Most artistic endeavors in the 21st century have become completely blurry from both an aesthetic and an economic standpoint. I would argue that there never were only two “kinds” of music, but now the two larger umbrellas of “art” and “commerce” hold no water at all. I would also argue that the wall that divided the “two kinds of music” from one another were equally harmful to both sides.
During the Summer of Love everyone on Haight Street seemed to be living the life of Byron; but, like Lord Byron’s life, the mood was cut short as the musical rage—psychedelic rock—became another product for the Great American Culture Machine to mass produce.
Being a composer can get expensive. Pretty much everything about having a career as a composer—with the exception of the actual composing part, that is—costs money.
I see the whole concert hall paradigm as a way to lease entitlement to a leisure class. While I don’t begrudge anyone going to hear live music in a concert hall, I do think that the current trend to make jazz a concert hall music is gutting the source of that music: the jazz club.
Hundreds of millions of people have seen Disney’s version of Le Sacre. It became a door–a misshapen door, perhaps, but a door nonetheless–for many to venture into contemporary music.
In real, human, one-on-one relationships, people don’t want to perform/record/commission your music because they are trying to give you something you want; they decide to take action because doing those things becomes something that they want.
Practically everyone in new music feels like the victim of some kind of persecution, often while being completely oblivious to the persecutions they themselves are perpetrating.
Going through my mother’s effects has been like traversing an emotionally charged landscape that unrolls to reveal a fascinating design of discovered and rediscovered possessions of a person I’ve known from the start of my life. The material that currently has my attention is vinyl.
My first introduction to Oklahoma was driving up I-35 in 2003 the day after a previous tornado had hit Moore. When I left, however, my impressions were not of windswept plains but of a surprisingly strong community of musicians and audiences who are open to performing and hearing new music.
A performer friend and I were recently daydreaming about new possibilities for music commissioning—of chamber music, in particular. What if commissioning music were more a part of everyday life?