Evolution of a Song: Part Two

In reference to Part One, I sent the post to my brother Steve.   I hadn’t heard from him for quite some time, and it was wonderful to receive this email in the morning:

Bro –

This is so nice and yes, it happened exactly as you
describe.

I’ve always said there are three phases in my musical
life (which is 99% of my life, or something):

Andy Pope
The Grateful Dead
Everything else.

Equally weighted –

And you can quote me on that.

S.

What a pleasant surprise to wake up and see my brother’s email!   But he did not say anything about the libretto.  This leads to a personal confession.

I have been terrible about devaluing the songs I wrote when I was younger.  At one point I wrote a song called “Apologies to Peter Pan.”  It was the year 1974, and I was 21 years old.   Well, I thought the music was okay, but I didn’t like the lyrics.   So, later on in life, in the year 2004 in fact, I stole my own song.

I stole the music of “Apologies to Peter Pan” in order to place that music in a show I was writing, while changing all the words and, in fact, the entire meaning of the song.  One person was honest enough to object.   He explained that the lyrics were not better than the lyrics of the original song (which I do remember, by the way, in full.)

That person was right.   But what he does not know, and what no one knew till now, is the reason why I would do these things:  low self esteem.  

I simply did not believe, at around 2004 or so, that I was capable of writing a brand new song.  I had been involved in the workaday world, zipping from gig to gig on the San Francisco Bay Area Peninsula –  hustling, teaching, doing my gigs, and not really writing much at all.   I viewed writing as something I did as a Kid.   As an adult, I worked.   I taught.  I played music.   I went to PTA meetings.   I taught Vacation Bible School.  But did I write any music?

No.  Not at all.   Why not?   I no longer believed that I could.  

So instead, I thought: “Well – when I was younger, I wrote all kinds of music.   I always remember the music, but not always the lyrics.  Why don’t I just take all the old music I wrote, rearrange it, and rewrite the words?

So I stole my own music, in this pathetic and cowardly fashion, until one night, there was a psychic change.

It was the year 2010.  I was renting a hotel room at a reduced rate, in exchange for working the front desk.   I had time on my hands, and I still made visits to my mentor, Stan Beckler.

Stan Beckler

I had studied Music Theory and Composition with Stan at the U.O.P. Conservatory of Music in the 70’s.  I reconnected with him later in life, and began to pay him visits, during which my orchestrations were analyzed.   He was a wonderful man and a brilliant composer whom I admired very much.  Then in March of 2010, at the age of 86, Stan died.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.   Stan had always wanted me to write a string quartet.  But I never did.  He had also often suggested I remove the drum parts completely.   He appreciated and drew out the classical composer in me.   He’d have rather I had not gotten so heavy into the show tunes.   But he was never discouraging, always warm and wise.  It was hard to get Stan off my mind that night.  But I decided to try.

I opened the file of the piece I was writing.  It seemed that the song, “Child of No Emotion,” might make a better song with different words, to be called: “Cloaks of Art.”  As I began to arrange the music, I decided to begin with a string section.  And I tried not to think about this man whom I had loved, who had always been with me, and who now was gone.

Editing the arrangement, I would often stop and start the music over again.   My perfectionism was at a staggering peak.  I could not get it right, no matter what.  But I kept hammering away, till just before dawn.  And then — something happened.  Something entirely new, unexpected, unprecedented.

As I tried to keep stopping and starting the music, the STOP command ceased to function.  I wanted to stop the music.   But the music would not stop.

It kept playing, even after I repeatedly pressed the STOP key.   So I could no longer mess with it.  I was forced to listen to it all.   I listened to the strings, and then suddenly I realized:

This is the string quartet that Stan always wanted me to write.  And Stan is here right now.   He won’t let me keep messing with the music — because he wants to hear the whole thing!   His spirit is here, approving of me — telling me my work is complete.  I have finally satisfied my mentor.  I have written the String Quartet!

I fell down on my knees.  I thought about how when the prophet Elijah had died, Elisha was sorrowful.  And he asked God to give him a “double portion of Elijah’s spirit.”

I cried out: “Lord, give me a double portion of Stan Beckler’s spirit!”

