these things. I guess I just know. I just wish I had more time for all these things I'm meant to do!
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