A few days ago a heated debate broke out between some of the fellows about the nature of art: two fellows were vociferously arguing that the only art that really matters is that which is informed by mass culture: high art and low art are useless misnomers, and the avant-garde is irrelevant if not non-existent. On the other side of the sticky bar table, some of the other fellows pointed out that art is always being created in the shadows of successful art.
My brother and I have developed a ritualistic nightly game entitled “Best Song/Favorite Song,” a trifle of deceptive simplicity in which we take a band whose output we know back to front and each propose our favorite songs and, separately, the songs we feel are the best of the group’s catalogue.
The holidays have in no way diminished the debate about the relationship between the composer and the audience.
Except the cat, who smelled a certain music history book under the tree and therefore couldn’t get to sleep.
The Japanese have a word for the feeling at the end of the year, shiwasu (teachers running), and it all leads up to a climactic December 31 eve when…everybody stays home.
It’s a win-win situation when your creative ambitions actually work well with the systems already in place.
If a notehead is occluding the next note’s accidental, move it on
The 9×9 no-repeat number grids of Sudoku are actually a form of, you guessed it, serialism.
When I realized that the usual way that I compose wasn’t working, I found a huge scroll of paper and tried something completely different.
Is there a different musical ethos between the West Coast and the
East Coast that has to do with the natural environment?