And I don’t know how to explain it, but never again did I ever feel that I could not write music that was new and fresh.   As for “Cloaks of Art?”   The string quartet is not very long.   Twenty measures or so, before other instruments enter in, and it swells into a more symphonic sound.   But it satisfied Stan, and it marked the beginning of a new life of new music, new words.   I may not be an “entirely different composer.” But the song I sing in my heart today is an entirely different song.

Cloaks of Art

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Turns Toward Dawn

This was fairly spontaneous.   We decided, more-or-less on the spot, to film this, more-or-less rehearsing. Kelsey Chapman and Brady Ross-Minton on vocals (no mikes) — singing the parts of Taura and Winston (respectively) in their song “Turns Toward Dawn” from EDEN IN BABYLON Copyright © 2019 by Andrew Michael Pope, with Andy at the Baldwin Grand. 

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A little bit goes a long, long way.  

Norwegian Wood

The event  of the All Beatles show turns out so far to be a very warm gathering of medium attendance.  The Town Elders are there, a great rare appearance.  Then mostly my homeys whom I can identify among the visible audience members, if you wish.  I believe these videos are coming at me in chronological order, and these first two, Can’t Buy Me Love and Norwegian Wood, definitely took place before things got out of hand.   

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Can’t Buy Me Love

I apologize for the delay.  I’ve been waiting for clips from the All Beatles Show to start pouring into my inbox, which moment appears at long last to be now.   I’ll just post them in the order they come.  Here’s “Can’t Buy Me Love.”

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A little bit goes a long, long way.  

Hermit

I believe that we who write lyrics and music tend to remember the music we write better than we remember the lyrics.   At least, that is true of me, and especially if the song was written long ago, and then more-or-less abandoned.

The song that is featured today is something I wrote in April of 1976 in an effort to come out of a long period of isolation and creative famine.  I remember it took me a month to write the song.   This was also the first month of my now 42 years as a long-distance runner.  Writing this song was part of a complete lifestyle change.

Since it took me so long to squeeze it all out of me, I remembered the music very clearly, and continued to remember it over the years, even though I hardly ever played it.  But I forgot a lot of the lyrics, which I never sang.

At some point in the 42 years since I wrote the song “Hermit,” I forgot all about it.  But this past week, the song for some reason resurfaced in my consciousness.  This time, it had been so long, I didn’t even remember some of the music.   But as the week progressed, I remembered more and more of it; and I practiced it several times on the piano.

As for the lyrics?  Here are the ones I remember:

Shifting back and forth
Between one reckless thought and the next,
Trapped inside a rented room
Behind a world that’s too complex.

And later:

Your life is just a rented room!

Still later:

We all need our time to think –
But how much?  That’s all I ask!
You could spend a lifetime claiming you’re close to the cure,
But when life itself is such a task,
You’re never sure . . .
Never sure . .  .

Interesting.  I was 23 at the time.  I wonder why the song came back to me this week?  I hadn’t thought about it in years.  Here’s what it sounds like.

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Anything Helps – God Bless!

Psychology of an Insecure Creative

Last night I sent the music to my song “The Very Same World” to Erika, the new Director of Music at my church.   This afternoon I found myself writing very nervously in my private diary.  Included were passages such as follows:  

I felt instantly horrible about the song I sent her the very first moment after I clicked on “send.”  Before I clicked on “send,” I thought my song had promise.  Immediately after knowing it would soon be scrutinized by a person of intimidating musical talent, I decided that the song sucked.

I chose that song, The Very Same World, only because of three things:

1. An earlier, faster version of it has gotten far more plays on my SoundCloud than any other song of mine.

2. When I sent my music to my brother, he singled out “The Very Same World” as the song he liked the best, calling it an “excellent composition” and “world class.”

3. When I sent the lyrics to my daughter, she got back to me saying they were “awesome!”

Other than that, no one has really commented on it. I don’t much like it myself.  I somewhat regret not finding the time today to get “Midnight Screams” to her instead.  But “Midnight Screams” forces the singer to extend a very high long “e” sound, odiously enough. I haven’t gotten around to changing the words yet, which might even involve changing the title, since that “e” sound is on the word “screams.’ Forget what high note it is specifically, but it’s high.

Later, after the church dinner, I spoke briefly with Erika.  During the brief conversation, I changed my mind.   I decided the “Same World” tune was good after all, because I heard myself sing a few lines from it.  The lines sounded good to me when I sang them, and I believe I saw Erika smile.

