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writing about music

Random Thoughts #5

November 7, 2022 by Tina Davidson

Notes from my Journal

 April 6

I am in between a state of reluctance and anticipation. I can “hear” the new work better than I can understand it, something about mountains, fires, sexuality and the dark pounding of the heart.

March 31

“What is the relationship between artists and their work?” a friend asks.

I can only speak of my landscape – to economize my life so that I am available. Not as an act of abstinence or poverty, instead, of allowing. When my life is work centered, all else falls off. I am at the essence of my life. The choice is time, energy and clarity. The rest – family, friends, fun – falls into place naturally.

Being available is an act of love I give myself, for here is where my spirit lives. As I go out in my work, it is all me, and at the same time, not me. When my work connects with others, my face becomes many faces, both anonymous and personal, both unrecognizable and identifiable.

The risk of art is to be at the edge of selfishness, which seems to be vanity, but is not. Vanity keeps me separate and elevated from others. Art grovels in the same mud, but ascends.

For today, I ask what my work needs and thereby know how to live my life. Letting the non-essentials go, I keep the treasures. The rest flows from me like fall leaves tossed on the river stream, riding the current happily away from me. The love I put into my work is the same that pours into my life, family, and community. A source that renews itself continually.

October 9

The string quaMysterium, drawing, colored pencilrtet continues to fall into shape, and the work is exciting. The previous agony was pressure during the most vulnerable stages of composing, of gathering the raw material together, finding tiny bits of flesh, atoms or protoplasm. The stuff of creation is a delicate process, full of uncertainty and patience. It is a time when I am open to outside fears and pressures.

The first section is almost completely mapped out. The rhythm tears along, bumping into sounds that are both unexpected and comfortable. I spin through reams of material, yet it is all connected somehow; tense, pressured, chased, inescapable, and swept away. I stitch together the fabric of the piece carefully, paying great attention to the transitions. The directions surprise the ear, and are, somehow, just right. The new shape of the piece pleases me, and has released the music inside. Unbelievable.


Excerpted from Let Your Heart Be Broken, Life and Music from a Classical Composer by Tina Davidson.  © Tina Davidson, 2022

Drawings by Tina Davidson:  Orb #1, charcoal and water color, Mysterium, colored pencil

Listen:

 

 

 

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: creative process, creativity, melodic work, original compositions, thoughts about musical composition, Tina Davidson, women composers, women in the arts, writing about music

What is My Business?

October 5, 2022 by Tina Davidson

Katie fidgets at the piano, and looks blankly at the music. I touch her shoulder and put my pencil on the errant note. She settles down and with much stumbling and back tracking, plays the piece. We cheer together as I hand her a sheet of stickers. She pauses long, trying to decide which one pick. I know she is taking a much-needed break from focusing. Then we start up again.

Reading music or symbols, is such a difficult process – the eyes see, the mind decodes and sends a message to the fingers, the ear hears – all the tactile, auditory, sensory abilities working together – and if one those misfires, confusion is overwhelming.

Clearly, I should say something to Katie’s parents. Her child has some sort of learning difficulty. But when I ask obliquely about how she doing in school, her mother’s face freezes. I change the subject.

In truth, it is none of my business. I am not a trained professional, and do not know what is developmental, and what is more serious. Furthermore, parents have their own path and time-table of recognizing their child’s difficulty and dealing with it.

But mostly, I don’t want to forfeit the opportunity. I have a thirty-minute window each week to spend with Katie over a few years, perhaps even as long as a ten-year-span. How can I be effective with her, or any of my students?  What do they need from me?  How do I build a confidence in them as creative, problem-solving people?

Over time, I have learned to teach to the individual rather than the music. Each is like an intricate puzzle I have to solve. I am constantly finding new ways of bending my teaching to the particular child’s mind – testing and twisting my knowledge.

I separate the reading process from the playing process, giving them difficult, fun pieces to play where the note heads are converted to letters. Their note-reading books are graphically colorful, spacious books.

I point out that speed (so well rewarded in our society) is intrinsically of little value. A completed job well done, regardless of time, is a win. I catalog, articulate and trust their abilities, reminding them occasionally that we are working together on their weaker points. I encourage them to think of alternative solutions – there is rarely one approach to a problem.

