Did I Write That?

A couple of weeks ago, Randy, in his typical provocateur mode, wrote about his unwillingness to revise anything. Disappointingly, no one who responded took that particular bait. So it seemed worth retreading to me, especially after being an eyewitness to all the grueling work of revising parts done by the seven composers who participated in the Minnesota Orchestra Composer Institute this past week.

There can sometimes be an oceanic divide between what we hear in our heads, what we’ve written, and how what we’ve written will get interpreted and heard by others. Sometimes there’s also a chasm between imagination and what is possible. While one can argue about the importance of remaining true to one’s ideals, when writing music for a large ensemble such as an orchestra—an institution which has regimented guidelines about everything, from what size note heads and score paper are acceptable to how long musicians can rehearse before a break is mandated—what is practical is ultimately what will get done. Of course, compositional magic happens when these two realms meet, which is why programs like the Composer Institute can be so valuable.

Nine years ago, I wrote a melody line that a favorite singer I had worked with was unable to sing satisfactorily. I asked her what would work for her and after making some registral shifts and a few actual pitch changes, I came up with a melody that she totally nailed every time she sang it. It was not what I had originally conceived, but it was actually better. Since then I’ve become increasingly more and more open to revision. Might we sometimes be too wedded to our sense of self to allow our music to grow without us?