Most of all, however, when I timidly admitted that I had put the word “screams” on a long-held high note in “Midnight Screams,” forcing the singer to have to sing an extended long E vowel sound, Erika simply said:

 

The gallery for --> No Problem Smiley

She then amazed me with just about the most thrilling long E high note I’ve ever heard.  Nobody’s going to shout “verboten” at that good a voice  – and now I don’t have to change the title either.

I slept well last night.  My neurosis has been relieved.   

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Anything Helps – God Bless!

 

Heart of the Arts

No doubt you’re aware by now that I’ve resumed my search for singers for the Eden in Babylon demo wholeheartedly, after being discouraged at an earlier stage, and sinking into an unweildy period of deep depression that I am determined to demolish.  Well, I’ve got some encouraging news to share with you!

I think I’ve found a singer for the main female part on my song  The Very Same World.  She’s the new Choir director at my church, a young woman involved with the Lionel Hampton School of Music.   She sings very well — and the song is in her range, too.

In the clip below, she would come in solo at 1:44, where you may notice a key change.  Prior to that, she would have entered at 1:06 (the first hook) with myself and a second female vocalist of unknown identity.  I can sing the main male part from the start – for now – but I’ll need three more voices for the second hook, coming in at 2:32.  I faded this version at 3:02, but you probably get the point.  In the one minute and forty-two seconds that follow, it only gets bigger.  And it’s all scored on Finale: piano, six voices, and all other instruments.

I only told her that there “might” be money in it, since after all, I’m not sure.  If she didn’t mind doing this one for free, that would certainly be very kind of her.  However, as far as requesting she sing the other two songs on the demo, it doesn’t seem right not to be able to pay her something.  It would be good if I could just get a team of three men and three women together, including myself.  If would be great if I could rehearse three songs in three rehearsals adequately before we record — and then proceed to pay them what they’re worth.   If I really want to find talented singers who can help me create a demo of decent quality, I need to pay each of them at least $125 for the three songs I’d like to put on the demo.  Then I can at least begin to submit the show to theater companies — with or without a complete piano-vocal score — because they’ll at least have some idea what the music sounds like when they read the script.  

The words below are those of the second hook.  The complete lyrics may be found here.  I put a picture of the entrance way to my new and favorite city, just so you can get a grasp of how golden it is, for me.  If I can pull this thing off anywhere, I can pull it off in Moscow, Idaho – in the city I knew absolutely nothing about before I found my home here on July 27, 2016 — in the Very Same City where I was born.  

The Very Same World
That has seen tragedy
Will now see majesty
Stand at her door.
The Very Same World
That had been torn apart
Will show her golden heart –
Let her heart pour
All over the world,
And put an end to shame.
That world will bear the name:
World Beyond War.

The Very Same World

from the new musical Eden in Babylon,
exploring the effects of homelessness on the young people of 21st Century America.
Copyright © 2017 by Andrew Michael Pope

All Rights Reserved.

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Anything Helps – God Bless!

The Wheels Are Spinning

After church yesterday morning, I spoke with my pastor briefly. He said he had listened to some of the Eden in Babylon score as posted on this page. Anticipating his objection, I waited for him to elaborate. He phrased it positively when he did, and I’m also certain that he would never have characterized his observation as an “objection.”  It’s just that I’ve heard it all too often before, so I tend to be on guard.  And for good reason – for he basically said what everybody else always says: that he would like to hear it all put together – meaning the singing as well as the instrumentals.

That’s a friendly way of saying that it’s hard to tell from hearing the music alone just how the words are supposed to fit in. People look at lyrics I’ve posted; they listen to the music I’ve posted; and they think “OK – these words are supposed to match up with this music? How, exactly?” It really does put a damper on people’s ability to appreciate what I’m about. I can deny that obvious fact no longer.

So – a logical next move would be round up some singers and put them over the instrumental tracks. But who are these singers?  It is one thing for me proclaim: “I will round them up.”  But what does this mean, precisely?  Round them up – from where?  From whom?  Will they sing for free? The pastor suggested I might be able to use the church facilities, meaning the sound board, the mixer, and the microphones. He hinted at my even using members of the Choir, and I’ll admit there are some awfully decent voices there. But can they handle my style?   Well, perhaps.  But will they truly vibrate with the groove?  Doubtful.  There’s a certain type of worldly, non-churchy vibration in the music itself that lends itself to something a bit down-and-dirty at times.   It’s kind of the pastor to have offered, but it’s also uncomfortably recalling how I could easily find the right singers and pay them what they’re worth – if only I had the money.

