Ottevanger's Omphaloskeptic Outpost

[karlhenning]

Well, as it probably represents some drastic problem in my psyche, I'm not sure I want to probe too much!

Offhand, I should say your psyche is just dandy.  But in all events, I am apt to agree;  write the music, and leave the psyche be  0:)

[sul G]

Ha! A place where Sean cannot deregister!

Of course, the same goes for me - that's one place where lukeottevanger is still alive and kicking!

I'm sure I'm speaking for many when I say your recent comments are making us very curious, Luke. 0:)

Let me move to dampen expectations very quickly, then. Consider them well and truly dowsed. As I said, the whole thing is curious only to my ears; I'm not even sure if this piece is any good at all yet...

[sul G]

Offhand, I should say your psyche is just dandy.  But in all events, I am apt to agree;  write the music, and leave the psyche be  0:)

Well, as you know only too well from the general omphaloskeptic tone of the Outpost and its predecessor, I find it hard not to indulge in a little dabbling in this area. But in this case I won't, I think!

[Guido]

Also very curious here... recording needed! 

[J.Z. Herrenberg]

Still don't know what to make of this new piece. I think there's some work required at more than a couple of points. But - still, and this is so odd - the essence of it frightens me somewhat, like Scriabin and his 6th Sonata! And like that work, which doesn't seem to affect anyone else as it affected its own composer, I doubt anyone else will hear much disturbing in this new piece of mine when I am finished with it and present it here.

Hi Luke! The experience of being frightened by your own work is quite familiar to me. Don't worry. It's a good thing when a piece of your own disconcerts you - it means your mind and sensibility are larger than you can (as yet) consciously comprehend. Be brave, and get used to more surprises! Creativity's ways are unfathomable...

[karlhenning]

A Johan sighting! 

[J.Z. Herrenberg]

A Johan sighting! 

Thank you, Karl...  I am very busy at the moment, looking for a room, writing, delivering mail (my new 'job'). My literary career has started in earnest, with new contacts almost every week. Top priority (apart from sorting out my life...) is finishing my novel. I listen to a lot of music. But GMG is suffering. It can't be helped. All will be more stable (and radically different) in a few months' time...

[karlhenning]

Good luck in your new job, and (of course!) with your writing (&c.), Johan! Here's hoping that in that new job, you don't have to deliver too many CDs . . . .

[Guido]

Thank you, Karl...  I am very busy at the moment, looking for a room, writing, delivering mail (my new 'job'). My literary career has started in earnest, with new contacts almost every week. Top priority (apart from sorting out my life...) is finishing my novel. I listen to a lot of music. But GMG is suffering. It can't be helped. All will be more stable (and radically different) in a few months' time...

Good to hear from you. Glad that you seem to be getting on well. Just know that your contributions are missed!  (though I fully understand of course).

[karlhenning]

Remind me a bit, and tell more, of White Modulations, please, Luke.

[sul G]

[Good to hear from you too, Johan  ]

Remind me a bit, and tell more, of White Modulations, please, Luke.

I'm not sure 'remind' is the right word, as as far as I remember I haven't said anything about this piece yet, beyond the title! But I'm more than happy to do so. I haven't tried to put this into words before, so indulge if it's a little incoherent.

I'm always very moved and fascinated by the poetry of everyday events, for want of a better phrase - the beauty of humble items and humble events when seen with quiet attention and care. It's one reason why the Japanese aesthetic of wabi sabi appeals to me so much. And I'm always excited to discover unexpected repositories of this sort of poetry. One such is the journal of the 18th century naturalist Gilbert White (famous for his pioneering The Natural History of Selbourne). White kept this journal almost every day from 1768 until not long before his death in 1793, and it is the most wonderfully humble, unassuming set of observations on everything from the weather to his gardening, from political events to the diseases afflicting the local sheep, from family details to the habits of his pet tortoise Timothy. There's poetry everywhere here, but frequently the language takes an especially potent turn. I could take a week or two's entries from anywhere in the book and not fail to turn up startlingly touching passages - let's see:

how about

1790
Feb 21st - Frost, ice, bright, red even, prodigious white dew.
Feb 24th - Dr Chandler came.
Feb 25th - Cabbage sprouts come in. Both the pullets of last summer lay.
Feb 27th - Daffodils begin to open. Dr Chandler left us.
Feb 28th - Violets abound.
Mar 2nd - Sowed the meadow with ashes; of my own 22 bushels, bought 39: total 61.
Mar 3rd - Sheep turned into the wheat.
Mar 4th - Timothy the tortoise comes forth: he does not usually appear 'till the middle of April.
Mar 5th - The tortoise does not appear. The trufleman still follows his occupation: when the season is over, I know not.

