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Composer’s Notes on
the creation of "Concerto of Deliverance"
The
following is a compilation from notes written by the composer,
originally intended for inclusion in the album booklet.
Concerto of Deliverance is a gift to me from a serious thinker and great
lover of music, Monart Pon. Without him and a passage from Ayn Rand's Atlas
Shrugged I would not have created this piece. We spent many hours in
discussion, sharing thoughts and interests on the phone, via email, and one
most memorable occasion in person, in Goldstream
Park near Victoria, BC. It was a project Mr. Pon had contemplated for some
time. I am privileged and honoured that he chose me to fulfill his dream of
hearing the Concerto of Deliverance as described in Rand’s novel.
I wished to create a piece that expressed the ebullience and joy of Dagny's
vision in Atlas Shrugged. In the context of the novel it is a reverie,
a vision of triumph and light; the Concerto is a symbol of hope. I saw my job
as 'modern musician' to reveal the vision in contemporary terms.
The form of the ‘Concerto’, together with the titles and lyrics form a sort
of poetic construct that has some narrative qualities, although it is not
strictly a ‘story’, but just the suggestion of various possible stories. This
appeals to me because it leaves the listener to create particular ones. This
is one of the powers of music. It stimulates and supports the power of the
listener’s imagination. Originally I conceived of seven movements that
suggested a mythical journey: Cosmos, Individuation, Confrontation,
Meditation, Transformation, Celebration, and Reunion. Prelude came about
because Monart convinced me that it needed an ‘invitation’, as he called it,
to ease the listener into the world of the Concerto. Starting with a
statement of the very last theme (in Reunion), the Prelude establishes the
musical ‘environment’ of the Concerto.
Musical forms are ever in flux. My piece might be a concerto, somewhat
similar to the baroque concerto grosso, in the
sense that it consists of a series of soloistic,
perhaps virtuosic passages set against an 'orchestral' accompaniment; various
instrumental groups and soloists, presented antiphonally with the orchestra
as a whole, not unlike Bartok's Concerto for Orchestra in this respect. In my
case the orchestra is electronic, so it could take whatever configuration
needed. This is in keeping with a dominant theme of shapeshifting or
transfiguration. Then I incorporated text through the addition of singing.
This is not uncommon in modern symphonic music (Gorecki,
Mahler, Beethoven), although I shall not indulge in such self-flattering
comparisons. I am one little voice from the late 20th century, trying to make
sense of the 21st. Moreover, "Concerto of Deliverance" is a
literary reference. It was possible, in the first movement, to conform with
the modified sonata form of first movements in many classical and romantic
concerti, but this did not suit my materials nor purpose as much as the freer
expression I had in mind.
Initially my method was primarily improvisational. I had just acquired a new
keyboard instrument: Korg's revolutionary Karma,
with Yamaha's DSP digital modeling card. I was enamored of its qualities and
went ahead, just had fun with it. It has some remarkable capabilities,
including lovely and not so lovely sounds. Many other sound sources were
brought into service as well, but this was my kickstart.
Another important influence was Ayn Rand's We The Living, which
renewed in me a feeling of youthful rebellion which was perhaps necessary to
break out of some of my own set ways of doing things (a prerequisite for new
undertakings).
For a period of almost six months, I concentrated on the logic and illogic of
the free-flowing melodies and rhythms that came through me, through my
fingers, through my heart, into the world. I wanted them to remain fresh, not
necessarily molded to predetermined models. Gathering together these themes,
motifs, and rhythms, I then imposed an elaborate routine of editing, cutting,
development, and re-orchestration. I wished that, as we listen, we take a
journey, perhaps not knowing where it will end, but when it does, it is with
some sense of completion.