But since I don’t, it strikes me that the School of Music might be a more likely place to find competent singers who can sing in the style of my characters and who would enjoy learning this music and recording it with me – possibly even to the point of doing so for free. About paying them, I can sort of “feel it out” when I talk with them, and definitely seek to make an impression on an academic musical level, so that they’ll recognize me as a composer-theoretician, and we can all mutually vibrate on that level as amiably as is to be expected.  Money can be brought up at around about that point.

Also, to sort of wade gently into the unknown waters here, this “rounding up effort” can be realistically restricted to a small number of “character singers” at first. I need Winston, Benzo, Mortalis, and Taura – that’s four.  Throw in a fifth woman for other female parts, and me doing the other male parts, and we have ourselves a pretty decent blend. So that would be five people to concern myself with having to pay, five people with whom I would have concerned myself with “rounding up” to begin with.  Whether the field I tap is the School of Music or anywhere else, if it’s a matter of advertising, then I’ll need to word my advertisements in a compelling manner, as well as cultivate an appealing approach, in general.

singers-in-rehearsalI’ll need a legible score, but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I can extract parts from my Finale files. It will only be a problem if I become perfectionist about it, and allow it to enclose me back into isolation. This I can avoid by churning out one number at a time, while in the process of slowly gleaning singers. If we’re only talking about a handful of singers besides myself, whom we may assume will need to be very decent musicians and/or musical theatre people who have a real, built-in reverence for the kind of prodigious accomplishment to be found in the flagrant manifestation of remarkable musical score; then these being the caliber of people whom I seek probably wouldn’t mind working for free at this stage. It’s also possible that maybe I can simultaneously seek some small measure of financial support, so that they won’t have to render their services for absolutely nothing.

The wheels are spinning, anyway. I have a complete script now, so it doesn’t make much sense that the next phase of the project would entail too much more isolation. I ought to be able to use the fact of the completed script to encourage further human involvement, such as by holding a reading. But I don’t want to just focus on that, at the expense of connecting the musical dots, because I feel that to do so is a higher priority.  Although it’s true that I’ve now completed a libretto, I don’t even have a full vocal-score to present to singers or to a musical director, nor do I have (especially) samples of the music including the singing as well as the instrumental accompaniment, on which anyone can clearly hear what the score is all about.  So despite that I’ve completed a script full of text, I still don’t have a completed package.  It’s still not quite marketable.

It does seem, however, that to prepare the next piece of the package will need to involve about five other people, to do it decently, by whom I mean singers, who can sing the different character parts, along with myself, and I can maybe just accompany all the songs on the piano, if that’s the easiest way for them to learn the music, and for me to put it across.  After all, it’s what I’ve been doing all my life – so I might as well  go the extra mile here.  As to exactly where to find these other comrades of the Arts, this is another story.  But I am firmly affixed that this is the next step.   

A Long and Winding Tunnel

The other day, another blogger cautioned me not to let my blogging get in the way of my Art.  She’s got a point there.  I reflected on this, and I realized that there have been days when I’ve put more energy into describing my project than I have into the actual project itself.  For this reason, I have decided that my earlier decision to try to post “every other day” is unrealistic.  I’ll post when I have something to say.  We must, after all, remember the wise words of Plato:  plato1

The fool speaks because he has to say something.  The wise man speaks because he has something to say. 

That said, I do have a couple things to say this morning.  I may be getting way ahead of myself here, but I worry about my song Children of the Universe being taken out of context.  In the musical, the Street Kids are fed up, they’re out in the elements, they have an inkling that they’d rather be “safe” in jail, and they decide to vandalize the homes of the wealthy where their friend, Winston Greene, was born, so they can go join him in jail after his wealthy birth family put him there.  It’s a vengeful act, and not an uncommon sentiment among those who feel they’ve been screwed left and right by society.  This is how revolutions have been started throughout history.

