Bottled Lightning

I visited my high school a couple of months ago. There was a student production of Pirates of Penzance. Since it was directed by a student my inner critic decided to go easy on them, especially because I could tell how much fun they had. (For future reference, Gilbert and Sullivan does not come across effectively when sung as emo rock.) I enjoyed it more for the memories of when I played Frederik my senior year. Wow. Thinking back on the audition process, not knowing until right before winter break that I had earned the lead. Then how thrilled I felt when I realized I would be onstage at the center of the action 90% of the show. The comeradery, the bloopers, the backstage drama. The music seemed designed for my voice. During the finale on closing night I realized that it would likely be my last theatrical experience ever, but I didn't care because it was such a wonderful way to bow out. The student production I saw made me realize how wonderful our production was those eleven and a half years ago.

I got to asking myself what made it so special. In previous years our musicals weren't that great, and we could tell. Our senior year became one of those brilliant moments in a performer's life when everyone comes together at the right place to create something bigger than themselves.

Our director/theater head was Jason Butler, and he was a godsend, fresh from earning a degree in Theater Education. It fascinated me the way he gave us images to play with and improvise on. And rather than telling us how to re-deliver our lines he often asked us questions to help us understand our characters on deeper levels. He was also creative in his set design. Our fly system was officially condemned, so he wisely chose a musical with only two scenes, one for each act. Our lack of funding provided unique theater opportunities. Before the show there was a running gag involving duct tape and scenery that wouldn't stay up. Since we couldn't draw the curtains while we changed sets, the stage crew provided mid-show entertainment just by getting ready for act 2. We took an obvious limitation with our theater and turned it into something we meant to do all along.

Mr Butler was not the sole hero that year; it helped greatly that he got along so well with the school's choir teacher, Chad Christman. They even happened to speak Japanese, and we could tell even during callbacks that they cracked each other up. Mr C loved opera and helped us get into the musical spirit of Pirates. One of my favorite sayings to this day is his advice for opera singers: "When you forget your blocking, just turn and honk forward."

Good leaders need good followers, and we obliged: Anthony almost tore his throat out as the Pirate King. Bonnie's delicate Mabel gave me ample motivation to be a hero. Jared did Monty Python proud as the Major General. Julianne's Ruth, like all her characters, overacted just the right amount. Paul sang those low Police Officer notes with such resonance. These leads all had beautiful voices that added unique flavor to their characters. And the pirates, police, and daughters all frolicked and summer-saulted, losing themselves in this enormous play-date. I couldn't help but get caught up in this fabulous world we created long before Johnny Depp made pirates popular in the movies.

Together we explored our characters and inspired each other with our own ideas. Mr Butler showed us how cool it is to go think critically and creatively of ourselves. We began to offer friendly advice to each other about comedic timing, vocal technique, and motivation. One of my favorite memories shows just how united we were in polishing our production. During "O is there Not one Maiden Breast" I try to flirt with the daughters. My friends in the tech crew came up to me during a practice and told me how much they loved it when I gave a little glance to the audience that said, "Watch me woo this one!" I forgot to glance at the audience once and they wanted to make sure I kept it in the staging. I hadn't realized up to that point how much attention they paid the actors.

Nostalgic? Yes I am. But we knew how talented we were. Many of the singers were from our superior-rated chamber choir. We earned recognition from the local press. The School Theater critic pointed us out for unique moments in our production as examples of what happens when all the ingredients come together. The play would not have been as fun or successful had any of the parts not been there. I'm thankful for those experiences in the music world. They help keep me making art, looking forward to the next moment when a synergy of talent comes together again to make something beautiful.

Entering the World of the Hat

Stephen Sondheim wrote a love song to artists with the musical Sunday in the Park with George. There's something romantic about them, their visions, their work that appears lonely yet broadens our horizons at the same time. Some of us take pride in that no one "gets" us. Others want desperately to be understood and connect with the world we beautify. If only we could explain or show you the world as we truly see it. That is why we create, because we have a view so rich to our eyes that we want to share.

I have wanted for some time to start some kind of record of my thoughts as a composer. In school my fellow composers and I gathered to bounce ideas off each other and sort out our personal feelings of what it means to compose. Many influences have shaped my attitudes towards art, and more specifically towards music and that admired but under-respected world of composing. Most common are the questions of whether what I do as a composer really makes such a splash, and if not why do I even want to blog about them. I hope someday to collect my thoughts into some book, but in the mean time I will document them here where anyone with a computer mouse can copy and paste them and steal my thoughts that may have come stolen from someone else first, anyway.

My purpose is not to glamorize composers. Believe me, glamor is not one of my strengths. I've simply realized that composing has helped me to understand the world. Not only that, but everything I compose at any given time includes a shout-out to my friends and everything else that's on my mind. So from time to time I plan to write not specifically about music, but about my beliefs or relationships and how they influence what I compose. Maybe you'll want to take up music. Maybe you'll think a little differently about your world. And maybe I'll be the only one who reads my words. In any case, I will have fundamentally accomplished what composers like to do most: organize the thoughts in my head into something that reflects the world I see.