Composition

Am working at the moment on an orchestral work for a competition (eek - the deadline is Jan 7th) which is actually coming along alright, although I need to keep up the work rate despite all the Christmas stuff I have to do. As the competition in question is a) for a student orchestra and b) for an anniversary celebration I've tried not to write anything too heavy or too difficult, the rules advising that it 'should be suitable for performance by a good student orchestra'. At the moment I have the first 4 minutes, the last 2 1/2 minutes and a fair amount of 'stuff' in between, most of which has been sufficiently refined to merit staying in the piece. Structurally, it's in a sort of arch form, ABCBA, with the second B somewhat varied from the first. I rarely have the entire structure thought out in much detail when I start to write, and it often develops as I get notes down and spin them out into phrases and sections. This is probably a good thing as it means the music is not contrained by being made to fit into particular proportions. By the stage of the process I am now at I have pretty much finalised what goes where and how the narrative of the music proceeds. My task now is to fill out the gaps and link together the bits I have using the motivic materials within it.

One for the kids

Frankly, I think games console manufacturers have missed a trick.

By 'console' I speak, specifically, of the Wii (which I notice is now available in a 'Limited Edition!' red colour) and it's wireless controller. This clever little piece of electronic Japanese-ery allows the player to actually enact the movements their wish their on-screen avatar to make, rather than having to transmit their motor skills through pressing buttons. As a consequence, cars on the old Playstation that, despite one's most dexterous button-bashing, would always corner like Blenheim Palace, can now be made to follow the road almost effortlessly, without requiring the player to have the finger skills of a concert pianist. Sports games actually require a modicum of physical effort. Shooting games you can look down the gun. And so on.

However, one subject area remains untapped by the gaming industry, something the Wii was born for:

Conducting.

Frankly, the system is almost perfect for it. With a controller in each hand, the tempo and character of the music can be inferred by the console's motion-sensing system and translated into the playing of a virtual orchestra (who will, appropriate to Wii-person anatomy, lack legs and any apparent joining of limbs to body, but will still be able to hold instruments). Those familiar with the system will already have realised that the Wii controller is held in a near-identical fashion to the baton, further enhancing the learning curve for aspiring maestri. Players progress through several levels of difficulty, beginning with simple beat-keeping exercises (a Strauss polka or Sousa march), before progressing through larger excerpts of the orchestral literature which require multiple tempo changes and expressive gestures. (Additional bonus levels evoke more conventional beat-'em-up and shoot-'em-up gaming subjects, as the player uses the Wii controller first in 'negotiations' with the Musicians' Union over working hours, and then to dispatch airport security cretins who fail to distinguish between a trombone and a bomb).

The advantages are obvious: one no longer has to shell out to hire a full symphony orchestra and rehearsal venue, or the risk of egg meeting face for student conductors practising that tricky little corner in the finale of Bruckner Seven.

It will of course be necessary to have on the disc an appropriate selection of the orchestral literature, and more importantly for the computer to be able to interpret a wide range of gestures from the user. Fortunately the player will be able to use the setup menu to adjust the sensitivity of the motion sensors, which ranges from 'Klemperer' at one extreme to 'Bernstein' at the other. Be warned: the 'Gerghiev' and 'Rhosdesvensky' settings require additional CPU processing power.

As with any game, there exists the potential for all manner of cash-in sequels and 'expansion packs', and Wiiductor, as our creation shall henceforth be known, will be no exception. The 'Ba-rock! Expansion Pack (novelty wig sold separately) sees the player 'take on' the eighteenth century, first perfecting the Mannheim Rocket with a deft flick of the wrist, before progressing onto the court of Louis XXVXIVIIIII where the controller must be used to master double-dotted quavers without accidentally causing gangrene. The 'Stravinsky: Dissonance Unleashed' add-on culminates in perhaps the hardest level of all, the première of Rite of Spring in which aside from dealing with time signatures dreamt up by aliens, the player must dodge seats and other missiles hurled by the audience. (Gaming 'hack' rumour has it that completing this unlocks a secret level contining Le Marteau sans Maitre, which has been neither confirmed nor denied by the game's developers).

With the right development and marketing, I see no reason why this game won't be a best-seller. If ten million Chinese kids learn the piano, ten million Brits can wave the stick (even if it is comprised of invisible microwaves).

On arrangement

I have, as of today, finished an arrangement of The First Nowell that I've been commissioned to write for a concert in December. It's a rather unusual scoring; two flutes, two oboes, three trumpets, timps, harp, organ and strings (and chorus) - basically the baroque orchestra that will play in the Bach Magnificat earlier on. The inclusion of the harp, and indeed the arrangement, is explained by Finzi's In Terra Pax being in the concert, a piece that quotes the carol, albeit tentatively. Admittedly a slightly odd ensemble to write for, one saving grace is that the absence of the bottom half of the the wind section, horns and heavy brass is made up for by the large modern organ in the church where the arrangement will be performed. This instrument is more than capable of filling in the weight these instruments would otherwise provide (and playing quietly when needed), and in any case such a small string section would be overwhelmed by too much sound from the back of the stage.

As with arranging folk songs, the obvious problem of having a strophic melody-and-accompaniment carol is that it really only has the words to provide any ready-made variance. The arranger must pull out every trick available to keep the tune sounding as fresh as possible, the difficulty of which increases exponentially with the number of verses. Often the text is the most useful starting point to creating contrast, as that the arranger can highlight the significance of certain lyrics or verses in the ancient art known as word-painting. Thus in the second verse of Nowell, which describes the star moving towards a certain stable in central Palestine, the loud full-ensemble texture of the first verse is replaced by the chorus in harmony, solo violin, solo flutes, and harp, with the strings entering softly at the chorus. Likewise, the third verse uses the trumpets, oboes and a reedy registration on the organ to suggest the exotic origins of the wise men (the carol perpetuates the perennial idea that there were three of them, despite there being no confirmation of the number in any of the Gospels) as well as little turns and arabesques which I hope, remain the sensible side of cliche.

However, where the arranger can really inject their individual stamp is in the last verse. This is usually, in the church music tradition, sung with the voices in unison, allowing the organist, or whatever other accompaniment is playing, to provide an 'alternative' harmonisation for the verse. As the choir and congregation are all singing the tune (one hopes at roughly the same key/place/words) there is no obligation to follow the bass line or the rest of the four-part harmony that will be found written out in the hymn book and thus pretty much 'anything goes' in the harmony. Obviously the aim is usually to make the thing sound spectacular (and wake the neighbours/shatter windows/cause seismograph needles to jump with the force of the sound) whilst not being so 'way out' that the congregation cease to follow the tune and disaster ensues. In the case in hand, I have instructed the organist to draw as many stops as grabbable before jumping simultaneously on two pedals both tuned to the note D natural, making a noise like Brian Blessed blowing through a ship's hooter; and then play as series of mildly dissonant ascending chords aided by the strings playing tremolo (moving the bow back and forth so fast it's a blur). At the second stanza the harmony starts taking excursions into all sorts of exotic key areas, with harp and strings playing arpeggios - there's little point making them compete for the melody in their lower register with all the other noise going on. Finally, the last chorus appears in more conventional harmony (high descant doubled by flutes, great upward scales in the strings), big slow down; then organ, drums and trumpets into overdrive for a high-volume frenzy of D major in the coda. Bang-crash-wallop. Bosh. Mahler never even came close.

The above description is probably very confusing and peppered with muso jargon. A simpler explanation for the layman is that it will sound good and be very loud. Both of which are commendable aims in composition.