or

1793
Jan 28th - Bees come out, & gather on the snowdrops.
Feb 1st - The Republic of France declares war against England & Holland.
Feb 3rd - A strong gust in the night blew down the rain-gage, which, by the appearance in the tubs, must have contained a considerable quantity of water.
Feb 4th - Venus is very bright, & shadows.
Feb 5th - Mrs. J. White setout for Kingston on Thames
Feb 8th - War declared & letters of Marque granted against the french Republic.
Feb 10th - Grey, sun, severe wind, with flights of snow, sleet, & hail.
Feb 11th - Paths get dry. Sowed a bed of radishes, &carrots under the fruit-wall.
Feb 12th - Mrs J. White returns.
Feb 15th - Rain & hail in the night. Made a seedling-cucumber bed: mended the frame, & put it on.

and one for you, Karl - Dr White is a man after your own heart:

1792
Feb 23rd - Began to drink tea by day light. 

Well, the whole 400 page book is made up of entries such as these, with the odd longer entry every now and then. I wonder if I'm alone in sensing its peculiar poetry.  In any case, White's careful, gentle recording of the differing moods of his days reminded me of the gently differing moods of my own modal techniques, especially as many of the pieces I write using this technique (like the piece I've been talking about this week) are really almost like diary entries - indeed, almost like automatic writing in which my own fluctuating moods are reflected. And White's entry for Christmas Day 1779 seems to me one of the most beautiful in the whole book:

Dev 25th - Vast rime, strong frost, bright, & still, fog. The hanging woods when covered with a copious rime appear most beautiful & grotesque.

What I love here is the variety of images, providing me with potential to use a variety of modes in my piece. Just as the fog and the frost seem to intertwine amongst the hanging woods, so the individual images here grow into one bigger, more complex image. I like the idea that I can create various little musical images, each with its own mode, and then let them bleed into each other; let the 'frost' freeze the 'trees', let the 'fog' creep through the woods...

So, both the 'White' and the 'Modulations' of the title take on double meanings - the man and the colour; the transforming landscape and the modal technique. Maybe this whole idea will seem a little strange to those reading this - but it fascinates me, and I can almost feel the music that I hope to write.

Just found White's journal online, as it happens! And here, from that site, is the frost behind White's house that he may have been describing:

[sul G]

...more frost in Selbourne...

[sul G]

But of course there's an earthy, sun-filled cello sonata to write first.    White Modulations, if it is to be done, will be done this coming winter, I hope.

[karlhenning]

Beauty!

[sul G]

Indeed! 

[Maciek]

Luke, you're a very good reader, if I may say so.

[Maciek]

1787: February 27, 1787 – On this day my niece Edmd White was delivered of a daughter, who encreases my Nephews, & nieces to the number of 48.

Clearly a man of keen memory.

[sul G]

Thank you, Maciek.   This book was such a wonderful find! What do you make of it? Can you see what attracts me to it?

[sul G]

Clearly a man of keen memory.

Yes, I noted that one too, as I was flicking through!

[Cato]

Hi Luke! The experience of being frightened by your own work is quite familiar to me. Don't worry. It's a good thing when a piece of your own disconcerts you - it means your mind and sensibility are larger than you can (as yet) consciously comprehend. Be brave, and get used to more surprises! Creativity's ways are unfathomable...

A long time ago I wrote a topic here called "Why I Am NOT A Composer."  (No, the answer was NOT lack of talent!      )

In essence, I wrote that if I was not becoming frightened of my own music, I increasingly felt exposed pychologically, and the exposure was unpleasant, as if my id, sub-id, and super-sub-id (You maybe have not heard about those, but...!  ) were all on display for people to kick around.

Perhaps I was not "brave" enough at the time, in the words of Jezetha.  But after the composition of a quarter-tone Tuba Concerto for a fairly famous professor over at Indiana University, a composition which was never performed, but which he played through partially during one of our meetings, I began to waver.  I tend to be secretive about some things.  A few years later, after another similar experience, I gave it up.

I really have no regrets, since my other talents have kept me satisfied, and my musical ability is usefully sublimated in them.