Something To Prove, Twitter Followers Slow To Arrive, A Word From Salman Rushdie


Hello and welcome to this weeks Saturday Morning News Post.

This is going to be a short post as I have a rather large composition assignment and several grant proposals to finish this week. I dread writing grant proposals, which is why I usually put them off until a week before deadline,…ugh.

As for the composition assignment, I don’t technically have a specific assignment,… that’s one of the great things about the graduate music program here at McGill University, they give you lots of time/freedom to work on your writing projects. So, it’s up to me to schedule my time effectively and have music ready for rehearsals next month.

Oh yeah, one other thing,… it should be really quite good!

In the back of my mind I’m worried I’ll rehearse my new music for large ensemble (did I mention I’ve never written for large ensemble?), it’ll suck, and then the director will say: Really?… I mean, seriously?! We gave you scholarship to be here, and 6 weeks to do nothing except write music, and,… this is all you do?!

And so once again, the potential to look very foolish is an effective motivator for me. Hmm, does that make me insecure?

Anyways, yeah, that’s my scene for the next week. Writing grant proposals/marketing plans, which I dread, and composing hot hot jazz, which is just,… what I do!

So I’m going to leave you with a quote from a beautifully written book I’m reading at the moment: “The Ground Beneath Her Feet” by Salman Rushdie (painting above by Dave McKean).

Why do we care about singers? Wherein lies the power of songs? Maybe it derives from the sheer strangeness of there being singing in the world. The note, the scale, the chord; melodies, harmonies, arrangements; symphonies, ragas, Chinese operas, jazz, the blues: that such things should exist, that we should have discovered the magical intervals and distances that yield the poor cluster of notes, all within the span of a human hand, from which we can build our cathedrals of sound, is as alchemical a mystery as mathematics, or wine, or love. Maybe the birds taught us. Maybe not. Maybe we are just creatures in search of exaltation. We don’t have much of it. Our lives are not what we deserve; they are, let us agree, in many painful ways deficient. Song turns them into something else. Song shows us a world that is worthy of our yearning, it shows us our selves as they might be if we were worthy of the world.

Have a great week everyone and feel free to follow me on Twitter,… apparently I only have 5 damned friends out there!

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