I was thinking more about the aforementioned discussion of composers being denied archival recordings of their own work. Of course it’s detrimental in that it makes it difficult to learn from one’s experiences, but I think it’s equally destructive in another way.

All of my pieces that have been “picked up” are the ones for which I’m able to post good recordings here on this website. That’s how people discover my music, since only a small bit is available commercially, I’m at the outset of my career, and I’m self-published.

One of the hardest things as a composer is coming by these second and third performances; world premières are comparatively common. They can come from anywhere—college students scouting out rep for their school new music ensembles, more established new-music performers, a few orchestras, my god, even Ireland. But they all have one thing in common, which is that somebody went to my website and listened to a few pieces and found something they liked.

After a few of those “second-generation” performances, word gets out more easily—through people who’ve attended those concerts, or read about them, the musicians who’ve played it passing it on to their musician friends, and so on. By then, the piece will have taken on a life of its own. This is one of the most satisfying and unbelievable things—to witness people you’ve never met taking steady interest in your work.

Putting the ‘fun’ in ‘funicular’.

In LA I rented a car for the first time in my life and drastically underestimated the cost. I harvested and smuggled home one (1) lemon, which ended in a vinaigrette. I had a party with Rob and AZ in my hotel room. Some elderly people made fun of me for wearing a tie; I pointed out that the security guard was wearing one also. In the marketplace I ate too many pupusas and tortas and had to be carried up the hill by the shortest railway in the world (see above). I was sweet-talked by Azerbaijan. I got in three (3) arguments with different Disney Hall garage attendants. I found $10 in the parking lot of a thrift store. I had the best sushi of my life (thus far). I had Gabe’s Joan Didion song on loop in my head. I watched Bill Cunningham New York and drank whiskey; I watched Lost Highway and drank ginger ale. I wrote 36 emails and 24 bars of music.

Apologies to Eric Shanfield.

Just got back from an idyllic if overly moist week at Tanglewood, where Metropolis Ensemble & I recorded what will eventually be my next record. Tanglewood’s concert season is over and the summergoers have cleared out, so we were able to take over Ozawa Hall, the beautiful medium-large loaf of brick with which Seiji Ozawa immortalized his own ego.

"You know, I never thought about it before, but you're right, I am pretty great"

I will excitedly spill all beans regarding this recording when the time comes. In the meantime I am learning sheaves of music for all these gigs coming up in the next month: Druckman with ACME! Derek with Derek! NOW Ensemble!

Nico Muhly has a good post up about how difficult it can be to get recordings of one’s music from orchestras. You can not imagine how much I want everybody to hear Nightjar, but this is the reason you can’t. It’s especially frustrating because in this case, the recording is really, really good, and it would hurt exactly zero people if I were to post it (except me, that is. I might could get sued!).

Courtesy of New York Magazine’s Michael Hirschorn in the 9/11 anniversary issue:

It takes only a cursory review of the events of the past ten years to see how ineffective irony—both of the self-congratulatory spokie variety (Où sont les trucker caps d’antan? ask furry Brooklynites now earnestly singing call-and-response songs from the fifteenth century at their Montauk CSAs) and the Swiftian exposing-the-absurdity-of-the-modern-condition variety—has been against the forces of darkness.