But once again, I’m a spiritual person, and a morally minded person.  Do I  myself advocate violent uprising against the bourgeoisie?  Actually, no — I do not.  I am a man of peace.   But I am trying to make a point here.  The point I’m trying to make is that if we don’t get a handle on the effects of classism in America, it’s probably going to happen.  Many people in the impoverished classes are incredibly frustrated that wealthy people seem at times to view their poverty as a moral failing.  They would prefer that people in the privileged classes respect them enough to at least listen to their points of view, and consider that what they have to say might be valid.  I am far from wealthy myself, but when I was even more impoverished than I am today, I felt this frustration.  I was simply receiving too many lectures from people who thought they knew the answers for me, when in reality they knew nothing about the world of poverty, and I often felt that I had a lot of answers for them.  But in general, they wouldn’t listen — and this was a frustration.

This frustration was shared by almost everyone else I knew who was in a similarly impoverished position.  Apparently, it was also compounded by the tensions of urban living.  This is one reason why I finally made the decision to relocate in a rural area, which is just about the wisest move I’ve ever made in my life.  Since then, my wrathful resentment toward those who flaunt their opulence has been reduced to a relatively mild disdain.  (We don’t “do” upper crust in this neck of the woods.)   

In light of that personal transformation, I would hate to go down as one who advocated violent revolt against the establishment – or against anyone or anything, for that matter.  But I wouldn’t mind going down as one who issued a warning that it’s probably about to happen if we don’t shape up.

The second thing I wanted to mention is that I’ve been vigorously working on the second Scene in Act Two and am beginning to see the light at the end of this particularly long and winding tunnel.   I have this odd feeling that the next time I put pen to paper, I’m probably not going to stop until the long-awaited moment arrives when I write the words “The End” at the bottom of the document.  This time, unlike my earlier efforts at getting this show on the road, I can see the end from the beginning.   For that progress, I may thank my  Writer’s Guild , my pastor, my Minister of Music, my friends in my current community of Artists and musicians — and all of you.  Without the support of other writers and like-minded thinkers, I would never have been able to reach this stage  — in fact, I wouldn’t have come near it.  So – what I have to say in closing is:

thankyoured

Another Scene Down

I’m not sure exactly how many hours I put into my writing today.   It seems I didn’t really get started till about one in the afternoon.   Let’s say there was an hour break for dinner and bathroom stops.   So I guess I wrote for eight hours.   All I know is that when I wrote the words “End of Act Two, Scene One” at the bottom of p.104, I looked down at the computer clock — and it read 10:00pm exactly.

I had a feeling today would be a good day.  I awoke in good spirits, feeling relaxed and relieved after having resolved a difficult situation at work.  I also knew I had the day off — and I knew what to do with it.   Most of the writing of the 17-page Scene consisted of refining the six pages leading up to the song called Hunted, finishing the lyrics to Hunted, writing all the dialogue between Hunted and the following song, writing a new monologue called the “Mainstream Monologue,” and finally finishing all the lyrics to the song Children of the Universe.   (If you happen to listen to the music of that song, you can easily discern how writing its lyrics was no small task.)

Obviously, I felt very pleased when I finished all that work.  But there’s something gnawing at me.

real-writerIf you’ve been reading me much at all lately, you’ll know that I’ve been contemplating the different stages of the creative process as well as the different spaces of Bipolar Disorder, and how they seem to coalesce in order to yield long periods of time when nothing gets done at all — at least not consciously — followed by long periods of time when all kinds of work is steadily produced.   Even though I only have two Scenes left to go, and I can actually even see the light at the end of the tunnel, I have this horrendous fear that the next period of depression – or incubation – is going to last even longer than the last one, which was damn near seven days. 

For the sake of balance, I want to stop writing now, and rest my weary head and bones.  But for the sake of getting the show finished, don’t you think it would be better if I forged forward, while I’m still on the roll?   I’d hate to plunge into another week or two of dry vacuous nothingness.

But no – I must seek a more healthy balance here.  I have tomorrow off as well, so I might as well get some rest, and have at it once again in the morning.   I’m starting to get the feeling that God is actually going to allow me, after all these years, to finish the damn thing.  I need to ride on that hope.   There’s no turning back by now.

Done with Act One!

As I wrote the words “End of Act One” at the bottom of p.86, I looked at the computer clock.  It was 6:45am.

No – I did not stay up all night.  True, I got to work on time last night by the skin of my teeth.  A phone call to announce I’d been searching for my missing keys seemed appropriate.  Granted, the keys were only missing for about five seconds.  But at least I didn’t lie about it.