Concert given by studentsMost importantly, I give them opportunities to experience and claim their own creativity. They are constantly composing music, either at home or in their lesson, notating it as they please. And several times a year, I gather them together in informal settings to perform and celebrate their efforts.

I talk less. Give them time to solve problems without jumping in with answers. Have rests.Do lots of stickers (even for my teenagers), and work on my own patience.

Patience, patience. The child will not be baked until their mid-20’s, sometimes older. I am in it for the long run. I value the children’s excitement rather than their abilities. And I put myself constantly be in a position to say yes. Yes, yes. Why not?


Listen!  Tremble for violin, cello and piano

 

 

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: composing music, innate creativity, music by women, teaching process, Tina Davidson, women composers, writing about music

Learn to be Embarrassed

April 4, 2022 by Tina Davidson

By the time I arrived at Bennington College in 1972, I had never written a note of music. In fact, I had never played or heard any music by women composers. It never occurred to me that women could compose.

composer Vivian Fine
Vivian Fine

The music department boasted of four composers on their faculty – Louis Calabro, Vivian Fine, Lionel Nowak and Henry Brant. They believed that all performers should be composers, and all composers performers. Moreover, they eschewed the academic approach to composition that prescribed years of study of harmony and theory before you touched pencil to paper. They saw no need to waste precious class time with something you could teach yourself, and preferred to teach composition by allowing their students to write music and learn from the performance of it.

My freshman music class was taught by Lou Calabro, a loose-limbed man with slight stoop and a strong New York accent.  He was quick to give us our first assignment, to write a duet for two of our classmates. There was little instruction on how to compose. Staff paper was handed out.

I was distinctly grumpy, and muttered something about how all good music had already been written and all good composers were dead. But I wrote a piece for oboe and French horn. Twelve measures.

The piece was terrible, and the instrumentalists complained bitterly about the scattered notation and lack of dynamics. I vowed never to write for that combination again. But I was interested, and continued composing for my classmates.

By the end of my first semester, I was hooked. I knew what I wanted to do in life. It was as if, looking out into the forest, I could see many different paths, but only one was illuminated. More than that, I wanted to know who I was, and composing music was a way of finding out, without revealing too much. It was a place of investigation and almost complete anonymity.

composer Henry Brant
Henry Brant

The years at Bennington passed quickly. Tuesday afternoons the entire music department gathered and played all the music composed that week. Wednesday night was the weekly concert. I studied with witty and generous Vivian Fine, a former student of Ruth Crawford Seeger, and with iconoclast Henry Brant, famous for his acoustic spatial music. He was small, brown and never without cap or sunshade on his head. Because he was opinionated and sometimes difficult to study with, I asked him to be my advisor and surreptitiously brought him my scores to look at. His rules for orchestration were brilliant; I still review his notes carefully before I begin a new orchestra piece.

As composing became my voice, piano was my anchor. My teacher, Lionel Nowak, listened intently, eyes closed, as I played. “Get into the piano keys, like clay,” he would say, lifting up his head and waving one hand. “Dig deep into them – don’t be afraid, don’t back away from anything.”

composer Lionel Nowak
Lionel Nowak

“Courage!” He sat rumpled in the chair, his right index finger raised, “You must always dare to make a fool of yourself, and then you’ll be able to do things you never dreamed you could.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Learn to be embarrassed.”

Bennington College was, in the end, seminal in my development as a musician and composer. The faculty did not teach me how to write music, instead they invited me in joyfully and with generosity. They fostered inclusion – everyone was worthy of this particular creative process, from bright-eyed beginners to sullen veterans. They believed learning was doing, again and again.

They taught me the difference between criticism and critical thinking. The former takes a stance of superiority, the latter is respectful and self-questioning – what works or doesn’t, and how can I do better next time. They were at the heart of artistic endeavour – bold, generous, humorous, and supportive. They taught me as a fellow composer, one of their tribe.


Excerpted from Let Your Heart Be Broken, Life and Music from a Classical Composer  © Tina Davidson, 2022.