As well as the givens of title and Dagny's vision, was Monart’s
belief that I could bring certain qualities to the project: a deep love of
melody, a coloristic versatility through the miracle (curse some might say)
of electronic music, and, I believe, a diverse, eclectic range of musical
tastes that meshed with his own. This was an opportunity to compose a serious
piece commissioned by a man with serious intentions, whose favourite music
included Rachmaninov’s Piano Concertos, Elvis Presley Songs, Dvorak
Symphonies, and old Mario Lanza recordings. It was fascinating and I wanted
to take the whole spectrum into account. Unavoidably I would reveal my own
influences, which are many indeed: Debussy, Miles Davis, J.S. Bach, Ali Farka Toure, Ellington, Weill,
Stockhausen, and John Cage heading the list, which, admittedly, changes
almost daily. Folk music of all kinds is essential.
The use of electronic technology in the production of sound for music-making
has been my passion since age 15 when I first heard Hugh LeCaine's
Dripsody as part of the Sir Henry Woods Promenade
Concerts in London. It was sheer luck, but when I returned to Canada that was
where I wanted to go in my musical development. Two years later I was
introduced to Dr. Myron Shaeffer's electronic music
lab. It was in an old house on Huron St. in Toronto, with bits of magnetic
tape dripping from faded wallpaper walls, and I was galvanized. The tools and
techniques of electronic music creation have changed utterly since then, and
it is now a vast field, omnipresent in modern media and culture, but the goals
and motives of creators are pretty much the same as they have always been.
Ever since, I have been interested in the live performance of electronic
music, which consisted of tunes, rhythms, and improvisations created
cooperatively (Intersystems, Hydro Electric
Streetcar, Kensington Market, Syrinx). In addition
to tracking developments in North American and European experimental music,
we searched for every available recording of music from other cultures:
Balinese, Haitian, Punjabi, Central African, Romanian,
you name it. Simultaneously, I was being commissioned to create works in more
conventional formats: high school band, string orchestra with synthesizers
and other amplified instrument ("Stringspace",
commissioned by Milton Barnes).
Mostly, however, I have been engaged to compose music for film, dance, radio,
television, theatre, but seldom as 'personal statement', most often in the
service of other artists' expression. When I received this commission, I
determined to revisit my roots, the various strands of personal history, and
to draw on the entire breadth of my musical experience: from rock to raga to
concerto.
I have always been attracted to the idea of combining electronic,
electro-acoustic, and conventional acoustical instruments. It provides a vast
range of sonorities, the emotive nuance of individual expression, and
socio-cultural associations. Electronic music can have purity and freshness,
but nothing replaces the scrape and squawk on the edges of beauty intrinsic
to the playing of a musician on strings, on tautened skin, through a hollow
tube. There is no substitute for the emotive power of familiar sounding
melodies and instruments.
As I was beginning work on the Concerto, I was introduced to two accomplished
and sensitive virtuosi, Sharon Stanis and Patricia Kostek. Both have performed as guest artists for
audiences around the world. It is a great privilege to have them perform this
music. The ultimate instrument is the human voice. Then verbal meaning as
well as musical, is inherent. Leora Cashe performed with me previously on a piece by the
Concerto's lyricist Blake Parker, "Stella: Black & White", at
the Vancouver International Writers' Festival. I am delighted to have been
able once again to work with her -- for the clarity, range, and emotional
power of her singing, as well as her spiritual understanding of Blake's
words.
Once I had the text I was convinced that children's voices would be the
perfect vehicle for the spells and parables I wished to incorporate. I
believed that the sometimes harsh potency of the lyrics would be put in sharp
relief and made poignant by the children's seeming innocence. It also served
Mr. Parker’s keen interest in fairy tales which are an essential expressive
component of the work. Thus, meeting with Thea Stavroff
was especially fortunate. I had heard her perform in Sondheim's Company and
seen her work as director of children’s theatre. Ms. Stavroff
was an obvious choice to assemble a group of young people to work on the
piece. It took great resourcefulness on her part as well as the talents and
dedication of each of the choir members.
Finally, the recording could not have been possible without the extraordinary
skills of Mark Franklin who engineered everything requiring a microphone in
the various locations. Additionally, he enabled the results to be blended
with the music I created in my studio, and advised me about many artistic and
audio matters, especially the crucial mastering of the final mix. Hooray!
jmc
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