Four hours of work was fine.  I concentrated well on the job, when called for.  I was unusually silent during dinner hour — and I’m sure you all know why. 

As soon as I got home, I grabbed my laptop and headed to the Bagel Shop.  There I remained until the first rush of drunken students arrived.  I returned to my room, and wrote till midnight.  As the clock struck twelve, I gave up.  I had been belaboring the end of the Act for so long to no avail, I’m sure all the Muses were snoring in their sleep from boredom.  Soon, I was snoring too.

And it’s a good thing.  I got up at around 4am, took my thyroid medication, drank some water, did some reading, made some coffee, called a friend, and finally braved the unknown. 

Then, what didn’t happen last night happened this morning.  It was uncanny.  It’s a rare experience, and very difficult to describe.  The same experience occurred when I wrote the Siddhartha Monologue, and the lyrics to “Midnight Screams.”  The rush of creative fire ripped through my bloodstream.  It practically burned through my pores.  As I wrote the “oracle” that my protagonist, Winston Greene, is supposed to be “receiving” at the end of the Act, it was as though I myself were receiving it — from somewhere.   It couldn’t have happened last night, either.  Last night all I did was stare brain-dead at the page.  It must have happened when it was meant to happen; for this morning, I was on fire.

tom
Tom McKenzie

Honestly, I got so excited when the final verses of the song came about, I could barely focus to write.  Mercifully, I was able to contain myself just long enough to finish the Act.  At that, I heard the voice of my Theatre Arts mentor, the late Tom McKenzie, clearly saying what he no doubt would have said to me at that moment – God rest his soul.

“And now, it’s time for you to put it aside for a while.”

This calls for a glass of wine.

The Kiss of the Muse

On Tuesday evening, I left the all-night restaurant alluded to in my most recent post, convinced that I’d somehow managed to hook up with a very talented batch of like-minded Writers.  I gave each of the six other participants a copy of my Scene One, and received from each of them a chapter of the novels they’re currently writing.

My main reservation is that I’m the only playwright in the bunch.  Also, since I’m a musical playwright, there are song lyrics as well as dialogue and stage directions strewn about my manuscript.   This differentiates me even further from the novelists in my midst.   Moreover, they all seem to be writing fantasy or science fiction–which of course is to be expected.  But my work is intended to deal with social issues such as classism, and to paint a picture not often seen of the Homeless Phenomenon in America

However, this doesn’t mean that their feedback will be of no value to me.  It only means that I’m afraid to receive it.   After all, our commonalities are greater than our differences.  I look forward to receiving input on plot, character development, clarity of content, and the like.  What I dread is that someone might object to some of my lyrics, without being aware of the type of music that accompanies them, since they won’t be hearing the music, but only reading the words.   This has happened before in the past, and it has put me in an awkward position.

kissofthemuse

Still, they’re all very intelligent, highly motivated people.   I’m sure that whatever happens at our next meeting, the fact that I’m finally convening with others of my ilk, and no longer hiding from the public world in stubborn isolation, is bound to reap more benefits than detriments in my creative life.

Otherwise, I’ve been busy with work and church (which in my case are very closely related, since I work at a church).   I’ve also been engrossed in some personal matters for the past few days.  So, while I did succeed in finishing Scene Four, as reported in this post, I’ve not yet begun to take a stab at Scene Five.   But I can feel it starting to simmer within me, somewhere down there. It’s a vague but very real sensation: an undeniable sense that I’m about to burst into another creative binge.   It feels as though something inside me is “percolating” — or, more accurately, incubating.  It’s almost as though I can feel the Muse approaching.  If I’m lucky, maybe she’ll kiss me, as she did the similarly exhausted Writer in the charming little picture up above.  Well — here’s hoping.

Baby Steps

I’m sitting in the local pub in a highly neurotic state.  No worries – I’m not drinking, and perish the thought.  But when the clock struck 4:20 a few minutes ago, I must admit I experienced more than a vague inkling to dip into the dubious diversion of delectable desirability, duck into the nearest dark alley, and burn one.   It’s hard for me to deal with anxiety; and as I expressed quite emphatically earlier, taking a valium or a klonopin is no longer a viable option for me.