Listen: Render, for string quartet was commissioned for the Cassatt String Quartet

https://soundcloud.com/tina-davidson-3/render-2016-for-string-quartet-excerpt-2?si=2ce244ae90d64934bb8f9c02dff17e96&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: composing music, creative process, creativity, original compositions, process of composing, thoughts about musical composition, Tina Davidson, women in the arts, writing about music

Have Your Babies Or Tie Your Tubes

March 7, 2022 by Tina Davidson

She steps close to me, and almost whispers, “Can you have children and still have a career in music?”

Attractive and young, she is a successful composer, already teaching at a prestigious university, and married to an older, well-known composer. They are talking about having children, but she is not sure. I smile.

I can only speak for myself. Having my daughter opened me up in a way that I never could have imagined. Through her I found the courage to face my dark self which has allowed me to speak true in my music. She awoke in me the possibility of love given and love reciprocated, and connected me to lingering soft animal embraces and the wonder of discovering the world anew. It was a second chance of unknown dimension.

And yet, time was now not my own. As a mostly single parent, I crafted careful structures for childcare, combinations of daycare and babysitters, which, at any moment could fall through – an illness, an early dismissal, a snow day – all was in shatters and I was frantic.  I’d sneak into my studio when she was playing or napping, feeling the weight of my continual distraction. She learned, implicitly, that even when I was with her, I was not always present. My gaze far off, I would put her voice on mute as I tended my evolving work, moving energy around in my thoughts.

“There is a passionate case to be made on either side, having your children or doing without, and both sides are for humanity,” says Alix Kates Shulman, in her book, Burning Questions. “Have your babies or tie your tubes – whatever you decide, you’ll find out soon enough that you’ve lost something precious.”


Excerpted from Let Your Heart Be Broken, Life and Music from a Classical Composer  © Tina Davidson, 2022.

Listen to Core of the Earth, and Lullaby, from Tina Davidson’s opera, Billy and Zelda

 

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: composing music, Griefs Grace, process of creating music, Tina Davidson, women artists and children, women composers, writing about music

Immersed in Sound

January 10, 2022 by Tina Davidson

The morning is still dark as I creep down the stairs. I am five, and under the Christmas tree are two boxed sets of LPs – Gilbert and Sullivan’s Mikado and The Pirates of Penzance.

I finger the cardboard, open up the lid, and feel the weight of the four black discs in each box. My small phonograph is blue and silver with a hinged cover. I sit on the floor, and open it carefully. Slipping the record out of its sleeve, I put it on the turntable. Holding my breath, I lower the arm onto the disc. The needle sinks into the shiny grooves of plastic. I lose myself in the scritch scratch of the margin. I wait for the music to fill me.

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Sound is all around me. My denim skirt swishes between my legs when I walk fast and hard. I laugh, and almost jump with pleasure. It is the whip of sails against the mast, it is the sound of laundry being hung out on a cold day, of curtains in a heavy, dusty breeze.

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Drawing, colored pencil, from music journal

These days are dark and quiet, filled with composing. I have finished I Hear the Mermaids Singing, and wait before copying the pencil score onto the computer.

I live in a world of sound, my ears are filled. When I look up from my work, the house is surprisingly calm, the street empty; the magnolia tree waits to blossom. Looking down again, my ears are flooded.  Sound has never kept me so entranced, so excited. My days are effortless. I am full. Before I touched the surface, now I bathe in the waters. I put my head down in the cool depth and breathe.

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There has been good work on my piece. The beginning has a metallic howl, the slow growing melody goes well.

In the afternoon, I walk on the beach. The skies over the ocean are grey; the waves are dark. The wind is so cold that my face aches. I sit in the sand, and watch the overlapping clouds move layers. A bright spot is in the sky where the sun almost comes through. The houses on the ocean are boarded up. Like trees without leaves; they are without life. I trudge past them; their ears are shuttered to winter and the wind.


Excerpted from Let Your Heart Be Broken, Life and Music from a Classical Composer  © Tina Davidson, 2022.

Listen on YouTube:  I Hear the Mermaids Singing, for viola, cello and piano

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=auLzryCh_Mk

CD, Tina Davidson: I Hear the Mermaids Singing

Buy the CD:

https://www.newworldrecords.org/products/tina-davidson-i-hear-the-mermaids-singing

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: creative process, listening, mermaids, music, music by women, Tina Davidson, woman composer, writing about music

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