Since the previous post, I actually went back to the beginning of the script and wrote up to p.53 a second time, making adjustments – some minor, some fairly significant.  I got into the “zone” at one point and completely rewrote the intro to the female antagonist’s first song, which I call “Midnight Screams.”  I sent it to my brother and my daughter hoping for feedback, haven’t heard from either, and am feeling a bit pathetic on this whole feedback thing.  I hate it when I become “insistent” that people peruse my work.  It never works in the first place, not to mention it makes me feel like an annoying pest.

leonid_pasternak_-_the_passion_of_creationThere’s no getting around it.  I’m going to have to break out of isolation here, and present myself as best I can to the world of other artists and writers  engaged in projects of equal importance to them.   So, I more-or-less boldly wrote to the fellow who teaches the current undergraduate Playwriting class at the University, even though I could already feel the stab of rejection slicing through my heart over the Intraweb — pseudo-prophetically, as it were.  My confidence is at an all time low.

But – it was a baby step.  If that doesn’t work, I’ll see if there’s a Meet-Up group of some sort.  Either way, I’m going to have to stop bugging my friends and family members for feedback.  I need to go about this decently and properly.  Bottom line is, the idea of sitting around a table in a classroom and sharing all my crazy ideas with a bunch of other writers is scaring the living daylights out of me.  But that’s all the more reason why I’ve got to take the plunge.  You don’t learn how to swim, after all, by avoiding the water.

Opening up to p.53 and the current minor impasse.  The wheels are starting to spin.  Obviously, a twisted love song is in order, both lover and lovee a bit on the delusional side.  Welcome to the wonderful world of Musical Theatre.  Maybe if the owner of the pub steps in, she’ll let me play the piano for a free meal like she did last Saturday.  Here’s hoping.

Inspiration

There are mornings when I awake without any sense of inspiration whatsoever. Nothing inspires me.  Nothing thrills me.  Nothing moves me — I find no sense of joy or purpose in my heart. Sometimes on such mornings I struggle for three or more hours with the notion that life is meaningless, that everything is vain and pointless — that there is no better end for me than to take each day’s evil as it comes, praying for the best but expecting the worst, and so trudge the tumultuous trail of trial after trial till the travesty of such tragic tribulation trickles into death.

How I thank the Lord above that this morning was not such a morning! As I woke, I registered that I had been dreaming song lyrics in my mind, to one of the tunes I’d written while I was still wandering wistfully about the dangerous streets of Berkeley— a tune I’d only barely begun to sequence in my new and much more palatable place of pleasure, poise, and purpose, the providential paradise I now am proud to call my home. Though the phone rang immediately, sidetracking me suddenly from the sweetness of my song, I was nonetheless thrilled to find my dearest daughter Echo on the other end of the line, equally inspired — though she, unlike her father, is forever inspired, even on her bad days. As her dad, needless to say, this makes me glad.

Although the Internet was down where I consumed my morning coffee, I thank God all the more so. For before I’d downed a single cup, five offline files were at once thrown open before my eyes, as though competing for the privilege of my sole creative fury — as if to see which one would lend the greatest inspiration to my heart. Lo and behold, there has emerged a victor:  

The Very Same World

Copyright © 2016 by Andrew Michael Pope
All Rights Reserved.

At last, the formerly unfinished lyrics flow so finely, I’ve no doubt in my mind I will have sung this song with my own voice, and added my own singing to that instrumental track – ere sundown, I would wager, if I were a gambling man – or my name’s not Andy Pope.

And yet, alas – I  seem to have forgotten that sunset is at 4:30 in this part of the world.  But even in this embarrassing peccadillo do I thank the Lord above.  Thank God I’m not a gambling man, for I have not lost the bet.

 

About to Advertise

So I finished the fix-its earlier alluded to, and am reasonably satisfied with all the music you can now hear on these links:

Ode to the Universe – 4:40

Urban Pathos – 17:52

Berkeley Playlist

But let’s face it.  I’m not ever going to get either of these scripts written.  All I’m ever going to do is keep writing music.  My mind is going to continue to generate new music, despite myself, no matter what else I set about to do.

So this is what I should do.  I should advertise for a lyricist and a librettist.  Somebody to write the lyrics, and somebody to write the scripts.  Maybe two different people.  But they need to be competent.  They can’t be only in it for the money.   Probably, there should be no money involved.  I want somebody who resonates with my music.  Who recognizes that these are show tunes – they’re Musical Theatre.  They suggest witty lyrics with sophisticated internal rhymes.  They suggest movement and dance.  They suggest more than mere mood.  They suggest dramatic action.  They suggest scenario.

Either I advertise on someplace like Craigslist, or I go to the nearby University music departments and drama departments, and post notices.  Or both.  But it’s got to be done, otherwise all this music will go to waste.

And there’s  too much of it to go to waste.  Also – it’s not worthy of being wasted.  There’s decent music here – but like I said, it’s show music.  It suggests a certain kind of lyrics, along a certain kind of theme – and it suggests action. 

There’s no sense in postponing “action.”  Now’s the time.

 

Standstill

It’s been two days since I posted that last, most exuberant announcement, regarding the Creative Upsurge I so enjoyed for a time.  Rest assured that the Upsurge has all but desurgified, and that there have been no creative juices flowing per se except for a few nagging senses of a paralyzing insistence on performing multiple instances of pure perfectionism.  Specifically, I continue to get the sense that everything is at a standstill until I correct these relatively random musical errors in my already submitted work.   Not the emphasis on the word “submitted.”

It is of relevance to me that the work I must now be so laboriously readjusted is work that I have already released via social media as well as a few very vociferous email blasts.  On checking my rarely visited  SoundCloud, I find I’ve gotten 15 hits in the past twenty-four hours – the norm usually being zero.  So people are eagerly soaking in this prematurely released version of my work.  This has me uneasy, and just as eager to get the new reincarnations of these pieces into their possession.  But that runs counter to sound creative doctrine.  Best I relax, and get it turned in at its natural rate; say, around this coming Saturday or so (today being Monday.)

This will however virtually necessitate that I once again do not venture upon untraveled textual terrain, such as attempting to complete a script or libretto or lyric set, or anything along non-musical lines that may be related to any of my projects.  I cannot so venture, because my absorption in the musical aspect of everything is so exclusive.  I need to see myself through this travail, musically speaking, before anything is considered in any other area of life.

Another Round of Fear

As you may or may not know, I have been without a computer for almost two months now.   Finally, two days ago there arrived my new Dell Latitude E6410 with 8gb RAM, a  500gb hard drive capacity, and an Intel 5 dual core 2.4ghz processor.   It’s a cute little computer with a 14 inch screen and DVD drive, very sturdy, with good speakers and internal microphone.  Perfect for my kind of work.  I’m running Windows 7 Professional, and I’ve successfully downloaded Finale 2014.5, Audacity, and Free Studio.

One of the first things I did was to open up the Finale file of the most recent piece I was working on before my last Dell Latitude had an unfortunate incident that led to its soon demise.  Be that as it may, I was honestly amazed at what I heard.  To be truthful, it surprised me how much I enjoyed what I was hearing.  It was as though the “feel” that is appropriate for this particular song, having been lost, was now regained.  For I remembered thinking that “Another Round of Fear” was hopeless, having no feel whatsoever.  The memory  of a former appreciation of the piece was dim and useless. Yet I knew that when I was first writing the song two years ago, I distinctly enjoyed its feel; and in fact I passed that same feel along to friends of mine who enjoyed it as well.  Thus a small but substantial audience had already verified for me that the song was worthwhile, and yet I was about to trash it, for I could no longer recall its feel.  So I dropped it, because I had come to hate it; and subsequently dropped the laptop itself hard upon the pavement, when I failed to zip up my backpack one day, and the laptop came flying right out of it as I swung round a corner at top speed — while walking, by the way.  Not even on my bicycle!

Only now have I been able to muster up a new laptop.  Thus, on the similar but noticeably improved new device, I have listened to the piece afresh.  Far from feeling empty or devoid of feel at all, it instantly conveyed a sense of honky-tonk frolic with a slight note of mockery, giving it an undue frivolity, and an almost gleeful irreverence.  That, I could rock with!  So I worked on it for three days incessantly.  Just last night, taking a walk in the midnight heat, I decided it was good enough to post on the Berkeley page of this website, since the notorious city of Berkeley, California, is the place where this all went down (no pun intended).  I’m going to forge forward to the next song in my 14-song project now, having been encouraged by this most promising start.

Oddly, I also received the bulk of the lyrics to this tune Friday night when I was merrily walking in the evening breeze.  I thought this odd because I had really hated the song.  Also, that was before the computer came, and before I had a chance to check out the file to find out, to my surprise, that I actually liked the song.  Somehow this is meaningful.